Chapter 519: Tension

The three methods of Cultivation: the Pure Yamata Pill, the upgrading of his armour equipment, and lastly, the Golden Device. Then there was the matter of the favours of the three great men, from the deliveries to the manipulation of the Red Sorcerer.

“Gotta return,” said Alastair. He became formal and bowed. “Thank ya, man. I appreciate it.”

A little hut was built for Myth and the children. The powers of Transmutation were amazing. Apparently, this little hut would last for a year or two.

“Thank you.”

Alastair gave a wave and was off. He could not stray from his job as a protector to Xander for too long, no matter his oath.

Myth waited until he no longer sensed him. He turned to the children. Twenty of them remained after the songs died down. They wished to stay with him. This little hut would serve as the perfect rendezvous point

“Say,” said Myth. “Would you all like to play a game?”

“A game? Ooh!” one said.

Another groaned. “But I’m tiredd. Can’t you give food?””

From the pockets of his coat, he brought out a small, hefty pouch of coins. Hearing the jingles of metal, the children tensed up, grinned, and were at his ready.

“Did some of you hear the conversation me and the Red Sorcerer were having?” The murmurs were unnecessary, it was obvious half of them were listening in even as he sang and played. “I want to know the best musicians here. I want to know who has the best instruments. Who here can write?”

Out of the twenty children, only two raised their hands.

“You two will be leaders. At the end of every day, come back here and write down what you know. There will be papers here and for those that do exceptionally well…” He undid the string on the pouch and over a dozen coins spilled out. The children gasped and all of them scrambled to take it. “Will be rewarded.”

“C-can we get food too?”

“Where’s the bowl?”

In a hurry, the children brought it over, passing it between them. A small crack marked it. Myth did his little trick. Making it seem like he was pulling from the bowl when in reality, he was using his inventory. The gasps that ensued from seeing bread were the exact thing he wanted to hear.

Children were so easy.

“W-when will you pay us?”

“Either myself or another will come here.”

“W-what if we lie?”

“I am a musician. I can hear the strings of your heart. I know if you are trying me or helping me. For those whose information is of high value, expect a bonus.”

Children were so gullible.

Those of the Underground were hardened and clever, yet they were no different to those on Earth. These types existed everywhere, taking opportunity where they could. Dasha had already acquainted himself with children acting as information brokers when he broke into Ares’ Symposium. Those specific children were special.

This group was not.

Not everybody was special. They did hold value, however, and their value to Dasha were as nameless gatherers of information.

“Who wants more bread?” he asked, to which all of them raised their hands obediently.

***

The three methods of Cultivation: the Pure Yamata Pill, the upgrading of his armour equipment, and lastly, the Golden Device. Then there was the matter of the favours of the three great men, the deliveries, the manipulation of the Red Sorcerer, and the children whom Myth had convinced to become his eyes and ears.

Everything was coming to fruition.

Only one more investigation had to be conducted.

“Why was the Kingslayer here?”

The next day, Myth became the Professor and the white Venetian mask reemerged as he entered La Bocca Vecchia. His heart rate and his breathing went as still and he went unnoticed by all the sensors. Old Rocco sat in his office and snapped his head up when he heard the Professor’s voice.

“I even had security and sensors set-up…” Old Rocco murmured.

’With my Qi Sense, I can feel every trace in your establishment. Every magic circle and symbol. It was child’s play to disable it temporarily.’

The Professor had not asked to be taught by Grace and Dr. Thornton for the fun of it.

“The Kingslayer, hrm? What could I possibly know about him? We are but mortals staring up at his greatness, whether it is you or me. Unless you wish for me to recite some children’s story about him? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“You…do?”

“If there is smoke, there is fire. If there is a myth, there is truth.”

Old Rocco chuckled. “The Underground is more imaginative than you may think.”

“The Kingslayer is greater than the Underground. Do not presume his legends to be tainted by it.”

Old Rocco was old, perhaps a hundred years old, perhaps not. Nevertheless, aside from the Whispers, there was no else he could turn to.

“I remember,” Old Rocco began, “my grandfather telling me a story on his lap. It was the very first time I heard of him. To us, the Kingslayer was…a hero. The greatest of heroes. Back then, heroes were not as you describe them today. Heroes were men of great ability, not great character. To be a hero meant to descend from a god. That was what it was supposed to be. But by the time I was born, things were beginning to change. Heroes no longer referred only to those who were blessed. It could be anyone. Everyone. The Kingslayer gave us a chance to rise up. Some of us did. Others…did not.”

“You did not,” the Professor corrected.

“I did not have the constitution for any degree of power, and not for a lack of trying. I could not Cultivate for I did not have the body for it. I could not be a Wizard or Sorcerer for I did not have the mind for it. I was stuck with the meagre skills of a Mage.”

“La Bocca Vecchia…how long has it existed for?”

“Since before my grandfather’s time. My father and I repurposed it for our ambitions—”

“Did the Kingslayer ever come by?”

“No, never. Not here. You heard the rumbles. He can even break through the Great Wall.”

“Where did the king go?”

“I’ve heard rumours that he would…he would sing to the local children.”

His mind pulsed. A memory distinctly not his own stirred. “Sing? Why? What would he sing?”

“Poems.” A snapped expression appeared on Old Rocco. “Ah! I believe an old friend of mine was among those children—”

Dasha raised a hand. Old Rocco stopped.

His head. His head was throbbing. His lips wanted to speak and move. His spine was already snapped up straight and his hands were locked behind him. His grip started to tremble.

’Thismaskthismask, this DAMN MASK—!’

“Paradise, Paradise, Paradise,

O how we long for it,

O how we long for it….”

He composed himself. He pretended that children did not whisper in his ears. That the ghosts of Jack the Ripper’s memories were not seeping inside him.

“Something wrong?”

The eerie, unexplained silence stretched on for far longer than Old Rocco was comfortable with. From his perspective, the Professor was an emissary of evil.

The longer he simply stood there, the longer his life felt at risk.

“Paradise, Paradise, Paradise,

O how we long for it,

O how we long for it.

Hero, hero, hero,

O how we long for it,

O how we long for it.

Slay the hydra,

Slay the beast.

Slay the ones that keep us afeet,

Slay our desires and our peace,

Return to us the child of wonder.

The child that exists inside us each.

The hero must exist

For if not, then our lives did not live

The demon, the devil, the heavenly ones,

All of them lie in wait,

All of them wait for the angels

For the paradise that shall never come

For the paradise that shall exist

Someday, someday,

But not today.”

“Not today…” The Professor muttered, his first words in a long, heart-pounding minute. “Not today…but someday.”

“…”

“Old Rocco, tell me, what do you believe the Kingslayer’s goal is?”

They were in the year 178 of the Heavenly Era. The Kingslayer came before that, in the Chaotic Era where time was scarcely tracked. In the House of Wisdom, perhaps the most comprehensive library of books that collected journals from the corpses of players in the Heavenly Tower, was censored and limited in many ways. Even if unintentionally, the history of the Chaotic Era was too far and between.

“Everybody knows what he wants,” Old Rocco said. “The complete and total end of the noble class. Before I was born, the Kingslayer slaughtered the heads of the Five Great Clans of China and then the potential successors and the successor’s children too. To that end, he killed infants too. Trampled on their heads like they were nothing.

“The March of the Middle King…”

Arguably the most documented disaster caused by the Kingslayer, occurring in 82 HE. The March of the Kingslayer was the day when he wiped out the Five Great Clans. The Kingslayer walked, he killed, and even today, some say they could hear the echoes of his march.

“’The march is for all the soldiers who have died under foolish kings. They say their footsteps marched with him that day.’ That is what my grandfather told me,” Old Rocco said. “My grandfather has long since passed from this world and what I remember is few and between.”

“He was a worshipper?”

“The Kingslayer supposedly despised the act of worship, so no, he did not.”

A detail alluded to in the history books. Hm. ’He stayed at the mansion of the Whispers, dislikes the noble blood, and despises worship of gods too. Or is it more likely he despises the weakening of humanity?’

“Your friend, the orphan who listened to his songs, where is he?”

“He does not come here often—”

“Was the last time you saw him twenty years ago?”

Call it a hunch but Dasha had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“…yes. Yes, it was. We had a long talk catching up.”

An orphan who listened to the king’s teaching. An orphan who returned after twenty years.

’So this is where you’ve been. I’ve found you, Jack the Ripper.’

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