Chapter 22: Commencement of Slaughter

The docklands of Glow City were not entirely devoid of prosperity. As the saying goes, those living by the mountains rely on the mountains, and those by the water rely on the water; the harbor area naturally had its way of catering to travelers, creating a distorted and decadent kind of wealth.

"Come in and take a look, we have beauties."

"Step right up, stay the night and the tea is on the house..."

Beneath the neon lights, behind the display windows, were youthful faces masked by layers of heavy makeup. They squeezed out smiles, some alluring, some strained, their garish outfits casting a pink-hued atmosphere across the street from end to end. Carriages could not pass through, for the streets were choked with customers and "flower girls." This was the pleasure district of the docks, the favorite haunt of passing sailors.

But today, a young paladin hummed a little tune as he walked into the place least suited for him. This was a place for men to seek pleasure, yet the "Eyes of Truth" stripped away the makeup to reveal faces that were often quite tender. In this era, human life was merely a consumable resource; women in this trade rarely lasted long. Sick, crippled, aged, ugly—why not just replace them? They were cheap enough. Nearby, there was even a talent market where people could be bought and sold with ease.

In a place where he clearly did not belong, the paladin continued forward with a smile, greeting passersby along the way. Some tried to pull him inside, only to be brushed off. Those who knew who he was, however, kept as far away as they could the moment they saw him. Unknowingly, a path cleared before him. Wherever he passed, whispers followed, and bets were placed on who would be the next to suffer.

He did not keep the audience waiting long.

*Bang!*

This time, it was the doors of the "Easy Melody" tavern that were kicked open. It was the largest brothel on the street and the property of the district’s boss.

"Who is it?! You looking for trouble? Don't you know this is Boss Grey Vulture's turf?!" The thugs who had been laughing and joking near the entrance were instantly enraged.

But in the center of the open doorway, the young man clad in thin leather armor remained smiling. He crossed his arms, his pale blue gloves shimmering with magical radiance, and his piercing gaze swept the room.

"Call out 'Vulture' John. His time is up. Hand over the kidnapped girls now, and I’ll leave him a whole corpse."

His calm words were a direct declaration of hostility. The paladin wasted no time, his sword blade pointing directly at the gang leader. A tattered police badge was tied to his wrist, announcing his status, but no one present took it seriously—after all, there were several detectives drinking and whoring upstairs.

"Wait, sir, we’ve already paid our respects to Sergeant Rune for this month..." Someone hurried forward, a small bag of money in his sleeve. "...let’s talk this over, let’s talk. Our boss is coming right over." To him, this was just another brat looking for a payout; better to brush him off. If he couldn't be brushed off, well, a greenhorn would learn his lesson after a beating.

But the unwelcome guest who had come today was never going to negotiate.

Leon smiled. He had waited too long for this day! Negotiate? Negotiate what? Negotiate when and in what posture you human-trafficking, forced-prostitution trash would be hanged?

"Judgment of the Sinful Realm." Beneath the man’s raised right hand, a holy light illuminated the entire hall. When a paladin begins casting "Detect Evil," it means there is no longer anything to negotiate. A pale red radiance covered the hall; every customer, every thug, was marked to some degree. When a Judge Knight casts "Judgment of the Sinful Realm," it means... execution time has arrived!

"Smite..."

Leon raised his Sword of Courage, carving a lethal arc through the air. This time, possessing the power he had sought, he unleashed a complete "Holy Sword."

"...Evil."

The bright silver radiance faded. As the silver arc fell, heads stained a deep, bruised purple tumbled to the floor. This full-force strike, long pent-up, had an astonishing range, as if an heroic soul had been reborn. Blood splattered the floor, and the severed limbs of the villains rolled across the ground.

Leon, meanwhile, had time for a mocking self-deprecating remark. "So, your blood is red, too... How can you be so cruel to your own kind?"

"Aaaah!"

Regardless of the reason, killing in the street sparked instant panic. Those marked with colorless or pale red auras—those whose "sins were not yet death-worthy"—fled for their lives. Leon stood there silently, smiling, seemingly unbothered by the fleeing crowd.

*Thud.*

A man whose aura was a deep, blackish red was snatched from the fleeing crowd and slammed hard into the ground. He shattered instantly; thirteen points of superhuman strength were no joke.

"Looks like I need to practice my control..." Flexing his wrists, Leon scanned the room again. Satisfied that there were no others who required immediate execution, he let the remaining wretches scatter. The difference between a Law Knight and a regular paladin was that the results of "Detect Evil" could not be used as a final verdict, as evil thoughts and personality did not constitute a crime. However, the Law Knight’s Judgment of the Sinful Realm judged crimes committed within the last half-month; if the aura was red enough, it inevitably involved human lives.

"A pity, this inheritance... I’m starting to understand Old Man Sull’s regrets..."

He was distracted, but he knew he wouldn't have to wait long. His lair had been raided, the door smashed, and his thugs killed on the spot. If the "Vulture" boss wanted to remain in business, he had to deal with him.

"Mad Knight! Others might fear you, but I’m an extraordinary as well, and I don't fear you!"

And there he was. The bald, elderly man descended from upstairs. His massive frame was intimidating; despite being a Fox-kin who should have been slender, he looked more like a Pig-kin. He was one-eyed, wielding a morning star in one hand and a giant shield in the other, covered in golden plate armor that looked quite dazzling. At the very least, he was a Tier 1 or Tier 2 warrior; his equipment was impressive and somewhat menacing.

"You want money, I’ll give it..." If he truly had the confidence he claimed, he wouldn't be wasting his breath.

"Judgment of the Sinful Realm." Leon’s response was simple and direct.

"You bastard!!" The roar still hung in the air, but the remaining half was choked off. The silver longsword had already closed the distance. Facing evil, the paladin had no interest in martial honor or fairness.

*Clang!*

But this time, the Smite Evil was blocked. Leon retracted his sword and stepped back. He frowned at the golden shield; the thing was absurdly hard.

"Ha! Even a paladin can't do a thing against my shield. It’s an ancient artifact dug out from an underground ruin, my treasure..."

"Smite Evil."

His response was another strike.

*Clang!*

The giant shield held, but the man was forced back several steps.

"Smite."

Another flash of the blade, striking the exact same spot.

"You..." The gang leader roared, but the next round of sword light was already on its way.

*Clang!*

Blow after blow, like a hammer striking a golden shield. Each strike was heavier, each strike more ruthless.

*Thud, thud, thud.*

The rhythm echoed through the hall like a drumbeat. The young man’s expression was cold, his hands moving with steady precision, every strike delivered with his full being. When Leon finally withdrew his sword, the shield remained flawless.

*Clatter.* The shield fell to the ground.

The person behind it? He had been shattered into pieces, blood flowing from his seven orifices, eyes wide in death. The Armor-Piercing Strike—a professional can opener, truly reliable.

Leon looked around, preparing to find a thug to lead him to the kidnapped girls. This was only the beginning. During his patrols over the past few days, Leon had accumulated too many cases. Now that he possessed the "Gauntlets of Giant Strength," he had the combat power to begin clearing them out. One by one, the dark forces fell beneath Leon’s blade.

The Oath Knight was efficiently reaping the lives of the local "dark bosses." No one stopped him, because compared to the executioner, those thugs were not worth the trouble. Even the powers behind them, who used the gangs as their black gloves, saw no reason to offend a spiraling, maddened Oath Knight for the sake of mere trash.

"...You think everything ends with our deaths?! Dream on. Once we die, it will only bring more instability and chaos, and the new bosses will be even more ruthless in their greed. You hypocritical bastard, I’ll be waiting for you in the abyss..."

A gang leader cursed Leon with his dying breath. He spoke a truth everyone knew. A city this large needed a sewer; when official power failed, a grey order would naturally fill the void. Eradicating one or two leaders wouldn't solve anything; someone would always step up to fill the new grey order.

But he was met only with the young man’s smile.

"I know..."

Leon knew the system was the problem. If these leaders died, others would rise—it was just another cycle. But the deterrent of slaughter might make the successors more cautious, potentially saving a few victims. And...

"...This time might be different. Someone promised me they would break this grey cycle." Leon shrugged. "Though I doubt they can actually do it, I’m certainly looking forward to it..." Thinking of the scene from a few hours ago, Leon laughed, this time from the heart.

It started a few hours earlier.

Leon had been in his office, trying on his new gifts. Dragon Hunter was a thoughtful woman; not only did she send the cursed Gauntlets of Giant Strength, she sent two pairs. Perhaps she hadn't been clear on Leon's limits, so she sent one pair of Ogre Gauntlets and one pair of Hill Giant Gauntlets. Both were cursed, but the gap between them was immense. Leon estimated the Ogre Gauntlets would boost his strength to over 12, a standard paladin level, while the Hill Giant ones... that was beyond mortal limits, likely 17 or 18 points, or even higher.

To put it simply, an Ogre was an Orc warrior trained to the limit, while a Hill Giant was a rock golem capable of knocking down houses. Their strength was not in the same league. Of course, the curse was equally powerful. Leon used a holy relic to test them and realized he couldn't sustain them long-term.

"I'll keep them for now, might be useful someday..." They were powerful, good as a trump card, but using them long-term was suicide.

With new gear in hand, Leon wasn't in a rush. His hit list was long enough; he didn't need to hurry. From morning until noon, he waited, though he didn't exactly know for whom.

"I didn't expect it would be you." Finally, someone arrived.

The door opened, and the person who walked in was the most unexpected of all. "Bone-Crusher" Dimon hesitated at the doorway but eventually took the step. Leon had tested the waters yesterday, hinting at the potential existence of scouts from the heroic souls. Talia, Dragon Hunter, and even Larry might have guessed he was the "examiner" because his reality was the most fitting—an Oath Knight of his age was something one never saw under normal circumstances.

The hinted identity of the examiner was Leon’s way of manipulating the chess pieces, implying that everything was negotiable. To eradicate certain things, Leon needed the candidates' power and the ability to command and control them in reality. But this "identity" was not something Leon could reveal; he had to let them guess. He waited in his office, testing their wisdom and decisiveness.

But Dimon... Leon didn't think he had the channels or ability to know he was the examiner. It wasn't about ability, but a lack of knowledge and information channels. The other candidates wouldn't have told him.

"Paladin Leon, I need your power... I know you’ve recovered your strength and intend to start hunting."

Oh, so he was looking for Leon, not the "Examiner of Heroic Souls."

"I know you. Given the chance, you won’t let this evil run rampant. You’ll be cleaning them up soon, and if possible, I’d like to cooperate with you."

The seemingly simple-minded Dimon was far smarter than Leon anticipated. He had used the information from the Hall of Heroic Souls to judge that Leon would begin his slaughter the moment he recovered his strength. He came directly to seek cooperation, hoping to borrow that power.

"I can understand... you’re blatantly trying to use me."

In his calm words lay undisguised killing intent.

"Yes..." The moment the word left his lips, Dimon froze. He felt the murderous intent in those calm eyes. If his answer didn't satisfy the paladin, he would likely be cleared away as "cunning evil."

But gritting his teeth, he finished his thought. "...I am using you, but you can use me, too."

"Me? Do you know what I want?"

"Peace and order for this district. You crave it, and so do I!"

The Pig-kin stared at Leon. At this moment, as the weaker party, he refused to take a single step back. This was his choice, his once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Dimon asked himself: compared to the other candidates who were clearly powerful nobles, what right did he have to be in the ranks of the heroic soul candidates? The dream from the night before had given him his revelation.

"They are too clean. But this world is truly too dirty."

They could not tolerate a single grain of sand, unable to walk alongside darkness, but was that possible in reality? Could one solve problems just by charging ahead and shouting slogans? No, it was impossible. Having grown up in the mud of the docklands, Dimon understood better than anyone. It wasn't that there was no order here, just that the order was unfriendly to the weak; it wasn't that there was no light, just that it was hidden in boundless darkness.

"Even ignoring the high-and-mighty heroic soul inheritance, this is my chance. Those people are big figures I could never touch in my life... and this is a chance to change this mud-pit of a dockland!"

Though he had never read a book, Dimon saw clearly that this hellhole wasn't just a problem for one or two people. The boys here grew up with no job opportunities; if they weren't pickpockets, they were thugs. As for the women, he didn't need to say—he knew the pain of how his mother had fed their family better than anyone. Even if his younger brother hadn't died at the hands of that serial killer, what would have been the difference in a few years when he had no choice?

"I need to borrow your power... I want to become the greatest darkness in the docklands, the biggest gang boss."

His words, spoken through gritted teeth, were a declaration of his willingness to abandon everything. To hell with the holy heroic soul inheritance; he just wanted his hometown to be better! At the very least, don't let the children have no choice; don't let a prostitute's daughter only be able to become a prostitute; don't let a gambler's son remain a gambler. If someone had to be the darkness maintaining order, why not him?

This "dragon crossing the river" was about to gamble big, shattering the existing order... this was his one chance.

"I will control the darkness here and give them... give the children a future where they have a choice."

For a moment, Leon was silent. He understood the other's logic but was surprised by his decisiveness. However, words alone could not convince him.

"I understand. You want to use my rampage to clear out the old bosses, then use the opportunity to expand and become the biggest boss yourself."

"Not just that. I need you to hint that you are my patron."

How bold, how blasphemous—to have a paladin act as a "black" patron. If it were a regular paladin—like Larry—he would have drawn his sword and fought to the death against someone insulting his honor. But here stood Leon, a paladin who might not even be one in a week... a non-mainstream paladin who valued result-oriented justice over procedural justice.

He pondered. Setting aside his own preferences, if the other party controlled the local grey forces, it would be extremely helpful for the subsequent "framing" and "eradicating the serial killer." It would mean having countless eyes and tentacles in the area.

But...

"How can I trust you? Even if you think this way now... what about the future you?"

The implication was simple: even if you are sincere now, anyone can be corrupted by time. How could he trust the future boss of the district? Dimon had already thought of this.

"An oath. You are an Oath Knight; you can swear an oath, right... I am willing to wager everything."

Leon was truly surprised by his resolve. The man had obtained information about Oath Knights from the Hall of Heroic Souls and was applying it here. Leon thought for a moment and wrote down twenty common knightly oaths.

"Under my witness, an oath will take effect, but it is merely a constraint... Pick a few, let me see your resolve."

The recollection ended. Even as Leon danced through the slaughter, he was astonished by Dimon’s resolve from that day.

"He really dared to choose..." Dimon hadn't just chosen; he had chosen the ones Leon himself dared not touch.

While Leon was slaughtering his way through, Dimon and his men were storming the doors of a gang. Relying only on an outsider wouldn't win the people over; he had to prove himself. And the boss he faced was a true extraordinary. Could he win? Theoretically, no... but he was willing to pay the price.

His massive frame swelled, the Hill Giant gauntlets on his arms granting this non-extraordinary man terrifying physical power. Two kitchen knives had become war hammers; the cursed man unleashed terrifying force. Yet, the curse he suffered wasn't as great as expected... that was because Leon had lied. The beginning of an Oath Knight was also rooted in the constraints one set for oneself under the witness of a predecessor. Constraints bring will, and will is the source of power for a paladin’s squire.

"Never abandon the protection of the innocent and weak..." This was the first oath most Oath Knights favored, but the penalty Dimon set for breaking it granted him maximum power. "...The oath-breaker dies."

He charged forward, took a blow from the boss, and pushed aside the terrified bystanders. If he could, he would have liked to be a simple cook... but did he have a choice? Did the children of the docklands have a choice? If the only options were to be a villain or the prey of a villain, was that kind of "inheritance" correct?!

"No, absolutely not!"

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The other candidates were big figures he could never have approached, and the heroic souls were legends in the clouds.

"I must seize this chance to change my hometown, to change the lives of my younger siblings..." Climbing upward was just a means; never forget the initial goal.

Thus, the sound of the oath echoed in his ears, turning into shackles.

"Never abandon the morality and justice in your heart, never truly be assimilated by the darkness... The oath-breaker dies."

Someone in this world had to dirty their hands; since I am already in the darkness, let it be me. This is my home; how could I trust it to anyone else?

"Forever maintain poverty, refuse all temptations of wealth... The oath-breaker dies."

You aren't worried that after I become a boss, I'll be tempted by wealth, beauty, and power? I don't have confidence in resisting temptation in the future either, so I will refuse it from the start.

A lifelong oath at the cost of his life, holding fast to poverty and his original heart, brought him an oath-blessing exceeding that of Sull’s new recruits. Three oaths, three locks—it was the limit for a mortal, and the cost of breaking each was pushed to the extreme. The oath protected him; two kitchen knives, cutting from one end of the street to the other!

[It is incomprehensible, but the Thousand-Faced Dragon of history often interferes in the fate of mortals, particularly enjoying the guiding of heroes' births. —An Anonymous Historian.]