Tyron strode out of the darkness.

He was enormous, massively built, a full eight feet tall. Combined with the vicious aura that seemed born into him, he looked like some terrifying beast awakening from its lair and stepping into its own hunting ground.

The fine rain was still drifting down. The tailor’s sing-song introduction did not heighten the atmosphere like some stage performance. If anything, it only made the air colder.

Yes, colder.

As that man slowly approached, nothing in the surroundings had actually changed, yet everyone could feel a chill rising from deep inside themselves.

That was the pressure this man, known as the Beast, brought simply by existing.

“Ah... it’s Mr. Tyron...”

“I didn’t think he’d come in person...”

“So terrifying...”

The people who had come with the tailor had already wisely withdrawn to the side. Some stole glances at him out of worship, others out of fear, looking upon this great figure who, to them, existed only in legend. Those usually lawless thugs, ruthless enough not to spare even a three-year-old girl or an eighty-year-old grandmother, were now as docile as harmless cubs, terrified of becoming this beast’s prey.

“The Beast of Xipos, the Blood-Feeding Devil of Tavilan?”

Bruce seemed stunned as well. He kept muttering those titles under his breath, standing perfectly still, as if he had been completely cowed by Tyron’s reputation and presence.

If the night had not been so deep, hiding half his face, then surely the fear and timidity on it would have been impossible to conceal.

“That’s right. I am the Beast of Xipos, Tyron.”

Tyron silently sized up the Slar man before him without deliberately unleashing any pressure.

Though he could be a little violent at times, he considered himself fairly gentle in most situations. At the very least, unlike the other beasts who dominated their own territories, before devouring his prey down to the bone, he would mercifully grant those poor wretches a little time to leave behind their final words.

That, too, was a kind of confidence in his own strength. Before a true apex predator, even a little extra time for last words could not change the outcome.

“Outsider, don’t be afraid. Those unnecessary titles are just misunderstandings from outsiders. From my point of view, I am merely a manager of this area.”

“A manager? You work for the authorities?”

“The authorities? Of course not. It’s simply that even the authorities have places their reach cannot extend to. Those places are where we live. Since you’ve managed to amass your current fortune, I assume you aren’t completely ignorant of how this world works.”

Tyron’s voice was low, but his tone carried an authority that could make people tremble.

“That’s right. This is the dark side of this city, and I am the undisputed... King of Darkness of this region!”

“The... the what?” Bruce seemed to have trouble believing his ears.

“Do you need me to say it again? I am... the King of Darkness!”

The moment Tyron finished speaking, a burst of enthusiastic applause rang out. The tailor and his men clapped with all their might, their faces flushed red, as though being allowed to flatter him in this way was itself an honor.

“...”

Bruce fell silent again. He still did not move. Only his shoulders seemed to tremble slightly, as if he were forcefully suppressing something.

“That’s enough. Cut it out.”

Tyron raised a hand, stopping the tailor’s praise before even he found it a little too much to bear, while keeping his gaze fixed on the Slar man before him.

So he really was frightened that badly? Even his shoulders were trembling uncontrollably.

Tyron shook his head in disdain. This Slar man did have some ability, but only so much. A third-rank martial artist might count as a standout in this district, but to Tyron, it was nowhere near enough.

After all, he was the incomparably powerful, legendary... fourth-rank martial artist.

“All right, enough nonsense. If you have any last words, say them now. I’ve always hated leaving loose ends behind, so if you’re willing to hand over your wealth of your own accord, I can grant you a painless death,” Tyron said.

“...”

“Hm? Not talking? You get one chance for last words, and one chance to beg for death on your own terms. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“...”

“Hmph. Still nothing? Don’t tell me you’re so frightened you can’t even speak.”

“...”

“What an idiot.”

Seeing that this Slar man really was keeping his mouth shut, Tyron let out two disdainful laughs.

People always said Slar men were thickheaded. He had thought a nouveau riche like this one might be different in that regard, but in the end he was exactly the same.

Ridiculous. Did he really think Tyron’s threat... was only a threat?

“This guy’s finished...”

Feeling the murderous intent coming off the Beast of Xipos, the tailor hurriedly shrank his neck and retreated to the side with his men.

As one of Tyron’s subordinates, he knew better than anyone what sort of man Tyron really was.

The title Beast of Xipos did not come merely from his size. It came even more from the fact that this man, who fancied himself “kind,” most enjoyed tearing his targets apart alive like a beast.

The tailor had seen Tyron rip people apart over the slightest disagreement more than once. Every single time, it had left a massive shadow over his tender little heart, despite his being over forty years old.

And now, that bloody scene was about to unfold again.

“Outsider, you’ll regret your stupidity!”

Tyron strode forward. His frame was massive, yet his speed was unbelievably fast. The tailor’s vision blurred, and Tyron was already standing directly in front of that Slar man, both hands resting on his shoulders.

That posture—just as expected...

“Still not talking?”

Tyron lowered his head to look down, but the absurdly tall top hat blocked his view, and he could not see the other man’s face.

Yet even with Tyron already this close, there was still no reaction at all. So he really had gone stiff from fear?

“Fine. No matter. Once I rip open your shoulders and expose your ribs and entrails, you’ll say what needs saying.”

Tyron’s ten fingers suddenly clamped down. The muscles all over his body swelled like giant pythons, and the demon tattoo across his chest opened its blood-red maw as if it too were about to devour a man whole.

“It’s happening! The Beast of Xipos!”

The tailor covered his eyes, already unwilling to witness the grotesque bloodbath. All he heard was Tyron give a low, heavy roar.

“Hah!”

“...”

“...”

“...”

The air suddenly went still. Only the faint sound of fine rain drifting through the night remained.

The tailor kept his eyes covered for a long while, afraid that if he accidentally saw the bloody scene, he would lose his appetite for days.

But... as time passed, a sliver of confusion gradually rose in him.

Strange.

What happened after that shout?

Had the Slar man already been torn apart?

But where was the wet sound of flesh ripping? The cracking of bones? The Slar man’s screams?

Why was none of that there?

Why was there no sound at all?

Unable to make sense of it, the tailor finally gathered his courage and secretly parted his fingers by the smallest slit.

And then he saw...

Nothing had happened.

Yes. Nothing at all had happened.

The Beast, Tyron, was still standing there with both hands gripping the Slar man, every muscle in his body bulging into a horrifying shape, veins beneath his skin twitching like writhing snakes...

But the Slar man named Bruce had not moved in the slightest.

“W-What’s going on?” the tailor blurted in confusion. “Lord Tyron... wh-what are you doing? Hurry up and deal with this guy. Patrols are especially strict at night lately. If the city watch shows up, we’re not afraid of them... but it’ll still be a pain.

Lord Tyron?”

Tyron did not respond. He only stared fixedly at the Slar man in front of him, a man he had considered beneath notice mere seconds ago.

After several silent beats, the muscles across his body swelled again. Battle aura burst from him, and his whole frame instantly pushed past ten feet tall.

“Hah!”

“...”

“Hah!”

“...”

“Hah!”

“...”

His muscles swelled again, and this time even the veins in his forehead looked ready to burst.

“Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah!”

The low roars echoed through the deep night like the bellowing of a beast. Every one of them contained tremendous force. At such close range, the sound alone could have ruptured an ordinary man’s organs and killed him.

But the Slar nouveau riche named Bruce did not so much as stir a corner of his coat.

Only when Tyron’s throat was nearly hoarse from roaring did Bruce finally seem to notice what the Beast of Xipos was doing. He tilted his head up at an angle, and a faintly puzzled expression appeared on his deep-featured face.

“Hm? What were you saying just now?”

“...”

“Ah, sorry. You made me laugh with what you said before—about being the ‘King of Darkness’ and all that—so I didn’t hear the rest.”

Bruce raised a hand. Two fingers pressed lightly against Tyron’s wrist. His expression was gentle, his smile mild and harmless.

“Could I trouble you to say it again, Mr. Beast?”

“...”

Tyron’s pupils trembled. So did his heart.

The instant he realized something was wrong—no, the instant he finally confirmed that something was wrong—he had wanted to wrench himself free and flee. But the moment those two fingers pressed down so lightly, it felt as though a mountain had dropped onto him.

The fourth-rank strength in which he took such pride now seemed as weak as a child’s...

No, not merely that. The gap was even more absurd than the difference between a child and an adult.

It was like the gap between a foolish, ignorant insect... and a true beast.

“Ah!”

The tailor snapped back to himself in terror and finally understood what this scene meant. He reacted quickly and turned to run.

But he had only taken two steps when a thin arc of light, fine as spider silk, flashed past beside him.

The tailor crashed to the ground. Warmth touched his cheek. He lowered his head dully and saw that one of his hands, now impossible to save, was disintegrating piece by piece in a grotesquely slow collapse.

“One hand. Five hundred thousand.”

He heard the Slar man’s voice.

“The price of greed.”

“AAAAAHHHH!!”

The tailor clutched the severed arm, now beyond any hope of reattachment, and writhed screaming on the ground. Yet Tyron’s expression was no less pained than the tailor’s.

Reflected in his eyes was that Slar man—this smiling Slar man—and he felt as if every bone and muscle in his body were screaming, as if both soul and flesh were crying out in agony that threatened to tear him apart the very next instant.

“You...”

Tyron realized he had provoked someone he never ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ should have touched. He finally understood that he himself had been the fish on the hook.

“Who... who are you, exactly?”

“Who am I? That question feels a little repetitive. Haven’t I already told you my name?”

“No... I mean...”

“Ah, you mean my other name? I do have one. In another place very much like this one, many people prefer to call me by that insignificant little title—”

Using his other hand, Bruce adjusted his top hat and smiled calmly.

“[The Dark Emperor].”