The Terminally Ill Young Master is the Mad Dog of the Underworld

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]

Chapter 90: The Whereabouts of the Tiara

"Vincent’s organization has been taken down."

"Vincent?"

The duke narrowed his eyes slightly at Venion’s report.

"Isn’t that one of the organizations under the Bisakino Brotherhoodd?"

"That’s correct."

"What happened?"

"To be precise, it was an internal conflict among the fifth-rate organizations under the Black Night Society. It seems Zizek decapitated Vincent."

"Zizek?"

The duke tilted his head, clearly surprised.

"If my memory serves me right, Zizek had far less chance of winning if their groups clashed."

"That’s what I thought as well, but..."

The Bisakino Brotherhoodd, one of the five major organization ruling over the underworld of Grunewald City, and even their lowest-ranking affiliate groups—

The duke’s intelligence, which encompassed all of these, was truly astounding.

No matter how small or insignificant the territorial squabbles among these rats might be, if they occurred within the duchy, they could not escape the duke’s watchful eyes.

"Based on the circumstances, it seems Zizek baited Vincent into attacking and then crushed him head-on in one swift blow."

"Hmm."

Georg let out a low hum, a faint sense of doubt on his face.

"That doesn’t seem like something Zizek would do."

"I agree."

The duke had memorized the abilities and tendencies of every leader in the underworld factions.

"Baited him into attacking?"

That approach didn’t quite align with the Zizek the duke knew.

‘Was there some kind of catalyst?’

That much was uncertain.

Still, a meticulous ruler does not dismiss even the smallest of clues.

"It’s worth looking into."

"Understood. I’ll investigate."

And with that, the conversation about Zizek concluded.

For a conflict among such insignificant underworld factions, it could even be said they had spent an unusually long time discussing it.

"And about Allen..."

The duke moved to the main topic.

"Judging by what we’ve seen so far, he’s rather remarkable."

"His judgment runs deep. His political acumen is considerable as well."

Venion said with a grin.

"Or perhaps it’s better to call it instinct in this case? Who would have thought that, upon hearing the story of the tiara, he’d immediately connect it to Count Webern’s vendetta and the support of the Pergrin?"

"Imagination and reasoning—indispensable qualities."

The duke nodded.

"That might be why he’s so driven. Hearing about his Clan’s revenge must have weighed on Allen’s heart as well."

"You’re quite ruthless, aren’t you?"

"One cannot be a good ruler without a measure of ruthlessness.".

"Still, whether Young Master Allenvert can arrive at the correct conclusion remains to be seen."

"Even if Allen fails, we cannot afford to lose Count Webern’s tiara."

Because...

"Restoring Count Webern's territory is one of Grunewald's most crucial objectives."

"Exactly. And if the method involves supporting an ambitious individual with the perfect justification and legitimacy of 'ancestral revenge,' it couldn't be better."

Venion added. "If we can rebuild Webern and bring them into Grunewald's alliance—"Nôv(el)B\\jnn

He walked over to the map of the Litvaleur Kingdom's territory.

"The benefits would be immeasurable."

Grunewald City was a natural trade hub, with the open sea before it and a river flowing from its rear that connected to other waterways.

…And midway along that river, at the point where it branched into another, lay the former lands of Webern.

The duke's eyes gleamed. If they could secure that location—

"It’s only natural that neighboring lords are drooling over it and scrambling to claim it."

The duke nodded silently.

"But if Webern succeeds in its revival, the extortionate demands for higher tariffs will vanish as well."

This was, in essence, a power play—a plan to discreetly aid the old lords of Webern in their resurgence, bringing them into Grunewald’s fold to secure dominance over trade routes.

"However, there’s no need for Grunewald to pour gold into reviving a Clan that’s been reduced to ashes."

Support them, but never excessively—that was the duke’s policy.

"It’s a stroke of luck that belonging as significant as Countess Elisela Webern’s tiara has surfaced in Grunewald."

"Yet retrieving such an important item isn’t proving easy."

The task of recovering the tiara, assigned to Allenvert, was a testament to the high expectations placed upon him.

Still, the duke had prepared contingencies in case Allenvert failed, with reserve forces stationed nearby.

However—

"Fortunately, it seems he’s been making all the right moves so far."

Was the duke’s concern unfounded? Allenvert appeared to be steadily unraveling the mystery.

Watching through the eyes of his familiar, Venion nodded to himself.

"If he finds a solid lead before the night is over…"

He could at least give him a passing grade for now.

***

After spending a couple of hours wandering through taverns and streets, I finally secured some meaningful information.

"Count Webern’s tiara? You’re after quite the rare treasure."

The man, seated in the dingy corner of a shabby tavern, had been downing cheap gin but lit up at the sight of the whiskey I offered him.

"That’s some high-level information only a select few are privy to."

"And knowing where to buy it would be even harder, wouldn’t it?"

"Heh, I like how you think."

The man smirked slyly, his face betraying the scent of greed.

"Looks to me like you’re working under some big shot’s orders, huh? Especially with that mask hiding your face."

"Don’t try to size me up, you fucker."

"Whoa, easy there mate. Such a sweet voice, but a devil’s tongue."

Right now, I was fully embodying Karzan’s speech patterns—completely unlike how I’d acted back at Grunewald Castle. Peter would probably ask if this was me being ‘restrained.’

"So, the information?"

"Hold on a moment. You’re too impatient. I need to think about how much this info is worth, don’t I?"

I smirked. This guy’s attitude was rotten to the core.

"You’re really bad at doing business, aren’t you?"

"What was that?"

"Smelled a sucker, huh? Took one look at my face and figured I’d be easy to milk?"

The man chuckled, clearly amused.

"Oh, so feisty. You’re just like a cat, aren’t you?"

The man, clearly displeased with my response, acted as if he had the upper hand.

"If you don’t like it, go find someone else. I’m not in the mood for this nonsense either."

"Oh, is that so?"

I casually snatched the glass he’d been drinking from.

"What the—?"

He stared at me dumbfounded, his face frozen in stupidity.

This was a classic Karzan-style trick, honed through years of navigating the underworld—snatching wrists, disarming knives, and rigging gambling games.

If someone as lowly as this could react to it, I probably needed to reevaluate my technique.

"In that case, I’ll need to be reimbursed for this drink. But oh, what’s this? You’ve already downed half of it, you pig. How are you going to make up for that?"

"Are you serious right now? That drink paid for my time, didn’t it? You owe me for that."

I infused the glass with mana, and the liquid inside began to boil violently, bubbling over like molten lava.

"!!!"

"Do you have anything else to say?"

"……."

When I placed the glass back on the table, his mouth shut immediately.

"Keep in mind that I’ve already shown remarkable restraint by not smashing this glass against your head. If you’re curious to see how much patience I have left, by all means, keep pushing."

"……."

I tapped the scruffy stubble on his cheek a couple of times.

"Learn to pick your marks more carefully, you pathetic fool. How have you even survived in this world with such terrible judgment? Is everyone else around here a saint?"

His throat bobbed nervously.

"P-please, sir. Let’s calm down."

"Didn’t you just call me ‘mate’ earlier?"

"Heh, well, clearly I didn’t recognize you. My bad eyesight, you see."

I took a closer look at him. Now that he mentioned it, his eyes were slightly crossed, his gaze perpetually unfocused.

"Ah, now that’s the most believable thing you’ve said all night."

"Heh heh. Thank you."

Watching him switch into survival mode so quickly made me chuckle. After all, the survival principle in the underworld was simple: bow to strength and prey on weakness.

"Ah, these underworld scum. There’s a certain desperate charm to their struggles, isn’t there?"

"Heh heh. We’re all just trying to make a living, aren’t we?"

I nodded.

"Now that you understand the situation, start giving me some real answers. If you piss me off one more time, I’ll make sure your nickname changes from ‘cross-eyed’ to ‘one-eyed.’"

"Yes, sir, anything you want to know."

I patted his head, then immediately grimaced.

"For God’s sake, wash your hair. I feel like I just touched a flea colony."

"My apologies, sir."

"So, what’s the deal? Is the tiara going up for auction, or is it being sold on the black market?"

"Actually… neither."

Of course, it had to be the worst-case scenario. I let out a deep sigh and asked.

"Don’t tell me it’s in the hands of a private collector?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great. Just my luck."

Private collectors are an entirely different breed from merchants who temporarily hold onto valuables to sell them at a high price.

These are people who bought the item purely for their own satisfaction, deriving some twisted pleasure from hoarding their collections. In my experience, they’re usually obsessive lunatics with severe compulsions.

"It would’ve been better if it were going up for auction."

"That’s probably true. No matter how much extra you offer, they won’t sell it easily."

"If they’re even willing to sell at all. For all we know, they might refuse to let it go until their head’s on the chopping block."

Not that I could just storm in and break their fingers to an odd number to steal it.

That wouldn’t just be against my principles as a human being—it’d also label me as a reckless lunatic unfit to inherit my Clan’s legacy. I’d be disqualified as an heir on the spot.

"Father might call me an idiot worse than Somerset and dumber than Barclava."

‘That’s something I just can’t tolerate.’

I needed to think about why Bennion had assigned me this task in the first place.

‘He probably wants to see how well I can adapt to an unfamiliar environment, how logically I can approach solving problems.’

More than anything, the test was likely meant to determine if I could implement those approaches in practice.

‘And if things go south, I’ll need to prove I can extract myself safely.’

In essence, this was a test of strategic thinking, intellect, adaptability, execution, composure, and combat skills—a comprehensive assessment.

‘But that’s not all.’

It involved helping a descendant of a long-destroyed noble clan. That couldn’t be just an act of pity for a tragic story. There had to be some kind of political gain I wasn’t aware of.

I couldn’t discern what that was at the moment, but securing this deal might hold more significance than I initially thought.

‘The budget is limited, and the other party won’t be easy to negotiate with.’

It was time to devise a solid strategy. A good strategy always begins with proper information.

"I’ll pay you handsomely if you can tell me their name and where they live."

The man hesitated, looking visibly uneasy.

"I-I know where they are, but their security is incredibly tight…"

"Just show me the way. I’ll handle the rest."

"If you say so…"

I could tell why he kept glancing around like a dog desperate to relieve itself.

"Here’s your advance."

I tossed him a gold coin from my pocket.

"Guide me properly, and you’ll get another."

"I’ll do my absolute best!"

***

"His name is Mordecai. Out of nowhere, he started making a name for himself. They say he’s amassed a collection of the finest items and sells or trades them with high-profile clients to build connections."

"So, he’s a mysterious big shot?"

"Exactly."

"He must be from another region."

Otherwise, his name would’ve become known while he was gathering such capital and collections.

"From what I hear, he’s not the type who refuses to sell his collection entirely, is he?"

"No, but it’s said that he’s very selective about his clients."

"Hmm."

That likely meant he was using his collection as leverage for networking.

‘So money alone won’t be enough.’

I’d need to offer something irresistible. And if not…

"I’ve heard he’s particularly obsessed with relics from once-famous figures. He’s also quite ruthless—anyone caught trying to steal from him is tortured without mercy and then dumped outside as a warning."

"Noted."

I listened carefully to the man’s rambling, piecing together a picture of this Mordecai.

‘There’s something fishy about this guy.’

The more I heard, the more it seemed that his true objective wasn’t merely amassing a collection.

‘If I approach this carelessly, I could mess everything up.’

I’d need to exercise extreme caution. The underworld was crawling with all kinds of unpredictable people.

"We’re here, sir."

The man said nervously.

Ahead stood a mansion surrounded by towering walls, resembling a small fortress.

"Wow. Anyone would think he’s some kind of noble."

“This building used to belong to a once-famous underworld godfather.”

“Oh, really?”

The number of guards patrolling the towering walls was no joke. This wasn’t something an ordinary wealthy individual could pull off.

‘I wonder if Zizek might know something about this.’

Not that it mattered, since I couldn’t exactly go find Zizek and ask him right now. A pointless thought, really.

“You’ve done well. Now leave quietly so no one notices you.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

I handed the guide the promised gold coin and sent him on his way.

Ssshhh.

Taking a deep breath through my nose, I extended my mana threads as far as it would go. What I sensed inside that fortress-like mansion was far beyond what I’d expected—an overwhelming number of individuals possessing mana.

‘What kind of guy is this?’

Most of them seemed to be first or second-tiers, but there were also a few who appeared to be at the third-tier. With this kind of manpower, they could easily annihilate someone like Zizek and his organization in a heartbeat.

‘This is no joke.’

In this world, treasure without the power to protect it is nothing but poison that kills its owner. That meant this man was undoubtedly strong enough to guard his vast collection of treasures.

‘But then again, who am I?’

The reincarnation of Karzan, who once ruled the underworld. The fourth young master of the Duchy, the one and only Allenvert Grunewald.

If I were being honest, I felt confident that I could storm this place by myself and still escape unscathed.

‘Ahem.’

Clearing my throat, I adjusted my voice to be deeper and more menacing.

From this moment forward, I would be playing the part of a dangerous and ruthless underworld operative, carrying out errands for a mysterious big shot.

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]