Chapter 35: The Calm Before The Spark

Callum stood still, the recklessness from moments ago gone, replaced by calculation.
Who is this middle-aged man? Callum wondered.
A man capable of taking down an entire group like it was a game… surely not an ordinary person.
He knew the rules in Venezia well: the strong were not always the powerful, but the powerful often had both strength and backing. Until he learned exactly what kind of influence stood behind Aaron, flaunting his own connections would be no different from taking off his armor in front of the enemy.
Callum spoke up, his tone calm and steady—far removed from earlier.
“You… where are you from?”
Aaron remained upright, his gaze sweeping over Callum like one might study an animal trying to guess the creature before them.
“Where I’m from doesn’t matter. What matters is that I don’t belong here… and I’m not someone you should try too hard to learn about.”
The answer was simple, yet sharp as a thin blade—just enough to draw an invisible line.
Callum hesitated slightly.
No flaunting of status, no fear… yet that voice showed a man who knew exactly how to place himself above others. If he were just a drifter, how could he be this confident?
He asked nothing more. The other man wouldn’t reveal anything anyway, and it only made Aaron’s figure in his mind more blurred and unfathomable.
Gen, standing nearby, could clearly feel the advantage tipping his way. Aaron’s reply had, without meaning to, reinforced the lie he’d told earlier, turning suspicion into smoke too thin to grasp.
Aaron stepped over a corpse, the mud on his boots smearing the trail of blood on the floor. He stopped in front of Gen, his eyes like they could peer straight into the depths of his thoughts.
“You. Go outside. Bring back a squad of soldiers from the nearest guard post.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but carried the kind of pressure that made those used to following orders simply nod without thinking.
Gen stayed still for half a beat before replying.
“Yes… but sir, I don’t know where the guard post is here. I’m afraid I’ll waste time searching…”
Aaron cut him off.
“If you can’t find it, then you’re not fast enough to keep your life tonight.”
Gen pressed his lips together and lowered his head, hiding the calculating glint in his eyes. This old man… was testing him.
He spoke again, voice lowered.
“Then… please give me something to prove I’m acting on your behalf. If not, the guards will ask questions, and I fear it’ll slow things down.”
Aaron didn’t answer immediately. He studied Gen for a few seconds—long enough for the silence to grow uncomfortable. Then, he reached into his coat and pulled out a triangular silver-edged metal badge, embossed with a two-headed dragon coiled around a greatsword. Two tiny rubies were set into the dragon’s eyes, catching the lamplight with a blood-red glimmer as if alive. This was the emblem of the Senate Marshal—authority second only to the King himself.
“You won’t be disappointed, sir.”
Gen reached out, offering a modest, faint smile.
Aaron let the badge drop into his palm. His gaze held no absolute trust—only a careful record of every subtle reaction from Gen.
Gen turned and left, his shoulders slightly hunched, steps slow like someone who had just escaped death. But inside, he was calm—coldly so.
Aaron could doubt him, could watch him. But doubt without proof… was nothing.
Passing the abandoned distillery, Gen’s steps slowed. A faint smile crossed his lips before he silently slipped inside.
“[Umbral Avatar].”
His voice was soft, almost casual.
Hurried footsteps echoed outside the tavern’s door. Gen walked in front, his pace steady, unconcerned by the urgency behind him. A squad of town guards followed close, still in light armor, their grips tight on their spear shafts.
The young soldier leading them felt a creeping unease crawl up his spine. He could still recall the moment Gen had appeared before them—no lengthy explanation, just the quiet reveal of a heavy badge, its cold metallic gleam reflecting off his calm face.
That badge… belonged to the highest command tier in the Imperial army.
How could it appear in a place this remote?
The fear wasn’t from what Gen might do, but from what the badge represented—the power to move forces far beyond what a simple town watch could imagine.
When they entered the tavern, the faint scent of blood still lingered. And then… the young soldier’s gaze froze.
In the center of the chaos stood a man in a black cloak, posture calm to the point of chilling, making everyone else seem small.
Impossible…
That figure…
Memories surged—whispered tales passed among soldiers about a general who once single-handedly blocked the entire Northern army. They called him “The Iron Wall of the Capital,” a legend most young soldiers assumed was an exaggeration to glorify history.
Yet here he was, standing before him.
The young soldier swallowed involuntarily, feeling as if he’d stepped into a legend—one he wasn’t sure he wanted to play a role in.
His breathing quickened. Without thinking, he muttered, almost under his breath,
“Lord… Aaron.”
The name dropped like a blade into the heavy air.
Callum, standing not far away, flinched. At first, the name sparked nothing—but a heartbeat later, scattered memories pieced together into a fearsome image.
Aaron—General of the Imperial Capital.
The man’s gaze briefly swept over Callum, calm as still water, yet making him feel as if every thought had been laid bare.
Cold sweat trailed down Callum’s back.
There was no reason for someone like Aaron to be here, in this backwater town. But then, a thought struck like lightning—
Out in the square, Celestia’s army was camped.
And more importantly… he was Celestia’s father.
His heartbeat pounded. Every ounce of confidence, every calculation, evaporated.
The young soldier straightened and bowed slightly.
“Lord Aaron… your orders?”
“Arrest that man.” Aaron tilted his chin toward Callum, his voice cold, as if his fate had already been sealed. “Charges: brawling, causing death, and property damage.”
The young soldier hesitated.
“Sir… should we report to the town’s command post first?”
Aaron’s gaze cut down any protest.
“No. You will hand him directly to the town’s overseer, and tell him that within three days, he must compensate the tavern owner in full.”
“Understood… but sir, that amount—”
“It doesn’t matter how much,” Aaron interrupted, his voice still even. “If the overseer can’t do it, ask him whether he’d rather lose his position… or his reputation.”
No one dared to speak further. The order had been given—simple and absolute.
Callum’s lips twitched into a smirk, barely hiding the edge of a derisive laugh.
Arrest him? Hand him to the town overseer?
The town overseer… was nothing but a puppet of his father. A mere merchant to the public eye, but in the shadows, the man controlled the livelihoods—and lives—of every family in Venezia.
Callum wasn’t foolish enough to react now.
He lowered his head, letting the soldiers take him, though his eyes flashed briefly with a cold promise.
The cobbled road toward the square was wrapped in the early night’s chill. The fog was light, but enough for the lamplight from the posts to stretch across the street in pale yellow patches, shifting with each passing breeze.
Aaron walked ahead, his black cloak trailing a long shadow over the stones. Gen followed half a step behind, his gaze flicking now and then to the darkened houses lining the street.
After a while, Gen quickened his pace until he was beside Aaron, pulling the metal badge from his coat. The streetlights caught the ruby dragon eyes, making them gleam blood-red.
“This.” He held it out, voice calm. “You lent it to me. I’m returning it.”
“Not keeping it… for protection?” Aaron took it, turning it slowly in his palm, his tone unreadable.
Gen shrugged, a faint curve at his lips.
“Something this valuable only invites attention if I keep it. And I’m not fond of curious eyes.”
Aaron slipped the badge back into his coat, silent for a few steps before speaking.
“You… why are you in this town?”
Gen answered slowly, as if telling a trivial story.
“After I left that place, I happened to run into Celestia. She… wouldn’t let me go. So I ended up dragged into her army.”
“And then you split off?” Aaron’s gaze narrowed slightly.
Gen smiled, looking off into the distance instead of at Aaron.
“Let’s call it… getting separated. The paths in a Dungeon aren’t like the ones outside—one wrong turn and you lose each other. Besides, have you forgotten I don’t remember anything?”
Aaron stayed silent, but his eyes remained on Gen, as if weighing every word.
Their footsteps mingled with the whisper of wind over rooftops. Ahead, the light from the square began to bloom through the night fog.
The square was far brighter than the cobblestone street they’d come from. Neatly pitched tents stood in rows, ropes taut, Imperial banners fluttering lightly in the night breeze. The murmur of soldiers’ voices carried through the air.
Aaron stopped at the square’s edge, his gaze sweeping over the formation—memorizing guard positions and camp sections with a single glance.
He turned to Gen.
“You… rest here. Tomorrow morning, we leave the town.”
Gen tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Yes, sir."
Aaron said nothing more and simply strode past the line of guards.
But as he moved deeper into the camp, a few soldiers happened to look up, and the calmness in their eyes immediately shattered.
A young soldier’s eyes widened, his hand, which was sharpening his sword, freezing mid-air.
"...No way..."
Whispers quickly spread like wildfire catching dry grass.
"That… that is…"
"General Aaron…?!"
They exchanged glances, their astonishment impossible to conceal. In that moment, all sounds faded, giving way to a heavy silence.
Aaron passed by them as if he hadn’t heard a thing, but every glance, every expression was within his field of vision.
Across the square, the warm light from the first floor of a restaurant spilled out. That was where Celestia and Charlotte were resting.
Gen stepped into the camp, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces under the oil lamps. He searched instinctively, as if tracing back the last ranks of the army from yesterday.
Most of the people he had seen were no longer there. Not because they were resting somewhere else. Gen knew well that in the Dungeon, “not here anymore” usually meant they had fallen into the deep darkness.
He could only find two or three familiar faces. One young soldier was fixing a cracked piece of armor. Another sat silently, his vacant gaze staring into space as if trapped somewhere, unable to break free.
“Still… alive,” he said softly, uncertain if it was a greeting or a confirmation.
The young soldier looked up, astonished to see him. “You… were in the last row yesterday…”
Gen just smirked lightly, offering no answer. He didn’t speak of how he had used the Dungeon’s shadows to slip away—it was unnecessary. In the army, survival was the clearest answer.
The distant murmurs hadn’t died down. Aaron’s arrival swept through the camp like a strong wind, shaking it. But within the crowd, some soldiers covertly glanced at Gen, puzzled why he dared to appear openly alongside the famed general.
Up front, Aaron continued straight ahead without looking back. He made his way to the restaurant where Celestia and the princess were resting, leaving Gen to blend into the soldiers as if it was his rightful place.
When Aaron’s hand rested on the door, there was a brief hesitation before he pushed it open and stepped inside.
The conversation inside immediately stopped, all eyes turning toward the door.
On the other side of the square, a different scene was unfolding.
In a spacious room dimly lit with light concentrated only around a desk, a flickering oil lamp cast George’s shadow against the wall behind him. The night wind howled through the window cracks, mingling with the ticking clock, creating a cold rhythm.
Bang!
George slammed his fist down on the dark wooden table, the sound echoing sharply as if tearing through the atmosphere.
“What exactly is going on?” His voice was heavy and drawn out, carrying a pressure that made listeners want to kneel.
“M-mr. George… the young master Callum has been thrown into jail…” A subordinate bowed low, sweat soaking his neck, not daring to swallow.
A moment of silence followed, broken only by the faint crackling of the oil lamp’s flame. George clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw twitching violently. Nearby, Mo Hamus—his right hand—stood motionless like a statue, eyes sharp, waiting for a signal.
“Tell me everything you know.” George’s tone lowered, but that deep voice made the order even more dangerous.
“S-sir… I don’t know much… I only saw the young master being escorted by soldiers…”
George closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
“Kill him.”
The command was light, but Mo Hamus moved forward like a shadow.
The subordinate froze. “N—Sir George! Th—”
Crack!
The sharp sound of breaking bone rang out as the subordinate’s neck was crushed in a single grip. His body collapsed to the floor, eyes still wide open.
George sat silently, lost in thought for a long time. In his mind, one question kept spinning: Who had the courage and power to throw my son into jail...?
After a few minutes, once his breathing had steadied, George softly called out: “Mo Hamus.”
“Find out what’s going on. I want to know everything, tonight… And get rid of this trash.” George waved his hand coldly.
Mo Hamus nodded, dragging the body out of the room. The door closed behind him, leaving George alone.
Half an hour later, when Mo Hamus returned, George was still motionless, his eyes fixed on the window as if staring through the darkness.
“Any results?”
“Yes, sir. It all started from an outsider… and… from Aaron’s arrival.”
“Aaron? Are you sure? Here in Venezia?”
George spun around sharply, a rare look of horror flashing in his eyes.
Mo Hamus nodded.
In that instant, the atmosphere in the room seemed to compress, swallowing every outside sound. George gripped the armrests tightly, his knuckles turning white.
“As expected… no mistake…”
Rage surged as he remembered the warning to Callum: “Don’t attract attention right now.”
And now… that stupid kid has stirred up quite a mess.
But luckily, or rather, by fate’s mercy, Aaron hasn’t come all the way here yet.
“Aaron is still here?” George lifted his head, his voice low but firm, as if each word was a stone dropping into a deep well.
“Yes, sir. I suppose they will all leave by tomorrow morning.” Mo Hamus answered, a smile creeping at the corner of his lips that would chill the heart of anyone weak. He knew exactly why George asked and understood that any other answer would drench Venezia in blood tonight.
George leaned back, his shoulders relaxing. The tension in his muscles slowly eased. In that brief moment, he felt as if he had just escaped a knife at his throat. With Aaron here, Venezia was a powder keg and George sat right on the lid. Just one spark… everything would turn to ash. But then, a thought flashed like a slash across his mind.
“Wait…” George leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes. “You just said Aaron will leave Venezia. So… the brat causing all this trouble will leave with him?”
The question sounded like the cry of a beast spotting its prey.
Mo Hamus didn’t answer, but his eyes revealed the truth to George.
In Mo Hamus’s eyes, Gen was nothing more than a young rabbit, a weak creature struggling to survive among wolves. But the irony was, that rabbit was hiding behind a tiger whom even the alpha wolves dared to avoid. Want to act? Just one slow move and the tiger’s claws would pierce your heart.
“Consider that kid lucky…” George hissed each word, both accepting and keeping a score.
A gentle phrase, but for George, it was no forgiveness. It was a suspended sentence. When that tiger leaves and the wind stills over Venezia… the rabbit will have nowhere to run.
“You want me to rescue the young master?” Mo Hamus asked, voice waiting to deliver the kill order.
George waved his hand dismissively. “No. Leave him there for a few days… as a lesson. If Aaron is still here, I can’t let him notice us. Let this die down.”
A moment later, he squinted. “That inn in the alley, where that brat is hiding—I want them gone by tomorrow.”
Mo Hamus smiled, lips curling like a blade. “Tomorrow, they will cease to exist.”
George stood silently by the large window, the oil lamp’s weak flicker casting a cold, thoughtful face. Below the square, rows of tents stood neatly, oil lamp lights flickering like tiny flames in the cold night.
He looked down at the garrisoned soldiers, eyes unblinking, scanning every corner, every shadow of those resting, chatting softly, or silently keeping watch. In George’s eyes, they were just ordinary soldiers, numbers on a grand chessboard that he had never cared about in the smallest detail.
The vast square was silent, the atmosphere still as if frozen between the breaths of the night. Nothing remarkable—just a deep silence, part of an unchangeable flow.
George sighed, gently closed the window, and his shadow quietly melted into the darkness of the room, leaving behind a heavy silence like an unspoken warning.