A Fun and Special Assassination Event

Swoooosh.

It was the dead of night, when nothing stirred but the occasional hoot of an owl. At the soft scrape of my bedroom window sliding open, I quietly opened my eyes from where I lay in bed.

I had a visitor.

At this hour of the night, no less—and though I couldn't imagine why anyone would come in through the window, a surprise visit like this was a first for me. Normally my attendants would knock on my door as gingerly as they possibly could, deliver their business, and scurry off the moment it was done. But this... this was a rare and precious event.

My curiosity was piqued by this stealthy guest, so utterly devoid of courtesy or ceremony. I stayed exactly as I was, feigning sleep with my eyes closed, and waited to see what he would do next.

On silent, furtive feet, a masked figure in black crept toward me, hunched low to muffle every footfall. In his hand, a dagger gleamed, cold blue light sliding along its edge. Through my mana sense, I could tell at once what he was—an assassin.

An assassin, of all things, had come to see me?

I was overjoyed. It had been a lonely stretch as it was, and he was the perfect companion for the night. I kept my eyes shut and went on playing asleep, so the assassin could act freely.

Soon he had crept right up to my bedside, checking on the sleeping figure there. Then he flinched—one look at my closed-eyed face and he went rigid with shock. He had just laid eyes on the true face of the man he'd come to kill: the Second Prince of Draikna Kingdom. Pretend-sleeping though I was, the mere sight of me had terror so firmly in its grip that the hand clutching his dagger shook violently.

'Come on—strike! Strike me down like a proper assassin!'

Never in my life had a stranger come this close to me, let alone bravely brandished a dagger and tried to attack. In this heart-pounding assassination event, I silently ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cheered him on to see his mission through.

"Hnngh...!"

The assassin gritted his teeth against the pressure radiating off me. He didn't seem to notice he was groaning aloud in his battle against fear. It was the loudest sound anyone had made in my presence yet, but determined to carry his will through to the very end, he tightened his grip on the dagger.

Vmmm—

Mana gathered and condensed along the blade in his hand. He must have received fairly professional training, because he shook off his fear and drove the dagger down in a mechanical, practiced motion.

Thock.

It was a blade brimming with magic power, yet it never reached my heart—it stopped dead at my skin. Having long since assimilated with the Dragon Heart, my flesh was as hard as dragon scale. A dagger carrying only that much mana couldn't so much as break the surface, and even had it managed a gash, the Dragon Heart's power would have mended it in moments.

"Hahk—!"

The assassin let out a strangled breath. His desperate, all-or-nothing strike had been stopped cold—he must have been utterly stunned. Eyes round with disbelief, he stared down at my body.

I went on pretending to sleep. Go on, then. Finish what you started.

Thock, thock!

True to his trade as a seasoned killer, he didn't quit after a single failure—he hammered the dagger down again and again. And every strike glanced off my skin, bouncing away without leaving so much as a scratch. It tickled, honestly. So this was what it felt like to roughhouse with someone? The assassin prodding at me with his dagger was genuinely fun.

"Why...? Why won't you open your eyes?"

Thock, thock!

Stabbing at me in frantic desperation, the assassin finally sensed that something was wrong. Fear had swallowed him whole, and he'd been too flustered—too stunned that his mana-laden blade couldn't mark me no matter how he stabbed—to grasp the simple truth until now.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The truth was, I hadn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cared in the slightest whether he made noise enough to wake me, used magic right beside me, or stabbed at me with his knife. Even muttering to himself this openly didn't register as a problem.

Disqualifying conduct for an assassin, certainly—but apparently the shock ran that deep. He stopped attacking and stared at me, breath held, like the hero of a horror film who has just seen a ghost.

"You... you weren't asleep?"

I hadn't been making a sound. Not even breathing. I was holding my breath for fear that one careless exhale might startle him so badly he'd crumple where he stood.

Now the assassin had caught on to that strangeness too. Well, of course—when your assassination target holds his breath, doesn't open his eyes even under attack, and just lies there clenched up and playing ignorant...

If none of that felt off to him, he had no business calling himself an assassin.

"Busted, am I?"

I let out the breath I'd been holding and murmured the words low. Opening my eyes, I sat up in bed and looked at the assassin. It seemed my fun and special assassination event had come to an end.

"Huurgh."

The moment I quietly held his gaze, he crumpled to the floor, struggling even to breathe. Whether it was the shock of realizing he'd been toyed with by his own target, or simple terror of me, his dazed eyes wandered through empty air. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited, giving him time to collect himself.

"Khh..."

But even that silence seemed to bear down on him unbearably; his breathing only grew more ragged. He didn't so much as think about turning tail and fleeing. Having stepped into my room, he seemed to understand full well what he'd become—a mouse that had walked straight up to a cat of its own accord.

In such a sorry state, what confidence had he had to stab at me? For the nerve and skill he possessed, he had accomplished a great deal before me, overcoming his fear. And that, more than anything, delighted me.

"If you run, I'll let you go."

He had entertained me, so I had no intention of killing him if he fled. Even if he sought me out again and tried to assassinate me once more, that would be fine. He couldn't so much as scratch me, and having someone mark me as a target and strike in secret was, if anything, a rare and precious experience.

"You needn't tell me why you tried to kill me."

He didn't have to name whoever had commissioned the hit, either. That way the assassin could come after me free of qualms, and the client could send a fresh one.

"Just answer me this one thing. How were you able to stab me?"

The assassin was so deathly pale he looked ready to faint at any moment; I doubted he had many answers left in him. So I began with the question I was most curious about. How had he gotten close to me? How had he looked at my face and still mastered his fear enough to drive that dagger home?

That was what I wanted to know more than anything. Most people are too frightened to even approach me—they can barely meet my eyes, let alone raise a hand against me.

Ever since I received the Dragon Heart and came of age, forming bonds with others had only grown harder. My strength had soared beyond measure, and my presence had risen in proportion. These days, the mere act of breathing beside me was enough to make people faint. Even the valiant Dragonian warriors turned into trembling puppies before me, and even the dreaded monsters of the Western Demonic Realm hunched down like slimes and retreated whenever I drew near.

Now, in Draikna, kingdom of the Dragonians, I am called a walking Dragon God—a being who inherited the Progenitor Dragon's power, fear itself given form. I couldn't help but wonder what went through the heart of a lowly assassin who had dared to level a dagger at such a creature.

"Ah..."

As I watched him with keen interest, the assassin—who had been hauling in air in ragged little gulps—slumped over and fainted. That was the normal reaction, to be fair.

I idly stroked the unconscious man's jet-black hair for a moment. Then I called for my attendants to come clear away the guest lying there, lay back down myself, and sank into sleep. An assassin calling in the dead of night had been a truly delightful thing.

"Be sure to come visit often from now on."

"Th-that's— that's absurd, Your Highness!"

I had the assassin tended to, left entirely unharmed, and then set him free. I never asked why he'd tried to kill me, or on whose orders he had come. I sent him off with the utmost care, so that his attempt on my life would remain a fond memory. That way, more assassins would come calling to ease my loneliness.

But apparently my intentions hadn't gotten through to him quite as intended. The assassin, forehead pressed to the floor as though licking the ground in a deep formal prostration, wept and begged, swearing he would never target me again so long as he lived. He pleaded for me to mercifully forgive the Assassin Guild for so foolishly accepting such a contract, promising that the client in question would be quietly eliminated by the guild itself. It was, he said, the least he could do to repay even a single stitch of my mercy and patience.

"That won't be necessary."

"I—I failed to recognize your greatness! You could tear me apart this very moment and it would be no more than I deserve—but I feared even letting my filthy blood stain this place might be an affront...!"

"Right. You've done well. Go."

I told the assassin—pleading and wailing as though he'd lost his mind—to leave. Last night's bravery was long gone. What I wanted was someone who could look me in the eye and hold a conversation, but this man already had my terror branded into him. Like this, he was no different from any ordinary person who feared me.

How had he managed to attack me last night?

Sitting in my study, I turned the assassin's actions over in my mind. Even the monsters I'd faced during the subjugation of the Western Demonic Realm had groveled and crawled away at the mere sight of me. I had joined that campaign to test my own strength, yet I never once took a proper hit—all it added was bitterness. So I was an object of terror even to monsters.

The Dragonians hailed me as the Dragon God who had fulfilled the nation's long-cherished dream of subjugating the Western Demonic Realm, but I felt nothing about it. My fame had only deepened the fear I inspired.

And yet that assassin had stabbed me. The Western ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Demonic Realm was home to plenty of monsters stronger than he was. It couldn't be that he was exceptionally strong, or exceptionally brave.

So what was it?

I sat at my desk and pondered it carefully. I had been holding my breath, eyes closed. The assassin hadn't known precisely who I was—he had swung his blade carrying nothing but scraps of information.

He didn't truly know me.

That was the key. If people simply didn't know how terrifying I was, then perhaps an ordinary daily life—ordinary exchange with other people—might be possible after all.

I looked over the titles of the stack of books kept beside my desk.

Books had been my solace all this time. Everyone trembled at the mere sight of me, so reading was the only means I had of experiencing other people. Within their pages, I lost myself in the characters—making friends the ordinary way, falling in love, quarreling like anyone else. It was a hobby unchanged from my days as an eight-year-old Dragonian, before I received the Dragon Heart, to now, as a twenty-year-old adult long after.

Because I was so desperately lonely, I dreamed, all the more, of ordinary things. I wanted to talk and laugh with someone, easily and warmly, the way people did in books.

I drew out a promotional parchment tucked between the pages of a bookmark and read it.

It had been a full twenty years since the end of the Continental War. In the Empire, where peace and laughter were in bloom, humans and the other races mingled freely—or so I'd heard. Young people of every race, all of them my age, were flocking to the Academy.

If it was there... could I make friends too?

Every Dragonian in the kingdom feared me. But at the Imperial Academy, where no one knew me yet, perhaps I could find friends to chat with like a perfectly ordinary person. Besides, I had always yearned for the idea of an academy—a place overflowing with youth and passion.

I set the promotional parchment down in the middle of my desk.

The assassin's visit had been special and new. Life at the Academy would surely be just as fun. Even if everyone there ended up fearing me in the end, I wanted to try attending—just once.