Release That Witch

Translator: Transn  Editor: Transn

This is an easy job. You won’t need to take any huge risks. All you have to do is place the message in the allocated location and no one will know that you did it. The voice of the silver-masked man who called himself the leader of Black Money sounded from beside his ear once more.

Utterly ridiculous! Why earth would I help Graycastle? They even eradicated the nobles, what will I gain even if I win? Images of the conflict seemed to occur before his eyes once more.

I had thought Black Money were intelligent merchants, to think that you would utter such foolish words! Aren’t you afraid that I’ll just tie you up right now and hand you over to Lord Marwayne in exchange for a generous award instead?

If you really wanted to do that, then this conversation would have never taken place in the first place.

The man’s tone did not change, as if he didn’t care for his own safety at all.

The fact alone that I’m still sitting here is enough to prove your intentions, and it’s because that you are clever, that we’re willing to give you this opportunity.

Fueler replied in response, Unfortunately you have misjudged me. My loyalty to the Duke is unshakable. Now scram before I change my mind!

Of course, I’ll take my leave now. But my lord, this is how “opportunities” are. By no means does Black Money want to force you into this, it is your freedom to decide how you act.

The silver-masked man stood up, gave a deep bow and then lightly placed a black card onto the tea table.

I want to say something before I go: Graycastle will never forget anyone who serves them. Now…I hope to see you again.

Fueler inhaled deeply, interrupting his chaotic thoughts. The room became quiet.

Will Graycastle never forget anyone who serves… them?

How ironic. He served Duke Marwayne for the sole purpose of reviving his family’s prosperity. Roland Wimbledon, the enemy of all nobility was originally the most unforgivable person, yet now, Fueler was finding himself to be uncertain.

Although those bastards from Black Money were scum, they were utterly right. If he was really going to serve the Duke of the Northern Region to the very end then he would have ripped the card into threads ages ago, rather than carefully hiding it beneath the drawer.

After a long period of silence, Feuler arched his head backwards, sighed, then sat down in front of his desk.

He pulled out a white sheet of paper and a goose-feather quill.

Was there anymore he could lose?

The notion of taking back his territory was becoming more and more distant. It seemed like he didn’t really have a reason to grit his teeth and keep persevering.

Who cares. He wouldn’t be affected negatively in any way as long as he followed Black Money’s instructions. It would simply be akin to placing a bet on both sides. If the demons win, the current situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. If the people from Graycastle are triumphant, there may be a way for him to acquire compensation through other ways.

Finishing his thoughts, Fueler put down his quill.

…

At dusk, Fueler put on his trench coat and felt cap and walked into the “Horn Alley” of the inner city.

Horn Alley was territory belonging to the Northern Chamber of Commerce. All of the passers-by were merchants. By sunset, there were very few people out and about.

Fueler found the location that the silver-masked man had described in a place on a gentle slope. In between two brick houses sprouted a large, silver fir tree.

In fact, the delivery method that the masked man spoke of was also one of the reasons that prompted Fueler to make his decision.

With no physical contact with the recipient, the risks were largely diminished. With this, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about Black Money blackmailing him with the message, or someone seeing him interacting strangely with an unknown person.

Fueler wandered around the vicinity for a while and upon affirming that there were no suspicious people near him, quickly strode towards the back of the silver fir tree and felt at the hole in the middle of the trunk—sure enough, there was a secret compartment hidden inside. The door of the compartment was made completely out of an ordinary wood, if he hadn’t touched it with his own hands, he wouldn’t have noticed it.

He stuffed the letter containing the message inside the compartment and pushed the wooden plank back in place. Now he had completed the task of placing the message. He had intentionally written the message in script so that even if a third party discovered it, it would be impossible for them to connect the handwriting to him.

Of course, his mission was not entirely complete yet.

Next, Fueler returned to his residence and placed a flower pot on the window sill of his bedroom. For a person living in the high-end section of the Inner city, such decorative items were easily accessible. Nobody would care about an inconspicuous pot plant. However, to those that were observing him in the dark, this was a sign that the message had been delivered.

From the beginning to the end, he didn’t need to meet anyone in person. In regards to who would take the message, or how it would get into Graycastle’s hands, these things no longer had anything to do with him.

In the moment he set down the flower pot Fueler almost seemed to experience a liberating feeling.

To think they’d be so meticulous in even the simple act of gathering intel, the gap between the two kings is truly redoubtable… Fueler thought as he stood before his window, gazing into the distance at the castle district, ablaze with lights under the red haze. When he thought about how the “losers” of the battle were still cheerfully enjoying the evening party, any hope he had in Marwayne died.

There was only one more question remaining.

Could Graycastle really defeat the demons?

*******************

The messenger pushed a thick stack of paper onto the damp and dilapidated wooden table.

“Is this today’s portion?” Smarty lit a candle, “Thank you.”

The messenger gave no reaction.

Smarty sighed and repeated himself with hand signals.

Only then did the messenger nod.

Indeed, this messenger was a silent warrior trained by his master. He was deaf and mute and could only be commanded or interrogated through simple hand gestures. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a hand gesture to express gratitude.

“Keep watch outside, don’t let anyone inside.” After he got silent warrior to leave, Smarty began carefully reading through the messages page by page.

This place was the allocated property where Black Money organized their underground chamber of commerce. Typically only the invited could enter so in theory the possibility of outsiders breaking in was small. Nevertheless, Smarty chose to go through the intel in the basement, in the case that if something did occur, he would have more time to destroy the evidence.

Although Smarty did not know why his master was so serious about Graycastle’s battle, this was not an issue he could intervene in. Since his master had commanded to support Graycastle with all his power, the only thing he could do was obey to the best of his ability.

Currently, his most important mission was to organize the intel and deliver it into Graycastle’s hands silently and without a trace.

Although the people from Graycastle demanded that not a single piece of intel could be missed, opportunities to secretly sending things outside the city were scarce, thus there was an issue of prioritization to consider. Considering that the trading caravans qualified to pass came through once a week, he had to turn the most reliable intel into a confidential letter and mingle it amongst the trading goods going towards Wolfheart within a week. As for the rest of the intel, he could only search for another way.

Most of the time, intel came from a Rat’s words, causing them to be extremely disorganized. Usually he would have to waste huge amounts of time to filter it. However this time, Smarty noticed a letter amongst the intel that stood out from the rest.

The characters on it were neat and organized. They definitely were not words that were carelessly copied down in a bar or on the streets. The words were also written with high-grade ink and there was not a single wrinkle on the paper. Clearly, the letter was written in an environment far superior to ones that Rats are usually found in.

Subconsciously holding his breath, he read the letter carefully from start to finish.

Indeed, the contents of the letter were far different from the rest.

It was the first to mention the core of the Army of Demons: Sky Lord Hect Zod.

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