Trash of the Count's Family Vol 2. Chapter 439: …Can I Take It All? (2)

The carriage Cale was journeying in was en route to the old castle.

Clop, clop.

Cale slowly surveyed the surroundings, his gaze sweeping over the dense forest flanking both sides of the road.

Cale’s attention then turned to the individual seated beside him.

Clop, clop.

He had intentionally chosen to sit on the driver’s bench. The reason was straightforward.

The person indicated was the knight with blond hair and a vacant smile, the one introduced as a newcomer. When this knight ascended to the driver’s bench, Cale had taken the seat next to him, claiming the interior felt stifling. Three o’clock. Seven o’clock. And now— the rookie knight was casually swiveling his head.

“Why are you looking at me so intently?” The question was delivered with a warm, amicable expression. Cale responded with an equally easygoing friendliness. “It just seemed peculiar.”

“Pardon?” The knight, who had introduced himself as Rom. In reality, he was Mol, one of the Demon King’s daggers and the commander of the Third Army. He regarded Cale with a perplexed look. This fellow appears foolish— This second brother. He had been smiling so blankly, despite his features, that Mol had readily offered him the seat beside him when he expressed a desire for the driver’s bench. Kase. He will not be easily managed. Terosa had already cautioned him that Kase, a descendant of Count Lupe’s bloodline, would prove difficult. Thus, Mol had planned to derive some amusement through this second brother instead. Strange? Who? Me? Had this individual just seen through his disguise? A peculiar warmth began to kindle deep within Rom’s eyes. Then—

“Don’t you find it strange too, Sir Knight?” At these words from the seemingly airheaded second brother, Mol—the man known as the Hand Behind the Back—froze. He's not remarking on my strangeness. This sharp, handsome man with the vacant expression was indicating that something else was odd. “What do you mean?” Mol inquired again, maintaining his facade as the genial knight. The second brother scanned their surroundings with a blank expression and replied, “The forest is unnervingly quiet.”

At this, Mol faltered. This clueless lout— Subtly— He possesses a sharp mind, doesn't he? The forest was indeed quiet, even though the afternoon sun was still high in the sky. Mol understood the reason perfectly. There are eyes observing this carriage. Initially, Mol had presumed these watchers were dispatched by Young Master Jimon’s faction. After all, this man named Kase, traveling in the carriage, was en route to compel the acquisition of Young Master Jimon’s mine. However, if that were the case, something felt amiss. There was a reason Mol reacted so strongly to the airheaded second brother's observation. The watchers are far too skilled. The forces under Count Lupe’s lineage would naturally be formidable. Among their retainers, there would undoubtedly be capable knights. But even accounting for that, several of the observers were so proficient that noticing them would have been challenging for anyone less than an upper regular soldier of the Third Army, and they were merely serving as scouts. Does Young Master Jimon truly command such forces? And furthermore, he was employing individuals of that caliber as mere scouts? Suspicious. He could not dismiss the unsettling feeling that something was fundamentally wrong. And— This person seated beside him. I must remain vigilant around him. He had lowered his guard because the man presented an airheaded appearance. Yes. He knew better than to trust appearances. The Hand Behind the Back. Living up to his moniker, Mol quickly regained his composure. Just then—

“Uh, you know…” The handsome yet clueless man spoke, his shoulders slumping slightly. “There’s that urban legend going around these days.”

“What?” This time, Mol was genuinely taken aback. An urban legend? Was there such a thing? “You’re unaware?” “No. I am not.” Mol could perceive the handsome, dim-witted man regarding him with pity. In a soft, patient tone, as if genuinely finding it regrettable, the clueless man stated, “Ah. You must dedicate all your time to sword training, so you lack awareness of the world. Your information must be incredibly slow.” What was this? Why did that irritate him so intensely? Mol could feign foolishness or weakness as much as he desired for a target, but for some reason, the second brother’s tone grated on his nerves. Then, the subsequent words caused him to halt abruptly.

“You know. The gray sickness urban legend.”

Ignoring Raon’s comment, Cale easily tossed a lure to his unknown enemy. “When the forest grows silent, the gray sickness descends upon the village below.” The fabricated urban legend spilled from Cale’s lips without a hitch.

“Those afflicted by the gray sickness gradually turn entirely gray, their bodies contorting into monstrous shapes, and ultimately, they perish.”

Whoooosh—

A gust of wind swept through the forest, swirling around Cale and Mol. Even amidst this, the carriage continued its journey toward the ancient castle. Cale’s voice, carried by the wind, reached Mol’s ears. “No remedy exists for it. It brings nothing but death—that is gray sickness.”

Gulp.

Cale swallowed with difficulty, then hunched himself as if in fear, continuing his tale. “That rumor has been circulating in the south recently. It’s merely an urban legend, of course.”

“...A disease like that exists?”

Mol had never received any such report. His expression grew grim.

“Yes. We heard about it in one of the villages we passed. They said the neighboring village that contracted the gray sickness was wiped out almost overnight, leaving it deserted.”

An entire village had perished and become an empty husk. Mol flinched momentarily at this revelation.

Could that be the work of the Demon King’s army? Hadn’t several villages been obliterated by other factions of the Demon King’s army, including the missing Baron Deshuran of the Sixth Army, during their search for sacrificial subjects for experiments? However, no rumors of such events had ever surfaced. The security measures had been that stringent.

Gray sickness?

Yet, this so-called gray sickness seemed distinct from actions typically attributed to the Demon King’s army. Could it be real? Could that urban legend actually hold truth?

At the very least, this simple-minded fellow had no apparent motive to deceive me. The part about hearing the rumor seemed genuine enough.

“So now, when a forest becomes this quiet, it makes me nervous. I can’t help but think I might contract the gray sickness.” The second brother shivered as he spoke, then suddenly exclaimed, “Ah,” as if recalling something. “And apparently, people witnessed mysterious figures entering one of the villages that vanished due to the gray sickness.”

“...Really?”

“Yes!”

“And who were they?”

Mol leaned in, eager to hear more, as the second brother, seemingly pleased by his interest, continued enthusiastically. “They say a hunter from the village happened to spot them in the forest. He described them as knights clad in gray robes that concealed their entire bodies.”

Mol pondered,

That’s remarkably specific for an urban legend.

Knights in gray robes.

A disease bearing a specific color in its name—gray sickness.

...Their bodies turn gray and become grotesque?

And on top of that, knights in gray robes were observed, but instead of wielding swords, they spread a plague throughout a village? It was a truly peculiar urban legend.

So why—

This feels wrong.

The growing unease in Mol’s chest intensified. What was he overlooking?

He began to sift through his memories. “Anyway, because of that tale, even gray smoke unnerves me these days. I mean, our formidable mana is also gray, but still, hearing about one’s body turning gray and grotesque…” The airheaded second brother’s words drifted into his ear. “This is the first time gray has evoked such a feeling in me. You feel the same, right, Sir Knight? Gray is the symbol of the Demon World, but for it to be used in such a way—”

“Ah!”

Finally, Mol remembered. Gray. Not the gray of the Demon World’s mana, but a different gray. And that was something only he, as the leader of the Third Army, could possibly know.

Baron Deshuran! Baron Deshuran, the leader of the Sixth Army, who had vanished. One of his surviving soldiers had returned, mentioning an organization called “Dark.” That group was described as a secret contingent of the God of Chaos. And the God of Chaos is— Gray. Gray sickness.

Then, if this disease aligned with his current suspicion— It was the work of the Order of the God of Chaos!

The Order of the God of Chaos, the hunter families, and the Demon King. As one of the supreme commanders, Mol was naturally aware that these three forces had formed an alliance. So they really—

And fire blazed in Mol’s eyes. Those scoundrels from the Order of the God of Chaos are truly defiling the Demon World?

The instant anger surged—

“U-uh—Sir Knight!”

The second brother beside him placed a hand on his shoulder. Mol’s brow furrowed.

Then—

“The carriage!”

That cry jolted him back to his senses. For a moment, his anger had flared, causing him to yank too hard on the reins. “Ah, I apologize!”

Mol instantly resumed his composure. He opened the small window behind the driver’s seat, apologized to the occupants within, and then turned back to Cale, offering an explanation laced with regret. “I became a knight to protect the Demon World, so hearing of something like that happening made me momentarily angry.”

“Ah, right, right. That makes sense.”

The second brother nodded emphatically, his face a mask of fear. Only then did Mol manage to calm himself. Looking at that airheaded face was truly soothing. He murmured to the second brother, “What a strange urban legend.”

“Yeah. Anyway, passing through a tranquil forest like this, just like in that story, kind of spooked me out. Ha ha.” Mol observed the second brother, who chuckled awkwardly while gauging his reaction, and felt a peculiar sense of déjà vu from those words. ...A quiet forest, just like the urban legend? Right. This forest was tranquil too. And the observers watching this place were far too formidable to be solely from Young Master Jimon’s clique. Mol had successfully hidden the fact that he had detected those gazes, but the relentless scrutiny still left a disquieting feeling. This—

But the thoughts now consuming him rendered that unease insignificant. Could it be— A notion he hesitated to voice aloud. Is the Order of the God of Chaos aligned with Young Master Jimon? Come to think of it, he had recently heard that the hunter scoundrels and the Order of the God of Chaos had been in conflict in New World. From what I recall, the Order of the God of Chaos acted as traitors— Mol, a connoisseur of betrayal, had retained that detail precisely because of the word. Could those scoundrels truly be extending their reach into the Demon World as well? Surely they weren’t planning a backstab against us? Mol’s eyes turned cold.

Clop. Clop. The carriage approached the ancient castle with increasing speed. Mol gazed at it, contemplating. No one is aware of this appearance I’m wearing. The persona he currently adopted was a disguise. The Hand Behind the Back. His mastery of disguises had significantly contributed to him earning that moniker. I shall infiltrate and uncover some intelligence. Initially, he had joined due to the allure of Count Lupe’s secret vault. But now, something far more significant lay ahead. If I discover a lackey of the Order of the God of Chaos within that old castle, we can leverage that to strike them first. A thrilling sensation, laced with tension, coursed through Mol’s entire being. Unconsciously, he moistened his lips with his tongue and smiled.

“……” And Cale observed him. Mol was still maintaining the act of a novice knight, but for some inexplicable reason, a perilous aura now emanated from him. ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ Cale. The Ancient Tree spoke softly. The most effective confrontation is one where the adversaries end up warring amongst themselves. Clop. The carriage reached the old castle. Someone was already awaiting their arrival outside. “I am Hitelis, the head steward.” A woman bowed her head and offered a greeting.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance! I am Rom, a knight from the lord’s castle!” And the Hand Behind the Back, Mol—the leader of the Third Army—grasped the truth the moment he laid eyes on Head Steward Hitelis. She’s formidable. Extremely formidable. He could perceive no weakness. That wretch Jimon has truly allied himself with someone. Whether it be the Order of the God of Chaos or another entity, that must be confirmed. Mol’s gaze settled into a state of calm.

“Welcome. From this point onward, I shall serve as your guide.” And Head Steward Hitelis— The instant she saw Mol, she understood. The Demon King’s faction has dispatched a formidable individual. The man before her possessed significant strength. There was an undeniable presence in his flawless posture. She closed her eyes briefly, then reopened them. She recalled the Pope’s directives, etched into her memory. Following Young Master Jimon’s hasty retreat, creating a commotion about Terosa dispatching individuals—the Pope had issued his commands to her.

Hitelis. She had descended from the ceiling and bowed before him. He had then stated, The Demon King’s side will be investigating the mine, so handle them appropriately. And— Hitelis, the Pope’s shadow, had consistently concealed her appearance beneath layers of gray bandages. It was intended for moments precisely like this. To reveal herself. And— If they prove troublesome, eliminate them. When the moment arrived to dispatch an enemy. “……” “……” Mol and Hitelis. The commander of the Demon King’s Third Army and the harbinger of the Order of the God of Chaos. The Hand Behind the Back, a master of deception, and the Pope’s shadow, who had executed every manner of clandestine operation in his service. For a few fleeting seconds, the two assessed each other.