The Loophole

Come to think of it, he must have cleared the dungeon by now, right?

The sudden thought of Bennett brought a momentary pause to Violet's stride, followed quickly by a slow, teasing curl of her lips. She was on her way to Whisper's headquarters anyway, so checking up on his latest movements was already high on her agenda.

There had never been a single stretch in her life without a man by her side, but the vast majority were merely passing diversions. Even among those flings that had ended for one reason or another, none had ever sparked such a persistent craving to reel him back in—none quite like Bennett.

How could she even put it into words? He carried a peculiar, elusive charm that defied easy explanation. The cool indifference in his eyes, the heavy shadow of a complicated past stamped into his posture... And above all, her body simply wanted him. Whenever he crossed her mind, an unprompted flutter made her heart beat faster. Was it merely because he was a mercenary? Hardly; she had shared beds with plenty of mercenaries over the years. In the end, it was just something uniquely his own.

Her mood brightening, Violet hummed a light melody under her breath, her footsteps swift as she drew near the vicinity of Whisper's headquarters.

Stationed discreetly around the perimeter were numerous lookouts and scouts. Disguised as rambling drunks, aimless pedestrians, or ordinary locals residing in the neighborhood, their task was to send an immediate alert if any unknown figures approached, and if necessary, serve as the first line of defense to repel intruders. As long as they maintained their usual presence, it meant nothing out of the ordinary was occurring at headquarters.

Violet surveyed them with an easy smile and strolled past the entrance.

Yet the instant she put some distance between herself and the front gates, her expression went rigid.

What is this? Have we been attacked?

Possessing senses far sharper than an ordinary mana practitioner, she realized what anyone below an Elite rank would have surely missed: the sentries, who appeared entirely normal on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the surface, were completely restrained by subtle sorcery. It was an insidious, covert undercurrent of magic.

Alarm bells rang in her mind, and Violet surged into motion, desperate to break away.

"Well, well. Aren't you sharp?"

"Damn it!"

Gritting her teeth, Violet kicked hard against the cobblestones. Bursting through a cloud of dust, she vaulted toward a nearby rooftop, preparing to land lightly upon the shingles—

"Gravity."

The moment her boots grazed the roof, an overwhelming force violently dragged her down.

Crash!

The roof shattered beneath her weight, sending her plummeting straight through the rafters into the dirt floor below. Realizing a mage was orchestrating the assault, Violet channeled her mana to resist the crushing weight and escape, but more incantations overlapped her struggle.

"Gravity!"

"Entangle."

An even heavier pressure bore down from above, while binding tendrils of spellcraft surged from every direction, coiling tightly around her limbs. Frozen in a half-risen crouch, she strained with enough force to grind her molars together, yet could only manage a faint, futile tremor.

"Haaah!"

Fwoom!

She detonated her mana in an outward burst, briefly nullifying the binding spells. But as she lunged to flee, her eyes widened in horror. Blades of razor-sharp aura were hurtling toward her from all angles.

Boom! Crash!

An ambush by fellow Elites. She deflected the initial slash, but failed to parry the two that followed. Thrown violently through the air, she burst clean through the crumbling wall of an abandoned house and smashed headlong into an exterior brick fence.

The wall groaned and cracked, teetering on the verge of total collapse. Violet scrambled to snatch up her dropped sword and snapped her head up.

Before she knew it, an entire cordon of figures had encircled her. Though they wore ordinary street clothes, there was no hiding what they truly were: knights. Knights carried an unmistakable, rigid bearing forged through martial discipline—and having once been a knight herself, Violet recognized it in an instant.

"Violet, executive of Whisper, I presume?"

"Violet?! Who the hell is Violet?! My name is Diana! Who are you bastards to attack a random passerby?!"

"Oh?"

The burly man who appeared to be their commander pulled out a document and inspected it. Violet's face drained of color; the sheet in his hand was an internal ledger belonging to Whisper.

Is there an insider feeding them information? Or has headquarters already been completely overrun?

"It's her, all right. Violet." The commander's expression turned frigid as he gave the order. "A slippery little bitch. Break her until she's obedient."

Gales of raw, condensed energy erupted around her one after another. As an Elite herself, Violet felt the crushing truth with horrifying clarity: not a single person surrounding her was weaker than she was. Every last one of them was either her equal or an expert who stood a tier above her.

Violet bared her teeth and swung her blade in desperation, but—

"Kuh!"

Her resistance was shattered in a heartbeat. Though she was a former knight, her years living comfortably as an underworld broker within Whisper had blunted her combat edge; she was no match for active, battle-hardened knights who lived on the front lines. Combined with the overwhelming numerical disadvantage, she stood no chance.

Forced roughly onto her knees, cold steel was pressed against her throat. Her weapon already lay snapped in two upon the stones.

"What should we do, sir? Dispose of her immediately?"

"No." The subordinate looked eager to sever her neck, but the commander waved him off. He was a powerfully built warrior with features that seemed both cunning ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and formidable. "As of right now, she's the only surviving executive. It won't do to kill her just yet."

What? I'm the only surviving executive?!

The internal documents in his grasp, the casual certainty in his voice... Everything pointed to a single, devastating reality: Whisper had been utterly annihilated. Eradicated by these very men.

And the reason she had been spared was painfully obvious. As an executive holding the organization's deepest secrets, she had information they wanted.

"Hey."

"..."

"Hey!"

Smack!

Her head snapped to the side, cheek burning and swelling from the vicious backhand. Slowly, she turned her eyes toward the man looming over her. A pair of cruel, predatory eyes glared down into hers.

"Keep your head together. You'd better hold onto your wits if you want any chance of walking away from this alive."

"A way... out?"

"That's right, a way out. The rest of your colleagues are dead in the dirt, but that doesn't mean you have to join them, does it?" The commander's gaze traced insolently down her frame, lingering lewdly over the swell of her chest. "Not when you've got such a pretty face and a body like that. Wouldn't it be a terrible waste to drop dead before you've even had the chance to enjoy it?"

"..."

Violet struggled to maintain a blank, cooperative facade, but she couldn't stop the nervous swallow in her dry throat.

"We only want one thing. The bastard who blew up our facility—who was it?"

The realization struck her like a thunderbolt, and Violet's eyes flashed wide. "You... you're from the Drake Family?!"

"Took you long enough to figure it out. Then again, an outfit like Whisper tends to make enemies everywhere."

"B-but how..."

"How did we trace it back to you? You buried your tracks well enough. But right after our facility went up in smoke, a few fools tried muscling into the exact same line of business. We took them apart, and lo and behold, Whisper's name fell right out of their mouths."

Our client was an established noble house, and they crushed them anyway?

Yet even as the shock hit her, Violet understood. If their opponent was the Drake Family, they were more than capable of such brazen violence. They were monsters who held their own profit and supremacy above all else. Years ago, the Drake Family might have shown a shred of restraint toward other noble houses depending on their titles and standing, but by now, even that veneer had vanished. The Dungeon City had grown exponentially, and with it, the Drake Family's absolute dominion had expanded. Though they had originally crossed over to oversee the city's development on behalf of their home kingdom, their power had swollen to the point where they practically ruled their homeland from afar.

Crack!

Another sharp slap tore across her cheek, jolting Violet out of her thoughts.

"Stop daydreaming and answer me. Who blew up the facility?"

"I can't tell you."

"...What?" The commander's grip tightened on his hilt, his blade ready to cleave through her windpipe.

Violet blurted out in sheer desperation, "We signed a magical contract!"

"Hah."

"Wait! Let me reach into my coat and pull it out!"

The commander gave a gruff nod, watching like a hawk as she slowly reached inside her collar and withdrew a rolled piece of parchment. Skimming the magical terms, a mocking sneer spread across his face.

"Clever bastard, wasn't he? Looking at this, seems like you're completely useless to us after all."

"No! There's a way!"

"What way?"

"There's a loophole."

The commander narrowed his eyes. "A loophole?"

"I'll tell you, but first..." Violet carefully retrieved another blank parchment from her sleeve. "Sign a contract with me first. Swear in the name of the Drake Family that you will not hunt me down. Include terms stating that you will never pursue, track, or seek retribution against me by any means whatsoever."

"...Ha! Hahaha!"

The commander broke into booming laughter. He thrust his hand out toward an aide, who hurriedly handed him an enchanted quill. Scribbling his signature with a flourish, he tossed the paper back to her.

"There. Satisfied?"

After verifying the terms, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Violet pressed her thumb and signed her name, causing the distinctive brilliance of a magical covenant to pulse and settle over the parchment. Anyone who violated its terms would now suffer a fatal backlash.

"All right, I gave you what you wanted, so start talking," the commander barked. "If this turns out to be useless bullshit, you're dead where you kneel."

"You just have to lure him out."

The contract had clearly prohibited disclosing his identity after the assignment concluded, but nowhere did it forbid setting up a meeting. If the job had still been active, orchestrating an ambush would have registered as an intent to harm; but now that the operation was over, arranging a simple rendezvous violated nothing. If she never revealed his identity to the ambushers, how could the contract trigger? She was merely asking to meet.

"Oh? Is that how it works? You really do have a nasty little brain in that skull, don't you?"

"..."

"Once we confirm he's on his way, we'll let you walk. Sit tight."

"Are all preparations complete?"

— Yes, Lord Carlson. Once he steps foot inside, there will be no escaping. All strike teams are in position.

Carlson, listening to the report crackle through an enchanted communication device developed exclusively by the Drake Family, gave a curt nod.

"What about the bait?"

— We procured an assassin with a physical frame identical to Violet's, dressed her in the woman's clothes, and dyed her hair purple. Her face is somewhat different, so we've seated her facing away from the windows so only her back is visible.

"Will that really be enough? This is the bastard who dismantled the guard we stationed at the facility. That means he's an Elite with spatial perception. He'll certainly recognize Violet's presence."

— The mages have already taken measures against that, sir.

Carlson scowled, but ultimately nodded. While he harbored doubts, the mages were the family's finest elites. Since they had been briefed on the target's capabilities, they surely had a viable countermeasure in place.

"Double-check with them just in case. Ensure there are no gaps."

— Understood, sir.

While awaiting confirmation, Carlson scanned the surrounding street.

The designated location Violet had arranged to draw him in was in the middle of a bustling avenue—specifically, at one of the newly emerging establishments known as a "café." It was a cultural oddity imported from the dungeon ruins, serving tea, baked sweets, and occasionally otherworldly delicacies. A neutral ground people visited when a tavern was too rowdy and an inn was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠too secluded. Carlson could never comprehend the appeal, but it enjoyed immense popularity among scavengers and merchants alike.

The objective was straightforward: display the decoy through the window to lull the target into a false sense of security. The moment he spotted her signature purple hair and stepped through the doors with his guard down, the mages lying in wait nearby would raise an impenetrable barrier. Then, the assault squad lurking outside would storm in and overpower him in seconds.

— Lord Carlson, we re-verified. The mage team leader gave his absolute word. Even an Elite will have no choice but to take the bait.

"Good. Everyone, assume your positions."

From an upper floor of an adjacent building, Carlson waited silently. How much time passed?

— Target approaching. A lone man.

"Where?!"

— Southwest approach. Hat pulled low over his eyes. An escort is walking with him.

Carlson and his adjutants raised their spyglasses, zeroing in on the southwest corridor. Spotting him was child's play; every single person in this quadrant belonged to the Drake Family or had been hired by them. There was only one stranger in sight.

"...Can anyone get a look at his face?"

"Negative, sir. He's wearing a mask underneath."

Reports crackled from scouts hidden on nearby rooftops:

— Unable to observe his facial features. Our apologies, sir.

Carlson clicked his tongue in irritation. Had they caught his profile, they could have drafted a portrait and immediately unearthed his background.

"Hold your fire. All that matters is that he walks inside."

Fortunately, the target seemed completely oblivious to the trap. He cast a brief, passing glance toward the café window, appeared to notice the faux-Violet seated inside, and resumed walking toward the entrance.

He was closing the distance step by step.

Carlson clenched his fist, already savoring the taste of victory—when his eyes abruptly bulged.

With effortless, terrifying fluidity, the approaching man pivoted on his heel, aiming a weapon directly toward their hidden vantage point.

Thump!

An offensive spell unleashed from a loaded enchanted bolt tore through the distance, detonating squarely against Carlson's observation post.

BOOOOOOM!