Chapter 192: The Most Valuable Head

The old woman waved her withered arms, making a declaration whose strength and resonance seemed completely at odds with her frail frame.

At her words, the eyes of many gang leaders—already driven to the edge of desperation—lit up, as if they could already see the beautiful vision she described.

Justice!

Peace!

Self-governance!

A Lower City that belonged only to us!

How wonderful, how inspiring, how...

“Pfft...”

A sudden snort of laughter shattered the fantasy.

“What the hell? A council? Hahahaha... a council... united? Did I mishear that?”

At the bar, Muen was doubled over, clutching his stomach, laughing so hard he could hardly breathe.

It was as if he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“Madam Mediator, you can’t be serious. You do know, right? The current council is nothing more than a bunch of bloated, brain-dead nobles trading childish insults. Completely useless. And you want to imitate that?

“Or do you honestly think these people beside you—these ones who pull knives on each other at the drop of a hat—could sit nicely together and have a calm, civil discussion?”

“Problems like that, I can solve,” the old woman replied with utmost seriousness, nodding as if her words were indisputable truth.

She was the mediator of the Lower City; under her prestige, everyone could sit peacefully together to plan for the district’s future.

“Oh? Is that so?”

Muen stared at her for a long moment, then took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the tears in the corners of his eyes.

“I thought you might actually be someone formidable. Turns out you’re just an idiot who thinks she can do whatever she likes by clinging to the status of a ‘mistress.’”

If they really did create some so-called Lower City that belonged only to them, they wouldn’t even have time to savor their fairness, peace, and autonomy before the Royal Knights’ iron cavalry came rolling in.

Trying to play council politics right under the Emperor’s nose—little girl, do you not even know how to write the word execution?

“You—”

The old woman’s face twisted into a hideous snarl, as if Muen had touched a nerve.

But then her gaze turned venomous and she sneered:

“Laugh while you can, boy. You won’t be arrogant for much longer. As long as we all unite, you’ll be nothing more than a lamb waiting for slaughter.

“When that time comes, I’ll tear your face off whole and mount it in my collection room, so you’ll know the consequences of angering me!”

“But you won’t have that chance.”

“What?”

“I said, you won’t have that chance.”

Muen lowered his hand, his expression returning to calm—but under the shadow of his brimmed hat, those pale blue eyes gleamed with pure mockery.

“Perfect. I’ll use you to show the ones still hesitating another facet of my power... and to see for myself whether the ‘unity’ you speak of is even possible.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Was he... going to kill someone again?

A wave of unease gripped the old woman. She instinctively stepped back, seeking protection from those behind her. But the same people who had seemed tempted by her speech moments earlier... now backed away from her in unison.

A twitch tugged at the corner of her eye, and she cursed these useless fools in her heart.

But then she suddenly puffed out her chest, stiffened her neck, and glared at Muen, shouting in a harsh voice:

“Go ahead and kill me! Let everyone see you for what you are—nothing but a madman who kills indiscriminately. A madman will never gain anyone’s approval!”

She looked, on the surface, ready to face death.

But—

One glance at her trembling legs made Muen’s sneer deepen. Lowering his eyes, he asked softly:

“Do you know why I call myself Bruce Wayne?”

“W-Why?”

“Because while I may not have any superpowers, I do have another very impressive ability.”

Under her growingly fearful gaze, Muen slowly extended a finger and pointed at her.

Was... was it coming?

Knowing she had no way to resist, the old woman closed her eyes in resignation, ready to meet death.

But after a brief wait, death did not arrive.

Instead, a deep, rich voice rang out clearly enough for everyone to hear:

“Right now, Madam Mediator... your head is worth one hundred million.”

“Huh?”

The old woman froze.

She opened her eyes, frowning in confusion, unable to grasp his meaning.

One hundred million?

My head is worth one hundred million?

What does that mean?

Do you think a single sentence can kill me?

Ridiculous.

But then—she heard it.

The sound of breathing.

Heavy, bestial breathing.

And the piercingly greedy gazes that made her skin prickle with pain—all of them focused on her.

Her body jolted as icy dread swept over her. She spun around, shouting desperately at the others:

“Don’t fall for it! This is his plot! A plot!”

“This isn’t a plot. It’s a promise.”

Tipping his hat in his usual manner, Muen looked at them all, wearing a jester’s mocking smile, the kind you’d see at the close of a performance.

“All of you fought your way up to where you are now—you should know better than anyone that I would never lie at a time like this. I said one hundred million, and I won’t short a single Emil.

“And not only that: whoever brings me the dear Madam Mediator’s head can walk out of here alive, and afterward I won’t take any action of revenge.”

Muen raised three fingers to the sky. “I swear to the Goddess.”

Swear to the Goddess.

Those words were like an incantation. Even the gang leaders who had been passive observers stirred uneasily.

One hundred million.

Plus the promise of safe passage.

For them, it was almost irresistible.

And the cost? Killing a noble’s mistress.

A mistress—who’d already grown this old. No way that noble still remembered her.

Whatever connections she had once held had long since lost any bite.

As for prestige... can you eat prestige?

It was a deal that was all profit and no loss.

Yet still, no one moved.

They were all still weighing it in their heads. None of them were stupid enough to let the sum cloud their judgment.

Striking for that one hundred million now would mean... acknowledging this man’s position, acknowledging that he stood above them.

“Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it! Remember what I said—unity! Only unity will work now! Don’t let that man divide us! Are you willing to live under someone else’s heel?”

The old woman’s face had gone pale, her voice trembling as she pleaded again and again.

Even she wasn’t stupid enough not to know that this was her only way to survive.

But in reality, no one was listening anymore. A single glance into another’s eyes was enough to confirm it: equal unity was nothing but a fantasy.

Everyone was calculating silently, weighing gains and losses.

One hundred million not enough?

Muen’s eyes gleamed.

Then I’ll add—

But before he could finish, a shrill twang cut through the air.

The old woman screamed, collapsing to the floor in agony.

A mist of blood filled the air—an enchanted arrow had reduced one of her calves to mangled meat and gore.

Everyone turned in shock to look at the one who had pulled the trigger.

Rat King, Sam.

“Sam?”

Even Muen raised an eyebrow in surprise, turning toward the dwarf-like figure.

“Didn’t expect you to be the first to make a move.”

“What’s so surprising? I just made the choice I thought was right.” Sam’s face was unreadable, his thoughts impenetrable.

He walked slowly toward the old woman, raising his repeating crossbow again.

“Sam! You—you bastard! You really are working with him, aren’t you?!”

Through the pain, the old woman screamed, eyes bloodshot. But her roar turned into another shriek as a second arrow hissed through the air.

Sam shot through her other foot, speaking lightly:

“Don’t get me wrong. No one hates this guy more than I do—putting a knife to my throat, lying to me, and all that.”

“Then why... you—”

“But there’s one thing he said that I agree with.”

Sam reloaded, took aim again—still not at a vital point.

“—Since everyone needs ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) a master, why not him? At least, unlike those stingy, cowardly nobles...

“He’s actually willing to pay a hundred million.”