Cromwell

“Don’t think you’ll die an easy death.”

Solomon said, ignoring the bleeding from his pierced chest. He was riddled with holes like he’d been hit by birdshot pellets, blood pouring out in streams. It was only because he was wearing an integrated armor layer. Otherwise, it would not have been strange for his organs to be pierced and for him to die on the spot.

“Heh-heh, well now. Thanks for staking your life to protect my work.”

“Your work?”

“Oh, strictly speaking, it’s a work that hasn’t been ‘born’ yet.”

Watching him, Jack the Ripper sneered. Solomon didn’t smile. Even with his wounds, he simply maintained a colder calm than ever.

‘This won’t be easy.’

The biggest problem was that he couldn’t finish the bastard. If he dealt more damage than necessary and shaved off the target’s “HP” entirely, the capture would fail and the contract would go up in smoke. That was why he hadn’t used weapon enhancement spells like or .

The opponent wasn’t easy enough to fight while clumsily worrying about his life. But if Solomon fought with the intent to finish him, he had to avoid the disaster of truly ‘finishing him’ for good.

“And seeing you ‘trying to protect’ my work with your life on the line, I’m struck by new inspiration.”

Ignoring Solomon’s struggle, the Ripper stretched out his arm again. The blood scattered everywhere was drawn like a magnet, forming a single shape above his palm.

It was a javelin. A blood-red spear absurdly huge.

“Will you dodge? Will you protect? You can dodge, sure. Then the woman behind you will finally pass through my hands and be reborn as a masterpiece!”

As if showing off, the Ripper formed the blood-red spear and muttered grandly, like this was a checkmate.

“The title will be ‘A Woman Abandoned by a Man, Painfully Impaled to Death’! Or ‘Dilemma,’ a truly short name with a postmodern air!”

“……”

“I’ll count down. Now, what will you do?”

A rambling tirade. It plainly reeked of an academic’s naive, someone not accustomed to fighting. For Solomon, that was fortunate. Better an academic than a pro fighter, and better a fool than an academic.

“Three.”

Solomon adjusted his grip on the hilt and decided to trust that fact. The fact that the opponent was a fool.

“Two.”

The countdown fell, the blood javelin ready to launch at any moment. With one number left, Solomon kicked off the ground. The Ripper grinned. Solomon didn’t.

‘, .’

Once again, he activated two Level 1 spells in succession. Like before, Solomon appeared behind the Ripper. Like before, an assassin’s blade shot in from behind.

Like before, formed and blocked the trajectory of the driving blade.

A protective spell that hardened blood into a shell-like outer layer.

At the very instant the driving blade should have been deflected by .

Something different happened.

‘Blood Explosion.’

As a Level 3 Blood Mage, Solomon triggered his Grade trait.

To detonate the very blood that had been hardened into that armor.

Hwareureuk!

The blood flared up. Blood-red flames. The armor meant to protect his back ignited, turning into fire that burned the Ripper. Even so, Solomon’s goal wasn’t the explosion or the fire itself.

It was to eliminate the armor itself.

“Kkeuaaaak!”

Screaming in pain, his concentration broke, and the blood javelin lost its shape in midair.

The that would block the assassin’s blade no longer existed. There was only soft flesh and bone.

Kwajik!

The blade point drove in. Tearing flesh, sliding between bones, deep into his back.

“Don’t die from this.”

Even then, Solomon prayed. He deliberately didn’t use spells like or . He used only one thing, a sneak attack driven in purely as an assassin. Even then, he avoided vital points that would bring instant death, holding back as much as he possibly could..

“Keoheok, eogeok…!”

Unable to breathe properly in pain, the Ripper dropped to his knees. Solomon didn’t pull out the blade. If he did, excessive bleeding would kill him immediately.

‘Keeping him alive until delivery should be enough.’

With the mindset of delivering a fish that had flopped out of water but was still gasping, Solomon hoisted the Ripper onto his back. While he was at it, he threw on the stealth coat that was basically rags, and pulled the cotton wad from the bound neighbor’s mouth.

“M-Mister…!”

“……”

He silently untied the ropes binding her arms and legs.

“Th-thank you! I, I really thought I was going to die… because of that bastard…!”

“Save it.”

Solomon answered with forced coldness. After answering, he turned his head away as if indifferent. Getting more entangled wouldn’t do either him or her any good.

That was when it happened.

‘A presence.’

In the hallway beyond the door, a shadow revealed itself. With no intent to hide, more boldly than ever.

“I heard intel that the Ripper bastard holed up here, so I came.”

The shadow stepped into view.

“I didn’t expect there’d be another uninvited guest.”

A coat embroidered with the Sword Watch’s emblem over a neatly tailored suit. And on a mechanical sword belt at the waist, two swords.

He was a blond man who looked like a swordsman at a glance.

“And one of Hotel Snark’s contractors, at that.”

In that respect, Solomon didn’t look any less like a hotel contractor himself.

“You’re late.”

Solomon replied like it was someone else’s problem, the Ripper slung over his shoulder.

“What good is a cop who shows up this late to keep the city in order.”

“I’m not late.”

The blond swordsman answered Solomon.

“Sword Watch Second-Grade Bladesman, Mihail Cromwell. Because I have appeared here now.”

With a voice devoid of hesitation or wavering.

“Here and now, evil will vanish and justice will stand.”

At those words, Solomon let out a dumbfounded laugh. In a situation where a new victim could be made if he was even one second, one minute late, that calm tone was absurd.

Even so, Solomon couldn’t let that name slip past. Unavoidable bewilderment settled on his face.

‘Cromwell.’

One of the Five Great Houses that ruled at the peak of this city, Guild City.

House Bale, Shadow Binder.

House Arrowhead, Spectral Spear Mage.

House Haunting, Spirit Binder.

House Lancaster, ■■■■■.

And House Cromwell, Iron-blood Flesh-Carver.

A noble who should have been part of those Five Great Houses stood before him, acting as a bourgeois lapdog and claiming a place within the police organization.

A force of the 「Ancient Council」,” opposed to the bourgeois and their organization, the 「City Council」.” The Five Great Houses that had ruled this nation, the Kingdom of Camelot, since antiquity, and representatives of nobles who were symbols of the old regime.

“Sword Watch Second-Grade Bladesman, Mihail Cromwell.”

A man bearing that name stood before Solomon.

“Here and now, evil will vanish and justice will stand.”

Solomon knew the weight of that name. Even setting aside why someone using that name was here. That was why Solomon had only one question. Not that crap about evil and justice.

“How is House Cromwell from Uptown doing dog work for the bourgeois.”

Solomon asked, forgetting even the Ripper slung on his back.

“Dog of the bourgeois? Watch your words.”

At that, the man bearing the Cromwell name, the Sword Watch Second-Grade Bladesman, answered.

“I serve the order of this city in accordance with a noble’s duty, noblesse oblige. I do not take orders from the bourgeois.”

“I see. So these days, showing up after the victims are all dead is called ‘noblesse oblige.’”

Seureung.

“I’m not late.”

At Solomon’s taunt, Mihail Cromwell placed a hand on his sword hilt and spoke.

“Because I truly am not late.”

He wasn’t late. At least, the statement itself was true. Even setting aside his ridiculous way of speaking.

“Right. Because someone went in first and suffered like a dog.”

“As for that, I will duly express my thanks. Because that is gratitude.”

Sword Watch Second-Grade Bladesman Mihail Cromwell glanced at the Ripper on Solomon’s back as he spoke.

“Then shall I take custody of him now.”

“.”

“Of course, the reward will be generous. You may even receive a commendation. For reference, a commendation looks good displayed in your room. In particular, the pride of contributing to society naturally wells up from deep within.”

A brief silence.

“I refuse.”

Solomon answered after the silence. It wasn’t even worth considering.

“Unfortunately, I’ve taken a contract.”

“So you have.”

Mihail Cromwell nodded as he spoke.

“Even so, I can’t let it be.”

“Because you’re a cop.”

“Correct.”

Solomon held his silence, feeling increasingly dumbfounded. He wasn’t exactly saying something that didn’t make sense. And Solomon had never expected him to step aside nicely. Nothing changes.

‘Fighting here won’t be easy.’

Putting it all together, Solomon had only one answer.

Cheolkeok!

“Oh.”

Without hesitation, Solomon aimed the Nightfall automatic crossbow at the man in front of him. At the motion, the Second-Grade Bladesman Cromwell calmly drew his sword.

“Iron-Cleaving.”

Iron-blood Flesh-Carver, Cromwell. Steel violence worthy of the name. Even the act of drawing his blade carried absurd destructive force and weight, a heaviness like slamming down heavy equipment.

But where that iron-blood cleave should have struck down, there was only darkness.

‘, .’

Solomon’s shadow, cloaked in a stealth coat, melted into the air within the veil.

“!”

Fortunately, the invisibility spell’s effect didn’t stop at Solomon himself. It spread to encompass the area around him, like a barrier field.

The forms of Solomon and the Ripper on his back vanished from sight.

Without even intending to fight, without even staying inside the veil, he widened the distance.

Hwoong!

A blade tip cut uselessly through empty air. Before long, Solomon leapt from the third floor to the first without looking back. With the impact of landing, the wounds he’d taken in the fight with the Ripper throbbed.

“There you are!”

Drip, drip.

Worse, the blood flowing from his wound left the spell’s range, finally revealing its red presence.

‘Ah, damn it.’

A chase unfolded along Raspberry Street. Under the pale night sky, Solomon pumped his legs hard, wiping away the blood from his wounds and leaving no room for tracking.

Most of all, the Ripper’s captured body was growing colder by the moment.

‘At this rate he’ll die.’

Swallowing his urgency, Solomon cut through the darkness of Raspberry Street. It wasn’t overflowing like when he’d come out, but he still searched for the “hotel door” hidden throughout this area.

A lone door standing in an empty back alley.

When he stepped through it, the surroundings warped, and the interior of Hotel Snack greeted him.

The Door Room.

And another uninvited guest waiting for him there.

“Welcome.”

As if she had been waiting, a girl spoke the moment she saw Solomon.

A blood-red gothic dress, red wavy hair cascading all the way down to her feet.

And he could tell at once. Skin pale like a corpse, lips vividly red, and fangs between them that radiated a cold edge.

“The Chairman is waiting.”

“……”

She must be a vampire sent from Wallachia Co.

“He’s alive. He’s almost dying, so hurry it up.”

“Hehe, you don’t have to worry about that.”

When Solomon replied, a bit tense, the red-haired girl grinned, showing her fangs.

“I brought some ice for the fish out of water.”

After laughing, she reached toward the Ripper on Solomon’s back.

At the same time, an unknown cold raced along her fingertips.

More precisely, the Ripper’s body was freezing. It wasn’t the cold of death. As she said, it was closer to a household freeze that kept a fish alive out of water.

“Now, let’s go.”

As she spoke, she turned with a twirl. Leaving the elegantly fluttering hem of her dress behind, she strode toward the door leading to District 1.

Solomon followed the girl in silence.

Toward the part that, in a sense, could be called the ‘hardest’ part of this contract.

“Oh, welcome.”

Chairman Vlad Țepeș’s empire, Wallachia Co. But the place the red-haired girl led Solomon to wasn’t the chairman’s office.

A dining room.

It was far from any kitchen that existed simply for meals.

The walls were covered in dark crimson velvet, and the chandelier scattered an odd glow where blood-red and crystal hues crossed. On the black-and-white marble floor sat a table black and smooth like obsidian. Chairman Vlad Țepeș sat at that table.

“Sit. You’ve had a very hard time on the way here.”

Offering Solomon a seat.

“Leave the ingredients for the meal to my chefs.”

At the same time, unidentified strongmen wrapped in sanitary garments from head to toe took the Ripper, who had been ‘put on ice,’ and carried him to the corner where the preparation facilities were.

‘Preparation facilities?’

No, strictly speaking, it wasn’t so much a prep counter.

But rather, it was an operating table prepared with every sharp instrument meant for surgery.

“Ilya, you sit too.”

“Okay!”

The red-haired girl called Ilya beamed like a child at Chairman Vlad Țepeș’s words.

Then the candles on the obsidian table lit. Without any separate action, as if igniting on their own.

“Bon Appétit.”

Chairman Vlad Țepeș said. Solomon frowned and answered.

“I don’t have a hobby of eating human flesh.”

“Oh, don’t worry. For you, Mr. Solomon, we will serve a separate dish tailored to a ‘child’s palate.’”

He wanted to leave immediately, desperately, but he couldn’t. Was even this part of the contract?

Soon, a man dressed as a waiter approached and set a plate before Solomon.

“It’s filet mignon with a Périgord sauce generously infused with black truffles, accompanied by celeriac purée to enhance the savor.”

Words he couldn’t even understand.

“So.”

“It means it’s very delicious beef.”

Chairman Vlad Țepeș answered with a smile.

“By the way, you carried out the contract quite splendidly.”

“I went through some shit.”

Solomon carefully reached for the fork and knife on the table. No, he was about to.

“Kkeuaaaak!”

At the same time, a scream rang out that could tear ears apart.

“Ah, our meal is finally prepared.”

At that, Chairman Vlad bared his fangs and smiled coldly, revealing a vile desire he couldn’t hide.

Deolkeong-deolkeong.

What they brought at the same time wasn’t a plate.

They brought the Ripper, strapped and hung on a surgical frame, his arms and legs bound to an iron grid.

“H-Hiiik, w-what, what is this!”

Bound to the surgical frame, the Ripper shouted, unable to hide his confusion and fear. Solomon looked at him in silence.

“Oh, Mr. Red Artist. Please don’t be too frightened.”

Just then, as if he’d been waiting, Chairman Vlad Țepeș rose. Watching him, the red-haired girl in the blood-red dress giggled.

“I hear your slaughter was done for the grand cause of ‘art.’ On that point, as a fellow artist, I have thoughts of my own.”

“A-art. Yes!”

Bound up, the Ripper grinned.

Seeing that, Chairman Țepeș took something out from his coat. Evidence of the crimes, photographs of the dead victims.

Limbs twisted grotesquely, entrails pulled out, forming something like an object.

At the nauseating scene of the victims, Solomon frowned.

“These were your works.”

“Heh, hehe, yeah!”

The Ripper replied, laughing.

“How rude of me.”

As he said that, Chairman Vlad Țepeș glanced at the Ripper’s body. The wound that should have been pierced by an assassin’s blade had been cleanly healed.

“M-my wound.”

“Our chefs are first-rate. We’ve repaired the unsightly wound.”

“S-so you healed my wound.”

“Of course. And besides, I have a great deal of interest in your art.”

Chairman Țepeș smiled gently.

And aside from the initial restraints, once he realized the chairman had healed him and showed interest, the Ripper’s confusion and fear vanished as if they had been a lie.

“S-so, it means someone who finally understands my art has appeared.”

As if he were happy to meet an ‘appreciator of art’ who recognized him.