3. The First Request……. - Conclusion -

Not long after the day Ian had trembled in terror amid the ghost village incident, a single proposal reached the assassin guild, whose roots burrowed deep into the back alleys across the entire continent.

The document's title: Update to the No-Assassination Target List.

The proposer was Even, master of the branch primarily operating in the Tronen Kingdom. Despite being a middle-aged man in his fifties with a thick mustache, he was renowned for his mastery of disguises like reversal arts and bone-shrinking techniques. He particularly enjoyed transforming into a girl in her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠early teens, earning him the moniker "perverted assassin." Upon seeing his proposal, the guild's top brass gathered for a meeting.

Perhaps because they made their living by taking lives, every one of them exuded a sinister air. They dressed in dark clothes that concealed their faces and forms. The only way to identify any of them was by voice. One among these masters of secrecy finally spoke.

"What's this? Canary—the one who loves dressing as a little girl... no, Even—making such a proposal?"

"Who knows... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I heard he recently took on a major commission. They say completing it would bring a fortune and a solid backer. Maybe it's related?"

"Even so, suddenly adding someone to the no-assassination list? Hmm. That's not something you do lightly."

What was this "no-assassination target"? From the assassin guild's perspective, it referred to individuals pre-selected as off-limits—people whose targeting would inflict catastrophic damage. This included the targets themselves, their families, friends, and anyone with significant ties. Even a slight connection meant hands off.

Selecting such targets was a painful loss for the guild, but the reason was obvious: they wanted to live long. What good was amassing wealth if you died before spending it? Even these scoundrels who stole lives for a living had the human instinct to crave longevity over a short one.

Since ancient times, how many had burned for touching the strong or their kin? The guild's founder, having witnessed countless such cases, had vowed from the start: Don't touch anyone we can't handle.

Thus, the guild had this special "no-assassination" category. The most recent addition had been about five years ago: the Defeated Princess of the Mountain Kingdom, who had obliterated an entire branch guild with overwhelming force after they dared target her.

The executives chattered among themselves for a while before one—irritated, needling Even, the only one brazenly disguised as a girl—finally asked what they'd all been wondering.

"Smashed? No, we ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠came this close to it."

"This close? What level are we talking?"

"The team I brought for that commission? All upper-to-special-grade assassins. The uppers got completely wiped out."

"What, just uppers? That's not enough to warrant the no-kill list."

"...No. In her eyes, upper-grade and special-grade were no different. It was just who lunged first."

"You sure?"

"Forty years of instinct. Just two more swings of her sword, and the rest of us would've been dead too."

"Hmmm... I see."

Even if Even was a pervert who reveled in his girlish guise (he insisted it was for assassinations), his skills and instincts were beyond question. Five years ago, he'd been the sole voice warning the Mountain Kingdom branch against taking the Defeated Princess contract—like a canary sensing danger in a mine shaft. That was why they called him "Canary," half nickname, half slur.

A hush fell as they whispered among themselves, exchanging views. In that eerie silence, consensus formed. The one at the center—the acting overseer filling in for the vacant grand master—spoke.

"Very well. We'll provisionally accept the Tronen branch master's proposal and add the target to the no-assassination list. Even."

"Yes."

"Report the target's details."

At the overseer's command, Even drew a single sheet from his bosom. A paper mostly blank, with far more white space than words. Ju Cheong-ah herself might have exclaimed, "Oh my! Even here, they appreciate the beauty of negative space from our Yuldo!"

"Name: Ju Cheong-ah. Female. Yuldo origin presumed from usual attire. Iron Badge adventurer with the guild. Relations: Ian, presumed lover who sticks to her side."

"Wait, Iron Badge? You serious...?"

"Don't interrupt him, Northern Empire branch master."

"Apologies."

"Continue, Tronen branch master."

"...As befits a Yuldo native, black hair, black eyes. Carries a sword longer than herself, disguised as a cane. Possesses beauty fit for a kingdom's lament... and so on."

Soon after Even's description of Ju Cheong-ah echoed through the assassin guild's headquarters, a crimson urgent directive went out to the entire organization.

The first no-assassination update in five years.

§

At that very moment, as the assassins convened in their grand headquarters, nobles in the Tronen Kingdom's royal capital were plotting among themselves.

These were the ones scheming to assassinate Princess Aria and elevate the Second Prince—their patron—to the throne. Some for loyalty, others for personal gain, and some simply resentful that Aria outshone the crown prince.

They were no small fry; each wielded considerable influence in Tronen.

"...The assassin guild refused the commission."

The youngest noble spoke first. A nearby aristocrat, mid-sip of tea, looked puzzled.

"The assassins refused? Do you know why, Viscount Bellam?"

"No idea. Just 'internal circumstances make it impossible'..."

"Internal circumstances? Suddenly? Didn't they boast and take the advance?"

At the question, young Baron Bellam gestured to his attendant behind him. A thick stack of papers was placed on the desk—promissory notes issued by the Empire Merchant Guild, the continent's most trusted trading house.

"What's that?"

"Promissory notes. Empire Merchant Guild, no less..."

"Yes. As penalty, we got back twenty times the advance."

A balding noble clutched his face in frustration.

"Damn. So they ate that massive loss without ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even explaining why?"

"Just said it's impossible. They'd take other jobs, but nothing related to that."

"Hah, unbelievable."

It was absurd. The ironclad assassin guild suddenly balking, refunding twentyfold the advance—yet offering no real reason. Frustrating enough, and with Princess Aria due in the capital any day...

Once she arrived, their position backing the Second Prince would crumble. Inside the royal palace? Assassination attempts impossible. No methods, no pretexts—just ruin.

No way out? Then one noble cried, "Ah!"

"Why not entrust it to them?"

"Them who?"

"Those who'll do anything for coin."

"You mean the mercenary guild?"

"Exactly."

Another noble scowled skeptically.

"But how do we trust those vultures? Killing a princess of the realm. Whether they succeed or fail, it could bite us later. That's why we hired assassins, not our knights or guards."

"Simple: hire a mercenary band with honor."

"What band would take this job?"

"One that would—if the pay's right. Kill the princess, or even the sturdy Empire crown prince."

"Hah, absurd."

As the noble moved to retort, a mustachioed one snapped his fingers triumphantly.

"The Defeated Princess! Her mercenary band!"

"Ah...! Yes! The Defeated Princess!"

Faces once clouded with worry brightened. One bellowed for his attendant, shoving all the promissory notes into his hands.

"Take this money straight to the mercenary guild! Contact the Defeated Princess—tell her we have a discreet commission!"