Although succubi are greedy, lustful, and have countless bad habits, they’re still reliable when it comes to getting things done.
Or perhaps it was the oppressive aura surrounding Jon, and those blood-red eyes that seemed ready to devour at any moment, that made the succubi too afraid to cause any more trouble.
Even Emile was seeing this fierce expression on the usually good-natured Hero for the first time.
Introduced by two socialite succubi, Jon soon met the famous “General Iron Bear” in a private succubus residence on the outskirts of the city.
Folco was tall but had short limbs and a thick waist.
Wearing his armor, he really did look like a war bear.
After stating his purpose and clarifying the stakes, Folco keenly sensed the Hero’s resentment and hostility toward the city lord, and tentatively asked:
“Lord Hero, how do you think the City Lord Rossi should be dealt with?”
“I want him dead.”
The Hero’s answer was expected.
Folco became thoroughly interested.
The Hero’s good temper was known throughout the army.
For someone to provoke him enough to want to kill, now that was truly fascinating!
“How do you want to kill him?”
Jon retorted, “He embezzled military funds.
Isn’t that enough to get him sentenced to death in the Military Court?”
“Where’s the evidence?” Folco the little bear spread his hands. “To catch an adulterer, you need both parties; to catch a thief, you need stolen goods. If he dares to embezzle, it means there’s absolutely no procedural loophole.
Besides, who in the world isn’t greedy? Who doesn’t take? Even the Directly Administered Territory can’t escape this atmosphere, let alone the Lawless Land, or us in the Borderlands.”
He warned, “Lord Hero, arresting someone for this reason would cause an earthquake. Everyone would speculate whether you received a secret order from His Majesty to purge corruption.
The impact would be enormous. Even stabbing him to death in the street would be less serious than using this charge.”
“Then what about sending people to collect taxes and beat up refugees? What crime does that fall under?”
“That’s within his duties. At most, you can call him inhumane, but it doesn’t even count as a violation.”
Jon’s expression was cloudy.
His fists clenched, legs trembled, and his eyes burned red as if spitting fire.
He couldn’t understand—why could a notorious corrupt official have no visible weakness? Why could a heartless demon who trampled lives hold steady as a lord?
“Lord Hero, I have a plan that will let you kill him without any worries. But after it’s done, you’ll owe me a favor,” Folco said persuasively.
“What plan?” Jon asked.
“Rebellion.”
Folco grinned.
“…Just the two of us? Isn’t that too few?”
Jon was silent for a long time—half a minute—before asking hesitantly.
“Peh peh peh! The two of us? Your courage is too much!”
Folco spat for a long time, waving off the bad luck, then explained helplessly, “It’s him. City Lord Rossi. He’s the one rebelling.”
“He… rebelled?”
Jon was even more hesitant.
“Of course, he can rebel. Anyone in the world can rebel. It’s not about him—it’s all about whether you want him to.”
“So you mean, we frame him, fabricate charges?”
Jon finally understood, frowning as he sank into deep confusion.
Justice in process, but injustice in result.
Or justice in result, but injustice in process.
Which is true justice?
“As long as you decide, the Longevity Army can always help provide sufficient evidence of rebellion. A favor, in exchange for a city lord—it’s a good deal.”
Folco smiled temptingly.
“……”
Jon was silent.
“Oh right, Lord Hero, aren’t you short on money? As long as you confiscate his house, you can buy whatever you want. And those prostitutes he kept, they say——every one of them is very moist~~~”
Folco sucked in a breath, eyebrows dancing, eyes dreamy, his expression vivid and infectious.
Jon frowned and thought for a long, long time.
“Let me think about it for another day. Tonight, let’s get the food back first.”
He forced himself to suppress the violent, reckless urge boiling within.
Teacher told him to handle the food issue first before seeking justice; there had to be a reason.
To accept or not, to frame or not—maybe he should ask his teacher.
The plan was set for the third watch tonight.
Folco was enthusiastic.
He lent his beast of burden for transporting grain, nearly all the Magitek Wagons, and even threw in a squad to help operate the equipment.
“Good luck, Lord Hero! I’ve hated that bastard for ages. The demon race was beaten down by our infantry, and he still had the face to come divide the spoils. And when he didn’t get his share, he impeached me—he can go XX himself!”
Folco spat heavily on the ground, cursing foully.
Jon didn’t respond.
He left Folco’s group and hurried back to the refugee camp in the rain.
Village Chief Jonathan still looked as calm as ever, but compared to his eldest son’s corpse on the ground, the calm was laced with something cold and eerie.
Jon relayed Folco’s words to the village chief.
“Teacher, for Brother Joey… let’s frame him!”
An unbearable urge for release, for eruption, made Jon plead with the old man.
As long as the village chief agreed, he could fabricate charges, use the Empire’s hand to kill the city lord, and avenge the humiliation, his hypocrisy, corruption, and disregard for life.
He could lead imperial soldiers to kick open his door in broad daylight, seize all his assets, burn down his mansion, and distribute the gold to those he had driven to despair.
And all this… only needed one acknowledgment.
The acknowledgment of a victim, to this ‘Hero’, for noble vengeance.
Village Chief Jonathan closed his eyes, silent for a long, long time.
To him, it was an excruciating decision.
“Jon…”
His voice was old and low.
“As a father, I wish I could tear his flesh, see him shattered, send him to hell, never to be reborn, no matter how dirty the means.”
“But as your teacher.”
The village chief suddenly gripped Jon’s hand tightly.
“I hope you’ll do the right thing.”
“But what does it mean to ‘do the right thing’?”
Jon’s eyes widened like copper bells, resisting as he asked.
What he saw:
The corrupt do not fear the law.
Those who trample lives control lives.
Noble blood hides filth.
Holy and kind are hypocritical and despicable.
What is right? What is wrong? Jon could no longer tell.
If following the rules could not release oppression or redress injustice, why couldn’t he become more unscrupulous, more despicable?
“To do the right thing… is to always stand tall, face the sun, and open your heart to those you cherish.”
Village Chief Jonathan patted Jon’s head, showing a somewhat strained smile.
“You’re a Hero. There should be no darkness in your heart.”
“But must we let him go?”
Jon was incredulous.
“It’s not about letting him go… Jon, your power rivals the gods, so you must be even more careful. You’re destined to walk a path a hundred times harder than others. Go forward, even if it’s exhausting.”
“I still don’t understand, Teacher. What should I do?”
“Don’t ask me—ask yourself. What does your heart want to do?”
Jonathan’s voice was ancient and gentle, like a beam of light piercing Jon’s heart.
Miraculously, all the rage, restlessness, and destructive urges turned into golden courage, restoring clarity and calm.
“I want…”
Jon suddenly had a bold, unprecedented idea.
It defied all faith, rules, and tradition—utterly rebellious, yet pure and clear, stirring his soul.
“I want the commoners to judge the Nobles! I want those who were displaced, who suffered, who starved because of the city lord, to judge the true culprit!”
“Beyond the courts, beyond the church, beyond the Empire, beyond all the cogs of this absurd machine!”
“…Teacher, am I dreaming too wildly?”
Jonathan finally smiled in relief, tears streaming down his face.
“No, you’ve gone farther than all of us. Go and do what you believe is right, Hero.”
“Even if it’s wrong now, hold onto hope, and keep searching for that distant right path…”