Founding and Operations of the Blue Moon
I was deeply involved in the establishment and operations of Blue Moon, as one might expect. The main reasons assassin guilds usually fail to endure are the lack of skilled talent willing to become killers and the challenge of maintaining secrecy.
Vampires, being natural-born assassins, posed no issue for the talent side, so I helped with secrecy. There are three primary ways assassins' secrets get exposed: a failed assassin gets captured and spills everything; a traitor emerges; or the guild's headquarters is discovered while taking a commission.
The first two are virtually impossible due to vampire traits, so I took care of the third. It was simple—no real difficulty. I just lent a few clones to the commission sites. The clones accepted the requests, erased all evidence, and relayed the details to Eltis.
I entrusted the initial rumors of Blue Moon to the mercenary guild. Their headquarters are in Akasha Territory, but they operate across the entire continent. I gave them piecemeal information and commissioned them to spread the word.
Mercenaries will do just about anything for the right price, and spreading gossip like "so-and-so from the neighborhood did this" is routine work for them.
At first, the rumors were rampant but met with skepticism. Then a few assassination commissions succeeded flawlessly. And every site was marked with a blue moon symbol.
Blue Moon's name spread like wildfire. The early commissions all targeted nobles—corrupt lords with grudges piled against them by the common folk. For powerless peasants, it was like handing them a sword.
Vampires, who aren't attached to money, accepted even meager sums, though some blood was necessary from the start. As lords dropped dead one after another, central governments across nations erupted in chaos.
This shook noble society to its core. Investigation teams were dispatched but found nothing. Nobles with guilty consciences pushed hard for central armies to mobilize.
A few nations even sent knight orders on futile hunts. But not in the Ether Empire—no need for my intervention there.
William, having lived as a commoner for so long, harbored deep resentment toward corrupt nobles and welcomed the situation. He began using it as a tool for noble reform.
Of course, it wouldn't be easy. It'd be the great task of William's lifetime.
Thus, unlike typical assassin guilds, Blue Moon started to take on a faith-like status among the commoners. Not that they were bowing to moon drawings, but the vague assurance of an entity that heard their grievances and delivered vengeance felt almost religious.
*
While Eltis was mulling over Blue Moon's founding, I half-forcibly dragged Antariel—who'd been endlessly swapping eyes in his cave—to Ben Bezarel, who was burning body and soul in the New Continent lab.
“What is the meaning of this?!”
Antariel fumed when I teleported him to the lab without permission. But he quickly scanned the room, his newly installed eyes widening.
“Where is this place?”
A researcher of Antariel's caliber could tell what this facility was for just from the arrayed equipment.
Then Ben Bezarel emerged from the back, drawn by the commotion.
“Oho! What is that being?”
Undaunted by Antariel's fearsome lich-like form, Ben approached with gleaming eyes.
“You might have heard of Antariel Drogna. He's an expert in this field too.”
Not quite human anymore, but that's how I introduced him.
“Antariel Drogna? The Sir Drogna I know?”
“And who might you be?”
“Ben Bezarel.”
“Ben Bezarel... the one I met at the kingdom's academic conference ages ago?”
“That's me!”
They knew each other? Makes sense—similar fields, paths must've crossed. They hit it off immediately, causing an uproar.
About fifty years ago, they'd met at a kingdom conference and bonded over shared ridicule. Their research was mocked back then, so naturally, they clicked. But contact faded as each secluded in remote lairs.
Makes sense for reclusive types. Anyway, their reminiscing showed no sign of ending, so I cut in.
“I brought Antariel here because there's something to investigate, and you two are the top experts.”
I pulled out samples of the Full Fish's organs, bones, and scales.
“Fish innards, I'd say.”
Ben identified it instantly. Impressive—innards, fins, the works.
“Correct. Likely the first of its kind discovered in this world... maybe the last.”
“Even so, it just looks like ordinary fish guts. Worth investigating?”
“If it were ordinary, I wouldn't bother you. This fish could traverse dimensions.”
Their eyes lit up at my explanation—Antariel's especially.
“Let me study this. Where's the rest?”
Couldn't say it was delicious, so I mumbled something about it vanishing in battle.
“Leave it to us.”
Ben stepped up. That was the plan all along.
“I'll trust you two to handle it.”
They ignored me completely, slicing and preserving the samples.
Next, the dwarf elder. I won three straight in our five-out-of-three wager and handed over Full Fish scales amid his wails. Having experts in the territory is invaluable. Time to gather more specialists across fields.
While various projects progressed, the Western Witches began preparations to abandon their old village and migrate—as prophesied.
Melania had foretold it before her death, though not the destination. I visited Nivea, now the great witch.
Offering part of Akasha Territory if needed was no hardship.
“Welcome, Saint.”
Few stay calm at my sudden appearances—even Count Ktolari, with over a century of mental discipline. Nivea, though, was one.
“Saw your migration prep and came by.”
“I see. No need to worry. We're strong enough now.”
Weakness is trouble; so is middling strength. Precisely, insufficient strength causes issues. If they matched Akasha Territory's power, no one would touch them. But middling invites problems.
“I know you're strong—duchies are no match. But that's not enough. Anyway, that's not the point. If you lack a destination, come to Akasha Territory. I'll provide a good spot.”
Nivea pondered briefly, then shook her head.
“A tempting offer, but we want to rise by our own strength.”
“Why choose the hard path?”
“It will be hard. But I believe trials and sacrifices lead to better endings.”
I got the gist. Did Melania know this side of her? Probably—wise woman.
“I promised Melania to watch over you.”
“Thank you.”
She beamed, heart-fluttering. Definitely succubus blood.
“Call me anytime if it's tough.”
“Thanks, but don't tempt me. My resolve might waver.”
My mistake—underestimated her. She's no child.
“Sorry. Apologies.”
“It's fine. I understand your intentions.”
She was already a fine leader. That smile's a bit much—maybe purer blood than Lily's.
“Without Melania, we can't find witches born elsewhere. So we must go into the world, establish ourselves, so they can find us. Settling in your territory would be easy short-term, but fewer would seek us out.”
As expected. But fame-building risks danger.
“Where to, then?”
“The former Neos Kingdom.”
Into the ongoing civil war to earn merits—quick and simple.
“Could earn infamy.”
War merits mean killing many.
“Witches' infamy is bad enough already. We'll bear it.”
She gave a wry smile. Fair point—can't get worse.
Good choice.
“I'll cheer you on.”
“If it gets truly dire, I might ask your help then. Please look after the witches.”
“Of course.”
She meant if she died in the chaos. Hard to refuse. The land was mine to give anyway.
The Western Witches moved slowly, cautiously. Then a summons from William in the capital arrived.
I knew why this time—an old issue, delayed by excuses. Limits reached now.
I flew straight to the capital.
“You know why I called you, Viscount?”
“Yes. War?”
William sighed, nodding. He despised war—mercenary past taught him its horrors, and he knew commoners suffered most.
“Tried avoiding it, but hawks are insistent. And for the Empire's interests, they're right.”
I nodded. Overdue, perhaps—delays might worsen casualties.
Target: Neos Kingdom remnants, where Western Witches aimed. From 13 factions down to 7.
Early intervention could've swallowed them whole, but neighbors would've reacted.
“Our forces are no issue.”
Ether Empire: strongest on both continents.
“But legitimacy is the problem?”
Yes—need pretext against interventions.
“And it seems that pretext lies in my territory?”
Emperor William's eyes sparkled.