My Disciples Became Scoundrels - Chapter 106

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Dein smiled with difficulty as he watched Kalan enter. There he was. The moment their eyes met, Kalan’s frown deepened.
Blood dripped between the Blood Lord’s fingers as he clutched his left arm. The flesh began to knit, then stopped.
He was running out of blood. The fuel needed to sustain his Regeneration was dwindling steadily.
The Blood Lord held a defensive stance as he spoke.
“……Kalan. Surely you’ve abandoned Balanus?”
His own name, and the name Balanus. The lines around Kalan’s eyes deepened further.
“I know you’re at odds with them. Why have you come here?”
Kalan did not answer. His expression was thoroughly displeased.
It had been days earlier. Before going to the Slum District, Dein had sought out Kalan. The moment Kalan saw Dein enter his office, he looked incredulous.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what situation you’re talking about. Have you come to apologize now?”
“I need your help.”
“What are you saying? And is this how you ask for help?”
“Kalan. It’s me, Dein Balanus.”
Dein laid bare nearly everything. That he had died and returned to life, the attack fifteen years ago, that his life was being threatened by the Guardians.
As Kalan listened, his expression shifted. First skepticism, then doubt, finally silence.
He stared into Dein’s eyes for a long time, as if searching for a lie. But he found none.
“……Even if everything you say were true.”
Kalan spoke slowly.
“Why should I help you? I am not a man of Balanus.”
The air in the office was cold. So too were Dein’s eyes. There was nothing warm in this space.
Then came a voice, childlike in its pitch, starkly at odds with Kalan’s measured tone.
“You promised me once. You said you’d grant me one favor when I founded Balanus.”
……
“Fulfill that promise now. Help me.”
Kalan’s lips parted. He was about to say something when Dein lowered his head.
“I’m asking you. Protect my disciples.”
He had to prevent the future where his disciples died. He needed someone strong. It didn’t matter if that person was his sworn enemy.
Kalan shot up from his chair so abruptly it toppled backward. Hatred flashed across his eyes.
Dein did not raise his head. For a long time, neither spoke. It was Kalan who broke the silence.
“……You really aren’t Dein after all.”
He spat the words out.
“Dein never bowed his head, no matter the circumstance. He was a swordsman with too much pride.”
Dein still did not look up. Because of this, he could not see what expression Kalan wore.
“That’s right. I am a swordsman with pride.”
Kalan was someone who had abandoned his disciples. A man worthy of hatred. The fact that he was bowing before such a person made heat crawl up his neck.
“But I am both a swordsman and a master.”
Pride, dignity, fighting spirit. The things that made up Dein’s blood and bone. Dein severed them and placed them in Kalan’s hands.
“Protect our disciples, Kalan.”
In return, he received a single Summoning Scroll.
Clang, clang!
The blade came down on the Blood Lord’s arm. The Blood Lord wrapped Mana around his remaining right arm to block.
The moment the blade made contact, sparks flew from his skin. Dark crimson fragments fell away from the hardened surface.
Kalan swung his sword without pause, without breath. Cutting, draining, cutting again.
It looked almost like venting rage, yet every motion was precise. When wind came at his ribs, he deflected it with his blade. When something fell from above, he swiftly created space.
The sound of stone being cleaved rang out. With each strike, another sliver of the Blood Lord’s arm was chipped away. There was no blood left to fill the gaps.
“Capturing him alive is tedious,” Kalan muttered.
Yet he passed up his target vital points again and again. When he could have cut the neck, he struck the shoulder instead. When he could have pierced the heart, he went for the arm.
This too was part of his bargain with Dein. Do not kill the Guardian.
Crack!
A faint line of blood appeared on Kalan’s neck. The blade wind dug deeper.
He retreated urgently. Just as the Blood Lord thrust a spine-laden hand at Kalan’s ribs—
Slice!
The Blood Lord’s right arm fell away above the elbow. A crimson rod rolled across the floor. Blood sprayed, soiling the wall.
Armless and hemorrhaging, the Blood Lord did not scream. Instead, he kicked off the ground.
Wind propelled him forward. A collision sounded above.
Bang!
Kalan swept his blade upward. The falling debris scattered from the blade pressure, and dust obscured his vision.
Was he trying to escape? But when the dust settled, the Blood Lord was not on the ceiling.
The Blood Lord was charging toward the entrance—toward the prison where those bearing the Special Bloodline were held.
If blood runs short, we replenish it. The blood of one with a Special Bloodline runs thicker than that of dozens of ordinary people.
He drove his shoulder into the cell door, and it shattered. At the sound, the one with the Special Bloodline flinched.
Just as he was about to hurl himself at the one with the Special Bloodline—
Crack!
Dein tackled the Blood Lord from behind. He wrapped an arm around his throat and drove a dagger deep into his exposed ribs.
The blade carved through bare flesh.
“You—you were lying in wait…!”
Dein had anticipated this. If the situation turned against them, the Blood Lord would target the one with the Special Bloodline.
Ambush and surprise were his weapons too. He had hidden in the shadow of the iron bars and waited, bleeding all the while, without end.
The Blood Lord’s vision spun. Pain and numbness flooded through his entire body.
“Ugh—graaaah…!”
The dagger borrowed from Gai was coated with paralytic poison. Yet the Blood Lord did not fall.
Crash!
Even pinned, the Blood Lord slammed backward into Dein. The spines that erupted from his back gouged into Dein’s flesh.
Dein gritted his teeth and did not loosen his grip. He only drove the dagger deeper, until it scraped against ribs.
Then the hilt of Kalan’s sword cracked against the Blood Lord’s temple.
Thud!
The Blood Lord crumpled. With the impact, the crimson shards that had covered his body began to fall away, one by one.
“Hah—ha…”
The Blood Lord’s mangled body trembled violently. His eyes flicked toward the ceiling.
“Waiting for your underlings to arrive won’t help. My disciples have already taken care of them.”
Dein pressed down on the Blood Lord’s neck as he spoke. Just as he was about to knock him unconscious, a strained voice broke through.
“…If your disciple dies, you’ll be safe.”
Dein’s hand stilled. Golden eyes gazed down at the Blood Lord, quiet and steady.
“I know you’re carrying on your father’s will.”
The Blood Lord forced strength back into his dimming eyes.
“But is it worth risking your life for?”
Your father’s will. In those words, Dein detected a fracture in the truth.
‘The Guardians don’t know I’ve been resurrected.’
That was why he was trying this persuasion. The Blood Lord barely managed to move his stiffening jaw.
“I don’t know how you found out…but even if you capture me, the Guardians remain. You’d do better to withdraw from here.”
“…”
“If you step back from Balanus, you can live.”
“Why were you trying to kill my disciples?”
The Blood Lord’s gaze flicked toward Kalan.
“…Because certain Bloodlines must be severed.”
“…”
“If they survive, the people beside them will die too. Dein, you’ll die just like your father.”
Dein’s grip tightened. A sickening crunch—vertebrae screaming in protest. The Blood Lord could only roll his eyes to look at Kalan.
“Kalan, you hate the disciples too. Balanus was attacked in the first place because of them.”
Kalan said nothing to the persuasion. Only the edge of his sword gleamed, razor-sharp.
A shadow fell across his face, and between them, dark eyes emerged.
“…So Balanus was attacked because of those bastards.”
The veins on Kalan’s hand bulged. The fingers gripping his sword turned white.
“And you killed my comrades.”
What had festered for fifteen years burst open. The rage that had found nowhere to go, that had wandered through ruins—it erupted from Kalan’s throat in cords of fury.
“If you were going to kill, you should have killed only the children! Why did you have to take my comrades too—!”
Just as he was about to tear the Blood Lord to pieces, a blood-soaked hand caught hold of Kalan.
It was Dein. Kalan stared at him with fierce, murderous eyes.
“Don’t you want to kill him too?”
“We can’t. We need information from him.”
Dein’s voice was steady. But the hand that held Kalan back trembled violently.
Without Kalan there, Dein would have done the same thing.
The moment his comrades died was still vivid before his eyes. Balanus—the home I had built with my family.
Kalan lowered his sword. But his rage unspent, he kicked the Blood Lord roughly.
The Blood Lord’s body went limp at last. Kalan hoisted him over his shoulder.
“I’m taking him.”
“What are you going to do with information? You’re not even part of Balanus anymore.”
“I don’t owe explanations to someone who isn’t family.”
Kalan walked toward the exit, then stopped. His sword swung in a wide arc.
―Splorch!
Blood erupted from all sides—from those locked in the cells.
Their necks were severed in an instant, without so much as a death rattle. Even the faintest whimper was smothered by the gags.
All dead. No witnesses remained. Dein hadn’t intended to spare them anyway, but…….
“And there won’t be a next time. This is the last help I’m giving you.”
Kalan departed. Dein, left alone, breathed heavily.
Nearby, he spotted his sword lying on the ground. Seeing the blade he’d dropped had come within reach, Dein let out a hollow laugh.
‘……Kalan left it behind.’
After retrieving the sword, he uncorked a Recovery Potion. He wanted to use it sparingly now that his body was building tolerance, but there was no choice.
As the medicine took hold, the pain he’d been postponing came flooding back all at once. Every wound and laceration screamed in unison.
Clenching his teeth, Dein forced himself to think. He’d captured a Guardian. He’d learned half of what he needed to know.
‘They were trying to sever my disciples’ Bloodlines.’
All of his disciples possessed extraordinary abilities. Cesare came from a noble house, and Jenia carried monster blood.
As for the others, their origins remained unknown. Yet Time Magic and Temperature Control Magic were far from common.
‘Could their orphan status stem from that?’
The Guardian might have killed his disciples’ parents. If he traced the Bloodline angle, it might lead him to them.
It was only speculation, but at least a direction had emerged. Still, one question remained unresolved.
“……If a disciple dies, you’ll be safe.”
Not “disciples”—”a disciple.” Was he overthinking it? But if not…….
‘Are all five of my disciples targets? Or just one of them?’

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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