Endless Debt Chapter 648 - 159 Butcher

As if following a certain law, everything in the world seems to possess duality, light and dark, good and evil. Beneath Free Port’s prosperity, there hides a sinister force that spills blood and spreads chaos, emerging each time night falls.

Unlike those who tremble at the sight of darkness, Hert has become accustomed to coexisting with it, even battling against it.

Hert can hear the sound of rats scurrying behind the walls and the faint buzz of mosquitoes’ wings. In the distance, the crash of ocean waves resounds. The room is filled with the moist stench of decay, large patches of mold clinging to the walls, as if the entire building is dying from the dampness.

He plunged his hands into the icy bucket of water, where dead insects floated alongside foul-smelling impurities. Hert vigorously scrubbed his palms, striving to wash away the bloodstains and fish scales.

No matter how much Hert washed, he could never rid his hands of the mixed stench of fishiness and blood, as if it had imprinted onto his very soul.

In the cold, his hands gradually numbed and lost sensation, yet Hert didn’t stop, scrubbing them until they turned red and showed abrasions, finally lifting them from the bucket.

He sniffed them; the foul odor still clung to him. Here, it was fine, as the place was filled with the bizarre smell. Everyone resembled rats in a stinking sewer, holding no contempt for one another.

But outside, it was different. The odor was like a brand imprinted on the soul, and as Hert approached, others would smell the stench on him.

Once, Hert would become angry, but now, he’s accustomed to it all.

One must bear responsibility for their choices. This was Hert’s choice, and he could only endure the consequences.

He removed the apron, which was still stained with blood and fish scales, tossing it aside carelessly, moving to the chopping board where various blades were inserted into the knife rack. All were different in design, yet alike in exuding the same peculiar odor as Hert.

Hert’s fingers danced over the knife handles, then gripped a long knife at the end, withdrawing it from the rack.

The long knife looked extremely plain, with a straight, narrow spine and no guard, only a simple band wrapped around the metal as a grip. This was a knife Hert had crafted himself.

Whenever others asked, Hert would explain that this was a fish-killing knife, educating them that not all fish were as small as kittens or puppies. In the boundless sea, there was always no shortage of gigantic creatures, and then this knife would prove useful.

Hert had once demonstrated, relying on the long knife in his hand to disassemble a hefty tuna into a pile of pieces within minutes.

That performance gained Hert considerable fame; everyone knew of the skilled dissection master in the slums.

Hert picked up a rag, carefully wiping down the long knife, and in the dim night, the knife continually flickered.

When night falls, Free Port’s temperature also drops, each breath producing billowing white mist. Hert lit a cigarette; the warm smoke filled his throat, leaving him feeling warm-hearted.

After a moment’s enjoyment, Hert knew he couldn’t idle any longer; it was time to work. He turned toward the shadowy corner of the room, where a battered bathtub lay, which he had dragged back cheaply from the scrapyard. If it weren’t for his own use, the thing would still be quite handy.

He stirred the cold water in the tub, placing the long knife aside, then drew a slightly smaller Boning Knife from his waist.

The long knife was suitable for dismembering those not yet dead, powerful large creatures, but once they died, the long knife became cumbersome; this was when the agile Boning Knife came into play.

The thing in the cold water struggled, Hert frowned, knowing the cold water should have made it senseless, but it wouldn’t differ much. The Boning Knife stirred quickly in the cold water; soon it became quiet, and the surface turned completely red.

A strange smile curled on Hert’s face; people often said that butchers like Hert were very dangerous. They had slaughtered too many lives, and over time, curiosity about their kind was inevitable.

What would it be like to disassemble a human with your own hands?

Hert understood the logic, like the beasts in the zoo; once they tasted human blood, they realized that these bipedal creatures, too, could be hunted, and were not invincible.

Butchers were the same.

Hert lifted the fishing net hidden beneath the bathtub, easily wrapping up the thing in the water entirely. Cold water mixed with blood streamed down; among the net’s gaps, several severed fingers and bits of viscera slipped out, hitting the floor with the sound of a wet rag slapped onto the ground.

Hert kicked the residue towards the corner, not bothering with such things, as the rats in the shadows naturally would consume them clean.

The swarm had integrated into Free Port’s ecosystem, like the law of the sea, big fish eating small fish, prawns nibbling on the leftover scraps.

Free Port boasted a thriving fishing industry, large quantities of fish brought ashore, processed through factories, sent to market. To facilitate waste disposal, numerous pipes crisscross underground Free Port, and substances thrown in would soon be returned to the sea.

Hert’s room also had such a pipe opening, crucial for a butcher to dispose of waste from corpses at any time.

After throwing in the corpse, Hert stood in front of the pitch-black pipe opening, looking slightly dazed.

The unseen darkness emitted a concentrated rotten aura, rising from the decay and rot of a thousand corpses. It stirred Hert’s physiological responses, with his stomach churning and throat experiencing an urge to vomit.

The sound of rats scurrying rang out amid the pipes, clashing with the tide’s roar, even ghostly echoes of human wails could be heard faintly...

The pipe’s mouth seemed to lead to another sinister world; a blurred voice was calling for Hert, and Hert slowly leaned forward, putting his entire head into the pipe.

The pipe’s mouth began to twist, with sharp teeth dripping with mucus growing at the edges, resembling some kind of worm’s mouthparts.

The strange sensation in his throat became more pronounced, and squeaking noises echoed directly in Hert’s mind.

Something was about to emerge, sharp claws scratching at Hert’s throat, he opened his mouth wide, retching in agony, as saliva and stomach acid mixed, a wet rat crawled out of Hert’s mouth and jumped into the pitch-black pipe mouth...

Hert stood there in a stupor, stunned for a while, then touched his own throat.

No rat had crawled out from inside him.

"Another hallucination?"

Hert closed the pipe’s mouth, grabbed a bottle of pills from a cluttered cabinet, and swallowed a handful in one go.

"Has it started to worsen?"

Hert wondered, but there was no one who could provide an answer, he had seen doctors before, and even they couldn’t explain what it was, only prescribing him some sedatives.

At first, these medications were somewhat effective, but as he used them more, their effect became less noticeable, so Hert could only keep increasing the dosage.

Hert’s head ached, the pain intensifying as if a nail was being driven into his skull.

That was the consequence of increasing the dosage; the medication’s side effects brought unbearable suffering to Hert, who hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for a long time and had sickly dark circles under his eyes.

But all this was acceptable; compared to the hallucinations, the pain was actually more bearable.

Hert was skilled at enduring pain and knew how to suppress it.

As long as he could vent it out, it would be fine.

Hert thought this, a glimmer crossing his eyes as he grabbed a long knife and pushed the door open, stepping into the dim, filthy street.

An elusive stench filled every corner of the streets, and Hert felt as if he were living in a giant trash bin... which was actually not far from the truth.

Everywhere there was the smell of fish, along with slightly reflective, shattered fish scales, and in the corners, you could still see half-eaten fish remains covered with gnaw marks from rodents.

In the shadows, Hert could hear the rustling sounds as if the rats from his hallucinations were trailing him.

Hert suddenly stopped, sniffing the air forcefully, seemingly able to distinguish some subtle differences in this dreadful air.

Strangely enough, after living here for a long time, Hert’s sense of smell hadn’t deteriorated but had become even more acute.

Hert looked towards the person sitting in the shadows, head lowered, body curled up like a homeless beggar.

There were many people like this in Free Port; most only saw the prosperity here, not the filth beneath the darkness, where astonishing amounts of trade hid various gray industries.

Humans fought and devoured each other in this savage food chain until the final victor emerged.

Sadly, Hert was also a part of this food chain.

"Hey! Friend."

Hert greeted the vagrant, his voice carrying a friendly smile, but his expression was as cold as ice.

The vagrant looked at Hert in confusion, and the next moment his vision shattered as the swiftly moving long knife split open his skull.

Hert tightened his grip on the knife handle, pushing a foot on the beggar’s shoulder, laboriously pulling out the long knife, followed by the blood-stained body collapsing powerlessly into the shadows.

The rustling sounds became clear, with countless blurry shadows crawling around on the ground, instantly wrapping the beggar’s body, the sound of gnawing continuous.

Hert lit another cigarette, exhaling fog, and amidst the immersion of fresh blood, his eyes looked somewhat dazed, and even the chaotic pain in his mind subsided considerably.

Kicking away the swarming rats, Hert drew the boning knife, looking at the perforated face, emotionlessly slicing it off entirely, like taking off a mask effortlessly.

Hert understood that he was an excellent Butcher, whether for fish or humans, it was the same.