The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 484: The Mole

"Rat King is still alive?"

Old Ghost was sitting before an expensive antique wooden table, slowly packing costly tobacco into his pure-gold pipe. Upon hearing this news, he looked toward Mister Gro beside him, the scarred eye narrowing dangerously:

"This is not what we agreed on."

"Well... there was a bit of an accident."

Mister Gro, who had brought the report, gave an awkward smile, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and bent low in apology:

"It’s true we didn’t handle things well, but this isn’t our fault. I heard that Mr. Bruce intervened and rescued the Rat King. Otherwise you would already have his head by now."

"Bruce... ah, that so-called Dark Emperor."

Old Ghost tapped the pipe against the tabletop, utterly unconcerned about the marks left on the antique table. He leaned toward the match Mister Gro was holding out, lit the tobacco, and took a deep drag.

Tendrils of smoke poured from his nose, making him look like an enraged beast.

But he wasn’t angry. He only gave a careless smile.

"So he finally shows himself. I thought he planned to stay cozied up like a turtle for his entire life."

"This is a good opportunity," Mister Gro said.

"I know."

Old Ghost rose and looked out the window:

"If he keeps hiding, then he’s just a weight on everyone’s heart in the Lower District. Those idiots who have never even seen his so-called thods but only heard the legends will let his image grow infinitely in their minds and beco afraid of him. That is extrely disadvantageous for us."

"Rumors are always more terrifying than the truth. Not to ntion he’s wearing that ridiculous title of ‘Dark Emperor.’"

"Exactly. So we’re going to kill him. We’re going to kill him openly, publicly. We’re going to let the entire Lower District know that it was , Old Ghost, who killed him! I’m the one who truly controls the dark side of Belrand! There is only one Dark Emperor—and that is !"

Old Ghost clenched his fist and glared fiercely at the brightening horizon.

The morning glow dyed the clouds red—breathtakingly beautiful.

Mr. Bruce’s blood would surely be just as beautiful.

"Any reply from the Brotherhood?"

"Yes, they are willing to follow your command."

"And the others?"

"I heard they are still considering."

"Oh? Considering? A bunch of cowards who think only of benefits! Greedy wild dogs! Very well. If they want to watch, then let them watch. But they won’t get such favorable terms next ti!"

"Prepare yourself. Since the Rat King didn’t die, we’ll start with him."

Old Ghost shot Mister Gro a cold glance:

"And since you failed at this part, you had better make up for it sowhere else. I expect our alliance to remain eternally unbreakable."

"Rest assured, it will. As your most solid ally, the ‘dicine’ we provide will certainly serve you well."

Mister Gro bowed his large, flabby head, still showing absolute submission:

"We... the Inner Council will help you achieve victory."

...

...

Night withdrew; dawn arrived.

The entire city seed to co alive. As the sun rose, everything gradually awakened.

The Lower District during the day did not appear as dangerous as it did at night.

Its bottom-rung residents woke before the sky was even bright, shivering in cold wind and morning mist. They walked with chanical, repetitive steps, ready to work all day just to barely scrape together enough to survive.

Beggars went off to beg. Boatn headed toward the docks. Plump won cursed their useless husbands with the most venomous words. Butchers gripped knives as they entered slaughterhouses, and soon the shrill screams of pigs echoed from deep within the alleys.

These people walked through muddy, filthy, foul-slling lanes, unknowingly stepping over dried blood that had not yet faded since the night, rging into the sa numb flow of humanity.

And crowds were the perfect cover.

Rat King pulled his hat brim low as he walked in the bustling crowd. He hunched his back and staggered his steps, making himself look like a crippled dwarf or an old man.

Such people were hardly rare in the Lower District. So circuses even featured dwarves or wild n covered entirely in hair, or dog-n. He drew no attention whatsoever as he wound through alleys and side streets until he reached a discreetly located bar.

At this hour, the bar was still closed. But after cautiously checking the surroundings and confirming no one was watching, Rat King knocked on the back door.

"Who."

The door cracked open, and a wary voice sounded.

"Rotten cheese."

Rat King answered.

The door opened at once. The drowsy doorkeeper stared suspiciously at the plainly dressed Rat King.

"Who are you?"

"You don’t need to know who I am."

Rat King said coldly:

"Tell the person in charge here to co see ."

"Yes."

Without hesitation, the doorkeeper led him inside and directly to the best private room in the bar.

"Please wait a mont."

After opening a bottle of their most expensive wine for Rat King, the doorkeeper hurried out.

Soon after, a large man burst through the door.

He was wearing only a loose sleeping robe. His hairy chest and pectorals were exposed, marked by several bright pink lipstick stains.

He seed to have just crawled out from a warm, indulgent bed. But there wasn’t a trace of displeasure on his face. As soon as he entered, he stood respectfully by Rat King’s side and bent deeply:

"Lord Rat King, y-you... why did you suddenly co in person at this hour? Huh? Why are you drinking this kind of wine—damn it, who gave Lord Rat King this garbage wine?! Go get sothing better!"

"But—"

"Go to my private wine cabinet! Damn it, you useless trash—I’ll skin you alive sooner or later!"

After cursing his subordinate, the man bowed obsequiously beside Rat King again.

"Hehe, my lord, forgive the embarrassnt."

Rat King glanced at him, his gaze briefly resting on the lipstick marks on the man’s chest. His brows tightened imperceptibly.

"Wood, sothing huge happened to the Rat Society. I nearly didn’t make it back alive, and you still have the mood to roll around with a woman?"

"A... a huge incident?"

The man—Wood—froze, then exclaid:

"W-what incident? And what do you an you almost didn’t make it back?"

"..."

Rat King stared directly at Wood. Perhaps thinking he had done sothing terribly wrong, Wood bowed even lower, wiping sweat nonstop.

"Forget it."

Rat King suddenly withdrew his gaze and slumped casually into the soft sofa, tapping his knee with one leg:

"Wood, the fact that I ca here ans you’re one of the people I trust the most..."

"A-absolutely not, I don’t dare claim such a thing. I rely do my utmost to serve Lord Rat King. To beco your right-hand man is my—"

"Cut the flattery. I’m sick of it."

Rat King lifted a hand:

"I’m asking you—has anyone contacted you recently?"

"Anyone else?"

Wood blinked, then realized Rat King ant other high-ranking mbers of the Rat Society.

"N-no... actually, it’s been unusually quiet the past two days. Those troublemakers who usually like to show up haven’t been coming..."

"Is that so?"

Rat King’s beady eyes flickered.

"Then go contact them now."

"Now?"

"Yes. Contact them and say... say that soone plans to target the Rat Society. Tell them to hurry to the Lowell Casino to et , so we can discuss counterasures."

"That..."

Wood hesitated.

The Lowell Casino was one of the places Rat King frequented and occasionally used to et subordinates. But... Rat King obviously wasn’t there right now. So this ant...

Wood suddenly shuddered and whispered:

"You an... there’s a mole inside the Rat Society?"

"Glad you understand. Go!"

Rat King urged impatiently.

"Y-yes! I’ll go at once—right away!"

Wood hurried off. Just then, the wine he had ordered arrived. The subordinate who had been scolded earlier clearly had a good brain—he didn’t co himself this ti. Instead, a plainly dressed but stunning woman with a voluptuous figure brought the wine.

Rat King’s eyes lit up. Her looks and figure suited his tastes perfectly. Under normal circumstances, he would have gladly enjoyed her.

But now...

He glanced at the empty space beside him, then slapped his knee sharply and shouted:

"Since when did you start with this nonsense—get her— tsk!"

Before he could finish, Rat King’s face suddenly turned pale. He clutched his lower abdon as cold sweat ford on his forehead.

"M-my lord!"

Wood, who hadn’t yet left, hurried over. "A-are you alright?!"

"I’m fine. Just an injury that dog-bastard left when he was hunting . It’s not a big deal. Damn it, a single magician wants to kill ? He really underestimates the Rat King."

Rat King’s face twisted viciously, and he spat hard:

"What are you standing around for? Take that woman and get lost! Get to work—faster!"

"Y-yes, of course! I’m going now, right now!"

Wood hurriedly whisked away the frightened woman. But when he personally closed the door, he suddenly lifted his head and gave Rat King a long, deep look.

The door shut silently, leaving Rat King alone.

After sitting there for a while, apparently feeling bored, he called for a servant waiting outside.

"Take to the rooftop."

"R-rooftop?"

"Hurry."

"U-understood."

Under the servant’s lead, Rat King arrived alone at the top floor.

This place was actually a famous bar in the Lower District, one of his own money-draining establishnts. But most of its prosperity was underground. Above ground, the building was plain and unimpressive—just a simple five-story structure.

But in a district full of hovels and shacks, a five-story building was already tall. From here, Rat King could overlook several blocks of the Lower District and even the tall bridge ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) over the old Rhein River.

"Heh. The tallest structure in the Lower District is actually the Deswinte Bridge tower. I heard it was built to stop dirty low-born scum like us from crossing freely into the Upper District. Isn’t that funny?"

Rat King murmured to himself.

While he admired the view, Wood had already returned.

Hearing footsteps behind him, Rat King didn’t turn.

"Did you contact them?"

"Of course, Sam."

"Hm?"

Noticing the wrong form of address, Rat King’s face darkened instantly, and he tried to turn—

But sothing sharp and icy was already pressed against his back.

"Wood, you... why?!"

"I’ve already arranged the best crematorium for you."

Weapon in hand, Wood whispered:

"Sorry, Sam. I’m the mole."