The Underworld (1)
The busiest shopping district of Grenium.
In a back alley, there was an abandoned church.
The priests called it the Thirteenth Church.
The locals called it the Church of the Underworld.
This place was where the pillars of the underworld held periodic meetings.
“Did you all see the news? Seymour killed the clown’s subordinate.”
A masked “witch” rolled a wine glass in her hand as she spoke. The wine gleamed crimson in the light.
“To throw a corpse around in broad daylight… He’s one crazy bastard.”
A man, almost twice the size of the others, muttered this, and the witch shrugged.
“I can’t tell if our count is insane or if this is political.”
“Political?”
“It could just be a madman causing chaos, but what if he’s doing it deliberately to draw attention?”
“What good would that do him?”
“It would help him gain influence. After all, his family’s good deeds mean nothing.”
“Hmm…”
“Think about it. How terrifying the late Count Mausoleum was. Yet, with just this one incident, people have completely forgotten him. Now, the Radiant Dragon of Mausoleum isn’t Liam—it’s Seymour.”
The pillars nodded, stroking their chins at the witch’s words.
“Trying to step out from his father’s shadow?”
“Highly likely.”
“In any case, we should watch a little longer. Hey, clown. How strong was that dead guy?”
“Hah! He was the weakest of my subordinates!”
“Yeah, I thought you’d say that. In any case, it’s too early to intervene again; we should wait and see for a while.”
A man, quietly listening to the pillars’ conversation, finally spoke. He had been standing alone at the edge of the table, without a seat.
“If he proves his worth, does that mean I can’t become a pillar?”
“Exactly. There are seven pillars, and that number cannot change.”
The man twisted his mouth in dissatisfaction at the reply.
The pillars seemed to enjoy his reaction as if it were the most entertaining sight in the world.
Realizing he was being treated as a spectacle, the man let out a small sigh and spoke.
“That guy has no value beyond my father’s influence. You know that, right?”
The witch glanced at the man’s attire.
“Not sure it’s your place to talk, imitating his clothes so poorly.”
Indeed, the man had tried to mimic the suits Seymour had worn several times.
The man blushed deeply in embarrassment.
“Besides, Seymour is handsome, isn’t he? Honestly, he raises the average attractiveness of our underworld. But you… hmm…”
The witch tapped her red lips under her mask with a finger, scanning the man as if evaluating him.
The man’s face turned even redder under her gaze.
The witch, as if relishing his embarrassment, smiled and sipped her wine.
Then, a voice interrupted.
“Why don’t you stop harassing my potential client and put on some proper clothes yourself, witch.”
The pillars turned their gaze to the entrance of the church. Seymour was walking in.
“Hmm…”
“Hooh?”
The pillars, unfazed by the sudden intrusion, leisurely examined Seymour.
His neat suit fit perfectly in the abandoned church, looking both like a heretic priest’s robe and a futuristic clerical outfit.
Even ignoring the setting, Seymour’s attire alone was impressive.
“So that’s him…”
“Now I see why nobles go crazy over him.”
The pants, with vertical lines emphasizing long legs; the vest, sleek yet firm, highlighting the waist; and the partially unbuttoned shirt revealing a glimpse of the collarbone.
Seymour captured everyone’s attention with just three lines.
“Ugh…”
The man who had tried to mimic Seymour’s outfit stepped back, perhaps to hide himself.
Seymour, standing in front of the table, waved his hand, and a chair that had been pushed to the corner slid toward him as if pulled by magic.
He sat, interlacing his fingers on the table.
“All the pillars are here, so shall we begin the meeting?”
Light poured through the broken stained glass above Seymour, creating a scene both exquisite and blasphemous.
One of the pillars, watching me with interest, asked subtly:
“So, why are you here? We don’t recall inviting you.”
Though we share the title of “pillar,” it’s clear we are not on the same level, he meant.
I smirked.
“Why would a magician come here? To show off some magic, of course.”
“Magic?”
“Fountain-pen magic. Heard of it?”
I pulled a fountain pen from my pocket and slammed it onto the table.
“I’ll make this pen disappear in an instant.”
Some of the pillars’ eyes gleamed—they recognized the pen.
The Grand Duke’s fountain pen.
This pen, supplied to countless knight orders, was reinforced with iron, tough enough to withstand an elephant stepping on it.
I nodded to my guard, Hella, standing behind me.
She wore a custom suit that I had sent Andre for design approval.
White shirt, black vest, tie, leather gloves.
Instead of a jacket, the vest was patterned with the emblem of the Black Dragon Knight Order, catching the light subtly.
It suits her perfectly.
Hella herself was pleased and had threatened Andre to make ten more just like it.
Her perfectly fitting attire made her look extremely threatening.
Her bulging arm muscles, straining against the shirt, clearly demonstrated her strength.
Step by step, Hella moved forward, and the pillars’ guards flinched simultaneously.
Even from the start, they had been wary of her.
Hella placed her palm on the fountain pen.
“….”
Bending slightly, she lifted her head, scanning the pillars.
I knew well how threatening such a display could be from someone of Hella’s size.
Pressing down slowly, she made the pen twist and dig into the table with creaking sounds.
When she lifted her hand, the pen had sunk so deep it was invisible.
“Ta-da.”
I spread my hands playfully.
The pillars raised their eyebrows at Hella’s superhuman strength.
“Krk… Incredible strength.”
“Truly different from the Knights of the Round Table.”
“Is this magic? Or just a feat of strength?”
“Hmm. Highly developed muscles aren’t much different from magic.”
The last remark came from Ogre, a pillar even larger than Hella.
Even with Hella’s display of strength, none of the pillars flinched.
But all their attention was on me.
Having established dominance with a simple magic trick, I spoke.
“Long time no see, everyone. A bit disappointing, isn’t it? I expected at least one of you at the late Count’s funeral.”
“Hahaha… What a ridiculous statement.”
“Indeed. Ridiculous.”
I smirked, scanning the pillars, and continued.
“You’re all too cowardly to venture beyond the system.”
“Hooh?”
“Unlike me, a noble, you have no influence outside this city, and you fear when or where you might be stabbed in the back.”
I nodded toward Ogre.
“Tell me, Ogre. When was the last time you went outside?”
Ogre merely chuckled.
I turned to the clown beside him.
“And the clown who doesn’t even have the courage to attempt my assassination.”
“You…!”
True to his clown-phobia motif, his face, painted white and red, contorted with rage.
I continued, unimpressed. Having faced dragon fire, human anger no longer affected me.
“You live hiding in the alleys, fearing betrayal from each other, from nobles, from knights. That’s who you are.”
The pillars watched silently. Their eyes seemed emotionless, but I could sense the anger within.
The only exception was Ogre.
“Hahaha… Enough provocations. Let’s get to the point.”
Ogre, second-in-command of the underworld, did not fall for my taunts.
I leaned back and spoke.
“How long do you intend to be satisfied in this small city?”
Grenium was by no means a small city, but compared to human desire, it was tiny.
“The empire shrinks while the market expands. Yet you plan to live confined in this little city until you die?”
“Do you have a solution?”
“I do. But I’m not sure if I should share it with you yet. You’re… lacking.”
“Empty boasting.”
Ogre crushed his wine glass in his large hand, leaning toward me threateningly.
“Tell me. What do we lack? Strength? Influence? Cruelty?”
I leaned toward him and whispered.
“Dignity.”
Ogre’s brow furrowed.
I leaned back and brushed off my clothes.
“You lack dignity and grace.”
Not just Ogre—the other pillars frowned, thinking I was speaking nonsense.
“….”
“….”
Yet none dared to verbally oppose me.
Their eyes flicked between me and Hella, lined up behind me like a painting.
Compared to our attire, theirs was ragged.
“Hahaha!”
The witch laughed, glancing between me and the man imitating my clothes.
“Clearly, there’s no debate about who looks better.”
The man’s face burned red.
The witch asked me:
“So, what are you trying to say, Count? Planning a moral education class?”
“Not at all. Dignity comes more from appearance than from within.”
“Hmm?”
“I invite you to the cradle of elegance and refinement.”
I gestured, and Hella pulled a few papers from her pocket.
They were invitations to an upcoming fashion show.
“The era of random, shabby villains is over.”
The pillars took the invitations, staring at me in shock and disbelief.
“The era calls for refined villains.”
I would stand as the first pillar of the underworld.
They would either perish as my enemies or join me as allies.
Whether enemy or ally, I had no intention of associating with someone who didn’t know how to wear proper clothes.
One hour later.
Thud!
Hella was roughly blocking flying hand axes.
