Chapter 65: Burned Alive
The flames, flickering like a heat haze, engulfed the assassin from head to torso.
"Gah... Aaaargh!"
The assassin thrashed wildly. His head was burning away. His skin melted in the blaze. The other assassins stared at Loki and the burning man in eyes wide with horror. They couldn't believe the scene before them.
Even as his skin turned into thick liquid, bubbling up like foam before bursting and dissolving—even as his flesh vaporized, sending up plumes of dark red smoke—the assassin writhed alive.
"Aaaargh! Kill me! Just kill... me—!"
The assassin screamed, rubbing his head against the floor. The flames consumed his body but left his clothes and nearby objects untouched. It was as if the fire existed solely to devour life, sucking away his vitality.
His iron will, trained to endure torture, only prolonged his eternal agony.
"...Didn't you say you hated torture?"
Aum's question drew a casual shake of Loki's head, as if it were nothing.
"Yeah, I do. I just killed the bastard."
Killed him?
He's dying in agony and can't even manage that.
That was the thought on everyone's mind in the banquet hall. They swallowed dryly, eyes fixed on the assassin.
His screams eventually faded. The ragged breathing stopped. With it, the black flames slowly receded.
His skin was melted clean off. His face was unrecognizable, but the frozen expression was a tangle of despair and defeat.
"See? He's dead."
Loki shrugged.
"I hate wasting time."
The assassins lifted their rigid faces to stare up at Loki.
"That doesn't mean I'll let those who came for my head go easy."
Loki gazed down at them. His crow mask gradually dissolved into scattering feathers. In its place, black flames wrapped around him, transforming his form.
"......?!"
A goat skull helm. Pitch-black armor and a fur cape draped over a demonic figure. Flames blazed across his entire body. With one step forward, the fire vanished as if it had never been. Only the mad red glow of his eyes glared down at the assassins.
In an instant, the air grew heavy, the atmosphere so oppressive it was hard to breathe.
The Constellation of Sin.
At Loki's true appearance, the Berserk Warriors dropped to their knees in shock, bowing their heads in unison.
"We pay homage to the Constellation of Sin, Lord Loki—!"
Their unified shout shattered the assassins' reason. The Berserkers trembled. As professionals who read emotions from the slightest movements, the assassins could tell: these men were quaking in fear.
They're allies... and they're terrified?
An inexplicable terror washed over the assassins. What was this demon that had appeared? Why were these warriors so afraid? And Constellation of Sin?
What does 'Constellation' even mean...?
"I'm capricious."
As the assassins grew uneasy, a chilling voice slithered through the air—deep and rasping.
"I have no intention of sparing those who dared target my life. But if you talk, I'll hear you out. And..."
Loki swept his arrogant gaze over each one.
"...if it's truly valuable information, I might even let you leave with all your limbs intact."
"......"
"Speak. And you'll go free."
Loki leaned in close to one assassin, whispering like a devil's temptation, locking eyes.
A goat skull. Crimson eyes glowing darkly. Red smoke curling from its maw. The very image of a biblical demon.
Each breath Loki drew felt like it would suck out their souls. The assassin's trembling intensified. For the first time in his life, he knew such fear. His life meant nothing. Pain held no terror.
Yet death at this thing's hands... it was horrifying beyond reason. He couldn't explain why.
Slowly, the assassin opened his mouth.
"...T-talk? We're the finest assassins... Death holds no... fear for us... "
Loki's eyes narrowed.
"Is that so? Not afraid of death, then?"
His claw-like hand seized the man's head.
"Then die."
The assassin burst into flames. Just like the first, he writhed in agony, screaming. The room echoed with wails that drilled into the survivors' ears.
"I'll say it once more. I'm capricious! I enjoy a good chat. Those who share info with me live."
"......"
Loki pointed at the thrashing, burning man.
"Or end up like him."
He scanned the rest.
"Three of you."
"......"
"First come, first served. That's how much mercy I can spare. You've got 116 captured in total. Two are dead already. Now..."
Loki eyed them temptingly.
"Who will be the three to walk away intact?"
"Hmm..."
Loki stroked his chin thoughtfully. In his mind replayed the desperate shouts of the three assassins.
—The Marquis! Hallum Marquis ordered it! 'Eliminate the leader! Then the troops are ours!'
—Prince Ash gave the final say!
—The nobles agreed. Said it was better to use them!
One cracked, and they all spilled everything—useless drivel included—unable to withstand the pressure.
Even Prince Ash approved this? How stupid is that guy?
After witnessing the Berserkers' power firsthand, to pull this idiotic stunt.
"What will you do?"
Aum asked Loki, now back in Hoon's guise.
Grotesque corpses littered the area around Loki. The banquet hall reeked of charred flesh; Aum fought the urge to pinch his nose. Kudan bowed silently to what had once been men. Kankun squeezed her eyes shut. The Berserk Warriors remained knelt, heads bowed—but sweat beaded on their backs.
...What the hell? What's going on? Why is the healer the Constellation of Sin...!
How should I know?! I don't get it either! But everyone else seems to know something!
The Berserkers exchanged meaningful glances. Loki's words cut their silent exchange short.
"That's enough."
"Yes, shall I dispose of them?"
Aum sought confirmation. They'd tried to assassinate their saviors? Perfect justification.
Loki nodded curtly.
"Dispose."
"Understood—"
"But we don't need to do it ourselves."
"......?"
"...We should set a little 'example,' no?"
"......"
"Aum, I'm craving your cooking. Something extravagant for once."
"Extravagant... you say?"
Loki tossed an assassin's corpse before the Berserk Warriors.
"You'll join my feast."
The Berserkers glanced at each other, then bowed to Loki.
A lavish bed. Beside it burned incense worth its weight in gold. Black curtains blocked the sunlight everywhere. Red mana stones glowed from the ceiling, illuminating the darkness.
On the bed sprawled a pot-bellied middle-aged man, gorging messily. The castle rationed food, but he was the exception.
"Damn, this tastes like shit. I miss the old stuff."
Then came frantic pounding at the door. Not a polite knock—desperate, all-out hammering.
Hallum Marquis's face twisted in rage. Someone dared interrupt his fun.
"What?! Who is it!"
"Lord Hallum Marquis! Lord Hallum!"
A familiar voice. One of the guards outside, surely. He couldn't recall the name, but the face and tone stuck.
"You rotten bastard! Didn't I say not to disturb me? Need your limbs broken to learn?!"
The guard flinched at the marquis's bellow but pounded again.
"It's urgent!"
"Urgent?"
Hallum flung the doors open with both hands.
"What is it?!"
He glared at the soldier, face sour—as if non-urgent news meant punishment.
"Th-that...!"
The guard faltered. Sensing something grave, Hallum pressed.
"Don't tell me... Western Ronia attacked?!"
"N-no, not that... "
"Then what?!"
The guard swallowed hard at the roar.
"Th-the visitors from yesterday...!"
"...Ah, I get it."
Hallum shook his head, annoyed at his needless worry.
"You're talking about the banquet hall, right? Didn't I tell you yesterday? Ignore any screams or escapees."
"Y-yes, of course. We did as ordered, but... this morning, in the courtyard before the hall...!"
"......?"
Terror etched the guard's face as he spoke.
"A pile of corpses..."
Hallum's eyes widened.
The central nobles in the palace hurried with quick steps. Behind them followed 500 private soldiers and about 30 knights.
"What's the commotion?"
"Heard there was trouble at the banquet hall last night..."
"What happened? Hallum Marquis?"
The nobles questioned Hallum, who shook his head, sweating coldly. Truth was, he had no idea what was unfolding. He'd only heard the guard's report and rallied troops for the hall.
The assassination must've failed. Their forces took heavy losses—we need to crush them fast. If they join the western faction, we're screwed!
He imagined the worst. Already on the back foot, Nords allying with the west meant no future for eastern Ronia.
Can't make more enemies now! Strike while we can!
That's why he'd scraped together every available soldier. No matter how elite these continent's strongest warriors, they were drunk. Fresh from battle to Roden Territory, exhausted too. After clashing with assassins in that state, at least half should be combat-ineffective.
But... corpses in the courtyard? What does that mean?
He recalled the guard's stammering, but it made no sense. Bodies in the yard? And they hadn't fled after the hit?
Everything was a mystery.
"Hallum Marquis!!"
The hurrying marquis, nobles, and troops halted abruptly.
Prince Ash?
It was Ash. But his face burned with fury unlike before—twisted, eyes blazing with enmity as he approached Hallum.
Soldiers tried to block him, but Ash shoved one aside and seized Hallum's collar.
"......?!"
Nobles and soldiers alike froze. Hallum was the most shocked.
What the—!
The Ash he'd known was a spineless fool, a wastrel prince. Yet now he gripped the collar of eastern Ronia's pillar—Hallum's sole lifeline.
"Marquis, what the hell have you done—!!"