Chapter 31
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Interlude: Night of the Short Knives (1)
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Kim Yul, still going about his modest, everyday life, hadn't paid much attention to it, but the Empire was a truly massive nation.
In particular, if one were to find the Earth nation most similar to the Empire's governing structure in history...
It could be said to resemble England, the worst and most vicious of Earth's blood-soaked regimes.
The Emperor couldn't manage everything like in an absolute monarchy.
During the grueling history that the imperial citizens called the "War of Unification," it wasn't a white horse-riding emperor who appeared to achieve unity. Far more dull and insidious political alliances and machinations had taken place.
As such, it naturally leaned toward local autonomy under the nobility rather than centralization.
A constitutional monarchy had thus formed, divided into an upper house that gathered the nobility's opinions and a lower house for the citizens'.
The Emperor wasn't thrilled about his power being restricted.
Whenever he grew bored, he would covertly incite the lower house to limit the privileges granted to the nobility.
Even Asterik, the former congressman whose family had fallen from grace, was rumored to have miraculously recovered from Orange Fever the moment the Emperor sent a letter praising his contributions.
Naturally, Berthus Duke, once the Emperor's confidant, was also displeased with the current political climate.
A lower house, of all things.
Why hand even a token portion of power to the citizens?
And why was the Emperor constantly undermining him like this?
On top of that, the elves—especially House Wisperaud—were subtly spreading their tree-loving, nature-worshipping ideology.
Since unification, nothing had gone the way he wanted.
Therefore.
To restore this nation to its greatness, a grand plan was needed.
And Berthus Duke had been meticulously preparing for it all this time.
There were even green lights ahead.
The Holy Kingdom had a historic feud with the elves, and tacit support—or at least acquiescence—from that kingdom had been communicated through the monstrous Saintess.
Of course, her lover kept shouting "Revolution!" and pulling aggro with his novels, which was quite irritating.
But if viewed inversely.
Since the novels had already hinted at it happening in reality, the public's shock would be somewhat lessened.
And now, at last.
"All preparations for the night are complete."
"If the night ends successfully, the Northern Archduke has pledged to join our cause."
"The Capital Defense Commander has contacted us, saying he'll minimize patrols on the day of the uprising and schedule a banquet."
"We've compiled the movements and lists of all key targets to eliminate."
Coordination with collaborators was proceeding without a hitch.
Of course.
"One assassination guild has gone radio silent."
There was a bit of noise.
It was only natural.
How could any plan in this world be flawless?
To maximize diversion of attention and avoid any trails leading back, they'd employed countless schemes over many long years.
Thus.
A single cog squeaking wouldn't be an issue.
The "Night of the Daggers" was ripe.
The targets: the Emperor's limbs.
And his political rivals, along with lower house abolition opponents.
Most of them wouldn't survive this night.
Yes.
Just like the Ten Attendants.
Title:Two Heroes: The Villain Hides His Ambition[Ch. 38 Serializing]
Historical Accuracy:Compliant
Completion Rating:Mid-tier Work
Public Reception:Generally Positive[Daily Readers: 6,893]
Remaining for Next Skill:3,107 Daily Readers
[Must Maintain 21+ Days (Reduced). (Current: 20 Days)]
Expected Skill:[A-rank] Jo■'s ■Pr■es■er■ve■
"Hm."
The wall of 10,000 simultaneous users was proving high, after all.
Truth Newspaper's scale was part of the issue, too.
It was a major outlet in its own right, but being centered in the imperial capital meant its circulation wasn't as high as some others.
The use of eco-friendly recycled paper drove up printing costs, hindering mass appeal...
Well, no fantasy-land paper like the Daily Express or New York World existed here yet, churning out hundreds of thousands of copies daily.
Still, having nearly 7,000 capital dwellers read my novel every day was something to be grateful for.
Plus, my hypothesis panning out perfectly was enough to make me grin ear to ear.
Originally, acquisition rewards started at C-rank skills.
But securing daily readers ahead of schedule had automatically upgraded the reward tier and shortened the timeframe.
In other words.
Writing a smash hit from the start boosts your chances of early high-tier skills!
"Hee hee."
"Please don't laugh like that, sir. It looks frivolous."
"Is that so?"
"It is. Imagine your story's protagonist laughing like that—readers would complain en masse."
"......"
Hm...
Yeah.
Our tin can had a point.
I'd try laughing more dignified from now on.
"Ke-he-hek."
"......Kim Yul?"
"Coo coo ka choo."
Just a bit more teasing first.
This was the "I-don't-wanna-but-ebebeop" spirit.
The mindset exalted by great Americans and the even greater black-haired Marshal.
.
.
.
The eagerly awaited midnight, one minute before.
With Historie's clacking keyboard as BGM while she composed text, I lounged in the recliner, enjoying some tunes.
Jo■'s ■Pr■es■er■ve■.
What ability could it be?
Honestly, no clue.
Western figures were guessable even with censored letters, and names alone hinted at powers.
But.
How many Jo's are there?
And what was that half-censored "Pr■es■er■ve■"?
For reference, Historie's answer was:
- Isn't it Cao Cao's body preservation?
A shameless, lewd joke based on the married-woman-killer stereotype.
She recognized the clothed tail first.
"That's the avatar you set."
"Could be."
What can you do when Eastern-style outfits are my taste?
Should've dressed her in a cheongsam if I'd known.
And tick-tock, tick-tock.
Finally, midnight arrived.
Shadow Time didn't trigger.
Instead.
[A-rank] [Cao Zhi's Seven-Step Talent]
[Cao Zhi, son of Cao Cao, was a literary genius with exceptional military knowledge—a true civil-military prodigy. His survival in the succession struggle proves it. Thus, in any situation, you shall not face crisis when taking merely seven steps.]
"......?"
An unexpected skill popped up.
"The time has come."
Two in the morning.
Berthus Duke's plan, prepared for over a year, finally ignited.
The hounds he'd raised for this day scattered into the streets en masse.
Their objective was straightforward.
Directly eliminate targets too sensitive for outsourcing.
And deliberately disguise traces to frame others.
Also.
Before dawn broke, eliminate everyone linked to the assassinations.
Berthus Duke's cunning design ensured no tails would lead back.
In truth, some targets with capable guards might survive assassination attempts.
But even if assassins failed and were captured, the chain wouldn't reach Berthus Duke—meticulously designed that way.
"Let's move out."
As long as his hounds didn't fail.
Feeling that heavy pressure.
Berthus Duke's sharpest dagger, Klappen, stepped into the shadowed night streets.
His first assigned target: the writer Ulysses.
Not other key figures with escorts—simple reason.
The monstrous Saintess, Roselin.
A tougher foe than any imperial knight.
He'd been ordered to "secure" him, but committing himself personally meant...
"Kill them both, probably."
He was confident.
Monster or not, he too bore monstrous blood.
.
.
.
After scattering from his comrades.
Klappen headed straight for Ulysses's secured residence.
Patrols were absent as promised, and it was a rundown multi-family housing area for the poor anyway.
No obstacles en route.
Even descending a rope from the roof and stepping cautiously through the open window was fine.
"......"
Aside from the place being utterly empty—no furniture, no signs of habitation.
Klappen himself had surveilled Ulysses for ages.
Back and forth to the newspaper, sometimes with a red-haired woman, once even piggybacking a cute blonde girl.
Back then, just thought: flashy guy with wild tastes.
All an illusion?
He tore a dispel scroll from his pocket, but his mind remained clear.
Wrong house? No.
Then.
The Saintess had already whisked him away?
Moment of confusion.
"......?"
Returning to the roof, he doubted his eyes.
No presence detected at all.
Yet.
In that brief instant, Ulysses appeared as if tearing through dimensions, bat in hand, stepping out of the building.
Wrong house? No way.
But nothing changed.
If anything, him showing up was a boon.
No Saintess presence nearby either.
Perfect chance for a clean elimination.
Moments later.
Klappen boldly revealed himself before Ulysses.
Exposing oneself frontally during an assassination was taboo.
But Klappen was the legitimate heir of the assassination dynasty, House Killingfield.
And his house had a long tradition called "Aisatsu," origins unknown even to him.
He'd questioned it like his forebears, but openly revealing and slaying showed overwhelming superiority.
And assassination?
As long as no witnesses.
"Do-mo. Ulysses-san. Killingfield desu."
Successfully executing "Aisatsu."
Klappen lunged, slashing at the clear "line" on Ulysses's neck.
But.
"......!"
Ulysses merely stepped forward, effortlessly deflecting the precise throat strike.
Klappen's eyes widened.
The Duke had said he was just a layabout writer, untrained in martial arts.
How did he dodge?
Their eyes met for an instant.
In those ominous black pupils.
Klappen glimpsed an endless abyss.