True Harashin
Grinning foolishly. Sillon had returned to his usual self. He went from a figure who seemed to mock and toy with his opponent back to his silly, vacant self. Most importantly, his rays of light had reverted to just two layers.
"..." It felt utterly surreal. Redar wondered if everything he had just witnessed was merely an illusion. What on earth...?
With his special eyes, Redar had seen countless powerhouses. Most notably, his own father and the heads of other great families. They were all superhumans who had transcended the realm of ordinary heroes. Every single one of them was a master of controlling their own power, capable of hiding and revealing it at will.
Yet, none of that worked on Redar. Even when they kept their power tightly sealed, or when they tried their absolute best to hide it from their opponents, Redar's eyes saw every ounce of strength they possessed.
But he had been unable to read a single thing from the man standing before him. The man had completely deceived his eyes—something even the greatest superhumans Redar had ever met could never achieve.
What did this mean? Was this man's ability to control his power superior to all those superhumans? Was he at an even higher realm? Were those eight layers of light not even the full extent of his hidden strength?
No way... It made no sense. It couldn't be.
Setting aside that goofy, vacant grin that held not a shred of dignity. Sillon. He was the same age as Drin. At most, he couldn't be past his early twenties.
It had been less than five years since his physical growth had finished and his innate constitution was set—meaning he had been practicing mana manipulation for less than five years. At that age, reaching the 2-Star realm made one a prodigy. Reaching the 3-Star realm made one a genius. What about the 4-Star realm? They were treated as possessors of undefinable talent.
Even Redar, who possessed a talent counted among the best in the history of the Liebringer family, had barely managed to reach the 4-Star realm at that age. Drin, who was said to possess talent surpassing even Redar's, had only managed to reach the 4-Star realm a few months faster.
But an 8-Star realm? Fine. He could still accept that, barely. There were several possibilities. What if he belonged to a long-lived race? What if he was disguised to look young? Or what if, like a true assassin, he had used all sorts of dirty, underhanded methods to forcibly drag out his innate talent? Under those assumptions, he could somehow wrap his head around the 8-Star realm, as difficult as it was.
But a realm beyond that? No. That was something that simply could not exist, no matter what excuse was applied. For such a being to exist... and for such a being to belong to the Harashin... It was a terrifyingly dangerous thought.
Therefore, Redar rejected that possibility entirely. An assassin of the 8-Star realm. He forced himself to define Sillon's identity as such. He decided to assume the best-case scenario.
Ha. A hollow laugh escaped him. To think that the "best-case scenario" he had to assume was an assassin of the 8-Star realm. What was his true identity? A direct master of the guild? He couldn't be sure. The rays of light he had seen just moments ago... Redar had encountered and fought direct masters of the Harashin several times. Yet, none of the direct masters he had personally faced possessed such rays of light. At most, their light had only seven layers. And the form of those rays? Comparing their assassination arts to this man's would be the ultimate insult to him.
Then... Was he someone who stood even higher than a direct master? The Eight Arms...? In the Harashin, they were the only ones who existed above the direct masters. The true will and leaders of the Harashin, who bound together the assassins scattered across the world without any apparent rules. The ones the assassins praised, the incredibly arrogant beings who called themselves the executors of death.
However, the Eight Arms were figures that existed only in legends. They had never once revealed themselves in history. Even so, history had always watched and guarded against them. Heroes and superhumans who met sudden deaths. Families that suffered mysterious downfalls. Was one of the Eight Arms standing before him right now? Had the Eight Arms stretched their evil claws toward his younger sister and the Liebringer family?
No... It was too early to jump to conclusions. He might just be an exceptionally outstanding direct master. Perhaps the direct masters he had met in the past were simply lacking. Everything was uncertain. Yet, amidst the confusion, one thing was absolutely clear.
"Harashin—" He was a Harashin. A public enemy of the world. A being with whom coexistence was absolutely impossible. "What is it you want?" Vigilance and hostility. These two emotions swirled deeply within his blue, four-white eyes. A defensive wall was erected, declaring that he would never allow an enemy to breach his defenses, no matter what.
"Haha, Harashin. I suppose it was bound to turn out like this, wasn't it?" Blocked by the wall, the man scratched the back of his head with an awkward smile. He looked troubled, as if he were saddened by the vigilance and hostility directed at him. He looked goofy, even good-natured. But Redar would no longer be fooled by this monster's appearance. To Redar, Sillon's current attitude felt utterly detestable and insidious. Surely, the man was harboring a nasty sneer inside, enjoying his reaction and thinking something like this:
Well, shit. I'm screwed. This was awkward. For starters, it seemed Redar had given up on the idea of dragging me to the Demon Realm. Up to this point, the plan could be considered a success. The problem was... to Redar, I was no longer Drin's precious friend. I was an assassin of the Harashin. A public enemy of the world. In other words, I had become a dangerous entity that had to be kept away from Drin at all costs. It was a natural consequence of showing off the sheer depth of my assassination arts, which basically amounted to a threat.
Actually, who am I kidding? It wasn't 'close to a threat.' It was a textbook threat. Since it was a natural consequence, I had already prepared a countermeasure. The Promising Pinky. I could force him to vow on it, swearing that 'he would never do anything to disadvantage Sillon.'
But would that really be enough? The more I thought about it, the more it felt like nothing more than a temporary band-aid. The Liebringer family's treasury was bound to be packed with artifacts I knew nothing about. Not just the ones I hadn't encountered in the game, but also artifacts that existed simply because this world was now a reality. Among all those artifacts, was there really not a single one capable of nullifying the restriction of the Promising Pinky?
Let's look at the worst-case scenario. What if Redar used an artifact to break the restriction and exposed my existence to the world? It didn't take a genius to know it would be an absolute disaster. A bastard like me, fully loaded with forbidden assassination arts, roaming freely in the light? And on top of that, participating in the Academy entrance exam and deceiving everyone? The parents of the noble and prestigious families who sent their kids to the Academy—basically walking bioweapons—would descend upon Arien with bloodshot eyes, eager to take my head. Every single instructor at the Academy, including the headmaster, would gladly join the hunt.
To make matters worse, the Harashin bastards might see it and go, "Oh? Isn't that one of ours?" and come to "rescue" me. It would be a clusterfuck of epic proportions. Failing the quest would be the least of my worries; a 'Bad Ending' screen would pop up, and the credits would start rolling immediately. That was the potential fallout if I went with the temporary fix of putting a leash on Redar using the Promising Pinky. The risk was way too high. I needed a more fundamental solution.
The most obvious solution that came to mind was, of course, eliminating Redar. There was no cleaner, more certain solution than that. But naturally, that was out of the question. Redar might be an eccentric, but he was clearly a good guy. He belonged to the player's side, the faction of justice. If I eliminated him, there was no telling how it would derail the story in ways I couldn't predict. Above all, Redar was Drin's older brother. How could I kill him? Honestly, even putting a leash on him with the Promising Pinky felt a bit dirty.
Then what the hell am I supposed to do? I didn't want to manipulate him, and I didn't want to kill him. That left only one option... Persuasion...? Come to think of it, that was the most desirable and peaceful method. It was also the first thing that had crossed my mind. But no matter how much I racked my brain, I couldn't think of a single way to win Redar over.
"I asked you what you want, Harashin." And of course he would react that way. To him, the Harashin was an entity that could never be allowed to exist in the same world. Furthermore, in Redar's eyes, I wasn't just any ordinary Harashin. I was probably a top-tier bastard among bastards, someone who had chewed through enough assassination experience to rival a direct master. No matter what I did, Redar would never open his heart to me. Not as long as I was a Harashin.
...Oh? Wait. A sudden thought struck me. Then... what if I'm just not a Harashin? It was an impossible premise. Those who were not Harashin could not become assassins, and those who were Harashin could not be anything else. That was common sense. Logically speaking, it was absolutely impossible for me not to be a Harashin.
But what if I shatter that common sense? Shattering common sense. It sounded like the kind of delusions harbored by some chuunibyou who would unironically say, "Behold, the greatest genius in history, who dares to blaspheme even the gods!" But what I was about to do to break this common sense wasn't nearly that grand. It was just a lie. A lie mixed with a tiny grain of truth to make it sound incredibly plausible.
Where does common sense originate? I gathered the mysterious resource known as 'intelligence'—which barely existed in my brain—and asked myself. From that gathered speck of intellect, a vague answer emerged: Isn't it history? Right. History. Then, how much did the average people of this world—or Redar, for that matter—actually know about the history of the Harashin? Probably not much. For all their faults, they were still a secret society. People probably only knew them as a bunch of ancient, stealthy bastards.
On top of that, judging by his current attitude, Redar didn't see me as just a direct master of the Harashin. I could feel him treating me as something far more mysterious and powerful. The fact that Redar didn't know much about the Harashin, and the fact that he viewed me as something beyond a mere assassin... I had to exploit those two points to the absolute limit.
Will this actually work? Who knows. But I had no choice but to try.
"Redar? Why don't we make a hypothetical assumption?"
"A hypothetical? About what?"
"What if I told you... that I am not a Harashin? How would you react?"
"I wondered what nonsense you were going to spout." Redar glared at me, his four-white eyes—perfectly fitting the description of a cold, glaring gaze—filled to the brim with vigilance and hostility. He snorted, as if my words weren't even worth listening to.
Right now, unless I used brute force to threaten or command him, Redar would shut down my words before they even reached his ears. In that case, how about this?
"Indeed. That would be the normal reaction. But tell me, Redar—"
It was a classic trait of squinty-eyed characters: when a frivolous guy who usually spouts nonsense suddenly adopts a solemn tone, you feel compelled to take him seriously. I completely shed the lighthearted atmosphere I habitually maintained and spoke with the utmost gravity.
"What if I am indeed a Harashin, but not the Harashin you know? What would you say to that?"
"...What?"
Yes. It worked. I got a reaction. The squinty-eyed character used 'Serious Mode.' Redar was afflicted with the status condition 'Curiosity.' Riding this momentum, I pulled out the lie I had prepared.
"The Harashin you know—the one known to the world—is not the True Harashin."
"Lagadierias. Egonoueriass." I whispered in a deeply meaningful tone.
"Lagadierias... Ego... Noueriass...? What is the meaning of that?"
Hell if I know. I just came up with the coolest, most mysterious-sounding gibberish on the spot. But a cool password or creed like this would add incredible detail to the lie I was about to spin. Of course, I thoroughly hid my frivolous thoughts, projecting only a heavy, solemn aura as I put on a serious face.
"Lagadierias." 'In the unseen place.'
"Egonoueriass." 'In the untakeable place.'
"Redar, we are the executors. We are... the True Harashin."
"...What?"
"Redar. The Harashin that you—that the world knows—is not the True Harashin. They are mere pretenders, a group of mindless murderers who have lost their righteous cause and falsely claim our name. Redar... do you wish to know the truth?"
Tell me you want to know. Seriously, even the founder of the Harashin wouldn't be able to resist this bait. Redar, if you aren't curious about this, you need to get your head checked.
"..."
That's it. Redar slowly nodded. I nodded back, beginning the greatest lie in history—one that would shatter common sense and rewrite the very history of the Harashin.