Chapter 208: A Pitch-Black Night (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 208: A Pitch-Black Night (4)
The emergency alarm blared relentlessly.
Roman Dmitry sat casually on the edge of the desk, flipping through Brakan's documents as he spoke.
"If Écorché fails an assassination and is wiped out as a consequence, how do you think the assassin world will react?"
The intent behind the question was impossible to fathom.
Brakan warily studied Roman Dmitry's expression.
Why had the emergency bell been rung? Why wasn't he running away? From start to finish, Brakan couldn't understand a single thing.
Roman Dmitry is as bellicose as the rumors say. Normally, no one reacts this extremely just because of an assassination attempt, but this madman crossed the border of the Kronos Empire for the sole purpose of revenge. Judging by his question just now, his target must be Écorché. If so, there is still a chance to turn things around.
He racked his brain, trying to estimate the enemy's numbers.
Although there was a chance that a massive force had gathered outside the office, that possibility was actually extremely low. The reason lay in a report he had received just yesterday. Brakan had commissioned an information guild to assess Dmitry's situation, and the details were clear:
Roman Dmitry's whereabouts: unknown.
However, the subordinates who faithfully followed him—Chris, Kevin, Henderson, and the others—were all still in Dmitry. There were no reports of his publicly known forces moving separately. In other words, it was highly likely that Roman Dmitry was operating alone. If he assumed Roman had made this solitary strike to prevent Écorché from catching wind of the situation and fleeing, the pieces fell perfectly into place.
It was reckless.
It was far from a normal choice.
But considering Roman Dmitry's past actions, it was a highly plausible hypothesis.
Brakan finally spoke.
"...If Écorché is destroyed, the assassin world will be turned upside down. Excluding the two greatest assassin guilds, Black Castle and White Moon, Écorché is indisputably the best. Which means, you are in no position to be acting so relaxed."
He shifted his demeanor.
Deliberately puffing himself up, he needled Roman's pride, trying to provoke his competitive spirit.
"Just as you said, the emergency bell is a signal to summon my subordinates. There are dozens of assassins outside. Do you really think you can handle them all alone? Roman Dmitry, I admit you are strong. But the longer you linger here, the more not just assassins, but Kronos's troops will swarm this place."
It was a blatant ploy to buy time.
Those with a fierce competitive spirit tended to try and prove themselves rather than flee when faced with such provocations. If Roman took the bait, everything would go according to plan. The Écorché guild members bursting into the office would surely overwhelm him with sheer numbers.
However...
"The remaining force at Écorché's headquarters is about thirty men. Excluding those out on missions, that is the entirety of the strength you can mobilize right now. Brakan, I truly hope that isn't all you have."
In that instant, a chill ran down Brakan's spine.
He couldn't hide the tremor in his eyes. Roman already knew Écorché's exact strength.
Thud-thud-thud.
Rapid footsteps echoed from down the hall.
As if he had been waiting for this exact moment, Roman Dmitry stood up, his expression thoroughly indifferent.
* * *
The guild members burst through the doors.
The first thing they witnessed was Roman Dmitry standing over their bleeding leader, Brakan, who was slumped on the floor.
"Master!"
"Attack!"
No explanation was needed.
The assassins lunged forward in unison.
They threw daggers from all directions to force him onto the defensive, then converged on Roman Dmitry simultaneously. It was a perfectly coordinated joint attack. One aimed for his head, one for his right, one for his left, and another swept low for his legs. Even the assassins arriving late hurled daggers, seizing the narrow openings created by their rushing comrades.
It was a lethal web of steel.
Standing with one foot in the grave, Roman Dmitry swung his sword.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Every single dagger was deflected.
In the same fluid motion, he seized a rushing assassin by the head, dragged him forward, and slammed his face into the wall.
Crunch.
A sickening sound echoed through the room.
The corpse slumped, leaving a thick streak of crimson down the wall like a brush soaked in red paint. Roman Dmitry twisted his body, slipping effortlessly through the barrage of incoming attacks. The moment his eyes met an opponent's, a single flash of his blade severed the man's neck. He closed the distance instantly, shattering another assassin's face with a devastating punch.
Smash!
The human skull is a resilient thing.
But against Roman Dmitry's monstrous strength, durability meant absolutely nothing.
The cramped office devolved into a chaotic melee. Several of the assassins were Aura users, specialists in close-quarters combat.
Rumble!
Aura erupted violently.
Aura-wielding assassins charged from the front, while several others ran along the walls, targeting his blind spots from both sides. Daggers rained down relentlessly, leaving no room to breathe. Normally, this was a moment where a fighter would be forced to allow a wound or two, but Roman Dmitry's presence remained unshaken even in the heart of this raging storm.
Daggers flew in from three directions.
He dodged them by a hairsbreadth.
The assassin who thrust his sword, anticipating Roman Dmitry's evasion, had his head sent flying before he could even execute his intent. The fate of the assassins eagerly rushing in from the flanks was no different. Roman Dmitry dragged one man's body to use as a meat shield against the daggers, then shattered another's face with a brutal kick.
Blood splattered everywhere.
The blood of the assassins dyed the room red, staining the walls a gruesome crimson.
One by one, the corpses piled up.
The assassins, who had been brimming with confidence at first, realized at some point that things were going terribly wrong.
Something was fundamentally amiss.
Setting aside the sheer absurdity of Roman Dmitry's strength, he had not manifested his Aura even once from start to finish. Realizing that he was slaughtering this many elite assassins purely with physical strength, primitive terror began to grip their hearts. But in the world of assassination, there was no retreat. Those who lived with death buried in their hearts knew that a single step back would lead to irreversible consequences.
In the end...
Slash—
Even the last assassin's head was severed.
A terrified face flew into the air, and the headless torso collapsed weakly to its knees.
Five minutes.
That was all the time it took for the pride of Écorché's assassins to be plunged into the abyss of death.
* * *
Brakan was speechless.
It was utterly shocking.
He had thought of trying to launch a sneak attack with his one remaining arm during the chaos, but he hadn't dared to move in the face of Roman Dmitry's overwhelming might. His head spun. Even though Roman hadn't used Aura, it was hard to even track how he was taking down his opponents.
One thing was certain: whenever blood sprayed, an assassin met their end without fail.
Step, step.
Roman Dmitry paid no attention to Brakan.
Flicking the blood off his sword, he walked right past the guild master toward the safe built into the wall behind him.
And then,
Slash.
He sliced it open in a single stroke.
Écorché's safe was not only forged from heavy steel, but it was also reinforced with mages' strengthening magic, making it theoretically indestructible by physical force. Yet, it was cleaved open with anticlimactic ease. As the steel fell away, the contents stored inside were revealed. Roman Dmitry pulled out the documents and began to read.
Écorché is an assassin group whose primary client is the Kronos Empire. Aside from the attempt on my life, I can deduce Kronos's true intentions based on who their other targets are.
Flip.
He turned the pages.
Passing over insignificant names, a specific piece of information caught his eye.
[First-Class Assassination: Calderon Drake]
[First-Class Assassination: Count Rondon]
These two individuals.
They were names Roman Dmitry knew very well.
Calderon Drake was the eldest son of the Drake family, and his father, Marquis Drake, was a key figure in the Umberto Kingdom. He was the head of the military. In a nation shaken by continuous wars, the Marquis was an extremely upright man who insisted to the bitter end that there would be no compromise with Kronos.
People often said: the moment Marquis Drake fell on the battlefield, the Umberto Kingdom would plunge into utter chaos.
But what if Marquis Drake's son were to die?
Even now, factions advocating for compromise with Kronos were running rampant. Marquis Drake would surely be convinced it was the work of internal traitors. It was a remarkably simple way to bring down the Umberto Kingdom. Without even having to deal with Marquis Drake, the true holder of power, the Kronos Empire could collapse the nation from within with barely any effort.
And then there was Count Rondon.
A tycoon of Redford. Contrary to his notorious reputation as a miser, he was a silent hero who aided his country from the shadows.
The massive debt incurred by the king—Count Rondon had been busily running around to resolve it. Knowing that once friction with the Golden Bank began, there would be no turning back, he poured out his own vast fortune to extinguish the financial fires spreading across the nation. The wealth he had already sacrificed amounted to an astronomical sum. If he were to fall, Redford, much like Umberto, would be thrown into ruinous chaos.
The names of these two individuals.
That alone made Kronos's intentions crystal clear.
They weren't trying to defeat their enemies through direct warfare; instead, they were instigating internal strife first. Slowly. If they gnawed away at the foundations from the inside, even if the entire Kingdom Alliance joined forces, there would be no way to block Kronos's eventual assault.
Whoosh.
He burned the documents to ash with the True Fire of Samadhi.
Then, a trembling voice spoke up.
"...Is there any way for me to survive?"
It was Brakan.
Not a trace of hostility remained in his eyes. Having completely accepted his defeat, his attitude was incredibly polite, almost begging. Roman Dmitry looked down at him.
"No."
With those final words,
Slash.
Roman Dmitry took off his head.
* * *
At that same time, Kort ran with desperate urgency.
His body was in absolute ruins after a week of torture, and excruciating pain racked his mind with every step he took. But he couldn't stop. Knowing that Écorché's headquarters would be in grave danger if things remained as they were, now was not the time to worry about his own flesh.
He gritted his teeth.
He ran and ran.
The cold dawn air stung his festering wounds, but Kort gradually forgot the pain, driven by a sheer, burning desire.
Grit.
Roman Dmitry. I will definitely have my revenge.
Living as an assassin, he might forget a favor, but he never forgot a grudge.
Leaving him alive... was a massive mistake.
Kort arrived not in the Kronos Empire, but at a certain territory.
"What on earth happened to you?!"
It was the Cairo branch of the assassin guild, Dante.
A group led by the master assassin Dante, they maintained a friendly, cooperative relationship with Écorché. Depending on the situation, they would join forces or provide mutual assistance, such as offering safe houses in times of extreme danger.
Dante's eyes widened in shock.
Kort was a monster even Dante couldn't easily match, yet his current state was utterly wretched.
"There's no time to explain. Just bring me a magic communicator! Bring it now!"
From Dmitry to Kronos.
Time was running out.
Realizing he couldn't resolve the situation on foot, Kort planned to convey the urgent warning using a magic communicator. It was the only viable decision.
They quickly brought out a high-grade communicator equipped with a video screen, and he immediately tried to connect to Écorché's headquarters.
"It's not connecting."
"Damn it!"
The situation was ominous.
If Écorché wasn't answering, his next best option was the client.
[Judging by your state, it seems you failed the mission.]
Across the screen, the cold face of the client, Baron Charlton, appeared.
Kort spoke in a frantic, breathless voice.
"Roman Dmitry anticipated our plan and laid a trap! The Écorché assassins who attacked Dmitry have been completely wiped out, and Roman Dmitry has now crossed the border of the Kronos Empire to attack Écorché's headquarters. Baron Charlton, this is our chance! If you mobilize Kronos's troops and send them to Écorché's headquarters right now, you can eliminate Roman Dmitry!"
He screamed desperately.
Yet, despite Kort's words, shouted with veins bulging in his neck, Baron Charlton's expression barely changed.
[Is that all?]
In that instant, Kort's expression froze.
An inexplicable sense of dread washed over him. A single, horrifying possibility flashed through his mind.
"...Could it be?"
The Kronos Empire.
From the very beginning, they had never expected Écorché to succeed.