◈ REAPER SCANS ◈
Translator: Regressed Translator
Editor: leef
Discord: https://dsc.gg/reapercomics
◈ Return of the Disaster-Class Young Lord ◈
Chapter 32 | Visit (3)
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A dining hall made entirely of steel.
The tabletop.
The chairs.
Even the walls and ceiling, all forged from metal so solid it felt unnerving.
In the center of this frigid room, a young man with black hair streaked in red carved off a large chunk of steak. He took a bite of the meat, its fresh blood still dripping, and swallowed. Then, in a quiet tone, he spoke.
"Laira, I am magnanimous."
“…P-Pardon?”
She looked more like a corpse than a living person—skin pale as snow, dark circles under her eyes, and shoulders drooping under exhaustion. The maid, Laira, stood by to serve him, blinking in confusion at the man’s words. She had no idea what nonsense he was spouting.
"My own brother ran away from House Vlad, and yet I haven’t torn apart the personal maid who failed to notice. That proves my generosity."
Her face turned even paler. For a moment, she trembled like a leaf at the prospect of being dismembered. Then she heard him continue in a low voice.
“So, Laira… answer me.”
“Answer, my lord?”
“Have you found Dion yet?”
“W-Well, I…”
Fear contorted her features. She collapsed to the floor in a trembling bow.
“I’m so sorry, sir! I am searching for him, but all traces have been wiped clean, and there’s so much false information…”
“False information?”
"Y-Yes!" She nodded frantically, her forehead pressing against the cold steel floor.
Still prostrate on the ground, Laira explained the situation to Ren Unlicht—known as the Mad Demon—one of the Eight Renowned and Six Malevolents.
After discovering that Dion had fled House Vlad, she had followed Ren’s orders to track him down. Honestly, it should have been simple. Dion might have escaped alone, or with just Parsha, but taking an entire tribe of dark elves with him meant someone, somewhere, would have noticed.
Normally, that would have been the case.
But the actual findings were baffling. Sure, traces of dark elves had been spotted at gates all over the region. Rumors spread that dark elf clans had arrived in fortified cities, underground cities, and war-torn cities—apparently scattered across the entire Centuriate Cities.
Even as an exclusive maid from House Unlicht, sifting through so many conflicting leads in just ten days was impossible.
"M-Maybe the seventh young lord has help from someone…"
"Is that supposed to be an excuse?"
"Hiiik! S-Sorry! I’m so sorry!"
She remained prostrate, bowing over and over as Ren stared down at her with the disdain one might have for an insect. Then, he lifted his foot.
Crunch!
"Hrk!"
A mere light stomp—yet that alone crushed her arm to a pulp. Shredded flesh parted, exposing splintered bone. Laira’s body convulsed, but she was in such shock that not even a scream emerged.
Ren coolly observed her trembling, then returned to cutting his steak.
“You seem incompetent. Finish serving me.”
"Y-Y-Yes, sir!"
Relieved at having escaped with only that punishment, the maid stood on shaky legs, one arm twisted and useless, and resumed her duty. Meanwhile, Ren finished his meal, cold thoughts gathering in his mind.
So he’s awakened after all?
He recalled Dion’s trail, left behind when he’d allegedly lost control and attacked House Vlad’s servants, then abruptly vanished. Dion’s rampage had culminated in the murder of the Little Magic City Lord’s son, after which he had disappeared with the Dark Elves.
I’m sure he’s gained some impressive class or trait. But still, a late-bloomer with a weak background is no match for me.
It might have been one thing if Dion had spent decades quietly biding his time. Instead, he caused havoc so soon after awakening. Ren found it both laughable and pathetic.
Run as far as you like, foolish brother. In the end, your fate is sealed.
Sharing half the same blood, Ren believed it was his personal duty to snap the life from his inept little brother. He contemplated this calmly as a frosty smile crossed his lips.
Meanwhile…
◈ REAPER SCANS ◈
Translator: Regressed Translator
Editor: leef
◈ Join our discord for updates on releases! https://dsc.gg/reapercomics ◈
Scarcity of purified water.
Aging infrastructure.
Dissatisfied residents.
Lack of talent.
These were just a few of the problems every lord faced in running a domain. Yet of all these challenges, one stood out as the most common: a shortage of funds. As a domain grew, so did the costs, and money quickly became an insatiable monster.
Thus, lords scramble to secure funds by any means.
Whether by squeezing their subjects, leveraging family influence, or...
Holding events like the Hunting Festival.
A hunting festival provided an opportunity for individuals to hone their skills without burning through large quantities of mana stones. It was an event worth paying a steep fee to join for mid- or low-level awakened who were still growing.
Hence…
In the Unnatural City, a maze of platforms and levels was formed by a myriad of crisscrossing bridges and stairways. Off to one side stood a spiraling fortress with a thick, snail-shell-like outer wall, sat the Devil’s Tree Manor.
Today, more visitors than usual were arriving.
"There sure are a lot of people for this year’s hunting festival."
"Well, it’s the manor’s 100th anniversary. They’ve doubled the number of available entry tickets, apparently."
"So the place is swarming not just with paying customers, but with rabble, too."
"Loads of shameless folks are trying to bribe their way in with a few pieces of mana stones. Honestly, humans never cease to amaze me."
Poor nobles, awakened with meager talent, and even regular folk with big dreams. All sorts of people wanted to participate, using any connections or underhanded methods they could muster.
But the gatekeepers, seasoned from dealing with the same nonsense every year, politely admitted legitimate guests and sent away trespassers. They were almost bored from routine.
Until some rather unusual guests showed up.
“Hmm. The domain layout is quite interesting.”
“Indeed. It’s a rare type of manor.”
“You think so too, Arsha?”
"Yes, my lord. External-shell structures typically have limited capacity, so they’re less favored by most nobles."
"Makes sense."
The gatekeepers gaped at the newcomers.
That mask?! No way—!
A small, delicate figure dressed in elegant noble attire, wearing a white half-mask, walked toward them.
Here in the vicinity of the Unnatural City, no one could fail to recognize him. The white-masked young lord—his feats in subjugating bandits and wanted criminals had made him famous, though sightings of him were still rare.
As they stared, Dion approached the guards calmly.
“Hello. This is the Devil’s Tree Manor, right?”
“Y-Yes, that’s correct.”
“Great. I was worried I’d come to the wrong place, but I’m glad I got here on the first try.”
“A-Are you here to participate in the Hunting Festival?”
“I am.”
“We’d be honored to have you, but… um… I’m sorry to say this event is reservation-only. We can’t accept same-day registration.”
The gatekeepers had dealt with plenty of pushy nobles, but this was different. He was rumored to be from one of the Hundred Great Houses. They had to tread lightly.
Fortunately, their worry was needless. Dion answered smoothly.
“I know.”
Click.
“Oh, so you already have tickets?”
“The white-masked young lord gracing our festival… this is indeed an honor.”
The guards breathed a sigh of relief when Dion displayed two entry tickets. Then their eyes shifted to the figure at his side.
“So the second ticket is for… this lady?”
“Yes, my concubine.”
“Ah, indeed…”
“You’re quite bold, my lord.”
The woman beside him, her face concealed by a delicate veil, revealed only her smooth, dark skin. The young lord had an arm around her waist, and although the gatekeepers couldn’t identify her race, they could tell she was striking.
They couldn’t help but marvel. He had turned down an engagement with the Disaster Bride, claiming he already had a fiancée, yet here he was, taking a concubine as well. More than that, providing her with such an expensive entry ticket was a mark of wealth.
“Then please, come right in. An attendant will guide you to the banquet hall.”
“Huh. Just to verify, you’re not going to refuse me for bringing too many people along, right?”
“Haha, hardly. Bringing your concubine alone wouldn’t cause any trouble, I’m sure.”
That was only natural. Once you held a valid ticket, you were considered a Devil’s Tree Manor guest, regardless of your status.
“Concubine alone? Who said I brought only one?”
“Pardon?”
“Huh...?”
“Hey, Lucky Girl.”
Hop!
At his cue, a lupin girl with scruffy, hyena-like hair bounded over from behind. Her tail wagged eagerly—Orr Kai, the so-called Lucky Girl.
The gatekeepers noticed a pendant around her neck and tilted their heads.
“Oh, you also brought… a slave? W-Well…”
They began to nod. It wasn’t unheard of for wealthy nobles to bring a top-tier slave or two as bodyguards. But then…
“Hey, Rat-Face, Froggy, Hammer, Old Cough…”
The guards stared in shock.
A ratman with a kitchen knife.
A bullywug carrying a plow.
A dream demon hefting a giant hammer.
An elderly kobold leaning on a spear…
As Dion called them, thirty-one slaves timidly stepped forward. The guards gaped.
“W-Wait just a moment! You want to bring all these slaves inside?!”
“Sure, why not?”
“But that’s… impossible!”
“Is it?”
Snap.
Dion snapped his fingers. In perfect sync with his signal, his slaves produced thirty-one tickets. Smiling gently, Dion reminded them:
“Didn’t you say that as long as you have a ticket, you’re a Devil’s Tree Manor guest, no matter your station?”
The guards stood there, frozen at his remark.
* * *
Ultimately, after a minor commotion, Dion and Arsha entered Devil’s Tree Manor—their slaves in tow.
It was only natural. Each Hunting Festival ticket cost well over ten million krutal, and as long as the bearer held a legitimate ticket, they were a guest, noble or not.
…It was just that no one had ever been foolish (or wealthy) enough to blow literal fortunes on a horde of slaves.
As they entered the lavish banquet hall brimming with food, the other guests gazed in wonder at Dion’s entourage.
“So that’s the rumored “slave battalion” of the white-masked young lord?”
“I hear they’re all awakened, high-end slaves, no less.”
“Thirty top-tier slaves? He must definitely be from one of the Hundred Great Houses…”
“He even brought a concubine and slaves to the Hunting Festival. You can tell he’s practically drowning in money.”
Curiosity, jealousy, greed, wariness—every sort of emotion flickered in the eyes of the festival’s attendees. Most were mid- or low-level awakened and had yet to fully bloom, so the white-masked young lord’s reputation left them both intrigued and intimidated.
The slaves, feeling all those gazes, stiffened nervously…
But Dion, the center of attention, remained perfectly composed.
“No need to hold back. Eat as much as you want.”
“S-Sir? Eat as much as we want?”
“Yup. It’s included in the entry fee. Might as well get our money’s worth.”
“R-Right, good point…”
Even after hearing Dion’s permission, the slaves exchanged hesitant glances. But their hesitation lasted only a moment.
Once Orr Kai lunged at the food-laden table, the others followed suit in a ravenous stampede.
Now people gawked for an entirely different reason—the sheer spectacle of so many slaves devouring everything in sight.
Meanwhile…
“Why am I here again…?”
Raising his voice, the rabbit-eared boy with a lute, Naru, looked bewildered.
“It’s just my way of saying thank you,” Dion replied.
“Thank you?”
“For procuring these tickets for all of us.”
“That was simple enough once I used the Guild’s resources.”
“Sure, sure.”
Dion nodded, wearing a mild smile.
“Including how you had to deal with those fake tickets.”
“…Pardon?”
“All the more reason to thank you for providing us with the ‘real’ ones.”
If they had shown up here and some of the tickets had turned out to be counterfeits, it would have caused a massive headache.
The masked boy smiled mischievously, implying that was exactly why he insisted on bringing Naru along.
Swallowing hard, Naru reminded himself how glad he was that the Guild tore up those counterfeit tickets.
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