The Terminally Ill Young Master is the Mad Dog of the Underworld-Chapter 269

[Translator - Pot ]

[Proofreader - Kawaii ]

Chapter 269: Brothers' Night

The siege had already entered its third day.

Day and night, the relentless and fierce assaults of Count Pergrin’s forces battered the defenders.

Allenvert and Siena carved through the soldiers on the walls as if they were walking in and out of their own home, their martial prowess undeniable.

And as if determined to deny the defenders even sleep, the enemy attacked in shifts with unyielding persistence.

"The soldiers' morale is in shambles."

"Many are complaining of nervous exhaustion."

"We must force them to rest, even if we have to push the mercenaries into night defense—"

"What about deploying the underworld scum alongside them? They’re already creatures of the night anyway—"

"Do you really think those bastards will obey without a fuss?"

"They will if we offer more money."

Marquis Belorok sighed as he listened to his advisors debate with grave expressions.

"Vicious bastards, aren’t they?"

"They’re just overzealous. If we hold firm for a few more days, they’ll wear themselves out."

The Marquis nodded slightly at his son’s words.

"True. They may charge like wild stallions, but breaching this fortress is beyond them."

"But Allenvert… that bastard’s methods are downright brutal."

"They say he was holed up in his room like a cripple, but he fights like a rabid dog from the underworld."

The Marquis clicked his tongue.

"No mercy in his strikes, and his martial skill is extraordinary."

"So the rumors of Young Lady Siena’s defeat must be true."

The Marquis sighed, eyeing his son’s plump face.

"Born with noble blood, destined for endless luxury—yet he chooses to swing a sword like a common brute."

Wine, banquets, delicacies indulging in them made one soft and slow, but wasn’t that the very privilege that set nobles above the rabble?

"High title or not, his clan’s roots are in the blade. A house of warriors."

As the two spat their disdain for Allenvert, a man approached.

"My lords, there’s no need for such concern."

It was Aaron, the foremost of the Four Heavenly Kings.

"After careful observation, I estimate the Fourth Young master’s martial prowess to be mid-Sixth Stage. Impressive for his age, but still beneath me—let alone Danten or Levrin."

The Marquis narrowed his eyes.

"You’re certain of that?"

"Why would I lie to my own lord?" Aaron replied with confidence.

"Without a doubt, he’s beneath me."

Allenvert wanted his enemies to underestimate him as mid-Sixth Stage.

To lull their vigilance, he had refrained from using his signature techniques like Moon Dance or Lonely Wave Yearning Moon, nor had he unleashed his supreme arts like Celestial Chain Breaker or Profound Radiant Heaven Rend.

"Then we can rest easy. What about that foreign wench, Rudgarda?"

"The same. Levrin can handle her."

The Marquis finally relaxed.

"With you all here, I need not worry."

This was precisely why he had spent fortunes to secure them.

Lavishing them with privileges and pleasures.

To guard his wealth, nothing was more vital than a sharp blade.

"Chief Strategist."

"Yes, Your Excellency?"

The Marquis turned to the man he had hired at great expense, a renowned tactician who had authored several military treatises.

"Any countermeasures? They seem intent on grinding us down slowly."

"By conventional tactics, their approach is flawed. I would have sought a flanking route, yet they stubbornly charge head-on. A waste, given the traps we laid along the waterways."

The Young master chuckled.

"Isn’t it precisely because of your ironclad preparations that they’ve resorted to brute force?"

"Hah! Perhaps so."

As the two exchanged smug grins, the Marquis opened his mouth to speak—

"Night raid! The bastards are attacking again!"

The timely report cut short further discussion.

"Send the reserves to repel them. Their goal is to exhaust us, no need for excessive engagement."

Bluff or real assault?

Forcing the enemy to split their focus between the two…

That was Kailen’s ploy—today’s true strike lurked beneath the feint.

***

"After three days, Belorok’s fortress remains unbroken."

"Their night raids wear down the defenders’ stamina and nerves."

"Pergrin’s forces show signs of dispatching a detachment toward the Lindela River."

Verdzig received near real-time updates from the distant battlefield, thanks to the intelligence network built by Bergen, Agrippa, and the Recrusa clan.

"It will likely be tonight."

He unfurled a map of Marquis Belorok’s domain, marking troop positions as described.

"Watch closely, Harald. Reports say Allenvert, even while rampaging through enemy lines, holds back—deceiving them."

"Indeed."

"Two motives are at play. Can you guess them?"

"One is to mislead them about his true strength. The other is to exploit their miscalculation and strike decisively when it matters."

"Correct. And I suspect that strike will come from the waterways."

Verdzig slid a marker along the river.

"These three days of leading his elites in battle? Likely honing his instincts to their peak. If he unleashes his full power, even Aaron, the leader of the Four Heavenly Kings will struggle to withstand him."

Judging by his strategies against Huten and Schelde, Allenvert favored deception and mobility and striking where least expected.

"...It seems the Marquis may not survive tonight."

Harald spoke with a grave expression.

"Your Highness, shouldn't we make our move as well? There's little time left to exploit the Fourth Young master's absence."

Verdzig crossed his arms at these words.

"Harald, the answer still eludes us."

"If I may ask what troubles you—"

"Surely you know?"

Verdzig twisted his lips.

"Were I to move decisively, I could sweep away Allen's preparations in a single night. With just the Godfather of the Red Mist Alliance and Knut restrained, slaughtering the rest would pose no difficulty."

"Indeed."

"The problem—"

Having recently seized full control of the clan, he'd uncovered secrets hidden in darkness.

"—is how absurdly twisted this matter is. Even my maternal relatives, even Agrippa, were deeply entangled with the Black Society in their plot to overthrow Father and Grunewald."

Verdzig let out a hollow laugh.

"Could you accept a daughter from such a clan as your wife? Raise her child as your heir?"

"......"

As Harald hesitated, Verdzig radiated subdued killing intent.

"An unpleasant truth is better than sweet lies. Speak."

"My apologies."

Harald immediately bowed his head.

"Forgive my bluntness, but I would find it... difficult."

"No forgiveness needed. Neither could I."

Verdzig turned away.

"Skella. What would you have done?"

The ever-silent Skella answered:

"Naturally, I'd never have wed that clan's daughter. A political choice far beyond common understanding."

"Also correct."

Verdzig continued:

"Yet Father accepted Mother as his wife. Though he gave no affection, he never neglected his duties as husband or father. He gave Karl, me, even Somerset equal opportunities."

"......"

"What a terrifyingly fair and emotionless man. Had Allen not proven exceptional, Father would have ultimately named me heir."

Because that would have been Grunewald's optimal choice.

"Though he'd have severed Bergen as a safeguard."

Verdzig was certain.

"But Allen demonstrated skill rivaling mine. So Father's favor wasn't merely for his 'kindness'."

"...Your Highness."

Harald spoke with difficulty.

"If His Grace the Black Serpent Duke is so impartial, wouldn't rejecting you for Bergen's original sin be contradictory?"

"True. Perhaps Father guarantees me this minimal chance."

Thus Verdzig's torment...

Stemmed from Georg keeping him in the succession despite countless reasons to disqualify him.

"It's hard to resent Father. I know he strives to be fair to me."

In other words.

Verdzig had finally felt paternal love from his father.

"Skella."

Verdzig looked to Skella again.

"If I ignore that intent and take the 'most efficient path'... I'd cross some line Father has drawn."

His mind teemed with ruthless options.

Killing or crippling Allen's maternal clan, manipulating the household, crushing brothers like Somerset and Barclava.

Knowing these bloody paths would seat him on Grunewald's throne.

"Even if I ruin Allen and seize the throne... would Father acknowledge me?"

"......"

After a pause, Skella answered.

"Unlikely."

Harald gritted his teeth watching his lord's anguish.

This man, once so ruthless and fearsome now shaken by human emotion felt alien.

"Harald. Does this make me weak?"

"...Your Highness."

He could only bow and reply.

"You remain the strongest of all."

Verdzig twisted his lips.

"Do I?"

Despite his turmoil shaken by Allen, his father, and Skella could he still call himself strong?

Even in this unprecedented inner storm, Verdzig refused to collapse.

"Then I must decide."

He rose from his seat.

"Tonight, we move."

Where his gaze fell would become clear to all when dawn broke.

***

"Good. What a spectacular mess they're making."

I turned from watching the midnight chaos at the walls.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

Jeffrey answered.

"River obstacles cleared. All outposts neutralized."

"Good. Impressively clean work."

Venion's shadow operatives were exceptional, but Kailen's preparations matched them.

"Your Highness, the crossing boats stand ready."

I nodded.

"Smooth. Let's move."

Taris looked unconvinced.

"Could this be a trap? It's proceeding too easily."

"One sleepless night turns men into fools. After three, stupid decisions are inevitable."

I pointed at Taris.

"While we're gone, you'll lead the personal guard's assault on the walls. No mistakes."

"Understood."

"Good."

My gaze swept over Siena, Rudgarda, Ghir, and Drak before I declared:

"Let's go wreak havoc."

[Translator - Pot ]

[Proofreader - Kawaii ]

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