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

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]

Chapter 114: Balthazar Eisenach

Zizek was tied up in a storage room filled with the scent of herbs.

‘Wow…… When did I get knocked out?’

After being disarmed, everything went dark just as he was being dragged away. When he regained consciousness, he had already been knocked out and woken up again.

“Awake now, young friend?”

It was the voice of the old man who had given him well water earlier. The old man was busy moving back and forth along a long table, grinding, crushing, and boiling spirit medicines.

What was strange was that despite his busy movements, his expression and demeanor remained consistently calm.

Yet, his hands were incredibly precise, with not a single error in each movement. He worked without repeating any task, measuring the right amounts by eye, grinding them appropriately, and combining them perfectly to boil.

‘He’s like a master craftsman.’

Zizek forgot about his current predicament and couldn’t help but marvel.

“Young friend, making medicine is, in a way, like cooking, and in another way, like alchemy.”

The old man’s words carried a wisdom and insight that was hard to take lightly.

“Do you know who we are?”

Zizek asked awkwardly.

“……Aren’t you from Hugelandere?”

After all, things had gone south the moment he mentioned that name.

“Besides that.”

Zizek sighed and answered again.

“You must be survivors of Eisenach.”

“Hmm.”

The old man finally turned to look at him.

“How curious. You don’t seem strong enough to know such things.”

“……!”

Zizek felt embarrassed by the pointed remark.

“I’m not that weak.”

At that, a pale-skinned girl who had been assisting the old man glanced at Zizek.

“You’re weak. I could beat you in a fight right now.”

Zizek snapped back.

“Kid, how old are you?”

“Thirteen!”

“And you think you can beat me?”

“Yeah. City folks are weak.”

Her reply was innocent, with no real malice behind it.

“Oh, really? You think you can beat a skilled swordsman who’s reached the 3rd-tier?”

The girl tilted her head and asked.

“Why couldn’t I?”

“…….”

Zizek, willing to stoop to her level, was about to retort when the old man intervened.

“Enough.”

The old man stopped the girl.@@novelbin@@

“Though this man may be weak, there’s a sharpness in his eyes. His reactions aren’t bad either. In a real fight, you’d have a hard time.”

Zizek was somewhat shocked. Even the old man wasn’t saying the girl would lose, was he?

“More importantly, young friend, did you come here to trade for our medicine?”

“……Yes and no.”

Zizek replied, feeling somewhat intimidated.

“Then what’s the other reason?”

“Well…”

Just as Zizek was about to answer, he couldn’t help but feel the urge to smack Rob, who was still unconscious, on the back of his head.

“Ah, our leader has arrived.”

A towering young man exuding an overwhelming aura walked in.

“!!!”

Zizek felt a tingling sensation on his skin as he struggled to meet the man’s gaze.

‘Damn, what kind of eyes are those?’

They were more like the eyes of a beast than a human. Under the intense glare, Zizek instinctively averted his eyes.

‘Did I just lower my gaze? Me?’

Zizek was inwardly shocked.

“Eek!”

The pressure was so intense that Rob, who had been unconscious, suddenly twitched and opened his eyes as if struck by something.

‘That idiot.’

Zizek swallowed a sigh.

“Grand Elder.”

The giant clasped his hands together, which were as thick as maces, and bowed respectfully to the old man.

“I just returned.”

“Hmm.”

The old man’s expression, which had been smiling warmly, now carried an air of dignity.

‘Huh, his grandfather?’

That terrifying guy’s grandfather?

‘Wait, does that mean they’re related to Young Master Allenvert? Like his older cousin and great-uncle?’

Zizek’s mind raced as he tried to piece together the family tree.

“We have plenty of time, so let’s start with introductions. My name is Balthazar Eisenach. Our leader here who also happens to be my grandnephew, Knut Eisenach.”

The old man, Balthazar, gently patted the girl’s head.

“And this is my granddaughter, Tara Eisenach.”

The giant, Knut, looked at Balthazar.

“Hmm, Grand Elder. Is it alright to reveal the Eisenach name?”

“They already knew before they came.”

“I see.”

When Knut’s gaze shifted to Zizek, his heart felt like it was about to stop under the pressure.

“Tch.”

“You know a lot for someone so weak. Who sent you?”

“Calm down. We can ask him slowly.”

Balthazar gently touched Knut’s shoulder to soothe him.

‘Now that I think about it, that old man…’

His broad shoulders, upright posture, and height weren’t far off from the giant’s. In his youth, he must have been an imposing figure…

“Are you wondering why I’m not the leader, but my grandnephew is?”

“Hmm.”

Zizek answered cautiously, keeping an eye on Knut’s reaction.

“Yes. You still seem quite vigorous.”

“There are times when an old man suits the role of a leader, and times when a young, ambitious man does.”

Balthazar explained.

“In these times, when we must survive by clinging to the shadows of the city, enduring violence in the heart of the underworld, this boy is more suited to be the leader than I am.”

“……”

His words carried the wisdom of a mountain dweller.

At that moment, Zizek realized how hollow and ignorant the term ‘barbarians’ was, something they had carelessly thrown around without understanding.

Balthazar carried the aura of a sage, wiser than any elder Zizek had ever met.

“So, it seems you’re also from the underworld.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zizek’s tone became noticeably more respectful. It was only natural, considering he was standing before his employer’s grandfather.

“I’m curious, Zizek. Has the quality of our spirit medicines and herbs really spread that far?”

“It’s true that word reached my ears.”

“That’s troubling. If we become too famous, the wolves will start drooling.”

“Ah, it’s not as widespread as you might fear. It’s mostly among merchants—”

“That’s precisely the problem. It was inevitable that word would spread, but the fact that you knew our name and came all the way here…”

Zizek broke into a cold sweat as he caught the hidden meaning in Balthazar’s words.

‘Damn, am I about to get my throat slit?’

But Balthazar’s expression remained calm.

“Our trade secret is simple, Zizek.”

Balthazar gestured to Knut’s youthful, robust, sun-tanned body.

“A strong and exceptional physique inherited from our ancestors, and the knowledge passed down through generations, allowing us to scour the mountains for the finest medicinal ingredients.”

He pointed to the various herbs displayed throughout the warehouse.

“Sometimes it’s mushrooms, grasses, fruits, flowers, or honey. Other times, it might be insects, small animals, fish, or even the eyes, marrow, or bones of rare and large creatures. And that’s not all. We don’t shy away from byproducts of monsters, spirit beasts, or magical creatures.”

Finally, his finger pointed to his own head.

“Add this old man’s modest intellect and skill to the mix, and that’s it. It’s a rather simple business structure, really.”

Balthazar Eisenach was one of the few remaining elders of his clan, a genius physician, and a master herbalist.

“And this child here will inherit everything from me. Knowledge, wisdom, and even strength.”

Balthazar gave his granddaughter Tara a light tap on the shoulder.

“When you boil our medicinal ingredients for a long time, the fumes cause a side effect—turning the skin pale. That’s why pale skin has become a symbol of those skilled in herbalism within our clan.”

“Ah, I see.”

Zizek nodded, finally understanding why the old man and the girl had such unusually pale skin.

He also recalled how the skin of Lady Lusatia Grunewald was strikingly pale, though he had no way of connecting the dots.

“If you think about it, it’s only natural that we’re strong. Living in the harsh and rugged mountains is a daily struggle for survival. Nature is inherently hostile to humans, and living in harmony with it, rather than conquering or taming it, is an even greater challenge.”

“Then why haven’t the mountain people left such a painful place?”

“Because it also gives us gifts. Our physical abilities far surpass those of city dwellers, and consuming spirit medicines made from various medicinal ingredients makes our mana purer and more abundant. Our martial arts are practical, honed through battles against wild beasts, humans, and monsters alike.”

Balthazar pointed at Zizek.

“You people, who live in the underworld of Grunewald, may be accustomed to blood and violence, but to us, you seem like unruly dogs or pigs, only capable of causing trouble within your fences.”

“……!”

“The reason underworld organizations don’t easily enter this area isn’t just because of the residents’ rough temperament.”

Zizek’s heart grew cold.

These were not mere outsiders; they were a warrior tribe with their own culture and martial arts. And they had nested in a corner of this vast city’s underworld.

‘This is chilling.’

He realized once again that he was nothing more than an ignorant ant. The darkness of this city was far deeper, wider, and more hidden than he had ever imagined.

"Now, it's my turn to ask questions."

Balthazar approached Zizek.

"The reason I've told you all this is simple."

A strangely curved dagger was drawn from his bosom.

"Because I hold the power of life and death over you."

The blade, more blunt than sharp but equally sturdy, severed a single hair from Zizek's head.

Zizek felt his Adam's apple bob involuntarily as he swallowed dryly.

"Now tell me, boy. How did you learn our names? Whose information did you hear and come here with? And what is your purpose other than obtaining the herbs?"

"..."

Conveniently, Zizek could answer all three questions with just one name.

"I serve Young Master Allenvert Grunewald. He sent me here to meet the survivors of Eisenach."

"...What?"

Balthazar , who had been so relaxed and leisurely, and Knut, who had been silent, were both struck with immense shock.

"Why, and how on earth-"

Balthazar 's hand trembled as he lightly grazed Zizek's earlobe.

"...Are you saying that name?"

***

"You're asking what I can offer you?"

Repeating my question as if to herself, Rudgarda sighed and opened her mouth.

"I want to clarify one thing first."

Rudgarda began with difficulty.

"From the moment my father chose me as a hostage, he not only cast me out of the succession but also treated my very life as a bargaining chip. You know that, don't you, Young Master?"

"Of course."

Rudgarda sighed heavily.

"Then I believe there's no need to persuade you of my hatred, revenge, and the motivation for my survival."

I nodded.

"Enough."

"Therefore, before answering that, I will openly declare my honest goal to you, Young Master."

"Do as you please."

A fire ignited in Rudgarda's eyes.

"Someday, after escaping the fate of a hostage, I want to return to my homeland, slay my father, and become the lord of my clan."

"...!"

"If, in that process, my brothers—the cowardly brothers who survived by allowing me to be abandoned—try to stop me-"

Rudgarda sneered with hatred.

"I'm willing to wear their blood as well."

Rudgarda looked at me provocatively.

"And when everything is over, I will faithfully serve you, the Young Master of this great Grunewald."

It was indeed a bold proposition. The path of revenge that Rudgarda vowed was filled with bloodlust.

"So answer me, Young Master."

A flame of hatred burned in Rudgarda's eyes. It was a similar color to the one that burned in my heart.

"I ask you, Young Master, are you capable of bearing the loyalty I will offer?"

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]