How Could the Villainous Young Master Be a Saintess?

Under the cover of night, Vinny slowly crept closer to the fortress.

These bandits’ vigilance couldn’t even be called “barely there”—it was practically nonexistent. Vinny deliberately chose a section where one watchtower had already collapsed and slipped in. As an extraordinary being in the Magus realm, he easily made it to a broken wall on the edge of an outer fort.

Vinny pressed his back to the shattered masonry and stole a glance inside. A patrol of bandits holding torches was making its rounds, passing not far from him.

What struck him as strange was that this group’s style of clothing was completely different from the bandits he’d run into earlier. The previous group had all worn fur. These ones wore cloth armor, and there was none of that red paint on their faces. Their hair, though, was absurdly meticulous—each of them looked like they’d styled it for a spectacle, wearing it long and tied up high with rope so it stuck straight upward.

What kind of bizarre hairstyle was that?

...Wait. It looked kind of familiar.

Vinny’s eyes narrowed slightly as he thought. Right—he’d heard that a bandit gang that haunted some of the Tyrel Empire’s desolate backcountry, a group called the “Final Burials,” dressed in exactly this kind of strange getup.

Supposedly, at the beginning they’d only been one insignificant little crew among countless mountain bandits. But later they expanded, and because their methods were so vicious, the trouble they caused grew bigger and bigger, and their influence grew wider and wider—until it even reached the Imperial Capital. Once the Tyrel Emperor heard about it, he immediately ordered the local lords to assist the knight order he dispatched to wipe them out, slaughtering the entire bandit group. That was how it ended.

Only later... thanks to that so-called “celebrity effect,” plenty of bandits—no one knew what their motives were, maybe to swell their numbers, maybe to intimidate villagers more effectively, or maybe just because they thought it sounded impressive—started claiming they were the “Final Burials.”

Because they’d been personally crushed by cavalry from the Imperial Capital, the “Final Burials,” a bandit group that should’ve been erased, “revived” again. After the real “Final Burials” had been exterminated, any random mountain bandits crawling out of some backwater hole would claim they were remnants of the “Final Burials,” rebuilding the group to attract recruits and support from others who’d gone outlaw.

Then what about that fur-wearing group from earlier? Another bandit crew too?

Only in an empire like this—old money of old money—would even bandit gangs be so particular. Even going out to kill and burn, they still had to give their organization a loud, grand name.

But these “Final Burials” were clearly not the same group as the bandits he’d killed at the foot of the mountain. And if you used even a little common sense—sure, they were all thieves, but bandits weren’t some single solid lump. “Same trade, bitter enemies” applied in the bandit world too. If you did all the “business,” what were the others supposed to do?

Smashing someone’s livelihood was the same as killing their parents.

There was no need to say it—bandit groups definitely had disputes, even outright fights. The chance they’d cooperate was extremely small.

If that was the case... why were these two groups choosing to work together?

Vinny couldn’t make sense of it, but he didn’t stop moving. He flipped up onto the broken wall, crawled along it to the battlements, and after he saw the torchlight from the patrol up there was far from him, he slipped toward the keep’s entrance. Light leaked through the crack in the door, and faint voices carried out—there were people inside.

The voices were muted through the wood, but Vinny was an extraordinary being. His five senses were razor-sharp; he could make out what they were saying.

“The ‘Fur Foxes’ who went down the mountain to patrol today still haven’t come back.”

“Useless. Can’t accomplish anything, and they drag their feet even on little chores. I’m telling you—we never should’ve pulled them in. We should’ve worked alone from the start,” a rough male voice said.

“Enough. You’ve got extra cannon fodder and you’re still unhappy? Stop saying things like that. We’re cooperating for now,” another, thinner voice advised.

Vinny hesitated, then kept listening.

“Hah. Looks like there are plenty of vultures eyeing this piece of meat. When we ran into them here, we should’ve just killed them on the spot. Now look—once the rite is over and we go in to grab the treasure, we’ll have to carve out a share for them too?!”

“Future problems can wait. Besides—who said we’re giving them anything?”

“Then what? We’ve already been driven out of the core area.”

“That couldn’t be helped. They came first. And that rite really does have some tricks. It’s gotten us out of the empire soldiers’ encirclements more than once. If it were only me, I might’ve already fallen into their hands. Look—we’re twisted into a single rope now. That’s the momentum you need to do big things.”

“Tch. If it weren’t for that, I’d have quit a long damn time ago!”

A rite...?

A flicker of thought passed through Vinny’s face. He wanted to keep listening, but the two inside stopped talking.

Waiting longer didn’t look like it would produce anything useful.

Vinny pushed the door open.

“Damn it—didn’t I tell you? Knock! Are you deaf?! Didn’t you hear—” Hearing the door, a bald, burly man sprang up from his stool. He was about to explode, but then he saw a blue-haired young man standing outside—someone who clearly wasn’t one of theirs.

“You—?!” The bald man’s eyes bulged. He didn’t even get the “who are you” out before a cold flash wiped his throat. His head tilted, and he collapsed to the floor, eyes wide open, as if he still hadn’t processed what had happened.

“?!” “Boss?!” The tall, skinny man saw the bald brute drop into a pool of blood without warning, completely motionless, and went pale with shock.

That bald brute wasn’t weak—and he even had the strength of an Intermediate Apprentice-class. He was an extraordinary being with a Spirit Soul. And he’d been instantly killed just because someone opened a door?!

The skinny man stared at the blue-haired youth, his heart turning to ice. He didn’t recognize the uniform Vinny wore, but he knew he’d run into something enormous.

“Honored Young Master—there’s room to talk!” the tall, skinny scar-faced man hurriedly dropped to his knees to beg, his expression changing like stage masks.

“Cut the nonsense. I ask, you answer.” Vinny brought the butt of Frostfang down heavily on the floor.

BANG!

Stone dust exploded up. The impact alone sent chips flying. The skinny man didn’t dare make a sound.

“Why are you squatting here? What’s your purpose?” Vinny’s voice was cold—cold as the gleam on his weapon’s tip.

“Th-That... obviously to find somewhere to make a living, Honored Young Master,” the skinny man forced a smile as he answered. But before he could say another word, the table beside him was sliced clean in half and toppled down beside him.

“Y-YOW!” A lock of his hair was shaved off as well. His face went white.

At this point, even if he had no eyes, he could see it—this blue-haired youth was anything but ordinary. Just from that long spear in his hand, flashing with icy light, you could tell it was a high-grade enchanted weapon he’d never even seen before.

Vinny didn’t speak. He simply looked down at him. Those moon-blue eyes said everything.

This was the last chance he’d get. If he kept trying to fool him, Vinny would make him wish he were dead.

At the foot of the mountain, Vinny had already seen what these bandits did. Trash like this—if you didn’t eradicate them with thunderous decisiveness—would keep harming good people.

Vinny never went soft on filth like this. He never showed mercy.

“W-We... we’re actually gathered here because we wanted to use this place as our base.”

“Keep going.” Vinny spoke each word slowly. The pressure in that tone crushed down on the bandit’s ears. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“A-And then... we actually found out there’s treasure here, so we set up here to see if we could get a share,” the skinny man said, his eyes darting around nonstop.

“Friend, if you’re hoping those lackeys outside will save you, you might as well hope I grow a conscience.” Vinny saw through him at a glance—he was trying to call for help from his companions outside. “Or do you think losing a finger would make you more convincing?”

“No, no! Young Master—I’m telling the truth!” The skinny man stared at Frostfang Spear, shimmering with icy blue magic light, and hurriedly spoke. “Think about it—why would a group of bandits gather here if it wasn’t for something like that?!”

“Mm. At least you know what you are.” Vinny’s gaze stayed fixed. “Then what? Why are you working with other bandit groups? Tell the truth.”

“If I say it... can you spare my life?” the skinny man tested.

Vinny didn’t answer. He simply raised the spear again and slammed it down.

BANG!

Stone chips sprayed up, slicing the skinny man’s cheek and carving a bloody line into his face.

“I-I understand! It’s like this—we found out there were valuables here, so we came. Then we ran into some other bandit groups.”

“Found out?” Vinny frowned. “How did you find out? Be specific.”

Vinny didn’t believe these uneducated bastards had the ability to “discover” treasure. If they had that kind of skill, would they need to take the risk of becoming bandits in the first place?

“We... uh... we don’t really understand ourselves.” The skinny man looked baffled. “Back then, when we passed through, we didn’t know why, but we just felt like there was treasure on this mountain. So we came up. After we got up here, we saw other bandits already squatting here.”

“And then?”

“And then... you know how it is. People in the same trade don’t get along. Especially us. Ahem. So we were thinking we’d grab our weapons and fight them... but in the end, we didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you fight?”

“Back then, someone in a black robe came out and stopped the conflict. That guy claimed he was some kind of priest—his outfit was really strange,” the skinny man said.

“How was it strange? What did he look like?”

“I didn’t see. His whole face was hidden in the robe. Oh—most noticeable was that there was a symbol on the hood, something like a red eyeball. That red eyeball was surrounded by all kinds of carvings—like it was growing out of the top of his head.”

“He said we were all warriors gathered here by a summons, and that we were family.”

“And you just... stopped fighting?” Vinny’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t know! Back then, I just... felt like what he said made a lot of sense. I don’t know why. But he really does have some ability. We’ve slipped out of the empire army’s encirclements more than once because of him,” the skinny man confessed.

“Then what? Did he order you to disguise yourselves as robbers and collect travelers’ organs?” Vinny asked.

“Y-You... how did you know?!” the skinny man’s eyes went wide.

“What did he have you collect them for?” Vinny didn’t answer his question and kept pressing.

“That... we don’t know.” The skinny man shook his head. “When it was our turn, we went down the mountain to gather the ‘materials’ and hand them over. They’re stationed in the central fort. As for what they do inside with those ‘materials’... we don’t know anything.”

“How many bandit groups have gathered here?”

“Counting us, three groups total. Us—the ‘Final Burials.’ The ‘Fur Foxes.’ And the ‘Interpreters.’”

“Interpreters?” The ones wearing fur with red paint on their faces were obviously the “Fur Foxes.” But Vinny had never heard of the “Interpreters,” let alone seen them.

“They’re one of the bandit groups here. Their origins are unknown—a very mysterious organization. Rumor says most of them are poachers. You see them in all kinds of forests. Before this, I’d only heard of them,” the skinny man explained. “Their look is weird too. They dress like savages, most of them have tattoos, and they wear antler crowns made from tamed deer antlers. Most of them are equipped with hunting bows.”

“Interpreters...” These bandits really were something. Doing wicked things all day long, yet they still had to pick a name that sounded cool.

Vinny fell silent for a moment, looking like he was about to speak—

Then, before the skinny man could even react, Vinny swung the spear and split his skull off-center.

The skinny man didn’t even get a sound out before his breathing stopped.

These criminals were steeped in evil. Vinny was never going to let them go. Sparing even one would be an enormous sin.

With the information he wanted in hand, Vinny kicked the door open and looked down at the remaining “Final Burials” patrol—still circling, still unaware.

An ice chain slipped out from his palm, pulling him down.

“Mm—?!” By the time the patrol bandits reacted, the icy spearhead was only inches from their skulls.

Frostfang Spear swept back and forth through the crowd like an ice flower blooming in wild abandon—painting with blood.

There were more than twenty of them, yet they didn’t even get a scream out. Like chopping melons and slicing vegetables, they were hacked apart, scattered in pieces.