home

search

93 - Renés Information on La Peste Noire

  Volume 03, Chapter 93

  René's Information on La Peste Noire

  "Listen up, ya damn—wait, what?! You can't do that!" René yells into his Commlink.

  He is in the underground section of Le Petit Verre, hunched over a table, Commlink pressed to his ear.

  "What do you mean you can't—HEY, don’t hang up on me—damn it!" he groans, slamming his face onto the table.

  Behind the bar, Mason barely reacts, polishing a Bordeaux glass with a slow, practiced rhythm.

  "Another negotiation gone down the drain, huh?" Mason muses, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. He does not even bother looking up.

  "Ugh, don’t remind me," René grumbles, rubbing his forehead.

  Mason smirks behind his sunglasses. "Maybe if you stopped runnin’ your mouth and started sweetenin’ the deal, people wouldn’t hang up on ya."

  His tone is casual, almost lazy, but the jab lands.

  René looks at Mason and says, "Not everyone’s a smooth-talking, high-class, demon-bargaining connoisseur like you, Mason."

  "Hey, I’m just trying to be a helpful friend," Mason shrugs. "You could stand to learn a thing or two. Even Dominic struck a deal with me—and he’s just a kid."

  René scoffs. “Oh yeah, Dominic. Didn’t you give that brat a purified demon orb?”

  Mason sets the glass down on the counter with a soft clink. “That’s right.”

  René raises a brow. “And he’s using it for his Manaficial thing?”

  “That’s the word.” Mason nods, his voice still smooth.

  René leans forward, intrigued. “Wait, hold up. Manaficial ritual? Ain’t that some ancient magic mumbo jumbo? How the hell does a kid know about that?”

  Mason lets out a low chuckle. “That’s what I’d like to know. Smart kid, though.”

  René crosses his arms. “So, what’s the deal with purifying the orb, anyway?”

  Mason leans against the counter, rolling his shoulders. “Monster orbs come in two parts—the outer layer’s the monster’s soul, and the core holds its mana and magic power. That core determines the element or attribute. Problem is, those things don’t separate willingly.”

  René whistles. “So, what, the monster still knows when someone’s messin’ with it?”

  Mason smirks. “Even without a body, they don’t go down easy. They fight it.”

  René narrows his eyes. “And lemme guess, this one was [A] rank? How the hell did you purify that?”

  Mason’s smirk widens just a fraction. “I’m stronger than you think.”

  René snorts. “Yeah, yeah, real modest.” He raises his hands in mock surrender before kicking back in his chair. “So, what’s the difference between this ancient ritual and the modern one?”

  Mason slides another glass across the counter, his voice effortlessly smooth. “Modern method? It’s like rolling dice. You get an attribute based on your personality—sometimes what you want, sometimes what you don’t.” He pauses, adjusting his sunglasses. “The old way? It’s guaranteed. You get exactly what the monster had.”

  René perks up. “Ohh, so lemme guess—Dominic scored himself ‘Umbran’ magic?”

  Mason gives a single nod. “Bingo.”

  René lets out a long sigh, folding his hands behind his head. “Man, that must be nice. Kid’s got all the luck.”

  “He’s not lucky.”

  René blinks. “Eh?”

  Mason does not look up as he continues polishing the glass, his tone calm and deliberate. “A human with Umbran magic? That kid’s got a one-way ticket to hell—literally. Demons are gonna come sniffin’ around, lookin’ to make a deal. And let’s just say… the house always wins.”

  René shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “You’re tellin’ me demons would be lining up to mess with the kid?”

  Mason sets the glass down with a soft clink. “More like circling him like wolves. Contracts with demons ain’t fair, never have been. They bait you with power, but the price?” He lets the words hang. “It’s never worth it.”

  René rubs the back of his neck. “Oof… yeah, okay, that’s rough.”

  Mason finally leans back, exhaling slowly. “Kid doesn’t need luck. He needs to be smart.”

  A heavy silence hangs in the air.

  Then—

  -Ring!

  René nearly jumps out of his seat. “Gah! Jeez—!” He fumbles for his pocket as his Commlink buzzes.

  Mason, still leaning against the counter, does not even flinch. “Guess the universe ain't done with you yet.”

  René squints at the screen. “Huh? Who the hell—” His eyes widen.

  Dominic.

  The kid is calling him. For the first time.

  René stares at the name flashing on the screen. “How’d he even—” Then it hits him. “Oh… right. I gave him my number.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, he leans back. “Man, this night just keeps getting better.”

  Mason smirks, going back to his glass. “Better pick up. Wouldn’t wanna keep a kid waiting.”

  ════ ?★? ════

  Dominic sits on his bed, fingers drumming against his knee as he waits for René to answer. The dull ringtone echoes in his ear, stretching each second longer than it should.

  Beside him, Célestin sits cross-legged on the bed, arms folded, gaze sharp and distant.

  ‘First Mason, and now this René guy… When did Domy meet them?’ Célestin wonders.

  Célestin and the original Dominic have always regressed together—always faced everything side by side. And yet, the Dominic from before had known these people without Célestin ever realizing it. That realization leaves an unsettling ache in his chest.

  ‘Did he not trust me?’ he thinks.

  The thought stings more than it should.

  Célestin can understand why Dominic might have kept Mason a secret. Mason is a demon—a race Célestin despises. But René? Another unknown name. Another hidden piece of the puzzle.

  He trusts Dominic. Always has. Always will. But knowing that Domy has hidden things from him—things that, in countless regressions, have never come up—leaves an unfamiliar bitterness in his throat.

  Is it anger?

  Sadness?

  Or maybe… just loneliness.

  ‘Aetherium. This has to be connected to Aetherium,’ Célestin thinks. ‘This is probably part of Domy’s plan.’

  Despite the hollow feeling in his chest and the frustration clawing at him, he still trusts Domy.

  He has to.

  Even if Domy has left him behind.

  Unaware of the storm brewing beside him, Dominic continues tapping his fingers against his knee, eyes narrowed as he waits.

  "Come on, pick it up..." he mutters.

  —Toot!

  Finally, a voice crackles through the line.

  "Hey, brat. Didn’t expect you to call me now. Need some info?"

  Dominic barely has time to register René’s voice before another familiar one pipes up in the background.

  "Real smooth," Mason chimes in, his tone amused.

  Célestin’s ears perk up. ‘They're together? Interesting.’

  "So?" René continues, his tone casual, but there is a sharpness beneath it. "What’s got ya ringin’ me up at this hour?"

  Dominic wastes no time. "I want to know where the base of La Peste Noire is. You said you know your way around Aurelior, right?"

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  A beat of silence follows.

  "Oh, you know I do. But tell me, why would you wanna know their location?" René’s voice shifts—curious now, almost amused.

  Dominic’s voice is steady, unwavering. "I want to destroy them."

  Célestin smirks. "Nice one, Clark."

  Dominic presses on, his tone turning deadly serious. "They have messed with our territory. Destroyed infrastructure. Bled us dry. I want them gone. Along with Belard."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up!" René suddenly blurts, something clearly clicking in his mind. "A mafia’s wreckin’ infrastructure in a specific area—ohhh! Wait a damn second!"

  A loud smack comes through the receiver.

  "You gotta be an E?eforte, huh? Damn, how the hell did I not check up on you sooner?! Rookie mistake, René! Rookie mistake!"

  Dominic exhales slowly. "So, do you know where their base is?"

  René chuckles. "Oh, I know where it is, alright… but that kinda intel? Ain’t exactly cheap."

  Dominic’s eyes narrow. "Name your price."

  René grins, unseen on the other end of the line. "Oh, I like you, kid."

  "Whoa, slow down, Domy!" Célestin suddenly grabs Dominic’s arm, his grip firm. "I can feel it—this guy doesn’t even blink for anything under ten million. If you offer less, he might just laugh you out of existence."

  Dominic glances at him, then mutters, "I know."

  "Hey, I heard that!" René barks indignantly through the Commlink. "Listen, kid, I’m not runnin’ a charity here. My price is sixty thousand Camilliums. Take it or leave it."

  Dominic rubs his chin, feigning contemplation. "How about… fifty thousand?"

  A beat of silence.

  "Wha—are you seriously tryin’ to haggle right now?!" René sputters. "This ain't a damn flea market, brat!"

  Dominic sighs theatrically. "Fine."

  He turns to Célestin.

  Célestin raises an eyebrow. "What?"

  "Can I… borrow Camilliums?" Dominic asks, clearly reluctant.

  Célestin snorts, barely containing his grin. "Looks like you’re finally learning how to ask for help, huh?"

  Dominic lets out a tired sigh. "Yeah, yeah, can I or not?"

  Célestin leans back, arms crossed. "Sure, but let’s make this clear—I’m not lending it to you. You can just have it. Sixty thousand Camilliums is barely pocket change for me." His smirk widens. "Perks of being filthy rich."

  Dominic clicks his tongue. "Tch. Rich people."

  Célestin gives an exaggerated shrug. "Jealous?"

  "No."

  "Liar."

  Dominic ignores him and returns to the call. "Alright, I’ll pay it."

  René lets out a low whistle. "Now we’re talkin’. Pleasure doin’ business with ya, kid."

  "So, where’s their base?" Dominic asks, leaning forward.

  “Simple,” René says smoothly. “Their HQ is tucked away in the red-light district of Aurelior. Just like Le Petit Verre—it looks like a normal business on the surface, but underneath? That’s where the real operations take place.”

  Dominic’s brows furrow. “And the surface shop?”

  René smirks. “Crimson Desire. A love hotel. Pretty popular, too—especially for one-night stands.”

  Silence.

  Dominic and Célestin exchange glances, their expressions equally unimpressed.

  ‘A love hotel?’ Célestin thinks, his jaw tightening. ‘How the hell did I miss this in all my regressions?’

  Dominic exhales, rubbing his temple. “What a cliché name.”

  “Right?” René chuckles. “But it works. The perfect cover—people come and go all night. No one questions a damn thing.”

  Célestin’s sharp eyes narrow. “How did the Verdant Haven Arcane Constabulary not find out about this?”

  René clicks his tongue. “Because there’s a mole in their ranks.”

  Both Dominic and Célestin stiffen.

  “Who?” Célestin asks, his voice low.

  “Esme Jules,” René replies without hesitation. “She’s been covering for La Peste Noire for years—altering reports, throwing blame onto rival groups, and burying any evidence that could expose them.”

  Dominic clenches his fists. “So they’ve got law enforcement in their pocket, too…”

  Célestin lets out a quiet breath, his mind already racing. ‘This explains everything. No wonder we never uncovered their base before.’

  René lets out a dry chuckle. “Welcome to the real world, kid. Corruption ain’t just a rumor—it’s the foundation keeping guys like them in power.”

  Dominic leans back, exhaling through his nose. “That’s all you know?”

  “That’s all I’m sellin’,” René corrects. “What you two do with it? That’s on you.”

  A heavy silence settles between them.

  Then—

  Célestin smirks. “Well then… time to burn them to the ground.”

  René lets out a low chuckle. “If I were you, I’d tread carefully. Esme’s not just some low-level grunt—she’s a [B-] Rank Magician. Her magic attribute is fire, and she’s been with the force for nearly two decades. She’s trusted. If you think you can just report her and be done with it, think again. Without solid proof, they’ll laugh you out of the precinct.”

  Célestin scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. Fire is one of the most basic elements to counter. She may have more mana than I do, but that doesn’t mean she’s stronger. And if things get complicated, my family connections can handle the rest.”

  Dominic’s right eye twitches. ‘This guy is confident as ever.’

  But… he is not necessarily wrong. Time magic is an absurdly rare attribute, and the Moreau family’s influence stretches farther than most people realize. If anyone can deal with Esme, it is Célestin.

  René hums, clearly amused. “Cocky as hell, huh? Alright. Not my problem.”

  He leans back in his chair, stretching. “Well, my business with you brats is done. Good luck with your little crusade. Try not to die, yeah?”

  Dominic exhales through his nose. “No promises.”

  Célestin grins. “Oh, don’t worry, René. We’ll be just fine.”

  The line goes dead with a soft click.

  Dominic sets his Commlink down and turns to Célestin, who is still smirking like a damn fox.

  “You just love to run your mouth, don’t you?”

  Célestin leans back with an exaggerated stretch. “What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

  Dominic sighs, already feeling the headache forming. ‘This guy…’

  —Ring!

  Dominic’s Commlinks buzz again, interrupting the lingering amusement from René’s call.

  He glances at the screen—Arthur.

  Célestin tilts his head. “Who is it?”

  “Arthur,” Dominic replies, frowning. “Why is he calling me now?”

  Without wasting time, he picks up.

  “Clark! I heard you’re a Manaficial now!” Arthur’s voice practically explodes through the speaker.

  Dominic flinches, pulling the device away from his ear. “Y-yeah. No need to yell.”

  Arthur ignores the protest. “So that Manaficial Ritual actually worked, huh? Damn. I thought Célestin was just messing with you.”

  “Hey, I heard that!” Célestin shouts, shooting a glare at the Commlink.

  “Wait, how did you know we did the Manaficial ritual?” Dominic asks.

  “Uncle André told me,” Arthur replies.

  “André loves to spread the message, huh?” Dominic muses.

  Arthur chuckles but presses on. “What’s your magic attribute?”

  “Umbra,” Dominic answers.

  There is a pause before Arthur hums. “Umbra, huh. The complete opposite of mine.”

  Dominic smirks. “Guess that means I can counter you.”

  Arthur snorts. “You wish.”

  Dominic rolls his eyes, but before he can respond—

  “So, when do you start training?” Arthur asks.

  Dominic hesitates. “Uh… probably tomorrow?”

  “Good. You’d better start soon. Our duel is tomorrow.”

  Dominic sighs dramatically. "Why do you keep reminding me?"

  Arthur’s voice turns smug. "Because compared to Doms, you’re… not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer."

  Célestin snorts. Dominic feels his face heat up.

  “H-Hey! I can’t be that dumb!” Dominic protests.

  Arthur does not miss a beat. “Yeah… getting six out of a hundred on a test is not dumb.”

  Célestin bursts out laughing. “PFFT—HA! He got you there!”

  Dominic groans and slumps forward. “Shut up…”

  Arthur’s mocking laughter crackles through the Commlink, while Célestin wheezes beside him.

  Dominic sighs again. ‘I swear, I’m surrounded by jerks,’ he thinks.

  Arthur finally calms down, his tone shifting back to business. “Anyways, our duel starts at 9 AM at Lyon Chateau.”

  “Yeah, yeah, noted,” Dominic mutters, still recovering from the humiliation. He waves a hand dismissively.

  “Good. Don’t be late.” Arthur ends the call.

  The room falls momentarily silent—except for Célestin, who is still laughing.

  Dominic shoots him a glare, then—without thinking—swings a punch.

  Célestin catches it effortlessly, barely even looking. “Tsk, tsk. You’ll have to try harder than that, Clark.” He smirks, his grip firm but playful.

  “Damn you.”

  Dominic yanks his fist back, scowling. Célestin just chuckles, completely unfazed.

  After a brief pause, Célestin claps his hands together. “Alright. Since you’ve got a duel coming up, I’d suggest focusing on training first. We can deal with Belard and La Peste Noire afterward.”

  Dominic strokes his chin. “Not a bad idea, but…”

  “But?”

  Dominic narrows his eyes slightly. “…Wait, what rank are you right now?”

  Célestin tilts his head thoughtfully. “At least [C] Rank, give or take. Why?”

  Dominic exhales, then nods to himself. “I was thinking… maybe we should ask An—Dad for help. Since, y’know… we’re both weak at the moment.”

  Célestin gasps dramatically and clutches his chest. “So you’re saying I can’t train myself? How dare you, Clark! I’m a regressor!”

  Dominic chuckles and shakes his head. “I know, I know. But a little help wouldn’t hurt, right?”

  Célestin smirks. “Look at you! Finally asking for help from André and not overthinking it with, ‘Oh no, my previous life trauma, I don’t wanna burden anyone, buhuhu~.’”

  Dominic clicks his tongue. “Shut up. I know I was an idiot.”

  Célestin grins knowingly. “I never said you were.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Dominic coughs, before regaining focus. “Anyway, I think we should ask Dad for training.”

  Célestin rubs his chin, his smirk fading into a more thoughtful expression. “That’s actually a great idea… However—”

  Dominic narrows his eyes. “However?”

  Célestin glances toward the door, his expression turning serious. “Are you sure you want to ask André for help? He looked exhausted earlier.”

  Dominic frowns. “I know, but… trying to control Mana is less taxing than physical training.”

  Célestin raises a brow, amused. “Oh? A newly-made Manaficial suddenly an expert now?”

  Dominic scratches his cheek awkwardly. “W-Well… Dominic’s web novel said physical training is more exhausting than Mana control.”

  Célestin shakes his head, chuckling. “Nah, that’s a common misconception. Sure, Mana control isn’t physically exhausting, but it drains you differently.”

  Dominic tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

  Célestin smirks. “It makes you spiritually tired.”

  Dominic blinks. “…Spiritually tired?”

  Célestin nods, crossing his arms as he leans back slightly. “Yeah. Most people think mana training just drains your body or mind—but it wears you down on a deeper level.”

  He taps his chest lightly. “Mana comes from the soul. Every time you use it—especially in large bursts—you’re tugging at something fundamental inside you. It’s not like lifting weights or solving a hard math problem. It’s like… pulling threads from your essence.”

  Dominic frowns thoughtfully. “So it’s not just exhaustion—it’s something deeper?”

  “Exactly,” Célestin said. “It’s why Magicians and Manaficials who go too hard without rest don’t just pass out—they start to feel hollow, like something inside is fraying. That’s spiritual fatigue. Your soul’s trying to recharge, but you keep poking it.”

  Dominic exhales slowly. “I see...so now I have to manage my stamina, mind, and soul?”

  “Welcome to the life of a Manaficial, Domy,” Célestin chuckles, leaning forward with a knowing grin. “So now that you know what is really involved… are you still thinking about asking André for help?”

  Dominic scratches the back of his head, his eyes dropping to the floor. “No… not really.”

  A beat of silence passes. He looks down, the guilt creeping in again. Once more, he has almost asked for help without thinking—without considering how tired or burdened someone else might be. Just like he did with Arthur.

  He sighs.

  Célestin notices the change in his expression. He does not say anything at first—he simply reaches out and quietly rests a hand on Dominic’s shoulder.

  Then he grins. “Hey, lucky for you, your awesome, handsome, incredibly talented friend just so happens to know exactly how to help you.”

  Dominic gives him a flat look. “You are way too proud of yourself.”

  Célestin winks. “Immensely. Can you blame me?”

  A small chuckle escapes Dominic, despite himself. He shakes his head. “Thanks, Célestin.”

  Even after everything—after the pain, the pressure, the training, and the weight of pretending to be someone he is not—Dominic feels a little lighter.

  Even if he is not the real Dominic… at least Célestin is still here. Still standing beside him.

  And for now… that is enough.

  ════ ?★? ════

  René slips his Commlink back into his pocket, exhaling as he leans against the bar. “Those brats got some guts, huh?”

  He turns to Mason with a smug grin. “Hey, looks like your advice was spot on. Sweeten the deal a little, and boom—easy money.”

  Mason, unfazed, shrugs as he pours himself a glass of wine. “You got lucky, that’s all.”

  René scoffs. “Pfft! Lucky? Please. The info I gave them was gold. Juicy as hell.”

  Mason ignores him, taking a slow sip from his glass.

  A brief silence settles between them. The air in Le Petit Verre’s underground bar is dim and comfortable, the scent of aged liquor hanging heavy in the air.

  Mason finally sets his glass down, the quiet clink of glass against wood echoing in the space. “Everything’s about to get interesting.”

  René raises a brow. “Oh?”

  Mason’s lips curl into a faint grin. “Soon, that kid will be back here… looking to buy some things from me.”

  His voice is smooth, but there is an undeniable weight behind it.

  René shivers. “Whatever the hell you’re planning, count me out.”

  Mason chuckles, shaking his head. “Relax, René. Nothing bad.”

  He reaches behind the counter, fingers tracing the edge of a locked case. “Just planning to modify… and create new weapons for my youngest client. In exchange for Camilliums.”

  René crosses his arms, watching Mason closely. He feels Dominic E?eforte has no idea what he is walking into.

Recommended Popular Novels