Ainz Ooal Gown: Noble Knight

He stood still, calming his breathing, and looked in the direction from which the sound came.

In the shadows, pairs of eyes were staring at him.

Cloudy, hungry, eyes belonging to a wild beast.

They were a few stray dogs.

They were so thin you could see their ribs, their fur so dirty you couldn't tell their original color. One of them was missing half an ear, revealing a pink scar. The wild dogs hunched over, emitting low growls, their eyes fixed on the corpse on the ground with a mixture of wariness and greed—or rather, on the stench of its blood.

Rune stared at them for a second.

Then he stepped back, one step, two steps, three steps, until he was back in the light at the alley entrance.

The wild dogs didn't move.

Rune turned around, took a few steps, and then hid in a recess next to the alley entrance.

He waited for a while.

The whimpering of the stray dogs stopped.

Then came the sound of light, tentative footsteps, cautiously and tentatively approaching little by little.

Rune peeked out from the hollow and watched the pack of wild dogs. One of the emaciated dogs was the first to approach the baron's corpse. It sniffed it first, then looked around, a hint of doubt flashing in its cloudy eyes.

But it was too hungry.

They were so hungry they didn't have time to worry about anything else.

It lowered its head and began to gnaw. The sounds of tearing and biting echoed through the alley, dull, sticky, mixed with the crisp cracking of bones breaking. Seeing this, other stray dogs swarmed around, jostling and jostling for the flesh.

Rune watched them bury their heads on the baron's corpse, watching his fat face gradually become unrecognizable.

This really suits the fate of such a scumbag.

Faint voices could be heard outside the alley; the market continued, and no one knew what was happening in this dark alley.

Rune took a deep breath and pulled the small knife from his pocket.

The bloodstains on the knife had dried, turning into dark red patches.

Next is his own part.

Considering that the death of a nobleman, unlike that of a commoner, would not attract investigations from various factions and could not be concealed.

Since there was no way to avoid it, Rune decided to define the nature of the matter himself in advance.

Putting aside all appearances, all that needs to be considered are the "rules" of the aristocratic circle and the dignity of "eight fingers".

The power of the Rivière family itself is insignificant.

Rune gripped the knife, looking down at his left hand.

The hands of a six-year-old child were delicate, fair, and covered with fine downy hairs on the back. These were the hands of an aristocrat, hands that had never done any rough work.

He needs to use these hands to create the appearance of a "fierce struggle".

The tip of the knife is pressed against the forearm.

A cool sensation traveled through my skin, accompanied by a slight sting. With just a little more pressure, the blade would cut through the skin, sever the blood vessels, and let the blood flow.

Rune did not hesitate.

The knife tip sliced ​​down.

The first knife.

A cut ran along the inside of his left forearm, not deep, but long enough. Blood gushed out, warm, trickling down his arm and dripping onto the ground. Pain. A sharp, distinct pain shot up from the wound, straight to the top of his head. Rune frowned, his jaw muscles tensed, but he didn't utter a sound.

Second knife.

On the same arm, near the back of the hand. This time it was deeper, and the blood was gushing out more rapidly.

The third cut. The fourth cut.

Rune left four wounds on his body: two on his left arm, one on his right shoulder, and one on his left waist. None of them were fatal, but each one was gruesome. Blood soaked through his clothes, clinging to his body, sticky and warm.

pain.

It hurt more than I expected.

Rune leaned against the wall at the alley entrance, panting, looking down at his own appearance: tattered clothes, covered in blood, looking exactly like a child who had just escaped a fierce battle.

Is it enough?

not enough.

He gritted his teeth, raised the knife, and made another shallow cut on his forehead. Blood flowed down his brow bone, blurring his vision in his left eye.

That's enough.

He carefully cleaned the knife, removing all fingerprints, and then tossed it beside the body. Startled by his action, the wild dog raised its head, its mouth full of blood, and stared at him, letting out a threatening growl.

Rune ignored it.

He turned and walked out of the alley.

The sunlight was blinding.

Rune squinted, letting the light shine directly on him. He could feel the blood still flowing, warm and wet, clinging to his skin. Every step pulled at his wounds, causing him to break out in a cold sweat.

He staggered toward the busiest part of the market.

The voices were getting closer.

The cloth shops, iron shops, and grain shops were all the same as before, except that the crowds seemed thinner than in the morning.

The moment Rune appeared at the market entrance, the surrounding noise suddenly fell silent.

Then there was a commotion.

That child

"My God, he's covered in blood!"

"Quickly, go find the people from the temple!"

"Judging from this injury, could it be that you encountered some bad guys?"

Rune's lips curled up slightly, then quickly fell back down.

Right now.

He stumbled and knelt on one knee. Blood dripped onto the stone slab, spreading a small patch of dark red.

People around him gasped and wanted to step forward, but dared not. They could only form a circle and look at him with all sorts of complicated expressions.

Rune raised his head.

Sunlight streamed down from above, illuminating his youthful face clearly. His pale complexion, the bloodstain on his forehead, and the perfect weakness in his half-open, half-closed eyes were all clearly visible.

“Baron Levion has gone mad…” Rune murmured, his voice so low it was as if he were speaking to himself, “…he…”

He didn't finish speaking.

Her body slumped forward, her eyes closed, and her consciousness sank into darkness.

The last thing I heard was a chorus of gasps of surprise from all around.

Chapter 12 "The Bat" Raven

When Rune woke up, the first thing he felt was light.

It wasn't the soft morning light filtering through the curtains of my own bedroom, but a brighter, almost sacred light that poured down from the high window frame, casting long, slanted streaks of light on the terrazzo floor.

He moved his fingers.

A dull pain shot through his left arm, but it was much milder than he remembered. He looked down and saw that the four gruesome wounds had disappeared, leaving only a few light pink new marks, like old wounds that had healed several days ago.

The scratch on my forehead has disappeared, and my skin is as smooth as ever.

“Slander heals.”

Rune whispered the name of the spell.

Second rank in the Faith system. For the temple, this is already a rather generous act of healing.

After all, if a civilian is injured, being able to receive a first-tier spell that can "heal minor injuries" is already a blessing, and that's assuming the civilian can afford the cost.

He looked around.

It was a small room, simply yet neatly furnished. The walls were made of light gray stone bricks, and in the corner stood a half-human-sized statue of a water goddess, a girl holding a water jug, her face compassionate. Faintly, the sound of chanting, like sacred hymns, drifted from outside the window, mingled with a faint scent of incense.

Temple of the Water God.

One of the largest temples in the capital, it is dedicated to the water god who is in charge of purification and healing.

Just as Rune was about to sit up, the door was pushed open.

A priest in a white robe peeked in and, seeing Rune with his eyes open, showed obvious surprise on his face.

She walked over quickly, bent down to check on Rune's condition, and reached out to touch his forehead.

"It's good that you're awake." She said softly, her tone filled with relief. "Young Master of the Aindora family, you've been unconscious for most of the day. I'll go and inform your father."

Before Rune could answer, she had already turned and left, her footsteps fading into the distance down the corridor.

Rune leaned against the headboard, his gaze fixed on the light streaming through the window.

Most of the day.

In other words, only a few hours have passed since he fainted.

Rune looked down at the light pink marks on his arm and his lips twitched slightly.

This magical alternate world is truly unreasonable; it would take at least a month to recover in the original world.

The door was pushed open again.

This time, the footsteps were hurried and heavy.

"Runes!"

Count Alves practically stormed in.

His usual composed demeanor was gone; his brow was furrowed, and his face was paler than usual. He strode to the bedside, bent down, and carefully examined Rune, his gaze sweeping from his forehead to his shoulders and then to his arms, as if to confirm that his son was truly unharmed.