Chapter 545: The Assassin Smiles

Peter stood at the dimensional exit base, now completely overtaken by the baron and his forces. Days had passed since their clash with Cassandra. As he walked through the camp, he saw workers hammering metal, forges blazing nonstop, builders and armorers arguing over schematics. Everything was being assembled on-site, piece by piece, then packed into storage items.

Towers fitted with war machines dotted the entire perimeter. The plan was expansion. Once everything was in place, no one would be able to leave unless they allowed it. The dimension would be locked down under their control. Inside the main strategy hall, he found Miles and several members of the Eight Fingers.

“No sign of Henry?” Peter asked.

“Ever since his sister went missing, the guy’s been… off,” muttered Andrew, one of the Fingers.

“It hardly matters. Cassandra’s already been crippled. I have her sword. She’s no threat anymore,” the baron said.

“But the bitch is still alive,” Peter snapped. “I told the kingdom this was an unavoidable event triggered when all the temples were discovered. I don’t know how long I can keep up the lie. There are companies from the kingdom trapped in here. Mercenary groups too.”

“The exit is under our control, Lord Peter,” the baron assured him.

Even so, by now Cassandra should’ve been dead in the original timeline of their plan.

“Our contact in the capital will authorize the next phase soon. Whether she’s alive or dead won’t change the outcome,” the baron added.

“Tie up loose ends,” Peter said.

There could be no witnesses to his betrayal of Cassandra’s side. Risky, yes, but once the duke claimed the king’s throne, everything Peter had done would be buried. No one would dare dig it up.

My uncle will have to choose: rescue his daughter or stay guarding that dying king.

After finishing the briefing, Peter left the hall. His hand drifted to the sword at his hip, the treasured heirloom of the Weiss family, won in a dungeon more than fifty years ago. Cassandra had transformed it into a Spirit Tool, which only made it more valuable in his hands. This coup would elevate his branch of the Weiss bloodline. The main branch would die. A sacrifice he welcomed.

As he walked, he thought back to what Henry had claimed, that he might’ve found the last temple. Originally, they hadn’t cared about the temple treasures. Drawing the patriarch’s attention and getting him to send Cassandra, and by extension Peter, was the real objective. But now Peter found himself curious about what lay inside.

The new king will start his reign with some convenient victories.

But one thing lingered in his mind: who had taken the final treasure? His leading theory was a man named Grass, a Reaper Court client. Miles agreed. Still, at least he’d secured Cassandra’s Spirit Tool for himself. Maybe if he hadn’t wasted so much time delaying her, he could have seized the Forest of Spores temple treasure too, betraying the alchemists in the process.

Didn’t matter. The victory was already his.

Cassandra can’t escape this. She’ll be cornered until she dies.

He’d planned meticulously, covering every angle. Poisoning her wouldn’t work, nobles like them carried antidotes everywhere. Killing her in her sleep was impossible; she was too alert, never dropped her guard, and she outmatched him in combat. The ambush he orchestrated had been the best possible scenario… and even then, she’d survived. No wonder she commanded a city’s forces despite her young age.

It was only a matter of time. Without her sword arm and her Spirit Tool, she was practically useless in battle now.

A sudden, thunderous boom rippled across the battlefield. One blast, then another.

What the hell was that? Peter could’ve sworn he’d seen a flash tear across the sky.

Distant screams echoed. He ran, vaulting over debris.

“Get out of my way!” he barked at a soldier blocking the ladder to one of the towers. He kicked the man aside and climbed quickly. When he reached the top, the sight before him froze his blood.

No. No, this can’t be happening.

His precious towers were being annihilated. One after another, the siege structures burst apart as streaks of light carved down from the heavens and struck with pinpoint accuracy.

Alarms erupted throughout the base.

“How in all hells did this happen!?” he shouted.

Then something even worse caught his eye: a creature soaring overhead unleashed a blast of fire across the field. And more flashes, white streaks cutting the sky, were coming straight toward him. Peter’s panic spiked. He jumped from the tower in desperation, but he wasn’t fast enough. The structure behind him was struck, the shockwave catching him midair and hurling him forward. All around, other towers collapsed under the raining explosions.

He crashed through the roof of a wooden hut. His vision flickered out for a moment; he didn’t know how long.

What happened?!

Screams surrounded him, both inside and outside the hut. The entire base looked torn apart, scorch marks and shattered structures everywhere. Peter staggered upright, drinking a healing potion as he ran.

I can’t let anyone important reach the exit rift.

If Cassandra got through the portal now, everything could fall apart. Questions raced in his mind. Was this her doing? Some hidden weapon? A coordinated strike? He drew his sword with one hand, channeling magic through the ring on the other. When he reached the main building, the devastation grew worse. The top floor was destroyed, reduced to jagged ruins.

I was in a meeting there just a few hours ago.

He could have died.

Did Miles die?

If the baron had been killed, it would ruin everything. Even if he was weaker than Peter, his role in the duke’s plan was essential for becoming a Scythe.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

No… Miles isn’t dead. His Rank Skill activates automatically. The bastard must have survived. I’m the one who wouldn’t have, if I’d stayed there.

Then it hit Peter, an overwhelming chill that crawled across his skin. Something was very, very wrong.

What is this feeling?

Slow, deliberate clapping echoed across the ruins, drawing everyone’s attention. Survivors crawled out from the debris, looking toward the source of the sound. A figure stood silhouetted against the sun, details obscured until Peter finally focused and stared in disbelief.

“Congratulations on surviving,” the voice said.

It was the mercenary he’d met in the past. The one who sold antidotes. But now he wore the attire of a professional assassin.

“I’ll be direct,” the assassin said. “I don’t care about your goals or who lives or dies. I just want to leave this place. And I’ve struck a very good deal.”

He stepped forward, calm as ever.

“So I’ll make things simple. Kneel and surrender… or try to fight me and die.”

The gathered soldiers raised their weapons.

“A war is happening outside!” a commander shouted as he appeared. “Reinforcements! Send reinforcements!”

Peter listened to the sounds of battle outside. Everyone did. But those close to the assassin fell silent. That invisible pressure tightened around their throats, a sensation like unseen wires pulling taut.

“You plan to face us?” Peter asked. “You’re just one man, unless you’ve got an army stuffed in your pocket. It means nothing.”

“I am my own army.”