Only One Survives
Atel was an assassin.
She had laced the stew with a sleeping draught as she cooked it, to make sure X and Circe would never rise again.
"They're completely out. Perfect."
Atel and the two other assassins looked down at X and Circe. Even a racket wouldn't have stirred them now — that much was certain.
The taller of the two, the one making a scraping sound as he scratched at his neck, turned to Atel.
"Number Four. Did you take the antidote?"
"I took it ages ago. That's why I'm still standing."
"What did you use?"
"Alraune pollen. Not exactly easy to come by."
"They won't wake up no matter what we do to them. Not for a full day."
The tall assassin looked down at the sleeping Circe, a grotesque smile visible even through his mask.
Atel grimaced in disgust.
"Keep that filthy hobby of yours to yourself, Number Five."
"Our target's the prince anyway. What happens to the girl doesn't matter, does it?"
"...If you're going to, wait until the job is done."
"Of course. I'm not that uncivilized."
The tall assassin — Number Five — turned to look at the shorter one, who was crouched down, studying X's face with careful attention.
"What are you doing, Number Seven?"
"I figured if I looked close enough, I'd see some kind of princely gravitas. There's not a scrap of it. Can't even work up any pity."
"Gravitas? The bastard hasn't got a drop of imperial blood in him. Just some lowborn who got lucky enough to catch Emperor Drakan's eye. Princely gravitas? Please. He's nothing but a filthy, lowborn slave who—"
"Number Five. Focus on the mission."
Atel cut him off, her tone a warning. She tried to hide it, but the offense showed.
Number Five caught it, and a strange smile crept across his face as he looked at her.
"Ah... I forgot you were a slave yourself. Don't worry, Number Four. As long as we serve His Grace the Duke, we're all the same."
"...Watch your mouth."
"Heh. Fine. Let's get to work. But first, one more question. It's nothing serious, so just answer honestly."
Number Five drew a sharp dagger and inspected the blade as he asked.
"Why did you ask that?"
"Ask what?"
"Whether he was really going to become emperor. That."
Atel answered with silence.
Number Five let out a small, dry laugh.
"We got a once-in-a-lifetime shot at assassinating a prince. Once this is over, His Lordship will reward us handsomely. We can quit this assassin game and live like proper people."
"...And?"
"I don't like anything that puts this opportunity at even the slightest risk. I want to know what you were thinking when you asked him that. Who knows? You might get some other idea at the last second."
"Did you forget those two ate the sleeping draught? I did everything I could for this mission. While you two were watching. If you want to run some pathetic loyalty test, finish the job first."
Even now, X and Circe hadn't stirred. There was no explaining it unless they'd taken the drug.
Number Five answered at his leisure.
"I'm just making sure before we finish the job. Say we kill the prince here. What good is that if we don't get out? So answer me properly."
"Why, then?"
"Because you're a lowborn slave brat, that's why. The Empire abolished slavery, but that doesn't change what you are."
The moment Number Five finished speaking, Number Seven drew his dagger behind her without a word. His eyes were pointed elsewhere, but the killing intent was aimed squarely at Atel.
Atel had been through this kind of thing more times than she could count. She just hadn't expected it now, of all moments. She had no choice. She let out a heavy sigh and answered.
"I just wanted to know if he was the kind of man who deserved to die. We're not beating some street beggar to death — he's a prince. If that affected the operation, I'm sorry, but it didn't, did it?"
"Mm. Fair enough. So, satisfied?"
"...Yeah."
A brief silence followed, but Number Five didn't care. That was enough of a lesson.
You had to grind a slave under your heel every now and then. Otherwise they started climbing. Especially right before a mission this important — you had to make the hierarchy crystal clear. Judging by Number Four's face, she'd remembered her place.
She was a slave by birth, but her skills were good, which made her useful. Thanks to her, he'd even earned His Lordship's favor, hadn't he?
Once this is over, I might even quit the assassin life and take a real position.
The conversation was over. Time to finish this.
"Let's wrap up the mission. Number Four, keep watch. Number Seven, keep a close eye on the girl. I'll play with her later. She's a mage, so it'd be a waste to just kill her."
"She'll be hard to control. You have a plan?"
"Feed her poison, then threaten to withhold the antidote if she doesn't obey. She's just a kid. She'll do as she's told if she doesn't want to die."
Number Five approached X's bedside.
A maggot with no noble blood, lucky enough to become a Hero and a prince. They said divine punishment fell on anyone who struck down a Hero, but he didn't believe in that kind of superstition.
Without a shred of hesitation or guilt, Number Five brought an Auror-charged dagger down toward X's throat.
A hollow clang rang out. The dagger struck empty earth, as if X had never been lying there at all.
The sensation was so alien, so unexpected, that Number Five — a veteran assassin — immediately turned his head to shout a warning. But a voice from the darkness beat him to it.
"From this moment, anyone who so much as breathes becomes a pincushion. If you want to die, leave a last will. I'll be happy to grant it."
The campfire popped and crackled. At the very edge of the firelight, where the glow barely reached, arrowheads gleamed. Dozens of them, every last one trained on the assassins.
There was no need to ask who the voice belonged to. They already knew him well enough.
"He ate the sleeping draught — he had to have...!"
The owner of the voice stepped forward, his face catching the firelight. It was X — their target. The situation had gone completely sideways.
Number Five's mind raced. He pointed at Circe and shouted.
"Don't move! You take one step and I'll kill the mage! You don't want to watch her die—"
"Who are you pointing at? There's nothing there but a sleeping bag."
He was right. The sleeping bag Number Seven had been watching — Circe's sleeping bag — stood empty. She was somewhere else entirely.
"You're a pretty sorry lot, for people trying to assassinate a prince."
Lightning spat and crackled. Circe appeared at X's side, blue electricity coiling around her hand, ready to fire at any instant.
The assassins, with no idea how any of this had happened, stood there stunned. They should have been the ones in control. They should have been the ones at ease.
But the most relaxed person there was X.
"For the record, if you're thinking of killing yourselves, go right ahead. You're good at that, aren't you? The suicide pill hidden in the molar, the little gasp, and you're gone. I've got no interest in torturing you for information or talking you into anything."
"...What's your game?"
Number Five took stock of the situation, every muscle tight. Each assassin carried a self-destruct scroll — for continuing the mission, or ending themselves, if things went irretrievably wrong.
I won't die like a dog. I'll survive this.
But dying here, like this, would be a waste of a life. Number Five flicked his fingers, signaling Number Four.
Take responsibility for this mess. Blow yourself up.
Atel understood the signal. Her pupils trembled, just slightly. She didn't want to die either, but there was no other way. She blinked once in acknowledgment.
A small, twisted smile crossed Number Five's face as he opened his mouth to draw their attention.
"Your Highness, I don't know what you're thinking, but let's not do this. Let's talk. We're just hired mercenaries. If you pay us more than our current employer, we'll gladly—"
"When did I say you could open your mouth?"
X flicked a finger. A sharp whistle cut the air, and an arrow punched through the cartilage of Number Five's knee, burying itself there. Red blood and white bone sprayed as he crumpled to the ground.
"AAAAAGH—! You son of a bitch, my knee...! My fucking knee...! I told you! If you'd just hire us—!"
"Why do you keep talking? Are you insane?"
Another arrow flew, this time burying itself in the other knee. A wretched, sobbing scream of pain rang out again.
X looked down at Number Five writhing on the ground, his gaze ice-cold, his voice indifferent.
"You seem to be under some kind of misconception, so let me make this clear. The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because I'm bored."
"Information — I can give you information...! Just spare my life...!"
"I already told you. I don't need it. And look at that — you're talking again."
"Wait, please...!"
X held up two fingers and pointed at Number Five. This time, two arrows punched into both of his elbows. Having lost control of his arms as well, Number Five wailed pitifully.
"Aaargh...! Please, just my life...!"
The sheer brutality of it made Atel and Number Seven swallow hard, every muscle tense. That didn't mean they'd forgotten the mission.
While X and Circe's attention was on Number Five, Atel prepared to leap. If she could close the distance in one burst and tear the self-destruct scroll, she could still complete the mission somehow.
With death staring her in the face, she thought of the family she'd left behind in her hometown — but failure would bring her a future just as hopeless.
Artel, I'm sorry. Your sister isn't coming home.
She was searching for a gap in their awareness, about to spring —
"Atel. If you die here, don't you feel sorry for Artel? Do you really think your master, Duke Vallière, will take good care of her?"
The words X tossed out so casually froze Atel in her tracks. A name that should never have come from his mouth.
"Why so surprised? Is it that shocking I know your little sister's name, when you've never once mentioned her?"
X kept going.
"I already told you. I don't need the information you have. I already know it."
"What are you..."
"That you came to assassinate me on the orders of Duke Vallière of the imperial faction. And which nobles conspired with him to do it."
The assassins' eyes nearly popped out of their heads. X looked at Atel, still perfectly at ease.
"I also know you'll tear those self-destruct scrolls if things go south. If you're going to blow yourselves up, Atel, now would be the time."
At those words, Number Five — still screaming wretchedly — Number Seven, who'd been watching from the sidelines — and Atel, stunned by the sound of her sister's name — all of them held their breath at once.
X walked slowly, deliberately, toward Atel. He came close enough that tearing the self-destruct scroll would catch him in the blast, and he didn't care. He simply stood in front of her and spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Blow yourselves up. Kill yourselves. Do whatever you want. It doesn't change this: you die here, and I walk out."
Having lost interest in Atel, X turned his gaze on Number Seven.
"Your master and every noble who joined his conspiracy will be purged. Your families and acquaintances will go to the executioner's block. You can't just let traitors live, now can you?"
Number Seven spoke up in response to X's shameless remarks.
"What do you want?"
"I'm keeping you alive because I want something. Obviously."
"Your loyalty to your master isn't as deep as I thought, is it?"
"I don't really understand complicated things like honor."
Number Seven said it with a remarkable flatness, even for an assassin.
"A flexible friend. I like you. What's your name?"
"...Number Seven."
"I asked for your real name. You don't have one?"
"Fertad."
"Good, Fertad. Atel, and you on the ground... eh, never mind. I don't need all your names. Number Five is enough."
"How do you know all that...? I never told you. Not once."
"I already told you. I already know."
X's boot came down hard on Number Five's head.
"Ghk—!"
It was a humiliating indignity, but Number Five didn't scream. He had already learned that screaming wouldn't change a thing.
The assassins understood their position with perfect clarity.
There's no way out. Now is not the time.
They weren't in a position to bargain, and they had nothing to bargain with. The new prince standing in front of them held the power of life and death not only over them, but over their families and their master. And yet not a single method of killing him then and there came to mind.
For now, they would hold their breath and wait for an opening.
They would have, at least, if X hadn't kept talking.
"Anyone who proves useful to me, I will keep alive. We'll leave this dungeon together, of course. And outside, I'll have the full power of the Imperial Palace protecting you. I'll make it as if you never took part in the assassination at all. If you want, I can even help you secure a position in the palace."
It was an extraordinary offer. Whether the words were true or false hardly mattered — they were dangerously, almost lethally sweet. Of course none of them believed it easily. Without some special condition attached, the proposal was absurd.
"The condition is simple."
Of course there was a condition.
A faint, twisted smile crept across X's face.