The Failed Assassination
Everyone headed to the rooms assigned for their rest. Only Loki and Kankun remained in the banquet hall.
Loki sipped his drink while glancing at Kankun. She had buried her head on the table, groaning in misery. Amused by the sight, Loki curled up the corners of his mouth.
"Tired?"
"...Don't even ask. I'm exhausted."
Kankun waved a hand with a strained laugh.
"And yet you kept drinking whatever they poured."
"Well... I got caught up in the mood... plus, I'm pretty confident with alcohol..."
Kankun swept her hair behind her ear and looked up at Loki. Though she managed a smile, her face was pale.
"Use a purification potion if you need it."
"I'm still fine...—"
Kankun started to speak but clamped her mouth shut. She glanced at Loki, then pulled out a purification potion and took a sip.
Loki burst into laughter.
"You're hilarious."
"Don't laugh. I really suffered."
Kankun shot him a dissatisfied glare.
"Is that so? Still, I didn't expect such lavish hospitality."
"The uncles seemed pretty satisfied, thanks to it?"
She was referring to the Berserk Warriors, no doubt.
"By the way... what did you think of traveling the continent?"
"It was interesting."
Curious, perhaps? There hadn't been any major incidents, really. Just encounters with intriguing people and a growing fascination with the Worm Pest disease.
"That... woman you're looking for. What's your relationship with her?"
Loki stroked his chin as Kankun asked cautiously, eyes darting around.
"An old colleague."
"Lovers?"
"Nah, not that. Close senior and junior, maybe?"
"I see."
Loki lifted his glass again as Kankun smiled. The bitter, unique tang stimulating his tongue made it fine liquor indeed.
"Is it the food?"
Loki's gaze drifted to the ceiling.
"Hungry rats are scurrying about."
Beyond the ceiling, dozens of grotesque figures who had been lying in wait drew their daggers.
"Urgh... I swear, never drinking again!"
"...Kudan Captain. Didn't you say the same last time?"
The Berserk Warriors supported Kudan as they made their way to their assigned rooms. Not just Kudan—even the Berserk Warriors were drunk, stumbling and struggling to keep their balance.
Upon reaching the room, they tossed Kudan into a corner of the bed before heading to their own to collapse from exhaustion.
"Oops!"
"What?"
"We... left our gear behind."
The Berserk Warriors exchanged glances and chuckled.
"Right! Leaving behind gear more precious than our lives! Are you sane? Idiot!"
"Don't talk like you're innocent. You left yours too!"
"What now?"
"We can grab it tomorrow."
"Hmm... but still."
One of the Berserk Warriors pointed to a wardrobe.
"Catching cockroaches hiding in there barehanded? Kinda gross."
In that instant, the wardrobe door burst open. Black-clad figures flashed eyes full of killing intent. At the same time, gleaming blades shot toward the Berserk Warrior's brow with ferocious speed.
But then, the assassin's wrist was seized.
"...!"
The assassin couldn't believe his eyes. It was his perfect strike. Defending against such an ambush was nearly impossible—yet the Nod had blocked it effortlessly.
"...Gahhh!"
Not only that, but groans echoed from elsewhere as their comrades' ambushes also fizzled out.
Other assassins shattered the window and charged in, but the Berserk Warriors casually dodged the swinging daggers and subdued them. Instead, the assassins were the ones getting crushed—wrists snapped, faces beaten to a bloody pulp.
What the...?!
The assassin struggled desperately to free his hand, but the iron grip wouldn't budge.
"Who the hell are you? Sure, I'm charming, but charging like this? Bad form."
The assassin scowled at the Berserk Warrior's words. He grabbed a hook from his belt with his free hand to sever the warrior's grip—but before he could, his face was smashed.
"Whoa! Close call. Nearly lost a hand there."
"Gahhh...!"
The assassin clutched his face, groaning. Assassins trained for capture and torture, but nothing prepared them for a single blow caving in their nasal bone and frontal skull. The agony was excruciating.
F-Failure? Then...!
Staggering, the assassin raised his dagger toward his own heart—but it was too late.
"Whoa there, punk! Did I dump you or something? No matter how disappointed, you can't just throw away that precious life!"
The Berserk Warrior stomped his wrist, crushing it with a crunch. The assassin writhed silently, sweat beading as his bloodshot eyes turned sideways. Bone protruded through torn flesh—his arm was minced meat. Amputation was the only option now.
The assassin glanced at his comrades.
Kill the leader!
The unsubdued assassins faced off against the Berserk Warriors, eyes on a bed.
"Urgh... Wh-What's going on?"
Conveniently, their apparent leader—a man clutching his head—stirred awake.
Eliminate the one in front! The marquis will handle the rest if we fail!
The assassins charged Kudan in unison. Two leading ones leaped, daggers aimed at his throat...
"...In the gods' name! They're insane!"
"Picking Kudan Captain of all people...?"
Before the Berserk Warriors' pitying words finished, massive hands clamped the two assassins' heads.
And...
Splat!
Like bursting watermelons, blood sprayed everywhere, leaving only pulped remnants between Kudan's fingers.
The remaining assassins faltered, retreating. Faces pale, eyes bloodshot, Kudan's steel-muscled arms—smeared in gore—throbbed with bulging veins.
"What... the...? Urp... My stomach..."
Kudan covered his mouth. Even trained assassins couldn't help but feel terror at the sight.
He's... drinking the blood and brains?!
It looked downright demonic.
"...Kudan Captain's sweet on the daily."
"But drunk? Terrifying."
The Berserk Warriors clicked their tongues.
"So... what now?"
"We should kill 'em, but... capture instead?"
The Berserk Warriors eyed the assassins with gleaming stares.
"Then..."
"Let's hunt!"
Madness staining their faces, the Berserk Warriors glared at their prey like predators.
Kankun gripped her sword tightly. Her eyes sharpened as she swung it toward the ceiling.
A flash cleaved the ceiling in two, collapsing it. Thick blood mixed with dust and debris rained down amid the rubble.
Black-clad assassins dropped through the wreckage, while over a dozen more kicked open the banquet hall doors.
"Quite the elaborate setup. I wonder where these fine folks hail from?"
Loki swirled his glass.
"Sent by Prince Ash?"
"......"
"Not that they'd answer. Anyway."
Loki turned to Kankun with a curt command.
"They seem skilled enough. Capture them all alive—no exceptions, not a single one escapes."
"...You're joking, right?"
Kankun's tone was stiff. There were about thirty visible already. If they scattered, subduing every last one wouldn't be easy.
"Oh! Assassins might try suicide too. No permission for purification or healing potions."
"...Even blocking self-harm... You're serious."
Kankun sighed, gripping Brurtgang and glaring at the assassins.
The dark room lit up. The two assassins who had tried to kill Salat stabbed each other instead.
"Gaaaaahhh!!"
Their eyes glazed over. Under Salat's Divine Gift, [Charm], they had been commanded to kill one another.
Salat bluffed at the sight.
"H-Human scum daring to kill me? Hilarious!"
Her words were bold, but her body trembled. Any delay, and she might have been the one dead.
Aum reached for the banquet hall door. It splintered as a figure slammed into the wall.
"...?"
Aum eyed the black-clad intruders, then peeked inside.
What... is this?
Black assassins littered the floor. Some sprawled on tables, others pinned headfirst into the ceiling, motionless. Some lay tangled with comrades, unconscious.
"It's... over."
"Good work."
Kankun slumped, panting heavily. Sweat poured off her—she looked drained.
"You can handle hundreds of Wights, yet you struggle against mere humans?"
More teasing than scolding. Kankun wiped sweat with her sleeve, grumbling.
"Not a joke. Even with purification potion, bloated on booze, capturing without a single escape... and blocking suicides? Hard."
"But you did it."
"......"
"Think of it as training."
"Spare me this kind."
Aum tilted his head at their exchange, scanning the strewn assassins.
"Who are these?"
Aum Linia, chiming in late.
"Assassins...?"
Aum Linia stared in surprise at the captured ones. Some had tried poison or biting tongues, but they'd been stopped. Including those subdued by the Berserk Warriors, there were around a hundred.
To launch such a massive hit right after the banquet...
I expected it, but not this preemptive.
Loki stroked his chin. But this was an opportunity. Sending assassins? That crossed into justification territory. They could declare war on Ronia outright now.
Assuming the assassins mentioned eastern Ronia, of course.
"Not talking?"
Kudan scratched his head, eyeing them. They'd tried every torture to pry mouths open—no luck. Just twisted sneers and bloodshot glares.
"They're... used to pain."
Aum glanced at Loki at Kudan's words.
"With potion approval... we could amp it up. Sever limbs, heal, repeat."
The assassins' eyes wavered. Trained for pain, yes—but not repeated amputation.
They looked anxiously at Loki. The crow-masked man tilted his head down at the kneeling ones.
Torture, huh.
"I have no hobby for torture."
Relief washed over the assassins inwardly. The Berserk Warriors lowered their tools with visible disappointment.
"So..."
Loki bent at the waist, meeting their eyes.
"Tell us what you know. Even scraps of info are fine."
His mere questioning drew smug curls on their lips. He hated harming others—even enemies aiming for his life.
Fool.
To the assassins, Loki was the weakest here. One crushed skulls barehanded, another cleaved ceilings with a sword. The Berserk Warriors all transcended human limits. A soft-hearted, talentless leader commanding monsters? Bizarre, but fortunate.
They wouldn't crack under torture, let alone kindness. Stall until Hallum Marquis arrived with reinforcements, or find escape...
"Not talking?"
Loki sighed.
"Then you're useless."
He placed a hand on an assassin's head. It erupted in flames.