My Disciples Became Scoundrels - Chapter 35

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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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From eighteen to thirty-three, his face had hardly changed. Yet so much else had shifted across those years.
The boy who had once been meek and courteous now stood with blood on both his hands. No hesitation, no fear, no anger—just an expression as if all feeling had frozen solid.
Then a Guard swung his baton toward Arkell.
Thwack!
Several blows followed. This was less restraint than it was venting. The Guard trampled Arkell’s chest as he lay sprawled, glowering down at him.
“You again, Arkell. Now you’re killing people? Want summary execution instead of a life sentence?”
Even as his lip split and blood ran, Arkell remained unmoved. He spoke in a flat tone.
“They tried to kill me first. I was defending myself. And they’re not dead yet. They’d die only if you don’t treat them.”
The groaning inmates were all still breathing. The Guard kicked Arkell’s head anyway.
“Arkell goes to Solitary Confinement. The rest to the Medical Wing.”
The other Guards moved with sharp precision. The injured and Arkell alike were dragged away.
I said nothing, only watched Arkell’s receding back. He’d taken a kick to the head—would he be all right? How badly was he hurt?
“The new inmates—lock each one in his cell. Damn it, trouble on the first day.”
The Guards hauled us along and began throwing us into individual cells. I was practically hurled into mine.
So this was my cell. A narrow room with a two-tier bunk, a small desk, and a wooden bucket—that was all.
It looked built for one person but held two. Cold radiated up from the floor, and the blanket was threadbare.
Arkell had lived fifteen years in a place like this?
I wanted to believe he’d been wrongly convicted. But the image of him stabbing the inmate without hesitation came back to me.
I remembered the Arkell of eight years old. He’d stayed quiet for a whole decade—what had happened after I died?
Could there be some misunderstanding? If only I could talk to him about it.
“Hah… Who’s this? A fresh fish?”
Someone poked his head out from the lower bunk. A man in his mid-twenties.
He had a fairly gentle face and looked intelligent—the kind that didn’t fit a prison for only heinous criminals.
He stared at me, then crawled out of his bunk. His voice was soft, but his eyes were cold.
“So young, and in a place like this. What terrible thing did you do?”
An odd reaction from a criminal himself. I gave him my prepared story flatly.
“Attempted murder of a nobleman.”
“What?”
The man’s expression hardened. Then, for a moment, he seemed to study me—and suddenly his face lit up.
“You tried to kill a nobleman?”
He grabbed my hand eagerly, warmly even. His eyes were very clear. Madness glinted in them like reflected light.
“I’m Matteo! I killed a nobleman too, that’s why I’m here. You’re not like all that garbage out there—you’re different!”
His entire demeanor shifted. He looked normal enough in the face, but he squeezed my hand hard and thrust his head closer.
“Those fat pigs with their wealth need regular culling, don’t they? Don’t you think?”
A madman.
There was clearly a reason he was locked up. Normally I’d keep my distance, but now I nodded.
“Of course. Idealists preach nonviolence, but that’s just wishful thinking, isn’t it?”
I’d planned to build rapport with one of the inmates to extract information about Arkell.
A lunatic, perhaps, but better than the others. Once I agreed with him, Matteo became excited and began pouring out words.
“Exactly! To show the nobles the truth, sacrifice is necessary. I should have done more… cleaned up more thoroughly before they caught me……”
“Cleaned up?”
“Yeah. I only disposed of three. I wanted to kill more, but they got me.”
He said it almost sheepishly. I was grateful my disciples, for all their recklessness, weren’t deranged like this.
“Three, though—that’s remarkable. I only attempted it. You’ve truly made the world a better place.”
Matteo’s eyes glistened. He suddenly pulled me into an embrace, his voice thick with emotion.
“No one’s ever said something like that to me before. I was so lonely……”
After that, Matteo rambled on and on—his hatred of the upper classes, his criticisms of the world, his contradictory theories of justice.
We ate once during his monologue, but he never stopped. Not even after sunset.
By nightfall, Matteo’s voice finally ceased. He smiled at me as though I were an old friend of ten years.
“I really like you! What’s your name?”
“Dain.”
“Good, Dain. Since I’m the senior here, if you need anything, just say the word anytime!”
I felt blood might come from my ears, but I held it in. It was worth it for growing closer to Matteo.
I asked him, now that he’d pressed uncomfortably near.
“When we came in, there was a big fight. That person they called Arkell—he scared me. Is he dangerous?”
“Ah, that monster.”
Matteo lowered his voice.
“Word is he killed thirteen people. That’s why they call him Arkell—a nickname. He’s insanely strong; even with a brawl like that, he walked away fine.”
“Does he fight often?”
“Right. He’s stubborn by nature. No friends to speak of—plenty of enemies, though.”
No friends. In a place like this, having friends would be its own problem, but had he really spent fifteen years entirely alone?
Matteo studied me carefully.
“It’s best to keep your distance from Arkell if you can, but he might take a liking to you.”
“Why is that?”
“Oddly enough, he’s kind to people younger or weaker than him. Very slightly, though. Strange for someone who’s otherwise garbage.”
When Arkell was young, I taught him many things—including how to show kindness to those younger and weaker. The memory surfaced unbidden.
Perhaps my teachings still lingered somewhere deep within him. A fragile hope kindled in my chest.
“I see. I’d like to try speaking with him.”
“That’ll be difficult for a while. He’s in Solitary Confinement now. He’ll be locked up there for a week.”
I’d have to wait, then. Every instinct screamed at me to burst into Solitary Confinement that instant. Matteo scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“Though prisoners in isolation do get taken out during outdoor time. You might be able to meet him then.”
“Outdoor time? In a place like this?”
The word seemed absurdly gentle for this place. Matteo smirked at my question.
“You’ll understand tomorrow.”
* * *
“Outdoor time! Everyone out!”
The Guard’s voice echoed through the entire prison. Inmates filed out one by one into the Main Hall on the first floor.
Matteo and I descended with them. The Hall was chaotic, filled with every prisoner it seemed. Scanning the crowd, I spotted Arkell standing in the distance. The Guard shouted again.
“Open the gates!”
The massive iron doors began to grind open slowly. These weren’t the doors I’d entered through.
As the doors fully opened, a frigid wind swept in, revealing a vast expanse of pristine snow. There was nothing romantic about the landscape.
Snow piled knee-deep across the ground. The stark whiteness of the space felt almost unreal, as if we’d stepped outside this world entirely.
Beyond the snow, nothing was visible except birch trees, pale as bone. In the distance, the faint howls of monsters echoed.
The inmates moved outside with practiced ease, each receiving a Fur Cloak and a Cheap Weapon from the guards. Arkell headed out with them.
I moved to follow, but the new arrivals—myself included—were kept isolated in a separate section. A Guard barked at us confused newcomers.
“You’re each permitted one outdoor excursion per day.”
Outdoor time. This must be what Matteo had mentioned yesterday. The Guard gestured toward the iron doors.
“Monsters inhabit the land beyond. Bring back Monster Cores, and you’ll receive compensation.”
These prisoners had certain advantages: if they were torn apart by monsters, no one cared. And they possessed violence to match any beast.
The prison was clearly exploiting this fact. Monster Cores commanded high prices, after all.
“One hundred Baats per Core. This becomes your Commissary Account.”
One hundred Baats. An insulting sum. Even the cheapest bread cost five hundred Baats.
Considering that a Core was worth at least a hundred thousand Baats, the markup was highway robbery. Yet the inmates marched toward the snowy field regardless.
“If you return alive, we’ll exchange it for coin.”
As he spoke, the Shackles grew slightly lighter. I felt Mana flow through me again.
“The device is temporarily suspended, but don’t get any clever ideas. Anyone who abuses this privilege faces Summary Execution.”
Bloodlust radiated from the Guard—far more intense than any ordinary criminal I’d encountered.
Not just him, either. The other Guards looked formidable as well. To survive in Frost Prison, one would need to be at least this strong.
We took our gear and headed outside. The moment my feet touched the snow, bitter cold seized me. The issued Fur Cloak provided minimal warmth at best.
I ventured into the forest, searching for Arkell. The snow muffled sound, yet somehow made every noise clearer.
Behind the screams of dying men and beasts, I walked deeper. The knots in the birch trees stared like eyes—hundreds, thousands of them fixed upon me.
Then I caught it: a particularly thick scent of blood, drifting from one direction.
My feet moved instinctively toward it. As I drew closer, the stench intensified and the temperature plummeted further.
Soon enough, I understood the source.
―Crash!
A jagged spire of ice erupted from the ground, piercing through a bear-shaped monster’s torso in an instant.
Bodies of slain monsters littered the area, reeking of blood. In the center of this carnage, Arkell stood motionless.
How many had he killed? Several still-living monsters remained, bearing their fangs—a bear and a boar, both charging.
Arkell flicked a finger toward them.
―Whish!
A blade of ice materialized and flew, splitting one monster’s skull in two. Blood splattered across the white snow.
Ice formed at Arkell’s gesture, blades flew at a glance. No incantations. No casting delays.
Even as a child, he’d shown remarkable talent for magic. Whatever rare bloodline flowed through his veins, it hadn’t come from me.
Fifteen years had passed. Now, watching Arkell move through this white wasteland, he looked like the king of this frozen world.
―Dying wails echoed.
Dozens of monsters were impaled on ice stakes, their bodies going rigid. Only when the chaos had settled did Arkell turn to regard me.
“…….”
His eyes held no interest, even in looking at me. Arkell ignored me completely, moving to collect the Monster Cores.
I had wondered countless times what words I should speak, should I ever face him again.
Should I tell him I was Dain? No—Arkell could never believe something so unrealistic.
Should I say I was someone who inherited Dain’s will? That too fell short of convincing him. So I chose a compromise.
A lie: that I was Dain’s son. It was a convincing lie, given our similar appearances.
“Arkell Balanus.”
He stopped. Slowly, he turned his head. Our eyes met—his silver-gray gaze locking onto mine.
Arkell lunged at me as though taking flight. In an instant, the distance between us collapsed.
Emotion flickered across eyes that had been cold as ice until moments before. I knew the name of that emotion.
Murder.
My disciple’s hand flashed toward my throat, sharp and deadly.

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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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