The Terminally Ill Young Master is the Mad Dog of the Underworld-Chapter 189

***

Silas Agrippa was deep in thought, troubled by his conversation with Caleb, the mysterious envoy sent by Huten.

"Lord Huten deeply regrets the current state of affairs, where he and Clan Agrippa have unwittingly become enemies."

"And what exactly does that mean?"

"Exactly as it sounds. We desire friendship with Agrippa."

"Have you forgotten that you schemed against Young master Somerset, humiliating us in the process?"

Despite Silas’s aggressive and sarcastic tone, Caleb remained unshaken.

"We sincerely regret that incident. However, we never intended to attack Agrippa—please understand that."

"You talk too much."

Silas was no fool—a seasoned player in both high society and politics, he wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Caleb’s eerie presence.

"Now that we’re speaking frankly, we suspect Agrippa was behind the hiring of the assassin, Luktum."

Silas didn’t flinch.

"And? Are you here to accuse us?"

"We propose setting aside emotions and thinking rationally."

"Rationally?"

"Why cling to fleeting grudges? In life, we rage over trivial matters, only for that hatred to fade with time."

"You don’t strike me as someone who’s ever forgiven anyone."

"Haha. I’ve spent my life executing people, not pardoning them."

Silas finally cut to the chase.

"What if we joined forces?"

"An alliance?"

"In essence, yes."

"Preposterous."

Silas sneered coldly.

"The Bisakino Brotherhood may hold some sway in Grunewald’s underworld, but how could you possibly stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Agrippas? Huten is just one executive—do you truly believe an alliance would be of equal standing?"

"Hah. You’re sharp."

Caleb’s smile didn’t waver.

"Then allow me to share something with you. Soon, there will be a major... restructuring within the organization."

The weight of those words was unmistakable.

"What are you implying?"

"Exactly what I said. And—"

Caleb lowered his voice to a whisper.

"We are but one branch of a far greater mountain. Do not underestimate what aligning with us truly means."

"...!"

Silas wasn’t slow to grasp the implication.

"This isn’t a decision I can make immediately. I’ll need time."

Caleb left, but Silas’s unease lingered.

'I can’t be certain who’s truly behind this...'

But one thing was clear—it was an external force, beyond the duchy. If he carelessly joined hands with them and incurred the Duke’s wrath, it would be a fatal blow to Agrippa’s already precarious position.

'Yet opposing the Duke outright...'

They lacked both the power and the influence.

Nor could they bow their heads to Verdzig or Bergen.

'No. Absolutely not.'

-

That would bury Agrippa’s honor in the mud.

'I must consult Father.'

Even Silas couldn’t predict what the Count would decide.

'But recklessly allying with shady underworld figures of unknown origins and motives is too dangerous.'

The instincts of both a merchant and a noble whispered caution.

'How frustrating. If only Somerset had come to his senses sooner, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.'

Silas gritted his teeth, thinking of his stubborn nephew.

Though Somerset had shown some change after his confrontation with Allenvert, it wasn’t nearly enough to restore lost trust.

***

"Everyone’s here."

Huten surveyed the executives who had gathered under his banner.

"I thank you all for placing your faith in me."

"..."

"No need for thanks."

These were handpicked traitors—men swayed by money, profit, or decadent pleasures.

Men with the instincts of slaves, clinging to the stronger side for survival.

And those who were loyal, yet bound by their weaknesses.

'I’ve barely managed a 6-to-4 ratio.'

The combined strength of these executives already surpassed the Godfather’s faction.

Sensing this, their expressions weren’t entirely grim.

'I would’ve preferred a more favorable setup...'

Who could’ve predicted Agrippa would hire an assassin from Svaltalfar? Not even Huten had seen that coming.

'It forced me to accelerate my plans.'

But no matter.

"Lord Huten."

At Caleb’s whisper, Huten gave a slight nod.

The swordsmen, who had been standing guard unnoticed, moved silently—encircling the executives.

"I understand your unease."

Huten spoke, drawing their attention back to him.

"Now then, everyone—"

Once the encirclement was complete, his voice dropped low.

"Swear your loyalty to me."

"...!?"

The executives tensed, sensing the shift in the air.

"Calm yourselves."

Huten gestured to the wine cups before them.

"The oath is simple. Drink what’s in front of you."

"What?"

"You can’t mean there’s poison in there?"

"Have you lost your mind?!"

The executives erupted in protest.

"You’d chain us with poison?!"

"Even the underworld has its codes! How could you—"

"Ah, you misunderstand."

Huten chuckled.

"I’m not so crude. In fact, drinking that wine will grant you power far beyond what you have now. That cup is worth more than its weight in gold."

"Ridiculous."

"And you expect us to believe that?"

"Daring to threaten us—do you think you’ll walk away from this—"

"Silence."

At Huten’s raised hand, the surrounding men drew their blades.

Shiiing!

The cold ring of steel snapped their mouths shut.

"Enough talk. Choose now. Swear loyalty and gain greater power... or—"

A sadistic smirk curled on Huten’s lips.

"—die as half-hearted traitors, neither here nor there."

A pentagram flickered in his pupils.

[Drink. Prove your worth through baptism.]

"...!"

Under that irresistible command, most reluctantly raised their cups.

But—

"I refuse."

"Me too."

"Likewise."

A few held firm.

"Tsk. Still can’t take a hint, huh?"

Huten pointed his thumb downward.

"Kill them."

In an instant, blades flashed from behind—decapitating the defiant ones where they stood.

Thud!

Headless bodies collapsed, blood gushing.

"!"

"D-Damn it..."

"Just drink. Better than dying, no?"

Relieved at their choice, the remaining executives hastily drained their cups.

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Their fates split in two.

"G-G-GGGRK!"

"W-What’s—"

"You tricked us, HUTEEEEEN!"

BOOOOM!

Some screamed as their heads grotesquely swelled before bursting apart.

Huten watched impassively.

"A shame. You were unworthy."

About one in three died this way.

"Congratulations. You passed."

"Ahh... this power...!"

The pentagram's glow flickered momentarily in the pupils of the approved executives.

...The seeds of demonic arts had begun sprouting within their bodies.

"Power surges through me! Hahahaha!"

The executives, now vessels of demonic energy, laughed in ecstasy.

"From this moment, you are my slaves. Obey my commands, and offer even your lives willingly."

As if all fear and doubt had vanished, the surviving executives prostrated themselves before Huten in unison.

"We follow Lord Huten's orders."

Having secured their submission, Huten rose slowly from his seat. Caleb draped a cloak over his shoulders.

"...Now, let us go. The Godfather must be waiting for me."

The flames of rebellion had begun to spread.

---

Come to think of it, this was the first time I'd walked through Grunewald in broad daylight wearing Karzan's face.

"Boss. Are you sure about this?"

Zizek looked unusually tense.

"If I say it's fine, stop breathing so heavily. It's annoying."

I glared at him.

"Since when do you complain about how someone breathes?"

"Shut up."

Ignoring his protest, I pointed toward a distant mansion.

"That's Nagan's base?"

"Yes."

"Good."

I heightened my vision, scrutinizing the residence of the Godfather's second-in-command—our potential ally.

"Well, well."

I smirked.

"Looks like they're already preparing for war."

The armed members moving busily, their tactical positioning, the palpable tension—everything screamed of an impending clash tonight.

"...If word reached Damien, they must already know too."

Zizek frowned.

"If we slip up and they ask how we knew to come, we might just end up looking suspicious."

"True."

Crossing my arms, I reconsidered.

"Let’s change tactics. Doesn’t look like they’re in any state to receive guests."

"What’s the plan?"

"We’ll lay low nearby and intervene if things get dangerous."

"Ah! Got it."

I turned to Zizek.

"You took the spirit medicine I gave you, right?"

"I did, but it doesn’t feel like it’s absorbing properly. Barely any effect."

"Then there’s probably some residual energy left unused."

I gestured.

"We’ve got time. I’ll help you refine it."

"Wait, seriously? Thanks!"

"Gareth, you’re on guard duty."

"Leave it to me."

His knightly background made his reply reassuringly firm.

"But Boss, just the three of us? Feels like ants jumping into a typhoon..."

"Three? Don’t worry. I alone could flip the scales."

Zizek clicked his tongue at my bravado.

"Wow, someone’s full of himself."

"Shut up."

After lightly subduing him, I added,

"Anyway, seeing this just confirms it. Something’s going down tonight."

Which meant—

"We’ll be the decisive move that overturns the board."

***

"Long time no see, Godfather."

The Godfather stared silently as Huten knocked and entered the reception room.

"Huten. You’ve come."

Setting down the document in his hand, the Godfather lifted his gaze.

"Too late. Dragging your feet like this."

"Apologies. I’ve been... busy."

At Huten’s evasive reply, the Godfather cut straight to the point.

"Busy gathering your faction, you mean?"

"Well, no point pretending when you already know."

Huten’s tone was unprecedentedly insolent.

The Godfather observed him with emotionless eyes before delivering his verdict.

"Your judgment has been decided."

"Oh? Do tell."

"As of today, you are excommunicated."

Huten burst into a grating laugh.

"Bold. Doesn’t matter to you if the Bisakino Brotherhood splits in two, huh?"

The Godfather countered coldly.

"You’ve already torn it apart with your own hands. What nonsense are you spouting now?"

"Haha. Bet you’re shocked."

The Godfather nodded slowly.

"I was. Never imagined you’d dug your roots this deep."

"Hard to notice when you’re sitting alone up high, just looking imposing."

"Your tongue’s grown sharper, Huten."

As the Godfather rose from his chair, a crushing aura of killing intent pressed against Huten’s skin.

"You hid your fangs well."

"And your failure to see them led to today’s ruin."

Both men drew their blades in unison.

"Our dear Godfather... you were strong. A true man—"

Huten’s energy surged, dissolving the oppressive aura around him.

"—but only within the tiny well of Grunewald."

"As expected. You were holding back."

"Did you really think I just lucked into trapping Luktum?"

Huten sneered.

"How unimaginative. That’s why you’ll die here."

The Godfather’s response was simple.

"Kill him."

His personal guards erupted into action—dropping from the ceiling, bursting through windows, kicking open doors, even emerging from beneath the desk—

"Pathetic traps."

For the briefest moment, a pentagram flashed in Huten’s pupils.

BOOOOM!

A storm of demonic energy ravaged the chamber, sending furniture flying.

[Translator - Pot ]

[Proofreader - Kawaii ]