The Masked Prince (2)
Werner Grime’s basic strategy was simple: kill as many enemies as possible with the least amount of commotion. He could have exposed the impending terror attack at the banquet hall in advance, but doing so carried risks he wasn’t willing to take. He still didn’t know how many operatives remained or who exactly had infiltrated the hall. Spreading word of the plot now might backfire—if the terrorists decided they had nothing left to lose and resorted to suicide bombings, even Werner would struggle to stop them.
So he chose to pick them off one by one.
From what he had overheard in Diene’s conversation, two things were clear: the commander of the Eastern Army, Rendal, would be eliminated by direct sniper fire rather than something as crude as a bomb, and a separate demolition team had already planted explosives to cover their escape. The demolition team had to be dealt with first. They were probably holed up in the staff lounge the terrorists had mentioned. If they weren’t there, Werner would simply leave the weakest one alive—just as he had with Diene—and slaughter the rest. The thought eased his mind.
He wasn’t the type to enjoy slaughter, even in pretense. There had been a time when the mere sight of blood made him retch. Werner was detached when it came to his own death, yet painfully sensitive to the deaths of others. But when the enemy threatened the people he cared about, hesitation vanished. The former commander of Graveyard Fortress, the inspector general sent from high command, the regiment commander of the neighboring unit who had run rampant without knowing his place, even the military academy classmate who had plotted against him out of jealousy during the war—Werner had drowned them all without mercy. He felt no guilt toward terrorists he had never met.
In that sense, what he had shown Diene could only be called mercy.
Creaaak.
When he opened the door to the staff lounge, he saw the bound employees huddled in the corner and the terrorists occupying the rest of the room.
“Shit, you scared me. I almost shot you, Daphrin. Try making some noise next time.”
It was one of the terrorists who had taken weapons from the armory earlier. From the look of it, he had come to the lounge in a soldier’s uniform, threatened the staff into submission, tied them up, and stolen their clothes to distribute among his comrades. Even though they were all dressed in neat waiter and waitress uniforms, their rough demeanor still bled through.
The bound employees, who had briefly hoped for rescue, now wore expressions of despair upon realizing the newcomer was one of the terrorists. A few of the waitresses even began to cry.
Werner, however, calmly took in the number and positions of the hostages, noting anything unusual. Their safety was a factor he had to consider.
“Is the demolition team ready?”
“All set. We’ve rigged the second and third floors too. Just press this button right before we pull out—boom!”
The man grinned, waving the detonator in his hand. Heavy weapons like assault rifles were too bulky to carry into the banquet hall, so the infiltrators there would only be armed with pistols at most. While the team waiting here caused a distraction by rushing out, their disguised comrades would shoot the targets at point-blank range. It was a deception only possible because the enemy was human. Such tricks would never work on Titans.
“You’re the entire demolition team?”
“Obviously. Why blow up the whole building and kill everyone?”
“Good enough.”
“What do you mean, good enou—”
The terrorist’s question became his last words. Werner drew his knife in an instant and drove it into the man’s neck. Blood splattered as Werner snatched the detonator from the dying man’s hand and slipped it into his pocket.
“Wh-what the—?!”
The others leapt to their feet in shock at their comrade’s sudden death. The lounge door slammed shut with a chilling creak. Thuds, screams, and the sound of necks snapping followed. When the last cry faded, only heavy silence remained. There had been no gunfire.
===
As expected of a command building, basic facilities were available. Werner washed the blood from his body and changed into the formal attire he had prepared. He stuffed the corpses from the staff lounge into the storage room and hung a “cleaning in progress” sign to keep others away. Naturally, he left the hostages behind. His goal was to eliminate the terrorists, not rescue civilians. He had tossed them a single dagger; they could free themselves within a few hours if they tried. It was unfortunate, but he had no time to explain the situation.
Once he finished changing and put on his mask, no one would have guessed he was the same man who had just waged a one-sided slaughter. Of course, the moment he entered the ballroom, Werner was immediately surrounded by a crowd. His physique alone drew attention. Even with dignitaries from across the empire gathered here, the core of the event was the officers of the Eastern Military District—and they were infamous for being soft compared to other districts. The Eastern District only had two frontline fortresses bordering Titan territory, each supported by a single division or regiment. Other districts averaged six to eight fortresses, so the difference was stark. Most Eastern units were rear-support forces, and naturally, the average skill of their officers—including their physical capabilities—fell short of other districts.
“…Um, do you have a partner?”
“Judging by the mask, you’re a captain. What are you doing after the ball tonight?”
“Damn it… where did that lieutenant colonel go?! Excuse me, do you have a partner? You look pretty decent, and the guy I had plans with stood me up…”
Women’s gazes naturally gravitated toward Werner. A mask couldn’t hide the aura he carried; if anything, it made him more intriguing. People relied heavily on visual information, after all. But Werner shut down every approach. There was only one person he was watching—Leah Gilliard, who was likewise surrounded by admirers.
She wore a red dress that perfectly matched her crimson cat mask. It was the same outfit she had worn at the last disbandment ceremony. And… the same one she had worn at her engagement to Lutus. Werner knew how much she cherished that dress. Leah had worn it whenever she felt good or bad. It hadn’t been difficult to guess she would choose it tonight.
“Um… do you perhaps…”
“I’m sorry. I already have a partner for tonight.”
Werner smiled bitterly as he turned away the female officers who had shown interest. Just then, Leah Gilliard approached him.
“…!”
Werner’s body stiffened. The scent of perfume wafted from her—the very same one she had worn on their last day at Graveyard. Just smelling it made his mind drift.
“Hey…”
Their eyes met. Beyond the mask, her amber eyes sparkled as if they might pull him in. Werner stared at her, entranced, before abruptly turning away and disappearing into the crowd. He could hear her calling after him, but the more she did, the farther he had to go. He was afraid he might unconsciously pull her into his arms.
Ever since leaving Graveyard, the frequency of his dreams about them had decreased, yet his heart had only grown weaker. At this distance, where he could almost reach out and touch her, he might not be able to control his desires.
Werner quickly put distance between them and found a spot in the corner of the hall. He accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter and wet his dry throat. After that, no one else approached him. Ten women had already been rejected right in front of everyone—who would dare try again when he sat there sipping wine as if the whole affair bored him? Werner thought it was just as well.
A glance at his watch showed only ten minutes remained until the time the terrorists had mentioned. From his corner, it was easy to observe the surroundings. Finally, a single gunshot shattered the leisurely atmosphere of the ballroom.
Bang!!
A waiter who had been pushing a cart drew a hidden pistol and fired into the air.
“Everyone get down if you don’t want to die!!”
A brief silence followed. While the guests were still processing the sudden change, another terrorist blocked the entrance and raised his gun.
“Get down!!”
“Kyaaah!!”
“Guns! Everyone down!!”
By the time the second shot rang out, it was clear this was no special event. Screams, shouts, and sobs filled the air as the ballroom descended into chaos. People ducked and crawled under tables and chairs. Who would bring personal firearms to a banquet? Even the decorated heroes who had won the war against the Titans were powerless before a gun barrel.
“We are the Revolutionary Front!! We’ve come to settle the sins of you imperialists!!”
“The Revolutionary Front? How are you people still—?!”
At the sound of Heinrich’s voice, the waiter’s gun swung toward him.
“There you are, Rendal!!”
Bang!!
It wasn’t the terrorist’s shot. Just before the man could pull the trigger, Werner moved. The .38 revolver he had kept inside his jacket fired twice in rapid succession. Both standing terrorists collapsed simultaneously. The interval between shots was only 0.8 seconds—fast and precise enough that the two reports sounded like one. The guests couldn’t even scream; the scene unfolding before them looked like something out of a movie.
Even amid the chaos, Werner’s eyes swept across the hall. He identified the suspicious individuals he had marked while drinking wine and picked out those moving unnaturally.
“Y-you bastard!!”
One of the men hiding under a table with the other waiters cursed and lunged out. He had already been spotted. Another bang—and another body hit the floor. Three bullets left. Two terrorists remained in the hall.
By now, the rest of the team waiting in the staff lounge should have heard the gunfire and rushed in. They would have torn off masks to confirm identities, singled out targets including Heinrich Rendal, and executed them without mercy. But the lounge had already been cleaned out by Werner. When their comrades failed to appear despite the repeated shots, the remaining terrorists began to panic.
“H-hiik!!”
“Who the hell are you?! How do you know everything about us?!”
The bartender who had been mixing cocktails grabbed a nearby guest and stood up, aiming his gun. From waiters to guards to bartenders, no corner of the ballroom had escaped the Revolutionary Front’s reach.
“Please save me!”
“You heard him. If you don’t want innocent people to die—”
Bang! A bullet fired before the threat could finish, piercing the bartender’s skull. Only one remained now.
As Werner scanned the scattered waiters, a woman in a black dress suddenly stood and turned her gun on him. It was a compact revolver small enough to fit in her palm.
‘She hid it inside her dress?’
He had assumed the revealing outfit wouldn’t allow for concealed weapons—that miscalculation had cost him. She must have tucked it against her chest or inner thigh. Just as he prepared to take a bullet in the arm and return fire—
“No!!”
A familiar, desperate cry rang out. Werner’s body lurched sideways. A gunshot followed. Leah, in her red dress, threw herself over him as crimson blood sprayed into the air.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Her amber eyes. Werner stared blankly as the light faded from them.