Assassination (2)
Boatmer's steward. Assassinating Gutrurt was beneficial in two ways.
First, it would shake Viscount Boatmer. Killing Gutrurt, who was conspiring with the marquis, could be interpreted as a sign that their plans were under close scrutiny. Following the failed spirit rampage, the prior steward Emil, and now Gutrurt—Viscount Boatmer would have no choice but to suspect leaks and betrayals. He'd lose trust in the marquis and hesitate to act rashly.
Second, it would force the marquis to rein himself in. Isaac had long known the marquis harbored his own ambitions. In fact, that very trait made him useful. If he weren't driven by self-interest, Isaac could never have swayed him to convince the Second Prince. But once Goethe secured its autonomy, there'd be no room for the marquis to run wild. The current Goethe house was already stretched thin dealing with its collateral branches.
If he had to add a third reason, it was revenge for daring to try unleashing a spirit king within Goethe Manor.
Thanks to the Wolf King's legacy, Isaac had eavesdropped on Gutrurt and the marquis's conversation from afar.
Crunch!
He'd heard all the information he needed. Isaac picked up a small pebble and cast Phase Change on it.
For a perfect assassination, frost magic was ideal—it would melt away the moment it pierced the target. But that wasn't necessary now. What he needed was precision and speed: piercing the target's throat from long range.
'About fifty paces, maybe.'
Sniping with Phase Change from this distance was child's play for Isaac. So easy it almost felt wrong to kill like this.
Thwip—
The pebble, layered with stacked Phase Change spells, pierced the rain, the wind, and the glass window like they were nothing, striking Gutrurt's throat dead-on.
"Guards! Guards!"
Hearing the marquis's voice laced with fury and panic, Isaac bolted across the rooftops.
Pursuers latched on. Two of them. One was agile, chasing him across the roofs. The other tracked the mana traces Isaac had left in the streets below. They were Gutrurt's escorts.
Isaac gauged their levels.
'One's just a mercenary. The other's a mage with two circles.'
With his heightened mana senses, Isaac assessed their strength. Nothing impressive. But handling both at once would be tricky.
He lured them into a deserted area. Backed against a dead-end alley, he paused briefly—and moments later, the two blocked his escape.
Both wore hoods pulled low, but their exposed lower faces bore the scars of hard lives: deep gashes from old wounds. Raindrops clung to their chins, dripping steadily.
"Who sent you?"
The mercenary drew his sword, his voice gravelly.
"Tell you, and you'll let me go?"
Isaac rested a hand on his waist. Unfortunately, he hadn't brought a sword. He'd never expected escorts this skilled.
"Like hell."
"Then I won't."
The instant Isaac finished speaking, the mercenary charged. At the same time, the mage drew throwing knives from his cloak.
Isaac dodged the mercenary's sword strike and the knives that followed. Solid teamwork—the frontliner led with brute force while the backliner supported with magic. Their coordination was seamless, never getting in each other's way. Both were seasoned fighters.
Clang!
Isaac improvised an ice dagger to parry.
"...!"
The mage's eyes widened. Conjuring a blade from frost magic on the fly was no easy feat even in calm conditions.
Isaac's ice dagger chipped against the mercenary's swing but reformed instantly. How could he maintain focus to repair it mid-frenzy? It defied common sense.
To the mercenary, Isaac seemed unnatural too. His movements weren't polished. He stumbled dodging the sword or lost balance batting away a Phase Change-enhanced knife. Yet he always powered through with raw strength and reflexes.
A boy who looked barely thirteen was outmatching him in power and speed. Every clash pushed the mercenary back half a step. Without the mage's knife support, he'd have lost his head ages ago—he couldn't block Isaac's combos alone.
"Use it!"
The mage shouted.
"Fuck."
The mercenary cursed. It wasn't meant for a place like this. This magitech tool couldn't be exposed yet.
But at this rate, they'd both fall to the brat.
A blue mana glow rippled along the mercenary's sword.
'Aura? No way.'
Isaac eyed him puzzled. Only faint traces of mana flowed in the man's body. Enough for a knight's Aura? Impossible.
But the sword-glow was unmistakably Aura—basic and weak, but real.
Isaac's expression twisted.
'They already have this?'
Aura couldn't be blocked by an ice dagger. Isaac dodged as the blade sheared off chunks repeatedly. Luckily, wielding Aura didn't boost the mercenary's skill. He wasn't enlightened or a natural user. It stemmed from his weapon—a Magic Sword.
Forged through magitech. A magic stone embedded in the pommel, inscribed with runes.
'Magic Sword.'
The dawn of magitech that would one day upend class structures and warfare.
Sizzle—
Isaac's mana clashed with the sword's, sparking blue flames. To an outsider, it might look like Aura users dueling. But skill-wise, Isaac held the edge. The mercenary's clumsy strikes seemed sluggish, thanks to the Wolf King's senses.
The real issue was the mage.
Clack, clink.
Out of knives, the mage hurled pebbles, nails, trash, filth—anything at hand. Isaac spread thin ice crystals into a shield. It demanded massive focus.
Evading an Aura-infused blade was bad enough; projectiles made it chaos. Despite their middling skill, the pursuers' experience left no openings.
They were struggling too. Where had this monster come from? A kid fresh into adulthood dodging Aura blades effortlessly and dismantling a 2nd Class mage's support.
The mercenary slowed, breaths ragged. He'd pushed relentlessly to end it quick, fearing escape. Isaac, unshaken, exploited every gap, slicing the mercenary's arm through his leather gauntlet.
The mage grew anxious. If the frontliner fell, he'd be next.
Time for a change-up.
"...!"
As Isaac backpedaled from a sword swing, the ground cratered. Earth magic. His foot sank into the instant mire.
In that split second, he couldn't sidestep the incoming blade. Forced into clashes, Isaac twisted his dagger to deflect, minimizing shock as it shattered on contact. Horizontal, vertical, diagonal—the mercenary pressed relentlessly, squeezing out his last breath. Miss this, and the tide would turn against them.
Yet Isaac, balance shattered, barely evaded or parried the Magic Sword.
'This'll drag on forever.'
Like with Carlson or Bessimer, drawing on the Wolf King's memories, Isaac repelled the Aura blade with ease. The dagger's shortness was the pity—with the long sword keeping distance and Aura's reach, it couldn't close in. No spare focus for projectile Phase Change.
Screee—
Time wasn't on his side. Whistles echoed nearby. Guards incoming.
That's what they wanted. If his identity leaked, real trouble.
'Gotta take a scratch.'
Isaac swung his ice dagger full-force into the mercenary's attack.
Crack!
It shattered, but the Wolf King's strength rebounded the mercenary half a step. Stunned that the kid still packed such power—and drained, breathless—he panicked. Closing in for the kill, he thrust at Isaac's throat.
Exactly as Isaac planned.
"No!"
The mage saw through it, but too late.
Isaac tilted his head past the blade and gripped the flat with bare hands. Not touching the edge—Phase Change bound it in midair.
Before the mercenary reacted, Isaac yanked.
"Gah—!"
Unprepared to release, the man flew forward, ceding distance. Isaac's new ice dagger smashed his forehead dead-center.
Splorch!
Skull caving in.
"Sh... "
The mage sensed doom and chanted anew, but Isaac was faster.
Thwip—
A long gash across the mage's throat. The arcing ice dagger nearly severed it.
All in a blink.
"Soaked."
Isaac muttered, pulling his foot from the muck. The Phase Change grip had held, but Aura nicked his palm. Blood welled, soon washed by rain.
"Already crafting tools like this."
Isaac pried the Magic Sword from the mercenary's hand.
Hummm—
A trickle of mana lit the runes, blue light shimmering along the blade.
Isaac pocketed it and slipped from the alley.
Hendelbruk's guards found only two corpses.
Inn at a wide crossroads: one carriage waited. Hans, on the driver's seat, scanned boredly.
"Said it'd be quick. Been ages."
He shook rain from his hair, eyeing the unrelenting downpour. Muddy roads made long trips hell even by carriage—horses tired fast. After two straight days to Hendelbruk, where now?
Isaac had dumped his bags at the inn, said he had business, and vanished. Rain poured; he didn't return. Chilled to the bone, Hans suffered.
Hard to leave without missing each other.
"Aigoo, seriously..."
Exasperated, as Hans rose to search, a familiar silhouette appeared in the distance.
Drenched Isaac, sword in hand.
"...What happened to make you look like that?"
"Later. Let's go."
Isaac boarded.
"Where to?"
"Nearby monastery."
The carriage rolled off.