“Men, watch out!” cried the scarred man. “This one’s tough! Let’s show him what the Troupe of the Cinnabar Abyss are made—!”
But before he could finish his sentence, he began coughing up blood. He’d just been stabbed in the left side of his chest.
“What the…?”
The scarred man seemed taken aback by this development, but Cheikan was even more confused. After all, the chest wound hadn’t been inflicted by a member of the Emerald Finger, but by a man with an eye patch.
“What’s that?” he grumbled. “The Troupe of the Cinnabar Abyss? Those are adventurers who specialize in murder!”
It made no sense—what was going on? Cheikan’s gaze darted from side to side, only to discover that a massive brawl had broken out. Of the fifty guards, barely twenty remained. More than half had already fallen, with his own men now numbering just nine. The survivors glared at one another, their eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and doubt.
“…What is this?” muttered Cheikan. “Who are you people? Are we not the high priest’s guards?”
“Well, uh… I’m afraid I have some bad news for you all.” A voice cut through the chaos. Everyone turned toward the speaker, Venetim. “All of you here today are assassins and raiders gathered with the sole intent to eliminate High Priest Nicold Ibuton. Isn’t that right?”
Nobody said a word, not even Cheikan. While no one was stupid enough to agree with Venetim, their lack of response was a clear indication that he was right.
But what did that mean, exactly?
“You don’t need to hide it. I’m the mediator who specifically hired you all, so I know.” Venetim carried on, leaving Cheikan speechless, his mouth agape. “To tell the truth, I was given the impossible task of recruiting fifty guards, so I had to come up with the easiest way to do so. And, well, while there probably aren’t many people who would pay to protect High Priest Ibuton, there are plenty who would pay to have him killed.”
Cheikan was even more confused. So this man had gathered fifty assassins, all backed by people who wanted Ibuton dead, and had them all sneak into this security detail? That was one way to quickly amass a large number of people, he supposed.
“Fortunately, I know the names of a decent number of coexisters. I was able to guess quite a few without much effort and wound up being right…so I just borrowed their names.”
None of this made any sense. He was saying he’d discovered the identity of a bunch of coexisters just by guessing? It was too much for Cheikan to process all at once.
“It was still tough, of course. I had to set up meetings with multiple groups in a single day, and I couldn’t let them see my face, so I had to hire additional mediators. But thanks to that, I ended up getting tons of offers from different military units and other organizations… And now it looks like…you’ve all taken each other out.”
It wasn’t that all of them were idiots. Take the confrontation a few moments ago, for example. If someone attacked you with the intent to kill, it was only natural for someone in their line of work to strike back. So when multiple small groups of assassins were mixed together, each believing the other was an actual guard, deadly conflict was bound to erupt the moment someone made a move.
They simply couldn’t trust one another, and when one attacked, the other would strike back to kill. Their instincts had been used against them.
“At any rate, this is pointless, so let’s put an end to the violence.” Venetim spread his arms wide. His nonchalant demeanor was infuriating, prompting Cheikan to tighten his grip on the handle of his dagger. “What’s the point of getting hurt? Why risk your life to kill someone like me when I can be resurrected?”
“Enough,” said Cheikan, hissing, as a murderous aura filled the air. There were still about twenty men left standing, and he figured they were all itching to kill Venetim and then go after Ibuton. A lot of them had fallen, but their goal remained the same. And if they worked together, they still had a good chance of succeeding. “You set us up, you fraud. It’s time to pay.”
Cheikan lunged forward, thrusting his dagger straight into Venetim’s heart. Or at least, that was his intention. But a colossal arm, black as midnight and as thick as a tree, reached out from the shadows and grabbed his right arm.
Cheikan’s eyes went wide with horror. The shadowy behemoth seemed to transcend human dimensions.
“Um… And just so you know, High Priest Ibuton isn’t coming,” Venetim continued. Cheikan assumed the other assassins were dealing with shadowy figures of their own. “This is actually the patrol route for the Eighth Order of the Holy Knights, where Goddess Kelflora does her rounds. In other words…everything I told you all was a lie… I’m really sorry about this.”
The humanoid shadow used its incredible raw power to swiftly pull Cheikan down and pin him to the ground.
The Eighth Order, huh? No wonder…
These must have been shadow soldiers summoned by Goddess Kelflora.
“Our vanguard unit informed me that there was a hostile group in the area, but I wasn’t expecting you to be involved, Venetim.”
The speaker was standing behind Cheikan, so he turned his head as far as he could to see. A man in a green cloak was standing beside a silver-haired maiden.
“You saved me, Captain Adhiff. Thank you.” Venetim sounded genuinely relieved. “I knew your goddess wouldn’t abandon me, even if you might want to.”
“You were right about that, but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t try a stunt like this again. I don’t like feeling used.” Adhiff smirked. “So please consider your debt to me ongoing. It turns out you’re more useful than I expected—no, more than I could have ever imagined.”
“Ha-ha.” A mild smile appeared on Venetim’s face, or so it appeared to Cheikan. “Please go easy on me.”
“That will depend on the situation. Anyway, what’s next? You took care of the high priest’s assassins. Do you have a plan to win him the election?”
“Yes… You and Xylo told me that he had to win at any cost, so I did what I had to.”
“Interesting. And what was that?”
“It involves Dotta Luzulas.” Venetim spread his arms wide. “And I have a request for you all as well.”
✦ ✦ ✦
As Simurid Kormadino sat in his private quarters, he received astonishing news.
Two problems had arisen: Xylo Forbartz had somehow made it out of the underground fortress alive, and communication had been severed with the operatives they had among High Priest Ibuton’s guards.
“Are we sure about that?”
“Yes,” his young attendant replied earnestly. “Our external liaison reported that every one of the twenty assassins we hired has been eliminated. The details are still unclear, however.”
They had been heading toward the grand plaza when it happened. Kormadino’s mind raced. This meant he would have to give up on assassinating High Priest Ibuton. Should he move on to his last resort? What would Xylo Forbartz do, now that he was free? Could he just ignore him? There was no way he could change the results of the election at this point.
No, don’t make assumptions.
Their commander was Venetim, a known con man with a silver tongue and an unlimited arsenal of deceptions. Kormadino had to marshal every resource at his disposal and maintain a razor-sharp vigilance. A single moment of carelessness could prove catastrophic. He still had resources all over the city. High Priest Ibuton might have slipped beyond their grasp, but they could still take out Xylo Forbartz.
We simply need to slow them down and make sure they don’t make any moves until the election is over.
The election was what mattered most. They needed to anticipate their enemies’ every possible move. From now on, it was a game of prediction—a match Kormadino was sure to win. After all, who else possessed his masterful grasp of the intricacies at play? His vast network dwarfed the meager capabilities of the penal heroes.
Yes, I will do everything I can to stop them.
Kormadino made his decision in mere seconds and rose to his feet. He knew he couldn’t just sit back and give orders from the comfort of his mansion. Certain victory would require his personal intervention.
“Let’s use our secret weapon. It’s going to be a busy day, but I’m counting on you, Fush.” Kormadino smiled at his attendant. “You have a promising future waiting when this is all over. I expect great things from you.”
“Thank you very much, Governor-General.”
The young attendant executed a crisp salute. He might merely be a civil servant acting under the governor-general’s authority, but he was a man of great skill and promise. He’d already proved himself more useful than a mere intermediary, and Kormadino was considering making him a full-fledged retainer.
Kormadino had to win, both to ensure the survival of promising young men like Fush, and to save the country from those self-important idealists. He had to defeat them, no matter what it took.