Chapter 38
The Dungeon Devourer
Count Venere may have lost the Valdig Dungeon, but that loss was little more than symbolic.
It was a low-grade dungeon, used occasionally for coming-of-age ceremonies. Hardly any proper mercenaries ever went there, since no one even knew there was an artifact hidden inside.
And now, even that artifact was gone.
In purely financial terms, the Venere territory hadn’t suffered much of a blow.
“Don’t you think so too?”
A young woman with pale skin asked her companion.
“Hmm? I’m not sure…”
“Oh, come on. Let’s be honest—losing Valdig Dungeon isn’t the Count’s fault, is it? So why do we mercenaries have to take the hit?”
“Uh… yeah…”
Her companion only mumbled evasively.
The woman puffed her cheeks in irritation.
“Hmph! So that’s how it is, huh?”
“Ha-ha! Sorry, give him a break. He’s too timid to badmouth nobles, even if they deserve it.”
“Hah! It’s just the four of us here anyway, what’s there to be scared of?”
“It’s… not that…”
They were in the Midereve Dungeon, which lay within Venere territory.
Compared to Valdig, the monsters and traps here were on a whole different level.
Not just goblins with chipped daggers—this dungeon had Minotaurs that swung massive axes.
The four-person party, led by the swordsman Marcian, rested in a rare safe zone, chatting idly.
Naturally, the talk turned to the recent increase in dungeon entry fees.
For the past year, they’d been a tightly knit group, and as usual, their favorite pastime was criticizing Count Venere.
A frontliner, a rearguard, a support, and Marcian—the swordsman who filled both roles.
Only four of them, but the fact that no one had died or been replaced in all that time showed how well they worked together.
Bzzz.
In the middle of their chatter, a faint vibration came from Marcian’s pack.
“Huh? You hear that?”
“That didn’t sound like a monster… it’s like a communication orb.”
“A comm-orb? That expensive thing?”
“Ah… probably mine.”
Marcian rummaged through his worn leather bag and pulled out a faintly glowing orb.
His face twisted oddly.
“….”
“Wait—you have a comm-orb?”
“Oh, uh… just for family emergencies.”
“…Family?”
The others tilted their heads.
None of them were noble enough to have something like a family name.
Fzzzt!
Before they could ask further, the magic lamps lighting the dungeon suddenly went out.
“Wha—what’s happening!?”
Rest spots in dungeons sometimes turned out to be traps, so the mercenaries instantly grabbed their weapons.
They stood back-to-back, preparing for an ambush.
“Everyone, get ready—urk!”
The frontliner, Tiwannus, let out a sickly hiss.
That wasn’t a metaphor—
a sword had pierced straight through his back and lungs.
“Tiwannus! No—”
The support, Mescht, died next.
It all happened in seconds.
That’s the nature of dungeons—
you never know when death will come.
“Huff… huff…”
The mage, Grena, gripped her staff and gasped for breath.
Marcian’s presence was already gone—killed, she assumed.
“…Flare!”
She cast a spell, flooding the room with light.
But only two corpses greeted her.
“M-Marcian…?”
Where was he? There should’ve been three bodies.
Thwack!
“…Kahh!”
She, too, collapsed, blood spurting from her chest.
Within moments, the entire party was dead—
except for one.
The swordsman who’d stammered nervously just moments before.
Marcian.
“Heh-heh-heh…”
Drenched in his comrades’ blood, he smiled coldly.
[Your Rank has increased. Confirm?]
“Finally… heh-heh…”
His left hand shone brightly.
And in his other hand, the communication orb—engraved with the white serpent emblem of House Venere—glowed faintly.
“Hmm… now what do we do with this?”
Bluefin Parfait.
That’s what I’d decided to call it, since I needed an official name before selling it.
The problem was where to sell it.
“Well, at least it looks good enough to pass.”
“Right?”
A glass cup filled with sparkling blue parfait sat on the round table between us, radiating a sweet, syrupy aroma.
Just looking at it was enough to make your mouth water.
I’ve eaten so many samples while testing it that I’m sick of sweets now.
Friana, though, could’ve eaten it forever without complaint.
She wasn’t here today—she’d gone to her family estate. If she were, she’d already be digging in.
“The glass makes it look even more delicious!”
“Ha-ha-ha! You think so?”
Harun laughed heartily at Ilene’s compliment.
Honestly, that glass was the biggest headache.
Glass was cheap in my old world, but here, a few hundred years back, it was a luxury.
I’d worried it might be too rare in this world, but surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard to make.
Well, if they can forge magic swords, they can make glass cups too.
Just melt quartz powder, shape it with Craft Aura, and done.
Harun had whipped up dozens of them in an hour.
They looked good enough to sell on their own.
But no—the key is exclusivity. We can’t waste that by selling just the cups.
With the glass issue solved, the real problem remained: where to sell the parfait.
Even after gathering the retainers and brainstorming, we had nothing.
“Ilene, what do you think?”
“I, um… hehe, I’m not sure.”
She smiled awkwardly.
“What about you, Islin?”
“…Sorry, what?”
She’d been lost in thought, but quickly caught on.
“Do you want my honest opinion, or the polite one?”
“The honest one, of course.”
“Then—it’s impossible right now.”
“Hm.”
Islin didn’t sugarcoat things.
“Why?”
“First, may I ask what your goal is, my lord? Should this parfait be something everyone can enjoy? Or a luxury dessert for the wealthy?”
“Well… a luxury item, obviously.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if everyone could enjoy it?” Ilene asked, tilting her head innocently.
A sweet thought—but not what I wanted.
I wanted nobles to beg for it. The kind who’d stand in line just to get one.
“Then it’s even more impossible,” Islin continued. “The only real way would be to showcase it at a noble gathering—let a few try it and gauge the reaction.”
“That won’t work.”
A social gathering… hosted by our house? Everyone knew Count Impera was broke, and even if we invited nobles, none would come.
“So we just… wait, then?”
I sighed. But Islin spoke again.
“That’s not even the main problem.”
“Eh?”
Her expression turned grave.
When someone as stoic as her looked serious, it made me uneasy.
“Is something wrong?”
“Yes. We’re still investigating, but a troubling incident occurred recently in Count Venere’s territory.”
“Venere again, huh…”
I’d barely thought about him lately.
It wasn’t worth worrying—Venere was doomed anyway, branded as the mastermind behind the ghoul outbreak.
With Romulu captured and handed over to the inquisitors, the matter was out of my hands.
Those inquisitors had sworn, “In the name of the Divine Lord, the truth shall be revealed without falsehood.”
Even King Erengold II couldn’t override that. The Inquisition served the gods, not the crown.
And here, gods weren’t abstract—they existed.
So a “truth revealed under divine oath” was absolute.
Romulu wasn’t some high-ranking criminal—just a fallen black mage, a blank. Interrogating him shouldn’t have been hard.
So why…?
“How long has it been since they took Romulu?”
“Today makes fifteen days.”
“Fifteen… that’s too long.”
Interrogating a blank doesn’t take that long.
They can’t resist confession drugs; they have no magical resistance.
I doubted Romulu had the willpower to endure.
“…Don’t tell me.”
A bad feeling crawled up my spine.
And those feelings were almost never wrong.
“Maybe I shouldn’t be wasting time eating desserts.”
An inquisition usually takes a day, maybe a week at most.
But fifteen days? Never.
Count Venere knew that, too.
So he’d be thinking—
“Are they hiding the truth on purpose?”
There’s a difference between lying and not telling the truth.
And why would they keep quiet?
Only one reason—
they were waiting.
Waiting to see what a cornered rat would do.
And the one pulling the strings behind that inquisitor?
Only one person fit.
King Erengold II, ruler of the Aisother Kingdom—
and Count Venere’s master.
The king was pushing Venere to the edge.
Would he accept ruin through Romulu’s confession?
Or would he raise his private army and start a war?
“Islin.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“That incident in Venere territory… it involved mercenaries, didn’t it?”
“…Yes? That’s correct. Three dungeons under his control—multiple mercenary parties have been wiped out recently, at an unbelievable rate. But how did you—?”
“What?! All wiped out?”
“That’s… suspicious indeed,” someone muttered.
But to me, it wasn’t just suspicious.
It was terrifying.
“…Damn it.”
Was it happening already?
The Dungeon Devourer incident.
At first, it wasn’t called a serial killing.
Just an increase in mercenary deaths, written off as accidents.
But in truth, it marked the beginning of something much worse—
the civil war that would tear apart the Aisother Kingdom:
The War of Usurpation.
The spark would spread across the continent.
And everything goes to hell after that.
The Dungeon Devourer incident was the first flame.
There are many ways to increase your rank—elixirs, mentors…
But the surest way is to kill another ranked individual.
That’s what the Dungeon Devourer killings were about.
Count Venere had a secret private army, the White Serpent Corps, hidden throughout his lands under the guise of mercenaries.
And when his summons finally came—
They murdered their own comrades to raise their ranks.
Monsters in human skin.
When those soldiers gathered, the count’s hidden claws spread across the land.
But this was happening years too early.
The corps wasn’t ready. Their ranks were low.
The question was—
could the Impera County stop it?
“Lord! Good news—no issues at all! We completed the task and returned safely!”
While we were deep in grim thoughts, a cheerful young man burst through the door.
All eyes turned to him—except Friana’s.
Her gaze was locked firmly on the Bluefin Parfait sitting on the table.
