Chapter 135: The Cold Iron District’s Nightlife?

*** Bedroom – An Hour Later, After Changing and Washing

I’d already built up my reputation within the academy—

Strong enough to confidently defeat anyone who wasn’t on the level of the strongest in the novel.

And finally… I’d gotten the love of my life.

The academy had already become the least important thing in my mind, much faster than I’d expected. There was no point in attending classes anymore, no point in going to magic lessons.

The only time the academy would be useful now was if I needed to find a specific noble, or if another event to boost my reputation came up.

In short, it had become less like an academy and more like a tool.

But now that I think about it… I’d always treated it that way.

[Photographic Memory]

This really was a powerful ability. Achieving so much in so little time was incredible. I didn’t even have to artificially stat-dump my way to power.

I just used what I already knew and skipped through multiple arcs at once.

And even better…

[Apprentice: Lvl 4]

Actually, I take that back.

Level 4!? After everything I’ve done? Did becoming stronger while still being a beginner somehow slow my progress?

Oh, who am I kidding… it’s called a breakthrough for a reason.

You can’t really break through if everything so far has been effortless.

“Let’s see… there should be at least one whole week of no classes because of the hunt, if I account for the remaining days and the time it’ll take to repair all the damage. And after that, they’ll finally release the results and skyrocket both my and Evelina’s reputations…”

One entire week…

That should be enough time to get things done.

Besides, I still needed to enhance my light proficiency. Not only would it increase my profaned output, but it would also improve my resistance to Nyx if she inevitably got in my way.

Too bad I couldn’t form a contract to become an incubus… doing so would just remove my profaned modifier.

Life just couldn’t be that easy…

Maybe it’s about time I finally start with the next part of my plan… intercepting the shadow society arc and making it mine.

And there was no better time to do it than—

[11:32]

11:32 in the evening. Shadow societies don’t just go about in the morning after all.

“I should stop procrastinating already. I’ve been too enamored by Evelina lately. If I really want her to succeed and stop plot bullshit from happening, I’d need to do something more productive.”

I still didn’t know if my transmigration had special conditions or tropes that included reality rewriting itself to follow the original plot.

I needed to be careful about something like that. Everything about my existence here was still unknown.

[Profaned Step]

***

The Cold Iron District.

Been a while since I last came here.

Still an absolute mess.

If anything, worse.

Night didn’t quiet this place—it fed it.

Dim, flickering lanterns hung from rusted hooks, casting uneven light across cracked stone streets slick with something that definitely wasn’t just rainwater. The air was thick—sweat, smoke, cheap liquor, rotting meat, and desperation all mixing into something heavy enough to taste.

Every alleyway was packed.

Not with orderly traffic, but with bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. Pickpockets brushed past drunks, mercenaries loomed near weapon stalls, and cloaked figures whispered deals in corners where the light didn’t quite reach.

The vendors were louder at night.

Strange meats skewered over open flames. Steaming bowls of broth whose ingredients were better left unidentified. Snake-oil salesmen selling glowing fungi sold as “enhancers.” Glass vials filled with liquids that shimmered faintly with unstable alchemical mixtures.

And then the weaponry.

Blades stacked carelessly in crates. Firearms modified beyond safety. Cursed artifacts traded like trinkets. Nothing regulated. Nothing recorded.

The guards never came here.

Or if they did, they came with coin in their pockets and blindfolds on.

And it didn’t end there.

Behind iron-barred windows and hanging bead curtains were the brothels. Laughter too forced to be real. Music too loud to be cheerful. And further down the narrower streets, auctions that never advertised themselves openly—but everyone knew about.

The slave trade was thriving.

Chains clinked somewhere out of sight. A muffled sob disappeared beneath drunken cheers. Buyers inspected merchandise with detached interest.

It was disgusting.

Not in some moral outrage sense. I didn’t really care about that much.

But in execution.

I watched a handler shove a half-starved demi-human forward by the collar.

Pointless.

Breaking them down like that ruined long-term output. No proper conditioning, no loyalty reinforcement, no strategic investment. Just brute control and short-term profit.

If I were running the trade, I’d turn them all into disciplined assassins for hire.

But who am I to judge how a man handles his own business? Not my fault, he’s being terribly inefficient.

“P-Please, stop!”

A human slave cried out from a dark alley.

I glanced over and saw a familiar yet generic scene: a slave trader whipping what seemed to be the slave’s family members as punishment.

To my surprise, I met the eyes of the slave who had cried out.

“M-My lord, please help us!”

So he recognized me as a noble…

THUD!

“Shut it. You really think a noble wandering around at night would give a shit about you?”

The trader punched the slave, slamming him onto the damp concrete.

“D-Don’t hurt him! Please!”

The others cried out—a grown woman and a young boy.

An entire captured family, huh?

Maybe debt unpaid, or a raid’s spoils? Either way, it wasn’t my problem.

But… if there was anything I hated most, it was cruel inefficiency. At least be smart about it if you’re just going to be an ass-hat.

[Endless Fang]

SLICK!

THUD!

The slave trader’s head fell to the floor without as much as a noise, his body falling down with it a second later.

Who knows… maybe this act of kindness will repay me in the future? Who’s to say karma didn’t exist in this world?

“H-He’s dead?”

The slave who was punched to the ground forced himself up by his elbow, looking at the corpse with morbid excitement. It wasn’t just him; even the others looked happy.

How badly did he treat them for this to be their reaction?

But… if the three of them are already this far gone?

I grinned. Maybe I could use this.

[Endless Fang]

Three identical blades materialized.

“Here.”

I tossed them the three copies, each one adjusted slightly to fit their body type and strength. Giving three freshly freed slaves a sword that could cleave anything like cake.

What could go wrong?

Well… a lot, obviously. But I’m here to ensure that doesn’t happen.

I still have a small semblance of a conscience tucked away somewhere, I think?

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