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Chapter 122
🕑 Added 2024-12-21 17:05:17 +0000 UTC"If he truly harbored some ulterior motives against a member of the Troupe and had acted upon them, harming others..." Chrollo spoke softly, "Then this wouldn’t be the same conversation."
The Phantom Troupe has an unbreakable bottom line: betrayal and harming comrades are intolerable.
If Omokage really crossed that line, Chrollo would be the first to object.
The two continued their discussion for a long time.
As the blazing midday sun appeared on the horizon, they knew the moment of parting had come.
“When the events within the palace can no longer be hidden and are exposed to the world, things are going to get very lively,” Morin remarked softly, gazing at the fiery red sun.
“Indeed.”
Chrollo nodded slightly and then turned to Morin with a faint, enigmatic smile.
“But more than that, I’m interested in your personal matters.”
“My personal matters?”
Morin was taken aback for a moment before Chrollo continued.
“Machi and Pakunoda are both good girls.”
Chrollo turned away, leaving only his back visible to Morin.
“I imagine you must already know that quite well.”
As Chrollo finished his last sentence, his figure disappeared into the swirling dust.
“Hey! At least finish what you’re saying, will you!”
Being teased by Chrollo—what a failure.
Morin shook his head helplessly.
But then, as if recalling something, he froze on the spot.
“Earlier, he saw the fight between me and Uvogin. Then before the fight...”
“No, no, it’s unlikely.”
Morin quickly shook his head. “I only noticed someone arriving during the fight.”
“So, everything that happened before... Chrollo wouldn’t have seen it.”
“Phew, that’s a relief.”
Morin finally breathed a sigh of relief, his nerves unwinding.
If Chrollo had actually seen it, that would’ve been a death by social embarrassment.
“Still, the situation with Machi and Pakunoda really can’t be delayed any longer.”
Turning his gaze to the direction Pakunoda had left, Morin muttered, “It’s time to address this.”
“Machi has already been tamed; next, it’s your turn, Pakunoda.”
“But before going to her, there’s one more thing I need to take care of.”
With a flash, Morin vanished from sight.
Before long, the small hill became desolate once more, devoid of any sign of life except for the uneven ground, which bore the scars of the earlier battle.
After Morin and the Phantom Troupe left, the blazing light of dawn illuminated the world, and the capital of Mosibia erupted into chaos.
The overpowering scent of blood lingering over the royal palace sent chills down the spines of nearby civilians.
“What on earth happened here?!”
Speculation ran wild among the people, while the palace itself descended into pandemonium.
Servants and officials who realized their master hadn’t returned late into the night ventured into the palace one by one.
The sight that greeted them was a field of soldier corpses scattered across the ground, the floor soaked in dark crimson blood.
The hellish, nightmarish scene made the officials’ scalps tingle with fear.
Their faces were frozen in terror, a testament to the horrifying sight before them.
The casualties were far too severe.
What exactly happened in the palace to create such a gruesome scene?!
Terrified yet compelled to continue, dread built within their hearts.
The soldiers alone painted a tragic picture—what about their master?
The thought of something happening to their master caused everyone’s hearts to clench painfully.
If their master had indeed met a grim end, they knew the consequences awaiting them:
Their master attended a banquet and died, while they, the servants, lived to tell the tale?
What face would they have left to show? What reason to go on living?
They would be sent to accompany their master in death!
The mere thought of such an outcome left many servants dizzy.
Meanwhile, the remaining officials used handkerchiefs to wipe the sweat pouring down their foreheads.
Regardless of the situation, with their superior dead, at minimum they would bear the blame of negligence!
This would ruin their careers entirely!
With heavy hearts, the group finally reached the main banquet hall doors.
The broken doors, courtesy of Uvogin, and the smell of blood emanating from within sent chills down their spines.
Forcing themselves to proceed, the sight that greeted them made their breaths hitch.
Some froze, while others nearly passed out from sheer horror.
Thud.
The sound of someone fainting punctuated the silence.
The carnage inside was overwhelming, not because it was gory, but because no one was left alive.
This sealed not only their fates but their careers, sending them into a spiral of dread.
Gradually regaining some composure, they began collecting the bodies of their masters and colleagues.
There was no other choice. Dead or alive, they needed to provide answers to the royal family and the families of the deceased.
The implications of this incident, however far-reaching, were beyond their current concern.
Some were already plotting their escape, hoping to secure a way out before it was too late.
As everyone mourned and scrambled to salvage what they could—
Creak.
The sound of a door opening drew everyone’s attention.
Luzurus, accompanied by a few surviving nobles, cautiously peeked out.
“It seems he’s gone.”
Looking down at the sea of people in formal attire, Luzurus deduced that the turmoil was over and the slaughterer had left.
“How fortunate,” he murmured, letting out a long sigh of relief.
The nobles behind him, sharing a sense of survival, exchanged knowing glances.
“Charity really does pay off,” their expressions seemed to say.
“Let’s increase our charitable activities when we return!”
They silently vowed.
“Your Highness, Prince Luzurus!”
The crowd below erupted at the sight of Luzurus and the others.
Why were so many guests massacred, yet these few survived?
“Your Highness, Prince Luzurus!”
Suddenly, a heart-wrenching cry cut through the air, startling everyone.
“What’s all the shouting about?!”
The panicked cry came from Luzurus’ subordinate, who, upon seeing his prince alive, dropped to his knees with tears streaming down his face.
“You’re alive!”
“Of course I’m alive! What, do I look like a ghost to you?!” Luzurus snapped.
“Stop screaming like that—you’ll scare someone to death before anyone else can!”
“It’s such a relief! You’re safe!”
The subordinate sobbed with joy, his gratitude spilling over.
The remaining nobles were likewise swarmed by their bodyguards and attendants, who expressed similar relief.
Finally, someone mustered the courage to ask, “Your Highness, what happened here?”
All eyes turned to Luzurus, desperate for an explanation.
“Could it have been some sort of supernatural event?” someone speculated.
In a world with Nen abilities, strange occurrences tied to Nen-infused artifacts weren’t unheard of.
From ancient relics to cursed objects, tales of bloodshed caused by these items weren’t rare.
If this were indeed another such case, it might offer a convenient explanation for the massacre.
“A supernatural event...”
Luzurus narrowed his eyes and looked at the speaker. The suggestion seemed to hang in the air, filling the tension-laden silence in the blood-soaked palace hall.
It was plausible, after all. Nen-infused artifacts had a history of causing catastrophic incidents—collections gone wrong, ancient curses revived. It wasn’t uncommon for the rich and curious to meet untimely ends due to their fascination with such objects.
“It’s... possible,” Luzurus said cautiously, not entirely dismissing the idea.
The crowd whispered among themselves, their fear momentarily giving way to curiosity. A supernatural explanation might spare them from the harsher realities of what truly transpired.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Luzurus said firmly, regaining composure. “What’s most important is stabilizing the situation here and reporting the incident to the proper authorities.”
His words did little to quell the fear lingering in the air. The nobles, servants, and officials exchanged uneasy glances, but they had no better explanation—or alternative.
“Clean up the mess and ensure no further panic spreads,” Luzurus ordered, his voice steady, concealing his inner turmoil. The sooner he distanced himself from this disaster, the better.
The officials and servants hesitated for a moment before nodding in unison. For now, obedience was their only viable option.
Luzurus stepped back into the corridor, his mind racing. While he managed to deflect immediate scrutiny, he knew the truth of what had transpired in the palace could not stay hidden forever.
Outside the palace, whispers of the massacre spread rapidly through the capital. Rumors took on a life of their own—phantoms, curses, mysterious powers, and even divine wrath.
Yet, for those who survived, the events of that night would leave scars, questions, and, for some, dangerous curiosity about the unseen forces that dictated life and death in their world.
