Chapter 69
Chapter 69
Translation: godsn
They moved as if intent on leaving not a single trace of life in the Minister's mansion.
Who—and why—would want to slaughter them all?
'But wiping out everyone, including the servants, doesn't seem like something my image-conscious uncle would— Ah. It's you, Samon.'
That wretched Samon Claudio must have been seeking revenge against Etienne for what happened at the last banquet, resorting to this underhanded method.
'What a coward.'
Since he lacked the confidence to deal with the Hydra without Etienne, he'd decided to simply burn down the entire mansion containing the teleportation magic circle.
A chill ran down Medeia's spine. Had it not been today, the Signature Document would have been lost forever.
Simultaneously, she realized she needed to escape this place without being detected by them.
If they discovered the Signature Document was in her possession, they would kill her without hesitation to take it back.
"The flames are closing in. This way."
Cesare seemed to have come to the same conclusion. He had already drawn his sword.
The moment he opened the study door, a flood of assassins surged in.
The room was instantly filled with nothing but the clashing of blades.
Animalistic speed. Sword strokes that ruthlessly targeted only the vitals. The men Samon had sent were no match for Cesare.
In the blink of an eye, the black-clad men collapsed to the floor like puppets with their strings cut.
Then, the sharp sound of clashing metal registered in Medeia's heightened senses.
Looking out the window, she saw new intruders—distinct from Samon's assassins—engaging in combat with them in the distant courtyard of Hojeong. They wore white bands around their arms.
'Who are they? They don't seem to be part of Samon's group.'
With overwhelming skill, they began systematically cutting down Samon's assassins as if hunting prey.
"Tch! Ugh!"
In an instant, Samon's shadows fell like dominos.
Cesare kicked away the last remaining assassin and turned.
"We should hurry, Princess."
His tone was oddly relaxed, belying his words.
The two swiftly descended through corridors and staircases.
They avoided areas with noise and changed direction whenever their path was compromised. Moving silently was something Medeia was confident in as well.
Cesare raised an eyebrow.
The Princess, deftly navigating the mansion's layout to avoid detection, seemed unusually familiar with its geography.
"Help me! Please, spare— Aaagh!"
A distant scream faded away. Medeia clenched her eyes shut.
'You know you can't save them.'
She had long abandoned such trivial sentiments as pity. She neither had the resources nor the capability to rescue others at her own expense.
Yet the desperate screams clung stubbornly to her ears...
"Rumors say the Princess of Valdina doesn't indulge in frivolous outings."
The mercenary suddenly spoke.
Medeia wasn't sure what he meant by that. The guilt gnawing at her ankles seemed to dissipate in the face of his presence.
"Guess the rumors were all lies?"
"...You still stick your nose everywhere, don't you? The fact you haven't been kicked out yet means your leader must value you greatly."
"He's not my master yet."
"Or perhaps you're the leader's master."
At her softly spoken words, Cesare's footsteps halted.
He turned to stare at Medeia. Meeting his questioning gaze, she responded calmly.
"Do you think you're the only one hiding beneath the surface to deceive the world?"
The leader of Facade, too, had revealed himself to the world far too willingly.
Since when did an arms conglomerate as vast as Facade operate so simplistically?
If Gallo was merely a decoy to conceal the true leader, then Facade's real master must be...
As Medeia fixed her gaze on the mercenary, the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Sharp as ever."
It was hard to tell whether he was smiling or barely suppressing a laugh.
"Fine. Since we're both hiding our identities, let's keep this our little secret."
He rubbed his chin.
At that moment, both turned simultaneously to look behind them.
"Ah. We've got company."
He muttered in a tone of mild annoyance, though his humming demeanor made it seem hardly urgent.
Just as they reached the west corridor of the Count's mansion, Cesare suddenly pushed Medeia behind a statue.
'What is he doing—?'
"Shh."
Cesare pressed a straight index finger to his lips.
At that moment, Medeia stiffened. She had noticed the intruders blocking the corridor a beat too late.
They were the same men tied with white cords she'd seen earlier.
'Were they after Facade?'
Medeia's emerald eyes flashed sharply. She quietly retreated into the shadows.
"Welcome, unexpected guests."
Cesare spread his arms leisurely, as if greeting them.
A murderous intent dripped from the assassins—a ruthless determination to eliminate their target at all costs.
A split second of silence. Without a word, deadly blades came flying.
Their swords all aimed at Cesare alone.
Though the assassins' skills far surpassed those of Samon's Shadows from earlier, they were still no match for him.
Graceful sword strokes split the night, slicing through the assassins' bodies one after another.
He slaughtered them mercilessly, like a Magic Beast unleashed from its seal.
Despite the sword's frenzied, blood-drunk swings, his movements were astonishingly refined and elegant.
That dissonance exuded an untouchable madness.
An ordinary young girl might have struggled to keep her composure at such a brutal sight.
But Medeia, who had witnessed countless massacres in her past life, observed them intently instead.
Because their movements gave her an eerie sense of déjà vu.
'Why are they using the long-lost sword techniques of the Kazen Imperial Family?'
Then, Cesare faltered.
His sword arm stiffened. His fingertips had turned blue—a sign of the Curse's seizure.
A momentary lapse.
But even that brief opening was enough for a skilled assassin.
The assassin's gleaming blade thrust toward Cesare's chest—
Thwip! A steel arrow pierced the assassin's throat.
The assassin turned in disbelief toward the arrow's origin.
Thwip! Thwip!
Two more arrows shot toward the remaining assassins, and as they barely dodged—
BOOM! White smoke billowed.
Crumbling ceilings, shattered walls, and thick clouds of dust blanketed the area in pure white. Nothing was visible.
When the dust and smoke finally settled, nothing remained.
"Damn it, they got away! Where'd they go?!" the assassins fumed.
"You saw the First Prince staggering, right? His illness must've flared up. He can't have gone far in that state. Find him!"
The statues lining Count Etienne's corridor varied in type and form.
Among them, behind the statue of Eros in the form of a young boy, lay a secret passage leading outside the mansion.
A path that connected the minister's residence to a secluded street near the Royal Castle.
In her past life, Medeia had fled to Kazen through this very passage with Iason.
While the explosion from the steel arrows obscured their vision, Medeia swiftly supported Cesare and vanished into the passage.
'We have to move.'
As if hearing her whisper, the mercenary moved without question.
They walked through a pitch-black corridor where no light reached.
The only sound was the breathing of the person beside her. With no visibility, her other senses sharpened.
A firm arm. Scorching heat. The occasional low groan and breath brushing against her ear.
In both this life and the last, this was the first time she had been this close to a man other than Iason.
Whether it was his breath constantly grazing her ear or the sweat from supporting his heavy weight, Medeia's face kept growing hotter.
But when she heard Cesare's pained groan, his body stiffening in agony, she pushed aside her thoughts and quickened her pace.
They walked through the passage for a long time.
To evade pursuit, they passed the first and second doors, only stopping at the third. Medeia halted.
Creak. The opened door led straight to the street.
Clusters of shabby houses lined the area, empty at this late hour.
After scanning their surroundings, Medeia hid them in a secluded alley. She set Cesare down and checked his condition.
His fingers, stiff and rigid, were tinged a deep blue.
Cough! He retched, vomiting blood. Dark clots seeped into the cracks of the worn stone pavement.
'Poison?'
The thought flashed through her mind. Medeia rolled up his sleeve.
On his muscular forearm, where dark blue veins bulged, two small puncture marks remained.