Chapter 128: Settling Scores After the Harvest

In the blink of an eye, the news of the Temple of the War God’s resurgence had spread through every street and alley. For a time, the people of Storm City discussed it fervently, though most of them had no idea what it truly signified. This mattered little, however, as the tales of the Underdark recounted by the mercenaries who had retreated with the temple provided more than enough entertainment to keep them occupied for quite some time.

For those mercenaries, generous rewards and the thrill of adventure were the ultimate prizes. Many of them, upon arriving in Cardiff City, had taken up residence in the taverns, boasting loudly of their exploits in the Underdark while brandishing the strange and curious trophies they had brought up from the depths. Relishing the awe and flattery of the crowd, they were, it must be admitted, successful. People were mesmerized by stories of the Underdark’s inscrutable tunnels, terrifying and dangerous monsters, and the death that lurked in the shadows. Things that had once existed only in their imaginations were now presented before them in tangible form. The populace was whipped into a frenzy; taverns were packed to capacity, as everyone from local Cardiff residents to wandering merchants and travelers flocked to hear the mercenaries recount their adventures.

"Do you know? There were thousands upon thousands of those salamanders!"

Standing atop a table, a mercenary gestured wildly as he told his story, a lingering trace of fear visible in his eyes. He grabbed a nearby flagon, gulped down several mouthfuls of ale until the alcohol revived his trembling heart, then took a deep breath and continued.

"They just lunged at us like that! You know? Those damned bastards could breathe fire! They opened their mouths, and the flames they spat out nearly roasted us into jerky! Their sharp teeth were as big as daggers—one strike would have run you clean through!"

As he spoke, the mercenary pulled a salamander tooth from his tunic and slammed it onto the table. This immediately drew gasps of amazement from the listeners, many of whom surged forward to gaze at the sharp, massive tooth in disbelief. Seeing this, the mercenary grew even more smug.

"Even an elite army would have had a hard time surviving an onslaught like that!"

He waved his arms vigorously, capturing the crowd’s attention once more.

"But we survived! Not only did we survive, we wiped those damned reptiles out! Do you know how we did it?"

The crowd erupted in shouts, urging the mercenary to continue. A few generous patrons even had the tavern keeper send over a bottle of fine ale as a gesture of encouragement. The mercenary accepted the drink without hesitation, downed it in one gulp, and launched back into his tale. The patrons in the tavern listened, interjecting with gasps and exclamations, until the air in the room became as heated and chaotic as a pot of boiling water.

Yet, not everyone enjoyed the revelry.

Cotton sat listlessly in a corner of the tavern, staring blankly at the boisterous scene before him. Several empty bottles sat on the table, and Cotton himself wore an air of profound dejection. He slumped in his chair, stripped of his former bravado, looking for all the world like a fallen beggar.

Cotton had never imagined he would end up in such a state.

In the beginning, when he had incited Viscount Balf to cause trouble for Jan, he had merely wanted to use the Viscount's power to teach that arrogant bastard a lesson. But everything that followed had completely defied Cotton’s expectations. He had not anticipated that not only would Viscount Balf fail to take down Jan, but he would lose his own life in the process. This had placed Cotton in grave danger. During the time Jan was away, he had hidden in the stronghold like a shivering rat, not daring to step outside. Cotton knew full well that Viscount Balf’s family would not let this matter rest. They would piece the events together, and eventually, they would naturally seek to uncover why the Viscount had targeted a fallen noble in the first place. Once they discovered his involvement, Cotton could only imagine the horrific fate that awaited him.

Driven by this fear, when Lox led the retreat, Cotton had seized the chance to blend into the ranks. He had worried that Jan would discover him and kick him out, leaving him to die in the terrifying Underdark. Fortunately, Jan had not noticed his presence. This had brought Cotton a measure of relief, and in the end, he had successfully left the Valkyrie Principality with his manservant and arrived here.

Because Cotton had contributed to the effort against the salamanders, he had received a fairly generous reward. But Cotton did not merely desire wealth; he longed for the temple’s recognition and to be a titled noble. However, when news arrived that Jan had been awarded a medal of honor, Cotton knew his dreams were thoroughly shattered.

Now, Cotton huddled in the corner, downing cheap ale cup after cup. His other servants had left him, taking their rewards to start new lives. They had abandoned their vows to him, though Cotton did not find that surprising. The only one still by his side was Dobby, who had been unfailingly loyal to the Cotton family, serving as a guard since Cotton was a boy. Now, he alone remained.

"Dobby..."

Cotton mumbled, tapping the table. Soon, a middle-aged man in leather armor approached and stood respectfully by his side.

"Young master, what are your orders?"

"Bring me another bottle..."

"Young master, you’ve had enough. Let me help you upstairs to rest."

"Another bottle!"

Cotton swatted Dobby’s outstretched hand away, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He grabbed his glass with a trembling hand and gulped down the ale. Feeling the cold, stinging liquid slide down his throat, his consciousness finally sank into the abyss of darkness.

A cold wind blew.

When Cotton awoke, he found he was no longer in the chaotic tavern. The surroundings were dim. He blinked, dazed, looking around in confusion. The faint light of torches revealed scattered barrels; it appeared to be an underground wine cellar.

How did I end up here?

Cotton shook his head, intending to stand up, only to realize he was bound to a chair, unable to move a muscle.

"Dobby!"

Cotton looked up, scanning the gloom and calling for his servant.

"Dobby!!!"

Just as Cotton was filled with confusion and unease, a voice suddenly emerged.

"I truly didn't expect you to have so much energy left, Mr. Cotton."

Hearing that voice, Cotton’s hazy mind cleared instantly. He straightened his body, glaring forward. Soon, a figure in luxurious attire walked slowly into his view. Following respectfully behind him was none other than his most loyal servant, Dobby.

"Long time no see, Mr. Cotton."

Jan wore his signature elegant smile, looking at the man bound to the chair with a mocking expression.

"To be frank, I never expected that after offending me, you would have the audacity to linger here. But no matter. As the saying goes, a gentleman does not wait to settle a score. Since you’ve given me this opportunity, I naturally must cherish it."

"You..."

Cotton glared at Jan with venomous hatred, but he could not utter a single word. Faced with the glare, Jan remained as relaxed and composed as ever.

Jan, of course, knew exactly why the idiot Viscount Balf had been foolish enough to provoke him. In front of Enya, no one could hide their secrets. A simple investigation of the corpse was enough to reveal the truth. It was Cotton who had incited the Viscount to oppose him, bringing this trouble to his doorstep. Although, to Jan, this wasn't really a problem, but as a demon, holding a grudge was a natural talent. Forget someone actively sabotaging you; if someone even glared at him, would he still be a demon if he didn't ruin them completely?

"M-my lord."

Standing beside Jan, Dobby turned pale. Avoiding Cotton’s gaze, he spoke in a low, obsequious tone.

"I have fulfilled your request. Is it...?"

"Of course. I always keep my word."

Jan glanced at Dobby and nodded. He reached into his robe, produced a pouch of coins, and tossed it over. Dobby caught the pouch and opened it to peek inside. From the look of joy on his face, Cotton knew his loyal servant had sold him for a handsome price.

"T-then, I’ll take my leave."

Dobby stowed the pouch, glanced at Cotton once more, but ultimately said nothing. Instead, he flashed a sycophantic smile at Jan and turned to leave.

Just then, Cotton saw a massive, pitch-black shadow descend silently from above. Before the poor servant could even react, he was pinned to the ground by the dark beast. With a shrill, piercing scream, the sound of tearing flesh and crunching bones drowned out everything else.

"I have always believed that loyalty and keeping one's word are virtues that must be upheld."

Jan chuckled as he looked at the pale-faced Cotton. He stepped forward, staring playfully at the man’s sweat-drenched face.

"Believe me, Mr. Cotton, I will give you a memory you will never forget."