I Accidentally Created a Villainous Organization

Chapter 96: The Teachings of the Tang Family

There was a hazy consciousness.

His mind floated in a void.

In that state, a voice echoed.

The wandering consciousness, adrift without a destination, found direction.

And before long, his awareness returned.

Eyes that he thought would never open again... opened.

“You’ve finally awakened, Balzac-nim.”

The voice accompanied the sight of a knight with black hair, clad in armor.

Judging by that, he appeared to be a knight of the empire.

“Where… am I…?”

A splitting headache threatened to shatter his skull. Even the slightest movement sent waves of nausea surging, teetering on the edge of vomiting.

Clenching his teeth against the unbearable headache, Balzac tried to lift his body, sprawled on what seemed to be a cot.

But his body refused to obey.

An extraordinary being who had reached the level of Swordmaster.

The sense of omnipotence that had always radiated from his body was nowhere to be felt.

The power that could split a mountain in half with a single swing of his sword was gone, leaving behind a broken body that even struggled to lift an arm.

“You must rest! Your wounds haven’t fully healed yet!”

As Balzac attempted to move, the black-haired knight cried out urgently.

At that moment, memories resurfaced.

The events that had unfolded flashed through his mind.

While investigating that woman, Rubia, a white-haired man had stormed in, wielding an incomprehensible power and strange allies to wreak havoc.

In the end, he had fallen to the man’s holy sword…

He was certain he had died.

And yet, Balzac was now breathing.

Although his body was in shambles, his limbs were intact.

A narrow escape from death.

Against all odds, Balzac had survived.

“…Report. What exactly happened?”

“When we found you collapsed in the ruins of a building, we immediately brought you to the Holy Church. They commenced treatment as soon as we explained the situation.”

As soon as Balzac gave the order, the black-haired knight responded briskly.

But his questions were far from answered.

The current situation made no sense.

That strike.

The divine power imbued in the holy sword was overwhelming, but it wasn’t enough to deplete the warrior’s strength entirely.

His companions had also been in good fighting shape.

‘And yet, they left me behind, unconscious?’

Perhaps they were in a rush to flee the manor.

After such a fierce battle, it was only natural that people’s attention would be drawn.

To avoid being discovered by the empire, they might have fled without confirming whether he was dead or alive.

That hypothesis came to mind first, but…

It didn’t add up.

‘I had set up a barrier.’

Rubia wasn’t just any commoner—she was a noble.

Not just any noble, but one belonging to the upper echelons, with considerable influence.

It wouldn’t have done them any good to be seen publicly oppressing someone of her stature.

That’s why Balzac had placed a barrier around the manor.

A barrier so thorough that not a sound could escape.

It even included illusion magic to prevent ordinary people from approaching the vicinity of the manor.

‘And they didn’t notice the barrier?’

Was it really such a stroke of fortune that allowed him to survive?

It made no sense, but Balzac pushed the thought out of his mind.

Denying the stroke of luck that had spared him would be foolish, and there were far more pressing matters at hand.

Gritting his teeth, Balzac summoned all his strength to rise from the bed, enduring the excruciating pain with sheer determination.

The black-haired knight, alarmed, cried out once more.

“You mustn’t move! Your wounds are still…”

“Silence. I have matters to attend to. Do not hinder me, and get out of my way.”

Balzac snapped, his expression twisting in frustration. Yet, strangely, the knight persisted.

“If you push yourself now, your life will truly be in danger. If it’s something urgent, allow me to handle it in your stead.”

A meddlesome knight with no sense of boundaries.

Normally, such behavior would warrant immediate punishment.

Balzac endured the situation with patience, for now, at least—after all, the knight had saved his life.

“This is something you cannot do in my stead.”

“If it’s something I can’t do… then…”

“Revenge.”

They hadn’t stopped at cowardly tricks to completely analyze his swordsmanship—they had even broken the sacred rule of a one-on-one duel by calling for allies.

There was no way he’d let someone like that live.

‘Of course, with my body in this state, a direct confrontation is out of the question.’

If that was the case, he’d simply mobilize other forces.

He already knew who they were.

That overwhelming strength.

Those incomprehensible abilities.

The name of the organization composed of such enigmatic individuals was so obvious that even a child could guess.

The Black Fangs.

The slippery bastards.

‘They played a cunning game.’

The white-haired man.

He was undoubtedly the leader of the Black Fangs, yet the empire was still wasting its efforts chasing after some petty criminals.

Just as he had analyzed Balzac’s swordsmanship, the man must have used deceitful magic to manipulate the empire.

‘But that ends now.’

Balzac had seen it with his own eyes.

The man’s face, his magical pattern.

There would be no more hiding.

Though the Black Fangs had evaded pursuit so far, they’d now have to face the full force of the empire.

Defeating one Swordmaster was impressive, but could they handle two?

What about the empire’s formidable army?

And if they somehow overcame all of that, could they survive an encounter with His Majesty, a being who had already transcended humanity?

No.

That white-haired warrior’s power.

An overwhelming physical prowess that allowed him to rival a Swordmaster despite having skills inferior to those of a mere apprentice knight.

If left unchecked, he would one day become a true monster capable of shaking the empire to its core.

But such a day would never come.

The name of the Black Fangs would soon vanish from history.

“They’ll regret sparing my life for the rest of theirs,” Balzac said with a mad grin.

The black-haired knight chuckled as if in agreement.

That foolish man—what was his problem? Even if he was a life-saver, his behavior was insufferable.

Balzac tried to snap at him to shut up.

…Or he intended to.

But the words wouldn’t come out.

It would’ve been strange if they did.

“Ah, you’re right, Balzac. You’re absolutely right,” said the knight, laughing uproariously.

His face began to melt, and what was revealed beneath it was—

White hair and piercing blue eyes.

The leader of the Black Fangs stood before him.

***

“You couldn’t even see through a simple disguise spell. Looks like your magical circuits really are wrecked,” I said, smiling.

A Swordmaster was still a Swordmaster, it seemed.

Even after taking a blow imbued with the entirety of my divine power, Balzac had clung to life.

Though he was more a lump of meat than a man at this point, his life force had endured, allowing for perfect revival.

The stigmata of a holy relic wasn’t just for show—it even let me exclude his magical circuits and a few other organs from the treatment.

Balzac glared at me, grinding his teeth.

“You cowardly bastard… How far do you plan to insult me?”

He spat accusations about trickery and dishonor, claiming I was shameless for attacking one man with many.

But words like that had no impact.

‘Cowardly? Please.’

We were a righteous hero party, after all.

The virtuous companions I had gathered worked together to defeat the villain standing in our way.

There was no room for cowardice in such noble actions.

When imperial knights gang up on someone, it’s called a mob beating; when we do it, it’s called a raid.

And even if I had used dishonorable means, it didn’t matter.

“The result of the battle is already clear, isn’t it? Whatever you say is nothing more than the ramblings of a loser.”

At my words, Balzac’s mouth snapped shut.

The same words he had so often hurled at others in the past. He’d never imagined he’d be on the receiving end of them.

“…Kill me,” he said, his voice resigned.

I’d expected him to struggle more pathetically, but it seemed he had concluded there was no way to survive.

With a solemn expression, Balzac closed his eyes.

I walked toward him leisurely, my steps echoing in the stillness, and said, “No.”

His expression instantly twisted in confusion.

He seemed unable to grasp the situation, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.

If I had intended to kill him outright, why would I have bothered treating him?

It would’ve been far simpler to just chop off his head and ensure he was dead.

“Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not saying I’ll spare you.”

Honestly, I had briefly considered letting him live.

He was too significant a figure for his sudden disappearance to go unnoticed. Recruiting him had crossed my mind.

But hadn’t he said it himself?

He’d made it clear that sparing him would only lead to regret.

He practically shouted, “If you let me live, I’ll stab you in the back!”

Ignoring such earnest advice wouldn’t be wise.

So yes, I was going to kill him.

But…

“It’s only natural to repay what you’ve suffered,” I said, pulling something out.

A syringe.

Inside it was a blue liquid—the very same substance he’d injected into Rubia.

His face froze in shock.

Understandable.

How many people could reverse-engineer the Empire’s special concoction and mass-produce it on the spot?

“W-Wait…”

Balzac’s face turned pale.

Panicked, he tried to crawl away from me, but I continued my approach.

“I may not be a member of the Tang family, but I’ve read plenty of wuxia novels. I’ve learned a lot about living wisely in this world from them.”

Smiling brightly, I plunged the needle into his wrist.

“Kindness should be repaid twofold. Grudges, a hundredfold.”

A scream, shrill as that of a six-year-old girl, pierced the air.

Balzac’s body arched violently, his back bending like a drawn bow.

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