Voice of the Heavens (4)
November, on a clear afternoon beneath an unclouded sky.
One hundred thousand people poured into the Baran Dome.
"A hundred thousand. When you just read it as a number it doesn't sound like that many, but seeing it like this... it's staggering, isn't it?"
Evelyn asked as she gazed out over the crowds waiting to be admitted.
"A hundred thousand... yes, it certainly is."
He had once seen millions gathered in a single place on the eve of war with the demons, but this heat was something else entirely. Every face out there was brimming with nothing but anticipation and excitement.
If you took a photograph of this scene and sold it as a A Hundred Thousand People, Felt With Your Own Eyes photo, it would sell quite well.
"Stop gawking and keep your eyes open, will you!"
Marin, who had been staring intently through a telescope at the audience, jabbed him in the side as she spoke.
"Pardon me?"
"...Someone out there is after my life, that's what! We have to find anyone acting suspicious."
"Oh, is that all."
Oscar snorted and shook his head.
"If there's an assassin, they'll already be inside the dome."
"...Already? That's impossible. The audience hasn't even started coming in yet!"
"What assassin in the world would pay the entrance fee, walk in through the front gate, and kill their target fair and square?"
It made sense once he said it, and Marin's cheeks flushed slightly.
"Th-then how would they get in?"
"Fair and square."
"...That's the exact opposite of what you just said. Are you messing with me right now?"
Oscar shrugged at Marin, whose brow had furrowed.
"A first-rate assassin can take on any number of professions in preparation for every possible scenario, and their acting is superb. Especially with a rock-solid backer like Ara Sweet... slipping into the Baran Dome as a hired hand would have been no trouble at all."
"S-so you're telling me an assassin is working alongside our staff right now? Good heavens!"
"No. By now, they've probably..."
Oscar glanced down at his wristwatch.
Two hours until the concert began.
"...quit their job and gone into hiding."
"What's wrong with light number three? Did you swap the bulb or not? Go check!"
"Costume team! Line up the replacement outfits in performance order, now! Wait—what size is this? It's a full size too big!"
The reason a singer can shine so brilliantly upon the stage is because of the people behind it, moving desperately to support them.
"Whew. It's been a long time since I've been this insanely busy before a show."
"Well, this is Marin's first solo concert—and the venue is the Baran Dome of all places."
"Fair enough. Even I, who pride myself on a few years in this business, have never worked a stage this big."
The staff who were close with Marin had come running to Baran to help with her concert. They had begun preparations a whole month in advance, yet on the day itself, it felt as though all they could see were the shortcomings.
"We were short on hands, but the workers hired locally have done better than expected, so we're on schedule."
"Well, Baran is a city of drink and gambling. Pay day wages high enough and capable workers are a dime a dozen."
Just then, the lighting director approached them and asked urgently,
"Say, have any of you seen the lighting team's youngest?"
"The youngest?"
"You know, the strapping young fellow. He took the replacement bulbs and vanished into thin air. And we're short on time!"
"Was he one of the workers you hired here in Baran?"
At that question, the lighting director's eyes went round.
"That's right. How did you know?"
"The type who picks up day work here is easy to read. He's either gone off drinking, or his fingers got itchy and he headed for the casino. I heard the staging team over there lost a man yesterday too—same story with that one, I'd wager."
"Tsk. So that's how it is."
Two staff members had vanished without a word over the past two days. But in this line of work, such things were common enough that everyone dismissed it without a second thought.
"Forgive me for eavesdropping as I passed by, but might I ask what these men looked like? How they were dressed?"
Save for one person.
Oscar Crucian.
The men's restroom on the third floor of the Baran Dome.
The last stall at the far end remained firmly locked, a sign hanging on its door.
OUT OF ORDER
"..."
The man crouched atop the toilet checked his watch, then slowly rose to his feet.
The concert must be starting soon. Time to move.
Crack, pop!
As he stretched out his stiffened body, his face was laced with an indescribable irritation.
To think I'd have to wait a full day in a place like this.
But for money, discomfort like this was more than bearable. If this job went well, he and his brother would receive a full five million bel.
Besides, this was the 'final job' the two brothers would take on together—perhaps someday it would even become a fond memory.
Link up with Dokgo as planned, then hunt down that bodyguard first.
The reason men as proud as they had chosen a joint operation was that they had researched the target in advance.
Kilian Lockwood.
A mage hailed as the Rising Star of the White Tower, one of the Four Great Magic Towers.
Combat style: body reinforcement and acceleration-based martial arts.
From his face to his methods, everything about him grated on the nerves—an utterly arrogant upstart. In this trade, making a name for yourself was no different from publishing your own weaknesses.
Well, he only started making a name recently, so this must be when he's at his most reckless.
It was simply their bad luck that the opponent they'd drawn at such a time was them.
The brothers hailed from the Yeon Country—assassins who wielded hidden needles and poison. He couldn't speak for anything else, but when it came to assassination, he could proudly claim a place among Baran's finest.
The rendezvous point was... room 403? One floor up, wasn't it.
Woojin pushed open the stall door and stepped out—then froze.
"..."
The very target he had been hunting was washing his hands at the sink.
Tch. Of all the times.
Should he call this good luck or bad? The target had his back turned to him, and there wasn't another soul in sight. There could be no more perfect timing for an assassination.
But the man was Level 4, same as himself, and without his brother at his side, victory was far from guaranteed. If the ambush so much as grazed past, he would face the worst possible outcome.
In the end, Woojin reeled in his twitching fingertips, along with his greed.
Stick to the plan. Withdraw for now and regroup with my brother first.
He slipped the OUT OF ORDER sign off its hook as naturally as anything—and the moment he passed behind the sink—
Sssshhh.
The man washing his hands suddenly murmured,
"Calluses on the fingertips rather than the palm usually means one thing—hidden needles."
Woojin stole a glance sideways, and through the mirror he caught a pair of red eyes fixed squarely on him.
"Might I ask—is your profession assassin?"
"...!"
Had he been made?
Woojin's mind began to race. Should he throw his needles right now? No—had the man truly discovered his identity? If so, wasn't the correct choice to simply bolt without looking back?
Oscar, watching him deliberate, gave a small nod.
"The way you're hesitating says yes. Assassin."
Crack!
Certain now of what the man was, Oscar pivoted backward and hurled the bar of soap.
"...!"
Sensing instinctively that the fight could no longer be avoided, Woojin chose the best option available in that instant.
I take the soap—but I flood him with needles at the same time.
The moment his mind was made up, both his hands fluttered once, scattering hundreds of needles into the air.
As an aside, his condition today was absolutely perfect. The feel of the needles against his fingertips was alive and singing.
There it is. There's no dodging this.
That conviction had barely formed when—
Kwadeuk!
"...Kugh!?"
The right shoulder that took the soap simply exploded.
He'd actually packed that much mana into a mere bar of soap?
But it doesn't matter.
His life for one of my shoulders—a more than fair trade. Woojin curled the corner of his mouth upward and waited for the scream that would come any second now.
No matter how much he's honed his martial arts, this isn't the kind of attack a body can dodge.
Even if the man evaded one or two—no, even if luck carried him past a few dozen—there was no escaping all of them. Hundreds of needles filled the air.
"Kugh... gaaagh!"
Papapak!
Just as he'd predicted, the man with hundreds of needles embedded in his face let out a scream and collapsed.
His body convulsed like a trembling aspen—already the poison had spread through him completely. There was nothing more to see. Instant death.
"Hoo, hoo."
Woojin wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and let out a breath of relief.
The truth was that a hidden-needle specialist like himself was vulnerable in close quarters. Galling as it was, that was precisely why he played second fiddle to his younger brother.
Thank heavens this target was nothing but a green whelp.
The tips of his needles were coated with the ultra-lethal poison his brother Dokgo used. A single scratch was enough to send a man teetering on death's edge—and he'd been skewered by hundreds of them?
He'd stake his name on it: not even the Pope himself could save him now.
Still, better safe than sorry. I should finish the job.
The world had its share of people whom poison simply didn't touch—those blessed with immunity to all toxins, like some ancient legend.
Drawing the dagger at his hip with his unscathed left hand, he strode to the corpse and drove it into the man's throat with all his strength.
"...!?"
But it wouldn't go in.
As though blocked by an invisible wall, the dagger stopped just short of breaking skin, unable to advance another inch.
This is... wind?
A powerful gale was pushing his dagger away. The instant that truth dawned on him, Woojin's face drained white.
"...You can't be serious?"
The needles he'd believed were buried in the man's face—?
The moment the thought completed itself, a hand shot out and seized his wrist.
At the same instant—thududuk!
The hundreds of needles, each one held in place by his wind, dropped to the floor all at once.
"Th-that's impossible..."
It was mana control so precise it raised gooseflesh down his spine. If even one of those hundreds of needles had slipped and fallen to the ground—or if they'd drifted even slightly off his face—he would have grown suspicious.
This monster is a Level 4 mage? Insane. Utterly insane!
The moment Woojin understood, beyond any doubt, that something had gone terribly wrong—
Chak.
The barrel of a sawed-off shotgun rose in the man's other hand and pressed against the underside of his jaw.
"N-no, wait—"
Even as he imagined what was about to happen, a trembling voice spilled from Woojin's lips—
"No."
BOOM!
His head flew off.
At eight o'clock in the evening, the stage lights of the Baran Dome went dark all at once, and the entire dome sank into blackness.
As the audience held their breath, faces brimming with excitement, waiting for someone to appear—
Dun, du-dun, dun!
From the stage poured a thunderous drumbeat, one they knew better than any other.
"Ah! 'Sunshine Smile'!"
"I knew this would be the opener."
"Ha, I've been a Marin fan since the very first time I heard this song."
Sunshine Smile, the debut song of Marin Maria. Riding a melody bright and buoyant as only she could deliver, that beautiful voice rang out into every ear in the dome.
♪ Like warm sunshine, your dazzling smile ♪
♫ You are the magic that lights up the whole wide world ♫
As the young diva took the stage and unleashed her astonishing live vocals, the crowd erupted in cheers. Their roar deafened the ears in an instant, and the vibrations rolled through the floor beneath their feet.
"...He's late."
Dokgo, the younger of the Udok Brothers, felt that vibration as his eyes flicked yet again to his wristwatch.
The appointed hour had come and gone, and his brother still hadn't appeared at the agreed place.
Don't tell me something's gone wrong?
He was running worst-case scenarios through his head, worry coiling tighter by the second, when—
Step, step.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor outside, and a sigh of relief escaped him unbidden.
"Whew..."
To an ordinary person all footsteps might sound the same, but every man walks with a rhythm all his own. There was no way a veteran assassin like him wouldn't recognize his brother's stride.
What on earth kept him this long?
Just as he readied himself to give the man a sharp scolding—
His brother's footsteps walked straight past the supply storeroom.
Oh, for— you blockhead.
He'd warned him over and over, room 407 on the fourth floor, don't you dare forget it this time.
Grumbling under his breath, Dokgo pulled open the storeroom door and snapped irritably,
"Hyung! It's over—"
The words died on his lips—because the back that had come into view belonged to a stranger.
The intruder, who had been mimicking his brother's footsteps, stopped in place and slowly turned around.
"Ah. So you were hiding in here?"
It was one of the targets of this contract.
The red-eyed mage.