Chapter 596 – Assassin Stew.

“Is something the matter, My Lord?”

“Oh, everything is fine. Just head back.”

“Ah… yes, My Lord.”

The old head maid adjusted her glasses and bowed to the young lord. She had heard a noise coming from near the main bedchamber and had gone to investigate. There she found Arthur Valerian standing with his two knights outside the door. Although he claimed everything was normal, she noticed that both men had their hands on their weapons and also on the door handle, as if they were prepared to rush inside at a moment’s notice.

“If you need anything, just ring the bell, My Lord.”

“Of course.”

The lord gave her a smile, but even he seemed somewhat uneasy. He looked slightly tense and was carrying weapons himself. Still, there was no sound coming from within, nothing unusual to be heard. This was a district known for its noble residents, but on rare occasions, strange things did occur. Every now and then, a highly skilled thief would attempt a heist, but there was not enough disruption tonight to suggest such a situation. Deciding not to press further, she returned downstairs.

However, behind the door to Arthur Valerian’s bedchamber, a fight was taking place. It was a fight that appeared entirely one-sided. The bodies of the assassins hit the ground one by one, their aura-dripping blades clattering uselessly against the cold floor. In mere moments, their confidence had crumbled and turned into despair.

One of the attackers, blood trailing from a deep slash across his abdomen, tried to retreat. He leapt toward the hole in the balcony glass, hoping to escape before the spell pressure locked him in place. As he crossed the threshold, the woman standing near the balcony turned with inhuman speed. Her twin blades descended on him like a flurry of high-speed guillotines.

The assassin raised his weapon and defended himself, channeling all the aura he had stored. With each clash against her strange, enchanted blades, he felt his strength draining. A foreign energy seemed to leech away his power, and he soon noticed something worse. Invisible threads were tightening around him, restricting his movements and preventing him from unleashing his full force. It was as if he had become a puppet, tangled in unseen strings.

A sharp cry tore from his throat as one of his limbs flew through the air, severed by the relentless woman he faced. Moments later a kick struck his chest and launched him into the rest of his comrades, all of whom had already been disabled by the two people they had encountered during their mission. The only one still standing was their leader, and he was staring in horror. His fingers trembled as he clutched the medallion that had failed him, but he refused to surrender.

He reached into one of his many pouches, retrieved an object, and threw it. Several orbs marked with strange symbols soared into the air and struck his opponent, the man named Wayland. Instead of releasing a burst of magic, they bounced harmlessly off his shield and dropped to the ground beside him. Their magic had failed just like every other item the leader had tried, and he could not understand why.

“Just give up. None of that will work anymore.”

His opponent stepped forward, his cape trailing behind him as his body shimmered with a thick layer of mana. Still, the assassin leader refused to yield. He reached into his satchel for his strongest trump card, but there was a problem. When he slipped his hand inside, he could not feel anything. The spatial compartment that held his final magical item had stopped functioning, leaving him with nothing to draw. He realized then that the man he was fighting had caused it. He did not know how, but all the enchantments on their weapons, armor, and accessories had been nullified. It was as if a precise anti-magic field had settled over the area, stripping their gear of all power.

The last standing assassin remained still, his breath ragged and his body hunched in a defensive stance, though his hand was still holding a dagger. His eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for an exit or even the faintest chance of survival. All he saw were the broken bodies of his comrades and the two opponents standing before him. They looked human, but he knew better. They were monsters, impervious to every weapon and trick he had used. Wayland stepped closer, his boots clicking softly on the polished floor.

“You’ve already lost. Now speak. Who sent you? If you cooperate, I will spare your life.”

The assassin stayed silent. He knew better than to believe such promises. Mercy was a luxury never afforded to people like him. If he were captured, his organization would see to it that he never lived to speak a word. His fate was sealed the moment he failed. Only one option remained.

“Hee…hee… HAHAHA!”

“…?”

Wayland halted as the assassin leader began to laugh. His shriek echoed through the room, his head thrown back and his eyes bloodshot. He did not speak. He did not need to. Years of brutal training had carved obedience into his soul. He was no longer a man but a tool, one final sacrifice to protect the secrets he carried.

“What is he… step back!”

The assassin opened his mouth, his tongue covered in strange occult symbols started to shine brightly. A strange purplish smoke began to seep from the markings, pouring out of his mouth, eyes, and ears. His body convulsed violently as the smoke thickened, clinging to his flesh like tar. At this sight, even Wayland took an involuntary step back.

“That’s some kind of curse spell…”

The smoke was unnatural, and when it came into contact with the other assassins, something strange happened. Their bodies began to change. Flesh melted away like hot wax beneath a flame. Even their bones softened and liquefied within seconds. Despite the agony they must have felt, none of them screamed. They remained silent while their leader laughed. His laughter continued until his throat collapsed inward, leaving behind only a series of wet, choking gurgles.

One of the assassins slumped forward, completely consumed by the smoke. The moment his body struck the floor, it turned to mush. The others met similar fates. To make matters worse, the smoke continued to spread, filling every corner of the bedchamber. It was clearly a final, desperate act by the assassins’ leader to complete their mission. If they were doomed to die, he intended to take everyone else with them.

******

Roland stood motionless, ignoring the status window floating in front of him. The group of infiltrators that had slipped into Arthur’s bedchambers to kidnap him was dissolving into steaming puddles. He had not expected such a result. Had he known what the assassin was planning, he would have cut out the man’s tongue before he could activate the strange occult spell. The event revealed a key limitation of his Rune Authority skill. He could not interact with enchantments that were directly infused into living tissue.

Throughout the confrontation, he initially stayed hidden in the corner of the room and began his calculations. Using his skill, he took control of all the enchantments within the men’s possessions, which fortunately were not too difficult to manage. He identified the medallion quickly and disabled its mana-dampening properties before it could fully activate. Everything soon came under his control, but he was unable to affect the magic embedded in the bodies of the assassins. Now he needed the toxic spill to be contained before it got outside.

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Golden light shimmered along his wristguards and flowed into his fingertips. A burst of energy formed around the violet mist as a circular construct made of divine energy. He clenched his hand into a fist, and a mass of threads unfolded into a net. The threads of light wove themselves together, forming a glowing golden dome.

The dome locked into place at exactly the right moment. For a brief instant, the toxic smoke pressed against the holy spell. It tried to escape into the surrounding air, but the shield covered even the ground beneath it. The violet smoke remained trapped inside the barrier. It clawed and coiled against the shimmering boundary, unable to move beyond it. The liquefied remains of the assassins writhed unnaturally, as though they had not entirely lost sentience, but they too were unable to keep their form and soon turned to goo.

“Is it safe?”

“Give me a moment. This looks easier than it is.”

Roland answered Mary as she stepped closer. There was a reason he had immediately used holy mana instead of attempting a more conventional approach. The energies inside were occult, dark magic that could not be contained by normal means. It took a minute, but eventually he managed to stabilize the containment. The smoke began to dissipate, purified by the sacred energies he had copied from Solarian priests.

‘Using this substitute armor is giving me a headache.’

Although the danger had passed, Roland still had to strain his mind to its limit. The runes on his halfplate armor kept shifting and rearranging themselves as he continuously customized spells in real time. Mary stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable, while she studied the remains inside the dome. The acidic ooze had mostly settled, leaving behind a slurry of bone fragments and twisted metal, all that was left of the elite assassins.

“They really didn’t want to be taken alive.”

Roland didn’t respond right away. He remained focused on reinforcing the dome’s structure, making sure that no part of the dark enchantment could reactivate. Only when he was certain all traces of evil energy had faded did he undo the spell.

“Or they didn’t want us identifying their bodies. Even their weapons are completely melted.”