The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 205

The underworld streets were as foul as one could imagine—an open wound beneath the city's skin. The stench of rotting food mixed with stale blood and piss clung to the air like a disease.

Muck clung to every crevice in the cobblestones, and rats scurried around like shadowy residents of their own kingdom. Shouts, groans, and drunken laughter echoed through the narrow, crooked alleys.

The underworld district was nothing like the clean, noble towns Kael had once walked through. The air smelled of piss, blood, and cheap alcohol. Flies buzzed over piles of trash rotting in the corners. Mud mixed with who-knows-what stuck to Kael's boots as he followed Bob down the dark, narrow alleys.

The buildings were broken and leaning. Clothes hung from windows, and suspicious eyes peered from the shadows. Screams and laughter echoed from deep inside the maze of streets.

A scar-eyed man, hunched and twitchy, led a cloaked figure through the grime-ridden path. The figure moved with a quiet, heavy aura. His face was hidden behind a dark metal mask, and a thick cloak draped over his form like a curtain of shadow. Beneath the disguise was Kael, his presence dulled yet dangerous, like a blade hidden beneath silk.

"Where is it?" Kael's voice came out low and cold.

The scar-eyed man, Bob, flinched and looked around nervously. "You… you aren't planning to dupe me, right?"

Kael didn't even look at him, but the tone in his reply was enough to send shivers down Bob's spine.

"You wouldn't like what happened if I thought you were."

Bob gulped and nodded frantically. "Of course not! Believe me!"

Kael simply grunted in reply and continued forward, his boots squelching in the mud as they passed overflowing gutters and broken barrels leaking some dark, unidentifiable sludge.

They soon emerged into a wider space, a street that seemed like a festival for the damned.

One side of the street was taken over by makeshift tables where rough-looking men and sly-eyed women gambled with cards and dice. Coins clinked, curses flew, and laughter erupted as someone won a hand. The dealer slapped the table and shouted, "Next round! No cheatin', or ya lose a finger!"

On the other side was a bloodstained pit surrounded by shouting men. A small fight arena had been set up using wooden railings and iron posts. Inside, two half-naked men pounded each other with brutal fists, one already missing a few teeth. Blood flew as fists landed with sickening thuds.

"Kill him, Gordo!"

"Rip his damn throat!"

"Ten silver on the skinny one!"

The air buzzed with violence and intoxication, a celebration of chaos.

Kael's gaze swept through the crowd. Despite the filth and madness, his eyes were calm, calculating. His attention turned forward as Bob pointed toward a stone wall at the end of the street.

The wall loomed high, dark and cracked, lit by scattered torches fixed onto rusting iron poles. Sheets of rough parchment and cloth hung from it like war trophies.

"That's it," Bob said, wiping sweat from his brow. "The bounty wall. The real one. The underworld kind."

Kael walked closer, boots kicking aside crushed bottles and bones. He scanned the wall, eyes tracing each face, each name, each sum scrawled in ink and blood.

"The ones with the highest bounties," Bob said, pointing up with a shaking finger, "they're always pinned to the top."

Kael looked up.

The top row was filled with faces twisted in cruelty—murderers, war criminals, madmen. Disfigured features, hollow eyes, cruel smiles. And then…

There, among them all, stood a bounty sheet with an eerily handsome face. Clean-cut, eyes sharp, chin high like a noble. But the line below spat venom.

"KAEL – DEAD OR ALIVE. REWARD: 50,000 GOLD COINS"

Kael's hands curled into fists. His knuckles cracked under the tension. His eyes stared daggers at the sketch that mirrored his own face—arrogant, regal, alive.

"These pieces of shit…" he muttered, barely containing the venom in his voice.

"How dare they band me with these criminals?"

The words dripped with fury. His chest rose and fell faster. A rebirth. A second life. And yet, here he was… again. Hunted. Labeled. Tarnished.

He hadn't even begun yet and the world had already branded him.

His blood boiled with rage. Hatred crackled beneath his skin like lightning behind a storm.

Bob stepped back slightly, sensing the building danger.

Kael didn't speak at first. He stared at the bounty, burning it into his mind. The mask on his face couldn't hide the gleam in his eyes. A dangerous gleam as if a

predator was awakening and hungry for blood.

Suddenly, Kael asked, without looking back, "You said the top people… they gather here?"

"Uh… y-yes?" Bob answered, voice shaking. He swallowed hard, a terrible chill crawling down his back.

Kael turned slightly, his lips curling into a grin beneath the mask.

"Good," he said, his tone low but sharp enough to cut flesh.

Bob flinched. Something deep in his gut told him something bad was coming. The kind of bad that leaves blood on the walls and silence in the air.

......

In one of the main buildings on Cascoid Street—known secretly as the meeting place of the top outlaw leaders—the air was thick with the heavy scent of opium and strong alcohol. Smoke lingered like mist, and dim lights barely lit the room filled with shadows.

Four men sat inside, each more dangerous than the other.

On the far left sat Verno, a sharp-eyed man with a long scar cutting across his cheek. His smile always carried a bit of mischief, but his cruelty was known across the underground. Verno was the leader of this gang, a strategist who once took down a noble's estate in one night without raising a sword himself.

Next to him, drinking from a chipped glass, was Jax, a broad-shouldered man with only one arm. In place of his right forearm was a rusted ship hook, sharp and stained from old fights. He was a former pirate captain who ruled the black docks and sold weapons in secret to all sides.

Across the table sat Marn, bulky like a mountain. His body was covered in scars, and one could hear the weight of each breath he took. Known for breaking bones with bare hands, Marn was the enforcer, a brutal killer who rose from street fights to gang rule.

Beside him sat Garro, a slim man with a fox-like face, always watching, always calculating. His hands were clean, but his words could kill. Garro was the broker, the information dealer who sold secrets and hunted bounties with precision.

These four ruled the underworld of Cascoid street and the entire share of town and the periphery.

They weren't just criminals—they were kings among rats, feared even by knights and bounty hunters. Each had a strength close to an A-rank, and none bowed to anyone.

Now, their eyes turned to two trembling men kneeling before them. One of the men—the one who had sent Bob—kept his head down, sweating as if standing before gods.

Verno leaned forward, smirking."Are you sure he's the one?" he asked with a tone that could cut.

The man nodded quickly, though his voice cracked."Y-Yes, my lord... I swear. He fits the description."

Inside, he cursed his fate. All he had done was send Bob to test a stranger. Moments later, these powerful men had dragged him here.

Luckily, they hadn't killed him yet.

Jax took a big gulp of his drink and slammed the glass down, laughing loud and deep.

"HAHAHAHA! A pie has fallen right into our lap!" he shouted.

"Fifty thousand gold coins! For one job! That's child's play!"

But Marn and Garro didn't share his joy. Their faces grew serious.

"It won't be that easy," Marn grunted, shaking his head slowly. He turned to Verno.

"Have you checked his background? Who placed the bounty? Why do they want him dead?"

Garro narrowed his eyes, his voice cold.

"Yes… We can't afford to poke a sleeping dragon. We've survived too many wars to die for gold."

These men had seen death up close. They weren't scared of the law or rival gangs. But the poster—of a young man, barely twenty, marked Dead or Alive—left them uneasy. It didn't feel right.

Verno lit a cigar, eyes glowing through the smoke.

"I checked. The bounty was placed by the... Followers of Peru."

"WHAT?!"

All

of them froze.

The two kneeling men gasped, one of them nearly collapsing in fear. novelbuddy.cσ๓

"F-Followers of Peru..." the other whispered with trembling lips.

Even the bravest of thugs didn't mess with that name. They were cultists, knights, and madmen twisted by faith and blood.

Jax slammed his hook on the table."What the hell?! Is he a Paladin? A runaway from Peru?"

Verno shrugged."Who knows? No one has a clear answer. That's the problem."

Jax growled and stood up."We're being too careful! What if he's just a nobody? No backing, no support—just some unlucky fool. You're all scared for nothing!"

Marn snapped back."Don't be stupid, Jax! You think fifty thousand coins come without risk?! You're not poor. Don't throw your life for greed!"

"SHUT UP!" Jax roared.

"If you're too scared, back off! I'll take the full bounty myself—just don't get in my way—"

BOOOOM!

A massive blast shook the building. The windows shattered. The thick smoke scattered. Everyone jumped up.

A black sword came flying like lightning, smashing through the wall and landing in the center of the room with a loud clang. The floor cracked beneath it, and a trail of crimson blood followed it in, staining the floor like a message.

Through the broken wall stepped a figure in a dark cloak, his boots crunching the broken debris. Behind the mask, a twisted grin grew wider.

"Kekekekek..."

"It's good you're all here. Saves me the trouble of hunting you one by one."