Compared to slashing, stabbing has a narrower attack area, so one should aim for the most fatal point possible in actual combat. In particular, the sword stick had a thin blade, meaning it was weak in strength, so if the blade were to collide with the bone, it would be a failure.
However, Eugène skillfully nudged through the muscles like a butcher. The man’s companion who was about to curse at the man who had dragged him into the fray to save his own life, found a knife stuck in his heart, and let out a groan. Perhaps he wanted to say something to the dying man, but Eugène did not give him the opportunity.
He violently kicked the second man in the gut. Another attacker, coming up behind him, tried to save him, but Eugène spun, dodged his blade, and struck his temple with his scabbard as if to finish him off.
The man’s head drooped ferociously into the grimy gutter that seeped through the broken sewer pipe. A hard kick to the gut sends a gurgling gush of blood back into the throat. The pain was so bad that it felt like his stomach had turned inside out and his head was ringing from a concussion, so he couldn’t come to his senses.
But he was on the lucky side. Another attacker who tried to save him on an instantaneous opportunity lost an eye to Eugène’s heartless blade. It nearly pierced his brain, and with a terrible scream of agony, he fled frantically into the darkness.
The attackers no longer dared to face Eugène’s sword. The coldness with which he kills people one by one, showing no malice, was the most chilling. They felt like cows or pigs sent to the slaughterhouse instead of human beings. What they didn’t realize was that life in the back alleys, no matter how harsh, was not as cruel as the battlefield.
Those who survived fled with their tails between their legs, trying to preserve at least their bodies. The same went for the leader who came to think of the topic Eugène had provoked earlier. He was afraid of the aftermath because of the money he had spent, but he took a step back, thinking that it was better than having his head cut off at the hands of such a human butcher.
But Eugène did not let go of the leader, not caring too much about the others. He’d stained himself with unnecessary blood to find out who was behind this, and if he lost him now, it would be for nothing.
Eugène grabbed the shoulder of the leader as he was trying to escape and slammed his head against the wall of the carriage. He grabbed the man’s hair with one hand, raised the sword stick dripping with blood, pointed it at the tip of the man’s chin, and asked quietly.
“Who is it?”
The leader trembled and closed his eyes tightly as a knife as thin as a skewer slid under his chin. It was just a simple question with no vulgar profanity or even a hint of menace, but for a man who had seen how viciously the man before him used this skewer, there was no more chilling threat.
The man, who quickly realized that his clumsy bluff would not work on Eugène, opened his trembling lips and vomited the truth.
“I- I am Guillaume. Guillaume Meville-.”
“The person who commissioned you, not you. Whoever commissioned you to lure me here and kill me.”
“Oh, okay. I see. That’s what you meant. Of course, you’re more curious about that person’s name than a sewer rat like me.”
“Name!”
“Agh, My Lord. Even I don’t know his real name. When high-ranking people like you come looking for surmulots like us, do you not hide your identity? The person who came to me was only an agent, and even his name was a pseudonym. His name is Thierry Kiatek, where in the world do you come across such a name?”
“I heard that you surmulots hide a mousetrap to prevent betrayal by your clients. If it was a commission as big as this one, you have all the more reason to do so. Where did you hide the mousetrap?”
A mousetrap was a slang term used by surmulots, meaning a client’s weakness. In general, they followed the people who came to commission them, stole something that would give away their true identity, and used it as a mousetrap, which was the least they could do.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
The leader’s complexion turned yellow, as he realized that Eugène, a nobleman, was aware of the existence of mousetraps. This time he really trembled and looked into Eugène’s eyes.
“P, Zs Obgv-.”
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Bang!
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A huge pain pierced his back, traveling down nerves and spreading all over his shoulders. For the first time, blood gushed out of his body, which had no wounds while dealing with seven assailants.
Bang!
The second shot, which sounded after a time lag, penetrated the head of the leader of the sewer rats neatly. Eugène’s head went cold as his arm felt as if it were being ripped off, knowing that his opponent had shot the leader squarely in the forehead in the middle of the night with limited visibility.
From his skill, it was clear that he was a formally trained marksman. He was a soldier, not a hunter, for animals were never hunted at night.
Eugène, realizing that this new foe was incomparably more dangerous than those he had been dealing with before, hurriedly ducked down and used his other hand to staunch his bleeding shoulder.
Bang!
Sparks flew at his crouched feet. Eugène crawled toward the front of the coachman’s seat in the carriage. Judging from the angle at which the bullet flew, this front was the enemy’s blind spot.
Baang!
By a close margin, a bullet crossed the side of his elbow. The time it took to load the gun was too short. Either there were two marksmen or one marksman had two guns and was with an assistant who measured the gunpowder.
Were the sewer rats the bait? No, I do not think so. If that was the case, they would have attacked amid the long fray.
The timing of the attack, and the fact that they targeted the leader of the sewer rats before anything, made it seem like they were sent to finish the job.
Whoever they are, they sure are thorough. What a great foe I have.
Eugène leaned his forehead against the wall of the carriage and racked his brain. If the horse had been tied to the carriage, the gunfire would have startled it and caused it to run wild, but fortunately or unfortunately, there was no horse. Someone had stolen it amid the chaos and escaped.
What should I do now?
Eugène was troubled as he glanced down the alleyways of the slums. He was wounded, and he couldn’t use his right arm. A man with a gun was after his life, and if found out that he was injured, the rats that once fled would come back for revenge.
Alone in a place he had never been before and didn’t know where he was, Eugène thought about each situation he found himself in and couldn’t help but chuckle.
An hour ago, I was dancing with the Emperor in the ballroom. But now, I am being chased through the back alleys of the slums.
He was momentarily dizzy from the blood that had soaked through his clothes from the lack of proper staunching. Eugène ripped the shirt he was wearing inside the justaucorps, taking advantage of the lull in the enemy’s offensive that had been silenced by crawling into a square. He wished it were linen as usual, but alas, it was silk as he was wearing a formal outfit.
He wrapped his shoulder in high-quality fabric of no use other than aesthetics and held the sword with his left hand. There’s no way he would survive if he stayed here longer. He had to somehow run into the nearest alley and run away from those with guns.
Eugène poked his head out slightly to see where the bullet was coming from and took a glance. As he exposed himself from behind the carriage, a shot was fired as if they had been waiting for him.
Bang!
It almost pierced his thigh. He didn’t know how he did it, but his aim was incredibly accurate in such darkness.
“Baron Amieux!”
But just then, out of nowhere, he heard a voice calling his name from the other side of the alley. At first, he thought he heard it wrong, but the same voice as before resounded along with the sound of hooves pouring out.
“Brother Eugène!!”
A carriage suddenly appeared from the opposite side of the alley where he was standing. There were as many as four horses tied to a luxurious carriage, far out of place in the slums.
There was no response from the enemy, perhaps feeling wary of the unusually noisy appearance. The man who was looking outside with the door opened from the running carriage found Eugène crouching in front of an abandoned carriage without a word and widened his eyes.
Eugène was just as surprised by the unexpected situation. Count d’Estuaire?! Eugène looked at him for a moment without thinking about anything at the appearance of a person he never expected to meet in a place like this.
“Please get in.”
The first to come to his senses was Count d’Estuaire. He raised his cane, knocked on the roof of the carriage, and ordered it to stop. Whoa whoa-. The coachman, hearing his orders, immediately stopped the horses. However, there was momentum, so even after passing Eugène, it took them a while to stop.
He ran towards the carriage without a second thought. Bang! A gunshot followed him as if he was not going to miss the opportunity. Eugène, feeling the trajectory of a bullet sharply passing through his ear, got into the carriage. Count d’Estuaire, who reached out to help him, quickly closed the door and knocked on the carriage’s ceiling as Eugène, holding his hand, climbed into the carriage.
“We must leave now.”
“Leave!”
The horses, startled by the thunderous gunshots, neighed sharply and ran forward. Eugène sat down on the chair as if he was about to collapse and let out a low moan. His bangs, soaked in cold sweat, were tangled on his forehead. Blood gradually smeared across the silk cloth that was too soft to provide enough pressure.
“Oh goodness, are you hurt?”
Count d’Estuaire approached him in surprise to examine his wounds. Eugène, who was saved by an unexpected encounter, looked at the young Count with his eyes hazy from the pain.
It would have been natural to thank him for saving his life, but the look on the Count’s face left him speechless. Count d’Estuaire, in the middle of the night, in the streets of the slums.
There was too much to dismiss it as a coincidence. Besides, didn’t the Count just call Eugène by his name like someone who knew in advance that he was here? Eugène doubted how he could have known he was here.
“What brings you here?”
Eugène asked the Count d’Estuaire a question in a deep voice.
“I was following my brother.”
The young Count answered with concern as if he had not yet noticed Eugène’s sharp expression, and wrapped the wound on his shoulder once more with his handkerchief.
“Are you speaking of me?”
“I, too, was at the ball of the Marquise Bertin. There, I watched you dance with His Majesty. There was something on my mind, so I went after you, but you were already in the carriage. I know it was rude, but I was in a hurry so I followed you.”
When Eugène questioned him suspiciously, the Count smiled bitterly and explained his situation little by little. All the while, he attempted to staunch the bleeding on his shoulder with both hands.
He pulled the handkerchief hard and tied it up, and blood gushed out from the compressed wound. Eugène clenched his teeth at the pain that stabbed him in the shoulder but endured it. Cold sweat dripped down his cheeks and drenched his neck. Count d’Estuaire looked at him with sad eyes and tied the remaining knot.
“This will only be a temporary solution. You need a doctor.”
A careful hand gently swept away his sweat-drenched hair. Eugène opened his closed eyes, feeling the trembling fingertips brush across his forehead and down his cheek.
As he stared at the Count without a word, Count d’Estuaire, who had been taking his temperature with the back of his hand on his cheek, mumbled an apology under his breath.
“I apologize. When I saw the carriage turning into a strange alley in the middle, I should have called you to stop, but my thoughts fell short.”
The Count sincerely apologized, saying that he thought Eugène was going back on his way to stop somewhere, and that he didn’t expect him to get attacked. According to him, by the time he realized something was wrong, he had already lost track of Eugène among the crowded alleyways.
He wandered the streets for a while, disoriented until he heard gunshots, and the Count blamed himself as if it had been his fault for losing track of him.
“It is not something you should apologize for. Instead, I should be thanking you for saving my life.”
Count d’Estuaire’s explanation sounded sincere at first glance, but Eugène was not entirely convinced. It was because he was sensitively aware that there were parts that he did not explain.
AHHH THANK YOU SU MUCH! My babyyy Eugene 😭😭😭 someone do something to his armmmm please also the count?? So suspicious?? Like what are you doing there but also thank you for saving my bby but also what,,,, ahh just I’m so excited I love this novel thank you so much for the translation!❤️❤️❤️
Thanks for the chapter!! <33
Sussss
Also a bit late
How does one pronounce Chaise a la reine
“chaise” is pronounced as “shayz” and then a la… “reine” is a little harder to simplify so you’ll have to look up a clip for that one, sorryy TvT
Thank youuu~
French here 😀
On short reine mean queen, the word can be pronounced “reihne” the stress being on the second syllable with the ‘e’ audible. Idk of I explained it well :/
(If it didn’t you can use Google traduction :3)
*In
Ouhh i see, i searched it up and google said it meant ‘one of a set of four’ bwhahha
Thank you~
Aaah ..Thank you so much for the chapter …
That count is suspicious idk ,don’t fully trust his story
Is Oscar a potential love interest? 🫣