How to Redeem a Trashy Side Villain

Chapter 136: Work Catching Up

[Unnamed Mudwad Slave]

The bell had already rung twice today. Thankfully, I was feeling rather energetic so I had completed the first quota with plenty of time remaining and was able to rest in preparation for the second.

Although my hands were starting to get numb from constantly gripping the handle of the pickaxe, I had already learned how to turn off my brain and continue swinging regardless of the pain.

In a deep section of the cave, the stone here was more stubborn. However, it was worth it because the ores that could be mined here made filling up the quota much easier.

Sparks flew in the air whenever I struck the veins in the wall.

Vibrations would shoot up my arms and shake the brain inside my skull.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

Around me were a couple of dozen of us. We worked in silence because having meaningless conversations was a waste of breath and would only serve to tire us out faster.

Although it wasn't forbidden to speak and the guards couldn't hear us from here anyway, the habit of silence had long been engraved into our bones.

Whatever we had to say to each other, it could wait until we were outside.

The reason I bring this up is to explain why the whisper caught my attention so firmly.

Their voices weren't loud; it wasn't even clear as the sound of pickaxes striking the walls echoed all around.

But it was so odd that the swing of my tool slowed down just enough so that I could focus my attention to listen to what they were saying.

"I'm telling you, it's true."

"Hmm… I think, I'm not a hundred percent sure since she's not alive to verify it, but I think my grandmother might've told me that before."

My brows furrowed as I shifted a little closer towards them.

Grandmother? What are they talking about?

Was the concept of grandmothers even a thing around here? We had elders and people who birthed us, but familial relationships meant nothing when a hundred percent of our attention was on surviving day to day.

To us, our elders were just the Mudwads who survived here longer than the rest of us.

Picking up my basket where I had been storing my ores, I moved it a little closer to where the two voices were coming from.

Taking a closer look at the whisperers, it was two seniors. Both of them were covered in scars and were missing teeth. They were clearly pretending to chip away at the wall when in reality, their attention was elsewhere.

Keeping my tone low, I joined the conversation and asked, "What are you talking about?"

Both of them stiffened at first and seemed hesitant to continue talking. One of them, the taller one, glanced around the room to make sure that no one else was paying attention before asking me, "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

The shorter one frowned and replied, "The prophecy."

"..." After a moment of silence, I almost laughed.

"What prophecy?" I whsiepred. "Since when do we have prophecies? We don't even have access to our own magic. Even if we did have prophets walking amongst us… how would one of us ever discover their ability without somehow getting rid of this…" I said as I grabbed the ring around my neck.

The two of them exchanged a look before the taller one leaned closer and said, "This prophecy has existed since forever."

"...That doesn't make sense," I shook my head. "I've been here my whole life and have never heard of it."

"And you think they'd let you know?" the shorter one shot back. "The guards kill anyone who spreads it openly."

That made me pause.

I had seen them kill for less. Perhaps they were telling the truth.

But at the same time… something didn't add up.

If the prophecy had "existed forever," like they claimed, then how had I never heard even a whisper of it until this very moment? And if the guards killed anyone who spread it openly, then how was it common enough for them to casually ask whether I'd heard of it? They even had the audacity to look at me like I was a fool when I asked them what they were talking about.

Was it ancient and widespread? Or was it so forbidden that speaking of it meant death?

It couldn't be both.

Shaking my head again, I told the two of them, "You're both exhausted. That's all it is. The fumes in the caves are getting to you."

The taller one clicked his tongue. "I'm telling you, the prophecy is real."

"How do you know that?"

"I've… I've seen him."

"Who?"

"The one from the prophecy. The person who will save us."

My stomach dropped as I leaned closer. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I was overthinking the contradiction.

"Where have you seen them?"

He looked around the room once more and only when he was sure that no one was around did he answer, "In my dream."

"..."

"..."

I nearly punched him there.

Although I didn't believe in his dream, I became increasingly convinced throughout the day because others were talking about it.

"Hmm… perhaps the prophecy is real…"

❖ ❖ ❖

[Cyro Agnus]

I haven't slept in my own bed for more than one night in a row for the past few months.

At first, I told myself that this would be temporary as once we were done with this one mission and closed the case, I'd take a well-deserved vacation and spend time with my family.

But deep down, I knew that cases like this don't close so easily.

They rot for a long time and only when it's too late, do you catch it and have to clean up the aftermath.

I haven't told Mother, Bell, and especially not the two little girls what I've been up to.

The only one who knows is Father and he told me that my decision to keep it a secret was a good thing because it would only create useless worries for the others.

In the years that I've been a part of the First Order, this was one of the few times that so many of us were mobilized which was an immediate indication of how deeply wrong the situation was.

For the past few months, we've been tracking down a dark arts user.

This sounds like a waste of manpower but this user isn't some petty necromancer digging up graves for cheap labor or some idiot noble dabbling in forbidden texts to become youthful again.

This user was completely batshit crazy and he was the most powerful user we've seen in recent times.

Our first sighting of him was at a village. Or at least — what used to be a village.

The village had already been turned into ash by the time we got there.

All the villagers, from men, women, to children, were arranged in this ritual circle with their blood drained and redirected into channels that were carved into the earth. The scene made my stomach tighten.

One of our members who specializes in runes analyzed the circle and told us, "These sigils are ancient. Symbols that predate the current kingdoms. It's not anything that I've seen before. I don't even know if we'll be able to find it through any historical texts."

"Do you have an idea what it could be for?"

"Although I can't exactly read the symbols, I can somewhat read the mana signature and it sort of reminds me of another spell."

"Which one?"

"A summoning array."

After bringing in a group of scholars, we learned that our friend was a little off about his analysis. The mana wasn't for a summon. It was to create a gateway.

One of the scholars muttered as he adjusted his spectacles with trembling fingers, "The dark arts user isn't calling something here. They're trying to open a gate so that whatever is on the other side, they can pass through it as they like."

"Do you have an idea where the gate might lead to?"

"...We're thinking it might be to the Underworld."

The word alone was enough to make even the older members go quiet.

After destroying the remains of the formation and purifying the land, we buried what we could and paid our respects.

A week later, it happened again.

Another village. Smaller this time. The same pattern was made, and a lot of the symbols were the same except there were a few differences here and there.

It was clear that the user had corrected his mistakes and was learning and improving.

Every time we caught wind of him, we would arrive too late, and all that would remain were bodies and the faint residue of mana.

Last month, I thought that we finally had him.

Cornering him in the ruins of a watchtower near the northern border of a city that was a few hours away from home, my squad had spread out in formation and had cut off every escape route.

Breaching the structure, it was empty.

At least, that's what it looked like at first. Then we saw the array carved into the stone floor, larger than the others.

He had clearly activated it as the residue of mana was fresh.

"He… he went over to the other side," one of us said through gritted teeth.

We were a second too late and now, we had no clue where they would pop up. Our only hope was that the demons would kill the user since they were human.

Two weeks after the watchtower incident, the dark arts user appeared again. This time, it wasn't at a village. It was a clearing near the marshes that was down south, far from any major settlements.

When we arrived, there were no bodies and no ritual circle.

"Quiet. Don't expose your presence," our captain said.

What we were looking at was a gate, a half-formed tear in the air. And on the other side was movement and standing before it all was the user.

He was calm and was conversing with someone on the other side as if they were friends.

Although we could hear what was being said, none of us understood the language. Our linguistic specialist was with another group chasing a separate trail.

I could see figures beyond the other side of the crack in the air. Most of them were tall and had twisted silhouettes with horns, elongated limbs, extra limbs, tentacles, wings, etc.

Demons.

Even though he was human, they didn't attack him.

If anything, they were treating him like equals.

By the time we charged, the gateway destabilized and collapsed, the user disappearing along with it.

Luckily, our captain had managed to deliver a blow before the man had jumped across the portal and had blown a large hole in his chest. However, as a dark arts user, it was more likely than not that he would recover as if it were nothing by the next time we see him.

Our captain issued a new protocol that night. Each of us was given a small purple fruit.

He said, "If any of you are dragged into the Underworld and are surrounded by enemies, swallow this fruit immediately. It will teleport you away and although your destination will be random, that's better than having to face off against thousands of enemies by yourself."

After coming up dry in trying to catch a whiff of his trail for the past few weeks, the captain finally gave us the order that none of us wanted to hear: "Stand down for a few days. We're honestly chasing smoke at the moment. It's best that we rest and regroup once he leaves another crumb of bread for us to chase around again."

It felt wrong to do so but I could see the exhaustion in our captain's eyes.

Despite his order for us to rest, I reckon that he would probably continue searching on his own.

On my way home, that was when I felt it. The mana signature that I had become so familiar with.

My body moved before my mind did.

"Why is he here?!" I screamed as I dashed across the sky.

In my home? In my city? What was he doing here? Why here?

By the time I reached the outskirts of where the mana signature was felt, I could immediately see all of the demonic monsters that had poured out into the center of the city.

There was also a mix of summoned undead monsters and dark arts users.

But the one I had wanted to see was not there.

However, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was Bell.

I could see my little brother's body being pulled upward by a chain. He was being pulled towards a portal in the air.

My inability to resolve the issue at work has led my own little brother to be put in harm's way.