Chapter 652: The Dark Lord

In November, Roland City received its first snow of winter.

Fine snowflakes landed on the black carriage's roof, making a soft rustling sound.

The sound should have been gentle and beautiful, but now it felt like something slowly rotting away.

Tarnos gazed through a crack in the carriage window at the gray, overcast sky, his wool overcoat collar raised, burying his pale face in shadow.

"Looks like this winter will be harsh," he said, watching the city gate draw nearer, lifting one finger to gently press down the brim of his round hat.

The Dark Lord's worries had ultimately proven unfounded—the Shadow Demon General was destined to be the one piece on his board least likely to fail.

This guy was not only cunning, but also incredibly cautious.

The carriage came to a stop before the city gate.

The wooden barrier at the checkpoint stood half-open; several soldiers loitered lazily in the middle of the road, their winter coats caked with coal dust and grime.

Seeing the approaching carriage, they perked up like fishermen who'd finally caught a fish. One marched straight to the window and slammed his fist hard against the door, barking with authority.

"Get out."

The driver, Navi, leapt down from the front seat, bowing with a forced smile; his face was gaunt, cheekbones jutting, skin a sickly waxen yellow.

"Officer, this gentleman is a merchant from the south—"

"Shut up," the soldier cut in without even glancing at him, his eyes fixed on the carriage, "Where are you from? Be specific!"

The carriage door opened. Tarnos did not step out; instead, his eyes, hidden beneath the hat's shadow, swept over the soldiers, his lips curved in a polite smile.

"Fogveil Harbor."

As he spoke, he reached into his overcoat, pretending to search for his unimportant travel documents, then "accidentally" dropped a box of cigarettes onto the ground.

The soldiers were no fools; the moment they saw the cigarettes, their eyes widened.

Especially their leader—his attitude shifted a full 180 degrees, his grin stretching ear to ear, all questions instantly forgotten.

"Oh! So you're a distinguished guest from the south! Why didn't you say so sooner? Welcome, welcome!"

As he spoke, he swiftly bent down to pick up the cigarette box, then ordered his men to open the gate.

"Sir, next time you come, find me—I'm Jerry. Everyone knows me. Need anything? Just say the word."

Cigarettes!

This new novelty, originating from the frontlines of Count Spinol's territory, had become Roland City's hard currency—more famous even than the first editions of the Encyclopedia and the New Testament to arrive here.

Next came silver pounds, then silver coins.

Gold coins? Only toys for nobles—never found in ordinary pockets. Copper coins? No one cared about those crumbling into dust.

Tarnos smiled faintly, watching the soldiers suddenly treat him like a brother, as if watching a fine performance.

"Certainly."

If they live that long.

The wooden barrier swung open; the carriage resumed its journey, slowly entering the snow-lashed streets of Roland City.

Behind him, Jerry's men were already fighting over the spoils, bickering over who got an extra cigarette.

Nearby stood the Lionheart Knights' encampment, their golden lion banner clearly visible—but the knights clearly had no authority here.

Perhaps they despised the place. Or perhaps they were too busy surviving themselves.

According to the Holy Scar Organization's intelligence, Hagemo had brought back tens of thousands of refugees.

Former beggars expelled from the capital, survivors clinging to the dream of returning home, and those left destitute after the Knights "requisitioned" their grain—they flooded into Roland City like locusts, devouring its last breath of life.

The Lionheart Knights' intentions were likely noble, but their actions delivered a fatal blow to a city already riddled with wounds.

It wasn't just hunger and cold—Roland City now sank into a three-way quagmire of war.

It began with the Gravekeepers and the Charterists slaughtering each other; the King's hired assassins bit at anyone daring to question royal authority like rabid dogs.

The Charterist revolutionaries did not retreat—they fought back fiercely, street by street, house by house, fearless of death.

Just as the storm raged, the angry lion returned to its den—only to be trapped, unexpectedly, between the Charterists and the Gravekeepers, unable to advance or retreat.

This was the most bizarre aspect of Roland City's situation.

"Death Knell" Karius was rumored to have received outside support, and now stood evenly matched against "Radiant Knight" Hagemo.

Both sides accused the other of treachery, swearing to defend the kingdom—while Theoden Devalu sat calmly on his terrace, watching his caged lion and hyenas fight, offering neither side aid.

Navi muttered something under his breath from the front seat, so quiet it was nearly inaudible—but it didn't escape the Shadow Demon General's ears.

"What a waste."

He seemed to pity his passenger—bribing these soldiers didn't require a whole box of cigarettes. Or perhaps he was just jealous of the men with guns—who, simply because they held weapons, would never starve, no matter how many others did.

Even if the entire city starved to death, they'd live out the end, smoking their cigarettes.

Tarnos's lips curled in a sly smile as he watched the cowering back. As a demon, he felt no sympathy for humans—only found their desperation sweet as honey.

Baelyr above—

Oh no, now it's the Dark Lord above!

In the centuries Baelyr ruled Hell, nothing this interesting had ever happened on the surface.

With reverence for the Dark Lord, Tarnos tore his gaze from the driver's back and let it drift slowly toward the streets on either side.

The once-glorious capital was now split into twisted trenches by barricades—furniture, stones, barrels, doors—all movable objects piled together.

Behind the barricades, shadowy figures stood—some with spears, others with flintlock muskets. Not all were Charterist rebels; many were simply defending their own streets from soldiers and bandits seeking to plunder.

They looked like antelopes baring their teeth.

Just nearby, outside a tavern, hung several corpses that looked no different from them.

The corpses swayed in the wind like frozen wind chimes. Occasionally, crows landed on their shoulders, greedily pecking at frozen flesh and blood, feasting without restraint in the apocalypse.

Compared to this, the hell described in the Holy Scripture was nothing.

Tarnos sighed inwardly—only humans truly understood how to torture themselves.

"Sir."

The driver's voice came from the front seat, tentative and cautious.

"What is it?" Tarnos replied, his tone gentle and elegant, just like the Dark Lord he both revered and feared.

"Do you need a servant? Or a guide…?" Navi spoke quickly, "I know this city well—I've lived here since childhood—"

"Regrettably, I don't."

"I see… Sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Navi's shoulders hunched further, as if mourning his failure to secure this meal ticket.

"No need to apologize. Though I don't need a guide, I'd still enjoy hearing about your hometown."

As he spoke, Tarnos pulled a paper-wrapped cigarette from his inner coat pocket and, lifting the curtain, passed it forward.

Seeing the cigarette, Navi's hand trembled, his voice stuttering.

"Th-this is too valuable, sir, I—"

"Take it. It's your payment."

Watching the face that clearly longed for it, Tarnos's hidden smile grew even more wicked.

Navi reached out with trembling fingers, took the cigarette, and carefully tucked it into his inner pocket.

He did not light it, as the soldiers had.

Even in starving Roland City, a single cigarette could buy things money couldn't reach—could even save his family's life.

"Thank you, sir," Navi's voice cracked, "You… you're a good man."

Tarnos did not respond.

Good man.

The word, spoken by a human, fell upon a demon's ears—absurdly funny.

Sensing the silence, Navi swallowed his emotion and continued.

"What would you like to know? I'll answer anything."

"Let me think," Tarnos said, his gaze sweeping over a barricade plastered with slogans, his tone casual. "Tell me about those people—they seem different from the others?"

Navi glanced at them nervously, then quickly looked away, as if afraid of being associated with them.

"Those fellows are probably Charterist spies. Some call them the National Assembly. Of course… that's just my guess. They usually don't move during the day."

Tarnos asked with interest.

"What do you think of them?"

Navi didn't answer immediately.

Only when the carriage wheel rolled over a stone, clunking loudly, did the silence break.

"I don't know, sir."

His voice sounded lost.

"Like other citizens, I think their ideas are good—but…"

He paused, his voice dropping lower.

"They have almost no chance of winning. Did you see those corpses? Almost all of them are theirs—many were master stonemasons."

Tarnos followed his gaze—another corpse swayed in the snow, its hollow eyes mirroring Navi's confusion.

"What a pity."

"Yes."

Navi sighed, his voice heavy with an indescribable sorrow.

"After this year, Roland City won't be able to rebuild the Summer Palace or the Saint Roland Cathedral again."

Tarnos said nothing.

What truly concerned him was another question.

"What about the Gravekeepers?"

Navi's body trembled visibly.

The reins tightened and loosened repeatedly in his hands.

"Mr. … please forgive me. I… I dare not judge them."

Tarnos's smile grew more malicious as he handed out two more cigarettes, gently placing them in the driver's pocket.

"Tell me. Just to satisfy my curiosity. I'm an outsider—do you think I'd turn you in? I won't bring trouble upon myself."

Navi's Adam's apple bobbed. Perhaps he thought of his children crying for food, or his wife lying sick in bed.

He clenched his teeth and finally spoke.

"All I can tell you is this: don't provoke them. Those men… they've gone mad."

Feeling those words weren't worth two cigarettes, worried his payment might be taken back, Navi added a few more.

"They kill every day. Not just rebels—some people are targeted for no reason at all. Whether they're accused of something or not, once they're taken, they never see the next sunrise… not even their corpses."

Tarnos asked curiously.

"What about Hagemore? Our hero—is he just standing by?"

At the mention of that name, Navi's expression grew complicated.

"Lord Hagemore… of course he couldn't stand it. Otherwise he wouldn't have drawn his sword and pointed it at… him."

Fear of the "Death Bell" had been carved into his bones, so much so that even saying the name made his tongue burn—he dared not speak it lightly.

He swallowed hard and skipped over him to continue.

"I'm worried about Prince Hagemore. He's a true good man. If there's still one knight left in Knight's Land, it's him. But… his kindness has ruined himself—and those around him. We all feel it: the King no longer trusts him."

Tarnos asked curiously.

"Isn't he the King's brother?"

"Yes. But didn't Edward also lock his own brother on an island?" Navi gave a bitter laugh. "Court affairs are always hard to fathom. Us ordinary folk outside the castle walls are better off staying out of it."

Tarnos smiled faintly.

This driver saw things clearly—but it was useless.

"Looks like I can't do business with the royal family."

He sighed theatrically, leaned back in his seat, then changed the subject.

"What about ordinary people? You know I'm a tobacco merchant—I'm looking for business opportunities. Who might want my goods?"

Navi fell silent for a moment, then his silence turned to a bitter smile.

"Business? Mr., don't joke. What time is this? Forget your business. The people here need food and firewood most… though I'm not even sure I'll need those things tomorrow."

Tarnos: "So pessimistic?"

Navi kept his head down.

"What reason do I have to be optimistic?"

The carriage continued forward, passing one desolate street after another, yet barricades were visibly fewer.

In contrast, slogans on the walls multiplied—some about the Charter, others about bread, all clearly pointing at the King.

Theoden seemed not to notice—or perhaps simply didn't care. After all, the two strongest supernatural forces in this city were already in his hands.

No matter how fiercely they fought, they were fighting for his crown.

Including the National Assembly.

Though they brazenly shouted they no longer owed allegiance to any secular monarch, they dared not say they wanted to replace King Lein.

The snow grew heavier, as if determined to bury the entire city.

Navi's voice sounded again—this time, to himself.

"It's all retribution."

Tarnos raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Navi continued with a bitter smile.

"Near my home there's an old madman. He went insane last December, probably touched by something unclean. Every day he mutters to the wall, saying the spirits of those who died in December are coming to claim their lives…"

An interesting claim.

Tarnos said nothing, but smiled inwardly with quiet skepticism.

The Children of Holy Light, who once built the Saint Roland Cathedral, now believed in the ramblings of folk shamans. Clearly, the Church's influence in this city had dwindled to near nothing.

For a demon like him, this was certainly good.

Perhaps the task the Dark Lord had given him wasn't as hopeless as he'd first thought…

The carriage finally stopped before a tavern.