NenMaster
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Chapter 99
🕑 Added 2024-12-07 16:42:00 +0000 UTC“What kind of day is it for this nonsense to still be going on? If he targeted people from impoverished families, it wouldn’t be as appalling. But instead, he acts like he’s choosing a duchess, luring a group of silly girls with dreams of nobility for so-called 'interaction.'
“And after that so-called interaction, he irresponsibly continues to deceive them. When one of them finally realizes the truth and files a complaint, what does he do?
“If it ended there, it would still be excusable, since those encounters were consensual and could be resolved. But that idiot dared to cross the line where he shouldn’t have!
“The queen herself is particularly sensitive to this kind of misconduct right now. For the second son of Duke Moanka’s family to act this way is nothing less than a slap to the queen’s face!
“Fortunately, the public’s attention is focused on Her Majesty’s upcoming birthday celebration. Otherwise, it wouldn’t just cost 20 million jeni to smooth this over—200 million wouldn’t suffice!
“If the Moanka family lets this second son inherit the title of duke, their downfall is inevitable.”
The judge vented his disdain and scorn for the Moanka family, his words dripping with contempt.
Meanwhile, the judge began urging his assistant to check if the deal had gone through.
Even if he looked down on them, they were still handing over 20 million jeni, and he was entitled to a cut of it.
But before the assistant could leave, the courtroom doors suddenly burst open.
Four figures walked in one after another.
“Hm?”
The judge looked up, his brows furrowing.
“Who are you?”
Aside from the vagabond, who was about to be sentenced to death, the judge didn’t recognize the other three.
“Do you know where you are? How dare you barge in here like this?”
The judge’s face darkened, and an air of authority, befitting his position as the court's master, began to emanate from him.
“Guards! Call the guards!”
He bellowed, demanding soldiers.
“They’re all asleep,” Morin replied nonchalantly from the front of the group. “They won’t be coming tonight.”
“Enough talk. Let’s handle this one at a time.”
With that, Morin showed no interest in further conversation.
“You—”
The judge, outraged by such blatant disrespect, opened his mouth to curse.
But the words caught in his throat as Morin’s calm gaze met his.
To the judge, that gaze was akin to a predator’s glare—like a tiger baring its fangs and eyeing its prey. His entire body froze, unable to move.
It wasn’t just the judge. Everyone in the room was immobilized by the oppressive aura of Morin’s malevolent nen. Even swallowing was impossible as cold sweat streamed down their faces.
Morin handed the vagabond a knife and a Truth-Telling Sticker.
“Take these and ask your questions,” he said flatly.
The vagabond gulped hard.
Although he wasn’t directly targeted by Morin’s malice, he could still feel the immense pressure in the room.
Thinking of the injustice he had suffered—the fabricated charges, the attempts to strip him of his dignity and life—his rage boiled over.
He clenched his teeth, snatched the knife and sticker from Morin’s hands, and approached the so-called eyewitnesses.
He already knew the prosecutors and court officials were all in cahoots, but these witnesses… what grudge did they have against him to falsely accuse him of murder?
There were two witnesses: a nervous young man in his twenties with disheveled blond hair, and a seemingly simple, honest middle-aged man.
When the vagabond approached with the knife, the blond man trembled violently, his pants visibly damp. The middle-aged man’s expression shifted to one of pain and guilt.
Their reactions alone hinted at the truth.
Placing the Truth-Telling Sticker on the blond man, the vagabond began his questioning.
Under the sticker’s influence, the blond man revealed everything: he was a petty criminal passing by the scene of the crime, coerced by the prosecutor into giving false testimony. He even described in detail how they coached him to lie.
The middle-aged man, now sobbing uncontrollably, confessed through tears.
“I had no choice! If I didn’t testify, my son would’ve died!”
It turned out the true murderer was none other than the middle-aged man’s son. Behind his seemingly honest appearance hid a different story.
“So, your son’s life is valuable, but mine isn’t?” the vagabond sneered coldly.
Without hesitation, he drove the knife into the man’s throat.
As blood spurted out, he turned and slashed the blond man’s neck.
Both bodies collapsed into pools of their own blood, lifeless.
If they wanted to destroy his innocence and life, they should have been prepared to pay the price.
Even if he hadn’t killed them now, Meteor City would have ensured their deaths within three years.
Nobunaga and Uvogin watched the entire scene unfold without a hint of emotion.
Anyone scheming to harm others should be ready to sacrifice their own life in return.
The vagabond, now unflinching, continued interrogating the others.
The answers he received bordered on absurdity:
Some framed him to avoid trouble.
Others were too lazy to investigate properly.
Some acted out of indifference.
And a few even found it “amusing.”
“Amusing…”
“So, my life was tossed aside because of laziness, carelessness, indifference, or simply because someone thought it would be fun?”
Gripping the knife tightly, the vagabond methodically silenced each person:
Some were stabbed seven or eight times.
Others had their hearts pierced directly.
A few suffered crueler fates—losing their eyes, ears, nose, and tongue before the final blow ended their lives.
One by one, they all fell, leaving behind a room painted in blood.
These people, one after another, all deserved to die.
Morin observed the vagabond drenched in blood, then glanced at the corpses scattered across the floor.
Finally, his eyes lifted to the courtroom, focusing on the bloodstained words and symbols that once represented justice and righteousness.
“How ironic,” he murmured, his tone mocking.
He turned his gaze to the judge, whose complexion had grown increasingly pale and grim.
After the vagabond had systematically eliminated everyone else, the only ones still breathing in the room were Morin, Nobunaga, Uvogin, the vagabond, and the trembling judge.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Morin asked coldly.
Without needing the Truth-Telling Sticker, Morin already knew this judge had his share of secrets. Before entering, he and the others had overheard the conversation between the judge and his assistant, every word etched clearly in their minds.
The judge, with his curly hair resembling instant noodles, trembled visibly. His lips quivered as he tried to speak, stammering out several fragmented “I… I…” before the words failed him.
This was a man accustomed to navigating the privileged circles with ease, never once imagining he’d face retaliation from those he looked down upon most—people like Morin and the vagabond from Meteor City.
As he stuttered yet another “I…” Nobunaga, growing impatient, considered ending him with a single slash.
But before he could act, the judge’s throat seized up, his eyes rolled back, and his head slumped to one side.
The vagabond strode forward, checked the judge’s neck and nostrils, and then shook his head.
“He’s gone.”
“He actually scared himself to death,” Uvogin scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “What a coward.”
To him, these so-called elites, dressed in fine clothes but filled with deceit and cowardice, were nothing but pathetic.
The vagabond, still seething, plunged his knife repeatedly into the judge’s lifeless body. Blood gushed from the gaping wounds, and only after reducing the corpse to a mutilated mess did his rage finally subside.
"To die from fright like that—what a cheap way out for him."
“Thank you so much!”
Letting out a deep breath, the vagabond felt a sense of relief and ease washing over him. He quickly returned the items to Morin, expressing his heartfelt gratitude.
“It’s nothing. When you're out in the world, it never hurts to make more friends. You never know when we might need your help one day,” Morin replied, putting the items away with a small chuckle.
The atmosphere between them was surprisingly lighthearted, even as they stood amidst the filth and blood soaking the ground.
“You were the one wronged, and you were the one who did the killing. Have you thought about what to do next?”
“Of course—escape from here as soon as possible,” the vagabond said with a wry smile. “What else can I do?”
Morin didn’t press him further.
