Chapter 106: How to Reach a Dream Cartels.
They are merchants of dreams.
They sell a dream—a single taste that transports you to places you could never reach, let alone possess, through ordinary means.
"Phew..."
Fragrant smoke drifted from the cigar clenched between his teeth.
In the southeastern borderlands of the Empire—specifically, in a lavish mansion tucked deep within the urban center of the eastern nation of Berkina.
This was the hideout of the massive drug organization, the Parmano Cartel.
"Fuck. This book is goddamn beautiful... Hey. What about that guy?"
The leader, Costa, asked in a languid voice. In his hand, he held a copy of the novel Baltaras, imported from the Empire.
"Yes. We have captured him," a subordinate replied.
The word 'captured' felt a bit ridiculous, but there was no other way to describe dealing with those who wielded mana.
"Gouge his eyes out or rip his guts open, I don't care—just find out. Find out if there are any other spies inside. There's no way there's only one rat."
Costa furrowed his brows and crushed his cigar out.
The losses incurred because of that damn bastard were astronomical. An entire plantation had been wiped out.
"But, Don Costa. An Imperial Knight—"
"Hey. Do you have any idea how much money we lost? If we had sold that entire shipment, it would have been billions! Billions! It's the same as flushing a massive jackpot down the fucking toilet!"
The veins in his neck bulged as he spoke. His anger hadn't subsided. The amount of money that went up in flames because of that son of a bitch...
"Besides, those knight bastards can't come here."
This was Berkina territory, and Berkina was a member of the Eastern Union. It was a region where even the Empire couldn't recklessly project its military power. Some treaty or another ensured that.
Thanks to that, the Parmano Cartel enjoyed a lucrative 'business' by moving back and forth between Berkina and the Empire.
"No, they won't come," Costa sneered.
"In fact, it's safer because it's the Empire. Those guys are so stiff-necked. They loathe the lowborn scum who use drugs so much they won't even look our way—even though the high-and-mighty themselves are high as kites on the top-shelf stuff every day."
The highest-grade packages produced by the cartel were all sent to the heart of the Empire—specifically, to the upper districts.
"Even the nobles use our product, I'm telling you."
He lit another cigar and gestured to his subordinate.
"Anyway, forget that. Hey, do you know a book called Baltaras?"
"Bal... Bal-ta-what?"
"Tsk, you ignorant prick."
Costa chuckled and waved the copy of Baltaras in his hand.
"It's a pity, truly a pity. Being born so stupid that you can't appreciate the beauty of a novel like this."
"I'm sorry, sir."
To the subordinate who was bowing repeatedly, Costa personally handed over the copy of Baltaras.
"I'm giving this to you because you caught that guy. Read it when you have time. You need to build some culture."
"Ah, yes..."
"Don't worry, kid," Costa said, biting down hard on his cigar.
"Would those noble lords in the Imperial Palace really make a fuss to save a single commoner knight—a washed-up has-been who was kicked out of the Sentinels? There isn't a single lunatic in this world who would—"
*
"I am Knight Maximilian."
Southeastern Empire—Phelan Province.
A border town located where the Empire juts out like a needle to meet the coast and the Eastern Union.
"Yes, yes! Loyalty! I am Sergeant Lopez of the Rurales, Phelan Provincial Police!"
The sergeant, who had relatively dark skin, gave a flustered salute.
He was an Aran, but his skin tone marked him as a member of a lower-tier class.
"Hmm..."
I had reached the coordinates where Ashton had last transmitted his location.
I stood still and surveyed the surroundings. The scenery was markedly different from the central regions.
The humid tropical air and the exotic architectural style. Rather than a territory of the Empire, it felt more like a small town in a resort area.
In fact, due to its geography, it functioned more like an autonomous region where local customary law took precedence over Imperial law, and 'Mercanyol'—the language of several eastern nations—was used interchangeably with the Imperial Aran language.
"Was Ashton—that is, Egillon—kidnapped in the middle of this town and taken across the border?"
"That's... we questioned the villagers, but they say no one saw anything. It's such a remote place that the streets are deserted at night..."
Lopez spoke while sweating profusely.
I looked past his shoulder.
"..."
Other Rurales, with rifles slung over their backs, were gathered together smoking cigarettes. They were glancing at me and snickering.
"Hmph."
The conversation they were having was entirely in Mercanyol. It was the language with the second or third most speakers after Imperial Aran.
Of course, Imperial nobles never bothered to learn it. The only other language nobles might learn was Progen, at best. Progen had a reputation for having an elegant, artistic pronunciation.
— Thump.
Those men bothered me.
It wasn't just the content of their whispered conversation, which they assumed I couldn't understand.
— Thump.
Surprisingly, two of the four were Izenheim.
"Follow me for a moment. There is a place I need to go."
"Ah, yes. Where to...?"
I moved without answering. Though puzzled, the Rurales followed behind me.
Passing through a winding dirt path, we reached a deserted coastal cliff where the sound of waves could be heard.
Crunch, crunch—
I stopped, stepping on the dusty ground, and turned back to Lopez.
"Sergeant Lopez."
"Yes."
I asked in a low voice that seemed to blend with the sound of the waves.
"Did you sell information to the cartel?"
"...Pardon? What do you... No, I didn't!"
Lopez's eyes wavered. I nodded quietly and drew the longsword from my back.
"You four over there. Come here."
I called out to the men standing behind in Mercanyol. They flinched and looked at each other in surprise. They probably never expected Mercanyol to come out of the mouth of an Imperial noble, let alone a knight.
"Come here."
As they approached hesitantly, the words they had just whispered in very low voices remained vivid in my five senses.
— Whoa. They said he's an Imperial Knight, but he looks cuter than I thought.
— Could a pretty boy like that even swing a sword properly? He's probably just here to strike a pose.
— How old is he? If I get close, I bet I can still smell his mother's milk. Should I take a whiff?
In truth, even if they hadn't been Izenheim, I had no intention of letting them live.
My 'reverse scale'—my ultimate taboo—was my mother.
"By the laws of the Empire, I hereby execute you summarily for the crime of insulting a knight."
I swung my sword.
Squelch—!
I started by severing the head of the one who had mentioned my mother. The headless corpse collapsed onto the sandy beach. Fresh blood sprayed, soaking Lopez's face.
"Aaah! Aaaargh!"
While Lopez screamed, the sword moved again. The second man's arms and legs were severed, the third man's heart was pierced, and the last man was split exactly in two.
In an instant, four corpses lay scattered.
I turned back, flicking the blood off my sword.
"Sergeant Lopez."
"Uh, uh, h-huuu..."
"I loathe people who laugh flippantly in front of me, tell lies, or spout words like vagrants."
Lopez's face turned deathly pale. His legs gave out, and he slumped to the ground.
"Now, I will ask again."
I asked as I sheathed my sword.
"Did you sell information to the cartel?"
Lopez gasped as if hyperventilating, then hurriedly fell to his knees.
"I-I-I have a child! And an elderly, sick mother...!"
"I didn't ask about your family situation."
"I'm sorry! Please, please just spare my life!"
He begged with his hands clasped, tears welling in his eyes.
"...Sergeant Lopez."
I looked down at him intently and called his name.
"Yes...?"
"If you want to live, answer me."
Since he wasn't Izenheim, he was worth sparing.
"What exactly did you sell to the cartel? Just tell me that."
"Ah, t-that is..."
Lopez opened his mouth with a trembling voice.
*
"He leaked Ashton's personal information and turned a blind eye to the crime. The cartel notified the Rurales of the date of Ashton's kidnapping, and the Rurales did not respond that day. They didn't even report it to the government office."
This was Sergeant Lopez's confession.
"I see."
Julian replied bitterly. His gaze was sunken and heavy.
"It's certain he was kidnapped and taken to Berkina, but do you have a suspected location?"
Although this was an event that had occurred before my regression, I had no memory of exactly where Ashton had died. There had only been a brief report stating that not even his body could be found.
"There is intelligence that the head of the Parmano Cartel has a residence in this vicinity."
Julian pointed to a spot on the map. A part of Berkina's urban center, not far from the Imperial border.
"It's not far."
We were currently talking at the airport.
The Empire and the Eastern Union were currently in a very 'open' state. It was a situation where both sides hid daggers behind their backs while smiling only with their mouths.
Thanks to a certain treaty signed previously, there were many Imperial citizens and corporations doing business in the Eastern Union, and entry through the airport was possible.
"Take this. It's an ID."
I handed Julian a forged Berkina identification card.
"By any chance, can you speak Mercanyol?"
"...Passably."
"Say something. Let me gauge your level."
Julian cleared his throat and spoke with an awkward accent.
"Is... dis... enough... good?"
"No. You sound like you've lost all your teeth. Let's go with a 'man of few words' concept."
"..."
Julian shut his mouth, looking embarrassed.
"Take this as well. Put it on."
I handed him a heavy duffel bag.
"There is 10 million dollars inside."
Julian nodded.
"Then. Let's go."
"Yes."
We stood up. We passed through the airport gate and boarded the plane.
"..."
Julian's eyebrows twitched as he looked around. The interior was fully booked.
"There are exceptionally many people today."
"Ah. Everyone here is one of our operational agents."
"...Is that so?"
"Yes."
"I didn't know."
Mercanyol was a fairly common language. Most nobles wouldn't know it, but quite a few commoners in the East could speak it.
So, I had hired those commoners with an irresistible salary.
"I also acquired this airport."
"...When?"
"Yesterday."
I bought it immediately yesterday. I had intended to own most important facilities like airports anyway.
"...I see."
Julian nodded and leaned back against his seat.
He seemed a bit dumbfounded.
*
Before my regression, the Ashton incident had been swept under the rug. The Empire knew a knight had died, but because he was a knight without affiliation and a commoner, they simply crushed the matter.
It likely meant that the bastards in the Imperial Palace had also taken bribes from the cartel.
Therefore, to bring down the cartel, I needed time, money, and above all, people.
The moment I arrived in Berkina, I dispersed my agents.
I scattered them everywhere—into the civilian sector, the military, everywhere. Agents bribed locals, and those locals bribed other locals.
The operational budget was infinite. Berkina was a country with a small economy to begin with.
As such, it was a matter that would be settled in about two days.
"Sir Julian. I believe we've found him."
And that was exactly what happened.
Ashton's exact location was pinpointed.
"Let's head out immediately."
We climbed into a jeep. We left the city center and drove for a long time on unpaved roads.
Before long, we reached a ranch deep in the jungle—a far cry from the typical lavish cartel hideouts.
In the middle of it stood a building that looked like an abandoned stable.
"That's the place."
"Let's go."
Creeak. We parked the jeep at a distance and moved silently through the forest.
The security in the vicinity was lax. At most, a few lackeys with rifles were dozing off.
Slash! Thud!
We exchanged hand signals and precisely killed them one by one, but a man with a fairly sharp sense of mana was standing in front of the building.
He was, at the very least, a swordsman.
"I'll handle the outside, you go in."
Julian said, warming up his mana. With his skills, he could easily suppress them alone, but speed was of the essence.
One must never underestimate the cartel's strength. They were the type to hire the strongest talents from their own or other countries as mercenaries.
If we didn't rescue him quickly, more of those guys would keep swarming in.
"Yes. Understood."
Julian dashed out soundlessly, and I circled to the back of the building.
Before entering—I sent out my mana first.
The silent ripples of Ebenholtz permeated the walls and scanned the interior. No enemies were detected. I felt the presence of only one person.
Creeeeeak.
I opened the door.
In the darkness that was slowly revealed, a man was tied to a chair.
"..."
For a moment, I almost dropped the sword I was holding.
Knight Ashton.
Covered in blood, he was gasping for breath with his head hanging low. His entire body was a wreck from torture, but his chest rose and fell faintly.
He was still alive.
However...
I couldn't understand it. It felt as if a fuse in my brain had blown.
A retired knight of the Sentinels.
A man who had joined nine years ago but left due to a certain incident.
The comrade Julian trusted so deeply.
Why is it that, from him—
— Thump.
My heart is reacting?
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