[BL] Alpha, You've Got the Wrong Mate!

Chapter 337 — Outsiders of Interest

Wrapped in a rather shabby grey cloak, Zion paced through the marketplace. His gaze swept back and forth, sharp and vigilant as he studied the crowd flowing through the narrow streets.

The place reeked of blood.

Pure human blood. Alive.

Never in his life had he thought he would return to Hianshu—not after the war had ended. He had believed that, along with the final clash, his steps would remain bound to the border, never allowed to cross it again. And it would have stayed that way, had it not been for the Emperor’s orders:

"Go to Hianshu. Make sure the High Priests are not plotting something again." Those were the words of the Emperor.

For a long while now, the Emperor had grown restless, wary of the silence, uncertain of when—or if—a delegation would be sent to Revhara. Thus, Zion was tasked with coming here himself a year ago to observe, investigate, and confirm suspicions before they could take root.

What he learned upon arriving unsettled him more than he expected.

Most of all, the Grim Reaper .

At first, he overheard murmurs in the streets—half-finished sentences, cautious glances, voices that dropped the moment he drew closer. When he pressed for answers, the people only stared at him, their reactions strangely calm, almost as if they were accustomed to it. That alone told him enough: the common folk were unaware of the truth behind it.

But what truly shook him was this—the poison they spoke of was neither a beast nor a plant.

It was a living being—a human. A pure-blood.

Chills ran down his spine. Who would have thought that the very person every soldier in Revhara wished to slaughter was known here, in his own land, as the Grim Reaper ?

The irony made Zion sneer.

He wasn’t worshiped—although, for almost a century, that person had wiped out more knights than Hianshu’s army could ever hope to defeat.

Whoever Zion spoke to called that person a monster, describing him as something vile and horrifying. A curse to the human species.

However Zion couldn’t understand certain words, the language slightly being different from that used in Revahara.

So he assumed it was fear. They spoke ill of that person out of dread—nothing more. After all, humans were weak creatures. They always cursed what frightened them most.

On the other hand, some spoke highly of him.

"Had it not been for him, the war with those monsters would have never ended."

Zion’s muscles coiled at those words.

Monsters?

They were the monsters?

And who had driven them out of the land they once owned, based solely on the Temple’s words?

Who had burned countless houses under the cover of night, while they slept peacefully, unaware of the hostilities humans bore toward them?

Of course, we are monsters.

He rolled his eyes.

After another long day of investigation, Zion decided to return to the inn where he had been staying. He had taken on a false identity—a merchant from the far side of the continent, going by the name Azazil.

The streets were unusually calm today. Everyone watched their steps, as if making even the smallest sound might invite death.

As always, Zion observed in silence, his gaze never leaving the storefronts or the commoners passing by. Some lingered in dark alleys, huddled beneath dim street lamps that flickered every few seconds. They needed to be replaced—yet no one bothered to do so.

Children lay in their parents’ laps, their bones stark beneath their skin. They looked as though they hadn’t eaten in days, as though they would faint at any moment.

"Had this been Revhara, the Emperor would have made sure they had a proper place to stay," Zion breathed, shaking his head. This was unacceptable. Even if he despised Hianshu’s army and the Temple, he couldn’t walk past starving people.

He stepped forward and reached into his pouch, taking out a few pieces of gold.

"Here," he said softly, offering three coins to each family gathered in the shabby alley.

During his time in Hianshu, he had learned one thing well—the value of money here was far lower than in Revhara, its purchasing power weakened by the lack of people who could afford it.

If something cost ten shillings in Revhara, it was worth fifty in Hianshu.

The crowd bowed, dropping to their knees.

"Thank you! Thank you very much!"

"Thank you, Lord!"

"May the Gods bless you!"

"May you find happiness, Lord."

They wept, as any living being would in such a situation. Zion, however, did not waver. His hatred for them remained. He felt pity, yes, but nothing could ever erase his loathing. They had taken part in the battle, after all. They had willingly accepted the Temple’s words, branded them as truth, and thus ended up like this—his steps faltered.

He turned, glancing back at the group that had slowly regained their places. Some of them bore not a single strand of grey hair. They weren’t old enough to have participated in the war. They couldn’t even be fifty. Some of them might not have been born back then.

An ache surged in his chest.

To hate the wrong people. How ridiculous. And yet, he needed someone to shoulder all that hatred. Unfortunately, or perhaps inevitably, even if these people had not been alive back then, they were alive now. And he loathed them all the same, despite himself. Despite knowing he was wrong.

As he paced down the street leading to his inn, his gaze fell upon a carriage heading his way—one he hadn’t seen at any point during his stay. It was far too ornate to belong to any lord of Hianshu.

It had to be someone of high rank within the Temple.

In Hianshu, there was no true royalty with power. The Temple ruled all, using the land and its people as puppets for its own purposes.

The carriage came to a halt in front of the inn. The horseman hurried to open the door, and from within stepped a breathtaking young woman.

Her long, dark hair fluttered in the warm breeze. Hianshu—unlike Revhara—remained wrapped in summer’s embrace.

Flowers bloomed effortlessly along the ground, lending the place a warmth that felt almost deceptive.

A dark red rose was tucked behind her hair, enhancing her beauty further.

Her slim figure was wrapped in a dark gown, countless pearls sewn into the fabric, glinting softly beneath the lantern light.

The irony made Zion snort but he bit his lips to not make a sound that could result in earning the woman’s attention.

Just moments earlier, he had seen people starving in the streets. And now—here stood someone who could not get enough of wealth to adorn herself with.

Shaking his head, he turned toward the inn, hoping to slip inside before anyone paid him any attention.

"Sir." A voice callled out.

His steps halted.

The voice was soft—pleasant even—but it sent a jolt straight through his spine.

Zion clenched his jaw, fingers curling beneath the folds of his cloak. For a brief moment, he considered pretending he hadn’t heard. The inn’s door was only a few steps away. He just needed to—

"Sir, in the grey cloak."

...Damn it.

He exhaled slowly before turning around, forcing his expression into something neutral, something harmless. Not one that could draw suspicion.

"Me?" he asked, pointing at himself as if genuinely confused.

The woman smiled faintly and nodded. Her gaze was sharp, similar to a fox’s, despite her gentle demeanour, eyes scanning him as though weighing his worth.

"So you are the new merchant everyone speaks of lately."

Zion inclined his head in response, careful not to reveal the tension tightening his chest.

"Yes. Azazil," he replied, swallowing hard.

His mind raced.

Had they already uncovered his identity?

Had he made a mistake—spoken to the wrong person, lingered too long in the streets, given away too much gold, perhaps?

How did they find him?

Fuck.

I am doomed.

Are they going to torture me or something now?

"I was told you arrived not long ago," she continued, stepping closer. The pearls on her gown chimed softly with each movement. "A merchant from across the continent, was it not?"

"That is correct," Zion answered smoothly, though his pulse thundered in his ears. "I trade in spices and rare fabrics."

She hummed, clearly amused. "How fortunate. The Temple has been in need of such connections lately."

The word Temple made his stomach twist. The hatred inside him burned once more.

"I see," he said, carefully masking his disdain.

She studied him for another moment, then gestured toward the inn behind him.

"Do not be alarmed. I merely wished to greet you. It is not often we receive outsiders of... interest."

Interest.

Zion forced a polite smile, bowing slightly.

"I am honoured," he lied through his teeth.

As she turned back toward her carriage, he remained rooted in place, heart pounding violently against his ribs.

So they had noticed him after all.

Whether as a simple merchant—or something far more dangerous—they kept their eyes on everything happening in the country.

But if they did find me suspicious enough to personally visit me... why hadn’t they chained me up and dragged me straight to their dungeon?