Chapter 158

They'd realized he meant to interrogate the Sultan! "Sir Lee Han, that's probably not..." "Calm down. We may have our suspicions, but no hard evidence, right? Going after the Sultan without proof could spark a diplomatic incident." It was sound advice. No matter how lovesick he seemed right now, the Sultan was still the Sultan. He would have handled things meticulously, leaving no trace of hiring assassins. "He seems pretty damn guilty to me." "...

We think so too, but if the Sultan denies it to the end, that's that." "Hmm." "Attacking him like this would just be self-satisfaction, nothing more." So charging at the Sultan based on mere suspicion would amount to nothing but venting frustration. However. "Just don't leave any traces, right? Give me one or two hours, and I'll make him spit out whatever. Don't worry about it." Lee Han had no intention of letting the bastard off easy. Suspicion without evidence? No problem—he was confident he could drag that evidence straight out of the guy's mouth. Of course. Testing how well the punk could endure bone-deep agony sounded fun. At that moment... Splat. "...

What?" "Don't be reckless." "......" Someone was blocking his path head-on. The spear guy stood in his way, and Lee Han narrowed his eyes in warning at the obstruction. "—I've never let anyone who messes with my turf walk away." Yes, to a knight who prized principles above all, his actions must look like nothing but lashing out at some fool. But. 'Guys with a criminal mindset always cause trouble. Strike now.' How terrifying were men with a criminal mindset. Especially ones with power—they were utterly shameless. ...

Because they were convinced they'd never face punishment. Lee Han couldn't just stand by and watch. 'No way I'm waiting for him to pull off his next stunt!' The typical romance-fantasy way of handling things was to "hold back until evidence surfaces, and even forgive good-looking rich criminals." That miraculous logic had no place in Lee Han's dictionary. If someone committed a crime and did wrong, they deserved fitting punishment! "Step aside, spear guy." "You insolent thug...!" The spearman glared furiously. "You fool! How can a knight—" "I don't care about debating knightly honor with you." Was he trying to block him by invoking knightly codes? High-minded knights like this guy were always such a pain. Not everything in the world could be solved by knightly honor... "—Follow the order! I'm first!" "??" ...

At the out-of-left-field declaration, Lee Han blinked. Wondering if he'd misheard. But as if to confirm he hadn't, the spearman shouted again. "Didn't you hear? I said follow the order! He dared ruin the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lady's first ball! A couple hours of pain isn't enough—I'd make him suffer for life!" "...

I wasn't gonna argue, but you sure that's okay?" ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"If he touched Galahad, even the Emperor would have to die!" "...

This guy's even crazier than I thought." Lee Han had a gut feeling. This madman was no less unhinged than him—maybe more. Definitely not some uptight saint. Perhaps... 'Tch. Could we actually get along?' Lee Han felt an inexplicable sense of kinship with this lunatic spear guy. ...

Much to his disgust.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "—We've lost contact with the crows." "...

Ha, I see. Can't rely on those crows after all. Useless bunch." Inside the departing carriage. The Sultan wore a sly sneer. As if to say he'd never expected anything from that flock of crows anyway. "Sultan..." But the guard captain reporting knew full well. How much effort Sultan Salakh had poured into this, and the massive fortune and risks he'd shouldered. Even as the wealthiest Sultan, hiring assassins en masse would leave his coffers reeling for a while. 'Those guys are infamous for not even paying compensation on failed jobs...' But conversely, their brazenness stemmed from sky-high success rates. 'The title 'Western Nightmare' isn't for nothing.' Yet they'd failed... "Pendragon blood runs true, even in decline, eh...?" It meant the Pendragons had stopped them. And without a peep—snuffing out the assassins clean. 'How many in the Sultanate could take down assassins without a sound?' Sultan Maham's warriors came to mind—unmatched in military might, yet even they had suffered heavy losses against assassins in the past. Environmental factors and being foreigners played a role, sure, putting Pendragon a step ahead inevitably. "...

No, that's just excuses. The assassins failed because they were incompetent. Isn't that right, Salman?" "......

Yes." "Then prepare the second plan." "S-Sultan, but if we do that, we risk exposure..." With the assassins a bust, he'd move to the next phase. Salman recoiled at the Sultan's declaration. No traces left or not, the Pendragons surely suspected him already. Launching another scheme now would make hiding impossible, prompting a royal investigation team. Of course, they couldn't punish a Sultan outright. Not when Sultans were kings in their own right. But. 'They'd treat us as unwelcome guests and boot us out.' And if expelled... 'Could the Sultan return home safely?'Shudder! [Tragic Accident: Sultan's Ship Suddenly Sinks...] [Sultanate Engulfed in Flames: Power Struggle Begins Amid Sultan Salakh's Absence!] [Mysterious Incident?! Was the Sultan Assassinated by a Rival?] Drip... Salman broke out in cold sweat, drenched like after a downpour. Chilling headlines from future papers kept flashing in his mind. A horrific fate. Yet Salakh brimmed with confidence, unfazed by his subordinate's fears. He hadn't given up—he would achieve his goal. "The sails are already unfurled. How can one stop a ship mid-voyage?" "Sultan..." "Dropping anchor now means sinking for sure. That's not what you want, right?" "......" "Trust me, Salman. I've never lost!" Sultan Salakh. One of countless sons of the previous Sultan, yet he'd claimed the throne in his early twenties through brutal power struggles. Crises aplenty, but loyal followers, luck, and talent had gotten him here. So failure didn't break or scare him. He was certain of victory. "Success brings rewards far outweighing the risks." Investments paid off big when gains eclipsed losses. Double down and recoup—double and conquer! 'Mystery'—that radiant power was all he needed. Once obtained... "I'll gain more than I've lost." Only forward in the Sultan's dictionary. '...

Oh, right—one more prize came to mind.' Salakh recalled the woman he'd met today—more mysterious and jewel-like beautiful than any 'Mystery'. Galahad's foster daughter, bearer of the greatest enigma: a mage. But her splendor outshone even that renown, hypnotic and divine. He had to possess her. 'Irene. Irene Windler.' Stealing the Mystery from that gem could wait. She belonged in his arms. 'I'll have everything—put it all beneath my hand...!' He clenched his fist fiercely. He was Sultan—incarnation of power, seizing all he desired. Quitting wasn't an option... Krunch! "—?" ...

In an instant, Salakh's mind blanked. His brain couldn't process what happened. He called his collapsing subordinate's name. "...

Salman?" Guard Captain Salman. Equivalent to a Knight Commander in Pendragon terms, his skill unrivaled in the Sultanate—guarding the Sultan proved that. Yet Salman... Splurt! "Guhhh! S-Sultan, r-run! F-Flee...!" "Salman!!" The guard's arm had been severed clean. By something that smashed through the carriage window. "...

A pebble?"

And Salakh saw it. What halved his proud warrior's arm wasn't a dart or arrow—just a plain pebble. But that pebble... BOOM!! "!!!?"

Pummeled the carriage relentlessly, shattering countless protective spells as if they were nothing. Ten-layered wards that could pierce ogres crumbled like sandcastles. In real time—!

"A-Ambush! Protect the Sultan!"

"Protect the Sulta—, guhuk!" Krunch! The Sultan's hundred guards panicked. Unable to block incoming pebbles, they died or were maimed on the spot. Salakh trembled, huddling low on the floor.

"Wh-What the hell is...—." Thuk! "...?"

Drip, drip...! Salakh realized too late. A pebble had grazed his ear, Plop... And like the guard captain's arm, his ear was sliced clean off.

"Gaaaaah!"

He writhed in agony.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "...

This is trickier than I thought." "If it's too hard, say so. I'll take over." "Hold on. A bet's a bet. Loser sits it out." "......" "Who told you to lose anyway." The knight who'd won their pre-mission rock-paper-scissors grinned triumphantly and toed another pebble. It was sniping from roughly two kilometers—but the knight's freakish skill made the impossible feat of pebble-catapulting possible. Tristan's knight, spectating, marveled at yet another bizarre technique and asked. "What's that move called?" Walking on air yesterday, out-sniping archers with pebbles today. In response. "It's not some special technique. Just some paintball from back in the day." "Pa-Paintball...??" "Yeah, that." From time immemorial, Koreans were sniping masters, clans of ranged dealers fond of stone-throwing and archery. Even reincarnated, that veteran gamer grit didn't fade. "One more thing, Sir Lee Han. Everything else is fine, but please..." "I know. Don't kill him, leave no traces. That's why I'm doing it like this." Whoosh! —Just a little harassment. Well... "The victim might prefer death." "......" "Oh, and let's dump the assassin corpses here on the way out. It'll be funnier that way, right?" "...

Ha." The two knights thought. Better never cross this guy as an enemy if possible. He was vicious and relentless... "Hmph, wise for a thug." "Right?" "But sloppy. Not just corpses—carve rival Sultans' crests on them for extra effect." "...

Not bad." ...

And the fact that only one fiend menaced him was the Sultan's greatest misfortune. The two knights were dead serious about tormenting the tanned punk.