The Terminally Ill Young Master is the Mad Dog of the Underworld

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]

Chapter 109: Karl’s Note

Zizek was walking through the headquarters of the Black Night Society, a fourth rate organization under the Bisakino Brotherhood.

“Well, well, look who it is. It’s Zizek.”

Members of the Black Night Society whispered among themselves as they recognized him.

“What’s this guy, who’s been playing house with a bunch of losers, doing here?”

“I heard he took down Vincent.”

“Oh, that rat-faced bastard?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Haha, looks like the losers are busy fighting among themselves.”

Zizek had started as a low-ranking member of the Bisakino Brotherhood before moving up to become an executive in the Black Night Society. Eventually, he broke away to form his own organization.

The way he left wasn’t exactly smooth, so the Black Night Society members didn’t look too kindly on him.

‘Noisy bastards.’

Zizek snorted inwardly.

There are many types of organizations in the underworld, but the Black Night Society is the kind that stops at nothing for money, and its members are rough around the edges. It wasn’t a good fit for him.

Still, they were skilled enough to control an entire district or industry in the vast city of Grunewald.

For Zizek, who had only led a small fifth rate neighborhood organization, walking in here with his head held high wasn’t easy.

‘But I can’t grovel to the likes of you.’

Today, he was here to report on the outcome of his conflict with Vincent’s organization and seek approval. Showing weakness would only invite attacks, so he had to maintain a confident demeanor.

After all, even if it was a lower rate organization, he was still its leader.

‘This place always looks like a nouveau riche’s den.’

Expensive-looking furniture, paintings that might or might not be genuine, and all sorts of ornaments.

The opulent decorations lining the hallway to the reception room clearly showed how much wealth they had amassed by leeching off the darkness of Grunewald, the continent’s greatest port.

‘Damn, how much money is all this?’

Zizek cursed under his breath.

‘It’s almost a talent to spend this much money and still look so tasteless. Bunch of idiots.’

They just hung expensive things everywhere without any sense of unity or style.

It felt like they had money but no idea how to spend it, so they just bought whatever they could get their hands on.

‘They collect tribute from their underlings, squeeze merchants dry, and dominate their businesses.

The rabble of the underworld might be awed by the wealth and luxury these people have amassed, but Zizek wasn’t impressed.

‘But their skills haven’t changed one bit from back then. I don’t see anyone focusing on training or buying spirit medicines to improve. They just waste their meaningless wealth in meaningless ways.’

As Zizek walked, lost in these thoughts, a man approached him.

“Hey, Zizek. Long time no see?”

It was a bald giant with whom Zizek had never gotten along. He swaggered over with a smirk.

“Get lost, idiot.”

Thud!

The bald man bumped shoulders with Zizek and laughed menacingly.

“This bastard’s got a death wish or something.”

The atmosphere grew tense, as if both were about to pull something out from their coats.

“Enough!”

The door to the reception room opened.

The leader of the Black Night Society, lounging on an expensive leather chair with a woman by his side, clicked his tongue.

“Stop making a racket at the door. You, stay out. You, come in.”

The leader of the Black Night Society wagged his finger at Zizek. His demeanor was not just authoritative but downright arrogant. It was a deliberate attempt to remind Zizek of the past when he had once served this man as his boss with utmost respect.

But Zizek was no longer that man. He now served a different leader.

“I’m not some dog you’ve raised, Boss. Pointing your finger and ordering me around isn’t exactly respectful to your subordinate, is it?”

The bald man’s veins bulged on his forehead at Zizek’s cheeky retort.

“What did you say, you crazy bastard…?”

“Enough!”

The leader spread his palms as if apologizing.

“I must’ve been rude to our Boss Zizek here. I got carried away thinking about the old days.”

The leader smirked as he spoke.

“Back then, I did boss you around like a dog with just a flick of my finger, didn’t I? You understand, right?”

Zizek chuckled and replied.

"Boss, I wouldn't have left and started my own place if you hadn't treated me so badly. You're still the same."

“Hahaha! Got me there.”

The leader laughed heartily, but his expression suddenly shifted, and he glared at Zizek with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Seems like you’ve grown some backbone, wherever you picked it up.”

“You could say that.”

“Alright, let’s stop this childish bickering and talk business.”

Zizek smacked the back of the bald man’s head as he replied.

“Let’s do that.”

“You son of a bitch!”

The leader gestured to the fuming bald man.

“You, step back. This isn’t going anywhere.”

He also dismissed the woman by his side.

“You really haven’t lost your knack for getting under people’s skin.”

Zizek shrugged. He knew this kind of provocation was the leader’s specialty.

* * *

“Alright, Zizek.”

The leader spoke with a stern face.

“Explain what happened. How am I supposed to understand this mess where my own subordinates fought without a word, and one side ended up destroyed?”

“They attacked us after we set up a new business at the edge of our territory. They even hired swordsmen. So, we fought and won.”

“I know that.”

The leader nodded and asked,

“What I’m asking is, why did you have to kill them all? Was that necessary?”

“Did you know they were selling children?”

The leader’s caterpillar-like eyebrows twitched.

“First I’ve heard of it. I’m not exactly free to check what every subordinate organization is doing to make money.”

“I figured as much. But in my opinion, those who sell children deserve to die. So, I killed them all.”

The leader clicked his tongue.

“It’s easy to say that after killing them all. How are we supposed to verify it?”

“Should I bring the surviving children? I spared a few of the ones they pointed out. If I bring them, you can hear their detailed testimonies.”

The leader stared at Zizek for a long moment before shaking his head.

“Forget it. If it’s those bastards, it’s not surprising they’d do something like that.”

“You knew and still let them be?”

“What was I supposed to do? Step in and regulate them myself?”

“If you’re not even doing that, then what’s the point of lending your name as the higher organization?”

The leader snorted.

“Zizek, since when did you start preaching about justice and rules? Are your hands that clean?”

“Just because I’ve lived dirty until now doesn’t mean I have to keep doing so, right?”

Zizek was no longer the man the leader once knew.

“You’ve really changed, Zizek. What did you take? Some good spirit medicine or strong liquor?”

But the leader, who had spent his life steeped in blood, schemes, and betrayal, no longer had the insight to recognize what had truly changed.

“I’m not here to fight you or challenge your authority.”

Zizek’s eyes were already looking further ahead. Karzan’s advice echoed in his mind.

“So, let’s do this.”

Zizek would make an offer the leader had no reason to refuse.

***

It’s a night of flowing thoughts. I stare outside, lost in thought as I sit by the window.

“The moon is unusually bright tonight.”

I see the moon’s reflection shimmering on the sea.

I observe the vastness of the ocean and the purity of the moon.

The night sea looks no different from the waters of Litvaleur or Flanders.@@novelbin@@

‘Evan Bergen, that man.’

Truthfully, there was one thing I couldn’t bring myself to ask Verdzig.

‘Do you really intend to kill him?’

A man who is innocent, and also your own kin.

‘How cruel it is for a human to discard another human as if they were a mere pawn.’

From a human perspective, Verdzig is undoubtedly a villain.

‘But for those in power, being evil does not necessarily mean being immoral.’

In the world of power, incompetence and weakness are far greater sins than evil itself.

‘In Verdzig’s eyes, my decision to spare Gemini must have seemed like a weakness.’

But I don’t regret it.

I refuse to become a man who turns a blind eye to innocent deaths, who loses his humanity by allowing preventable tragedies to unfold.

“Human nature has its peculiarities.”

The more it dulls, the sharper it becomes—a blade that cuts and stabs others...

...while also becoming a thorn that pierces and wounds myself.

I’ve seen too many men in the underworld who, numb to slaughter, have turned into monsters.

‘That is downfall.’

No matter how strong he may be.

‘...In any case, the chain of events set off by my actions has led to the impending death of a man named Evan Bergen.’

I know it’s neither my will nor my fault.

Yet, I can’t help but feel uneasy.

‘I should meet that man at least once.’

I am no champion of justice. The principles I uphold are far from those of a saint or a nobleman.

I am a man who can dismiss the lofty, impractical ramblings of desk-bound scholars in pursuit of my own vengeance.

Yet, even so, I’ve concluded that there’s no need to stand idly by and let an unknown man like Evan die.

This is partly because of the memory of Karzan, who was discarded and left to die by the Dark King’s blade.

‘I don’t know how much time I have left.’

At most, perhaps five years?

But if unbearable pain returns, as it did before, and if that terrible cycle begins again, filling my veins and organs with incurable poison—

I don’t know how long I can endure it.

‘It wasn’t the kind of pain that could be borne with ordinary willpower.’

In the diary of Allenvert, which I found with Ludan’s help, there were passages written in despair and sorrow after nights of unbearable suffering.

Punishment, and the predetermined time of death.

Trapped in that small room, Allenvert was no different from a condemned prisoner.

“......”

Sometimes, I see the image of a boy crouching in a cave within my mind. A boy whose body has grown into adulthood, but whose heart remains frozen at the age of ten.

That boy looks up and sees Karzan.

A man who has lived fiercely, without a moment of peace. He was poor and lonely, shivering through every cold night. The brief salvation from his grandfather. And the loss that followed, which healed his heart only to tear it apart again.

But I know that those brief moments of care pulled that man’s heart out of hell.

‘Grandfather.’

I imagine the night sky as a black canvas and sketch the image of my grandfather. The name of that drawing is ‘Memory.’

“Karzan.”

The familiar, aged face of the man caressed my cheek. To me, my grandfather’s narrow, thin shoulders seemed as solid and dependable as a rock.

“I’m sorry, Karzan.”

A dreamlike moment of childhood passed, and before I knew it, I was laying down my bloodied shovel and crying at my grandfather's grave.

"And so, fearing the piercing solitude more than poverty, I couldn't turn away from the young ones who gathered seeking the comfort of my power, of my existence, and I plunged into the underworld.

'Orlando, Tammy, Henry, Servo, Mortiz, Susanna.'

I buried their deaths in my heart, and with the ones who survived, I endured, drenched in blood, spilling blood. There were those who died for me.

'It's because I was weak.'

I was a genius, but to fully unleash my talent, I needed to pay the price of countless trials and wasted time.

'Was entering the 1st-tier the most difficult?'

Looking back, overcoming the wall of the 3rd-tier was no less challenging. No matter how difficult and profound the movements, grasping their essence was not difficult, but—

The profundity of the inner workings of the body, the intricacy of manipulating mana and extracting aura—these were things I could not steal.

'Thanks to that, I suffered quite a bit.'

...Those days of struggle pass by.

The face of Daikin, the godfather I once relied on, comes to mind. Time passed again, Daikin died, I took revenge, and I left for a foreign land.

The face of Zamuel, who regarded me as his godfather and relied on me, was also vivid in my memory.

...And—

"Karzan."

There was a face that was missed and longed for.

There was a woman who was dignified when she approached, as she was when she left.

"Adeline."

Where are you living?

If you have found new love, then it is a cause for celebration. In that case, you may now be someone's wife and someone's mother.

...Imagination stretched endlessly.

'My death came years after my separation from you, and from there, 17 years passed again.'

If you had a child, would that child be about the same age as Peter or Julia? Perhaps even older than me?

'That would be fine too.'

After all, your happiness could not be achieved by my side.

"If you can be happy, it doesn't have to be with me."

Wasn't that why you didn't reject Adeline's heart, Karzan?

"......"

But why are you crying?

I left the flowing tears unchecked. I missed the ties and times that could no longer be turned back, and I shed silent tears.

'Even so.'

Not being bound by the shackles of the past, but turning my gaze to tomorrow, not yesterday, is my way of life.

Without wiping away my tears, I took out the note that Karl had given me from my pocket.

Hoping that within it was information about the survivors of Eisenach, a way to reconnect with my mother.

"......Haha."

I smiled as I unfolded the note."

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]