Kaelxi watched Witt with a polite smile, inwardly adding a new label: "simple-minded and brawny," on top of "a pervert into belly-button play," "a narcissist starved of love since childhood," "a nauseating foot fetishist," and "a blunt idiot who never gets hints."

If all nobles died off, wouldn’t new ones just rise?

Unless a new order emerged…

Still, humbling Cesecity’s arrogant nobles seemed like a good thing.

Nobles, used to oppressing residents, saw themselves as superior. They looked down on everyone and caused the west slums.

Plus, Witt would leave Cesecity someday. With his strong combat power, why not use him now?

Kaelxi eyed Witt with ill intent.

Witt shivered. He felt malice radiating toward him.

He didn’t know he’d become the perfect tool in a wicked woman’s eyes.

Kaelxi rubbed her face, switching to an admiring expression. Feigning surprise, she praised: “Witt, you’re so brilliant!”

Witt was moved. Last time, praise thrilled him because no one had complimented him since his father’s death. Now, he was happy—no one had ever called him smart before.

And it was his beloved Kaelxi saying it.

Joy lit his face; his heart felt honey-sweet.

He was happier than when he’d gotten a Warrior Scroll mission at the Adventurers’ Guild. The pure-hearted boy lost his direction again.

Witt no longer cared about exterminating goblins or being a warrior or adventurer.

Nothing beat being with Kaelxi.

Poor Witt, manipulated like a puppet in Kaelxi’s hands.

As Witt grinned foolishly, four patrol officers entered a nearby shack.

Inside lived a beggar couple and their adopted child.

Beggars couldn’t meet basic needs, so they rarely desired children.

But Cesecity’s severe pollution sometimes birthed defective babies.

Residents couldn’t bear to strangle them yet refused to raise them.

Abandoning them on streets risked death from speeding carriages.

So for years, they’d dumped such infants in the west district—barely sparing lives to ease guilt.

Beggars’ bodies were dirty, but their hearts were pure.

They were simple laborers abandoned for lost abilities. Many adopted these pitiful infants.

Most didn’t survive the west’s harsh conditions. The two-year-old here was a rare survivor.

As officers entered, the male beggar knelt with a thud. Trembling, he begged: “Sirs, show mercy. We just want to live.”

“Don’t make me your scapegoat.”

“Shut it!” An officer slapped him down, stomping on his head.

“You dirtied my hands and shoes. Not killing you here is my final mercy.” This ordinary patrolman seemed like The Divine, deciding life and death.

The other three watched coldly, hands behind backs—as if protecting Cesecity wasn’t their duty.

“I’m not giving you a choice.”

“I’m telling you: you’re the murderer now!”

“You’re under arrest!”

Just then, the child and beggar mother entered. They’d fetched bread from Witt and Kaelxi to share.

Seeing his father pinned down, the boy broke free. He ran over, wailing desperately: “Daddy! Daddy!”

Annoyed, an officer kicked him down with his knee.

“You little bastard! Calling beggars parents? Pathetic!”

The mother knelt, kowtowing frantically: “Sir, please! Our family’s suffered enough.”

“Spare us, I beg you!”

A boot slammed into her waist. She rolled across the floor, unconscious—her frail body couldn’t take it.

The boy lay on his back, tears streaming. He wailed: “Daddy! Mommy! Save her!”

“Help! Please! Help!”

An officer raised his baton to strike the boy’s mouth—but a large hand seized it.

He looked up. Witt’s eyes blazed with fury.

“I’ve had enough.”

The next second, a giant flaming fist filled his vision.

…

Witt tortured the four officers inhumanely. Kaelxi had said their actions saddened her.

She’d only meant to test his devotion. She never expected Witt—who’d planned a quick death—to become a demon from hell.

Staring at the four charred corpses, Kaelxi froze.

In Witt’s heart, she weighed this heavily?

If exposed, her fate would be terrible.

When honest people snap, it’s terrifying.

Kaelxi’s gaze at Witt now held a trace of wariness.

Witt felt wronged. He’d vented for her—why did she suddenly look afraid?

…

In another shack, a shadowy figure watched Kaelxi’s back.

“That’s Kaelxi.”

“The one Boss John truly sent me to kill.”

The assassin was unlucky. Right after leaving the mine, a fireball’s blast wave flattened it—and him. He woke hours later.

Just risen, he faced city-wide patrols.

He was a death-row convict John had freed, usually serving as his guard.

With John, he was safe. Alone, patrols would recapture him. So he’d hidden quietly.

The Shield family didn’t know him. He got no help from them.

John wasn’t good, but he respected talent.

As a Bronze Rank Rogue, the assassin lived lavishly: mansions, women, endless money.

Now, John was dead.

To repay his patron’s kindness, the assassin vowed to avenge him alone.