Only One Survives

The suspicion had been there from the moment Atel appeared.

No matter how fortunate she'd been, Atel was a 2-star martial artist — she'd have struggled against even a single skeleton soldier. That she'd shown up here in one piece was suspicious from the start.

The injuries she faked were pretty convincing, I'll give her that. At first I figured she'd just had the rotten luck of getting caught up in this mess.

So he'd watched and waited. To see whether Atel was a student — or an assassin.

Certainty arrived faster than expected.

She put something in while she was making the stew.

She'd slipped in a pinch of white powder with a practiced, natural motion. To anyone standing beside her it would have looked like she was adding salt. It was more than enough to put him on high alert.

In the end, after some deliberation, he spent 10,000 points to attach Observer's Perspective. The moment he checked the result, any ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠regret over the cost vanished.

Called it.

Atel was an assassin. And not just any assassin — she belonged to Duke Vallière, a noble of the Imperial faction.

Lucky she was an Academy student. That's the only reason I could attach Observer's Perspective in the first place.

The original novel had mentioned it more than once. Among the Academy's students were spies and assassins planted by both the noble faction and the Imperial faction. How else were the people in power supposed to track each other's movements in real time and seize every advantage they could?

Never imagined it would be Atel, though.

Surprising as it was, the situation was still something he could use.

Not just Atel — he would drag every hidden assassin into the open. And behind them, Duke Vallière himself.

"There's a sleeping draught in the stew. When you eat, please use detoxification magic to neutralize the poison. And once you've finished, act as though the sedative has taken effect."

"And then?"

"I'll use my abilities to create illusions of us sleeping in our bedrolls."

"Illusions?"

"Turns out you can do this sort of thing with demonic power."

Right there in front of Circe, X conjured an illusion identical to himself. Even to Circe's senses and mana detection, it was an uncanny replica — indistinguishable from the real thing.

"It burns through a tremendous amount of power, but… it's quite useful. I'll make one of you as well, Circe. And once every last assassin shows themselves, we ambush them and take them down."

"Fine. I'm not interested in getting stabbed in the back."

And so they built the trap.

They ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ate the drugged stew and pretended drowsiness was pulling them under. Circe purged the toxin with detoxification magic; X was a demon, so poison had never been a concern. After that, the illusions lay in the sleeping bags while the two of them watched from a considerable distance.

Duke Vallière is her master. Her only family — her younger sister — is being held hostage. She's a former slave…

He'd read Atel's entire past through the synopsis and found a way to use them.

Simply disposing of the assassins wouldn't be enough. They'd already made an attempt, which meant more would keep coming. If things had come this far, it was better to tear the problem out by the roots.

And for that, turning the assassins was the cleanest option.

Atel already seems to resent this work. If I can guarantee her sister Artel's safety, I should be able to bring her over.

So he threw bait to the subdued assassins.

"Only one of you three survives."

The other two wanted to live just as badly. All the better.

"The remaining two die here."

And with that, the war of nerves among the assassins began.

The assassins' arms and legs were bound, every weapon stripped from them. Ten skeleton soldiers stood with spears, swords, and bows trained on their throats. There was nothing they could do.

"This is all your fault, Number Four."

Number Five — healed with X's holy power just enough to move — ground his teeth and glared at Atel. With the mask peeled off, he was a young man of some years, dark stubble shadowing his jaw.

"If you'd done your job properly, we wouldn't be in this mess. You fed them a sleeping draught? And those two walking around just fine — what, you're telling me they're illusions? This assassination failed because of you. You getting that?"

"…So?"

Atel answered with a look of complete disinterest. Her attention was locked on X, the one who had spoken her sister's name. She had no energy to spare for Number Five's provocations.

Number Five made no effort to hide the murder in his voice.

"If you've got any sense of responsibility, you kill yourself first. Bite your tongue off, smash your skull into the ground, throw yourself on those skeleton bastards' weapons — I don't care which."

"Is your life that precious? You really want to live that badly, huh."

"Precious? If this were my mistake, I wouldn't even be bitter. But I have to die because you screwed up? That's insane."

"You actually think you didn't make a mistake?"

Atel turned her eyes on him and stared at that face of his.

"You're the one who threw the teleportation artifact at the training ground. That's what went wrong, and that's why we ended up here instead of where we were supposed to be. And you're going to sit there and tell me none of this is your fault?"

"You trying to pin this on me? A nobody like you?"

"Why shouldn't I. If two of us have to die, I don't know who else makes it out — but you are definitely dying."

"You fucking slave—"

"That's enough. Both of you, calm down."

Number Seven — an assassin by the name of Fertad — cut in between them. He was a man in his late twenties, marked by a pair of notably cool, composed eyes.

"Blaming each other doesn't solve a thing. Do you actually believe what that prince said? If he walks out of here alive, it doesn't matter which of us survives. We're all dead."

Atel and Number Five both shut their mouths.

Fertad let out a thin sigh and went on.

"If we want to live, we have to assassinate the prince. There is no other way."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that, Number Seven? Look around. Every weapon's been taken, and the second we make a suspicious move, our heads come off. You're telling me you've got some brilliant idea for this?"

"First we show him something that eases his suspicion."

"Yeah? Like what?"

Fertad lowered his head and spoke carefully.

"I'll talk to the prince. I'll tell him I want to sell information and ask him to cut me loose. Then I'll say I'll kill the two of you myself and ask for a weapon. When that happens, we find a gap somehow, I get you out, and we leave this place."

"Hold on. That prince already knew a hell of a lot. Offering to sell him information isn't a great play. The master's already been exposed — you really think we've got anything left worth trading?"

"…Hadn't considered that. What's your idea, Number Five?"

Number Five turned it over once, then spoke with a nasty little grin.

"I've got a good one. The prince wants evidence he can use to crush the master. That's what 'I'll only spare one of you' means. So we tell him we'll testify."

"That tracks. Then I'll go to the prince and—"

"No. I'll do the talking. I shouldn't be the one saying this, but if anyone here's going to betray the others… it's either Number Four or me. He already watched the two of us tearing into each other. We use that."

At the proposal, something flickered in Number Seven's eyes. He recovered his composure a moment later.

"…All right. I'm counting on you."

"Just leave it to me. Hey! I want to talk!"

Number Five's voice carried all the way to X, who was sitting near the campfire some distance off. X jerked his chin in a signal, and a soldier dragged Number Five over roughly and dumped him in front of him.

Elites and soldiers stood around X like a royal guard.

X gave the man a single sidelong glance, then stood and started walking.

"My companion is finally getting some sleep. Let's go elsewhere."

They walked until the camp was a long way behind them. Number Five watched for an opening the entire time, but the elites surrounding X left him none.

X conjured a lamp of light, sat down in a suitable spot, and looked Number Five over.

"So. What do you want?"

Number Five, determined not to sour the prince's mood, dropped flat to the ground at once and opened his mouth in a trembling, pleading voice.

"Your Highness, Prince X. As you already know, for thirty-six years I have carried out unwanted assassination missions under Duke Vallière's oppression and threats."

"Ah, I see. Thirty-six years… You've had it rough."

"I was promised my freedom once this mission was complete, and so I had no choice but to commit this act of irreverence. I beg you to forgive my insolence."

"Very well. I forgive you. I've always liked people who know which way the wind blows. To swallow your pride and beg forgiveness first — of the three of you, it seems you'll be the one who lives."

"As it happens, that is precisely why I requested this urgent audience, Your Highness. There is something I must tell you."

"Oh? Go on, then."

Number Five was certain of one thing. The prince in front of him did not trust him in the slightest. He was toying with him — pretending to believe him so he could wring out whatever useful information he could.

You think I'll roll over that easily?

He had clawed his way through thirty-six years of this life. He was not about to lose to some brat who'd lived barely more than half as long as he had.

"Please hear me out without alarm. The other two, in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their irreverence, still intend to carry out the assassination. Number Four in particular — that Atel — is grinding her teeth over the fact that Your Highness mentioned her sister. She will kill you. I am certain of it."

"Mm. That wasn't my intention, but I see."

"She is a lowly former slave. Far too base a creature to comprehend the thoughts of someone of Your Highness's blood — someone so gracious, so honorable."

"So she has to die, then?"

"Yes. That one cannot be allowed to live. She will be a threat to Your Highness's safety — I guarantee it. And Number Seven, who is plotting with her, must die as well."

X nodded without a word. Then he asked,

"And after that, you get to live?"

"If Your Highness would grant me that mercy, I will stake this life on exposing every filthy scheme of Duke Vallière's. I know every ugliness that house has to hide."

"Is that so? Then tell me something. Anything. And I suggest you put aside any thought of lying."

"Lying, Your Highness? I would never—"

"Ever since I became a prince, I've made a habit of keeping a truth-revealing artifact on me at all times. The only reason I let you run your mouth with all that flattery is because I was curious what you'd actually say."

"…"

Number Five hadn't expected him to have something like that.

Even so, it was fine. The only lie he'd told so far was the slander against Number Four.

That the remaining two were conspiring together was true. That he believed both of them had to die was also true. And that he knew the Vallière family's hidden face — that was true as well.

Left with no other choice, Number Five decided to give up a secret of the Vallière house that he had sworn he would take to his grave.

"…The Vallière family is conducting research related to demons. They have a laboratory hidden in a cellar, and they are sheltering demon cultists and necromancers there."

"…Oh?"

Even X hadn't seen that answer coming. His eyes grew a shade more serious. He clearly hadn't expected a noble of ducal rank to be a demon worshipper.

"What kind of research?"

"They are wickedly pursuing immortality. I trust Your Highness understands what the presence of demon cultists and necromancers implies. They take the lives of innocent people for their own selfish—"

"That's enough. Be quiet."

X rested his chin on his hand and sank into thought.

Watching him, Number Five silently cheered.

Got him. He can't just kill me now.

To prove that the Vallière family were demon worshippers, he would be indispensable. Charge in on this information alone and the family would bury the evidence and use the raid itself as grounds for a counterattack — exactly the kind of mess a freshly minted prince like X would want to avoid.

I will survive. No matter what it takes.

Sure enough, X put on a bright smile and patted Number Five on the shoulder.

"That's rather useful information. Yes, you'll definitely be of help. You didn't spend thirty-six years as one family's assassin for nothing, I suppose. Knowing a secret like that, your life must have been in constant danger. The fact that you're still breathing is proof you've clung to it with everything you had. It can't have been easy."

"You flatter me. Though I met the wrong times and the wrong people and lived this kind of life, I have always carried glory and honor in a corner of my heart. To be able, even like this, to expose the demon worshippers eating away at the Empire — it is an honor."

"Good, Number Five… No. What's your real name?"

"Gary, Your Highness."

"Gary. I won't forget the courage you showed today."

X stood and started walking.

"As you said, the other two don't seem necessary. No reason to add more mouths when I already have you. Get some rest there tonight. Starting tomorrow, we'll be making a proper push through this place."

X headed back toward the camp.

It was a long while before Number Five — before Gary — got to his feet.

I lived.

The skeleton soldiers were still watching him, but the joy of having survived drowned that out.

Yes, he'd betrayed the others. What of it?

He'd never liked Number Four to begin with, and Number Seven was the kind of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠man whose thoughts you could never read. After years of doing nothing but the Vallière duchy's dirty work, he had absolutely no intention of dying like a hunting dog once the chase was over.

And so Gary was certain of his victory.

X returned to camp and came to a stop in front of the bound assassins. Then he tossed something down in front of the two of them.

A sharp metallic clink.

"…!"

"…"

Atel and Fertad could not have failed to recognize it. It was a dagger they themselves had favored — and it was dripping with blood still hot from the body.

X looked down at them with cold eyes.

"Gary is dead."

Atel and Fertad both sucked in a breath.

Had the plan been found out? How much did he know? What were they supposed to say?

A storm of thoughts tore through both of them — and X's next words cut through it like a blade.

"Now it's down to the two of you. Next time, use your heads a little better — unless you want to die as pathetically as he did."

X left the bloodied dagger where it lay, making sure they both saw it, and walked away.

Atel and Fertad's eyes went to the blade. And both of them understood one thing with perfect clarity.

X fully intended to let only one of them live.

Of the people here, only one would survive.