Episode 42

The Auvergne estate, now a name known across Western Europe.

A man loitered in front of the bustling marketplace.

The next morning, he gazed curiously at the count’s mansion.

By afternoon, he wandered the estate, memorizing its geography.

Claiming to be a wealthy merchant, he expressed his desire to buy land and settle in the rapidly growing Auvergne estate.

With many such people arriving, no one found it suspicious.

Though he didn’t seem to be French, visitors from Italy and Eastern Europe were becoming common.

Anyone fluent in French and generous enough to buy drinks for those who shared information was always welcome.

The man who settled in Auvergne even attended church mass the following weekend.

He listened intently to the devout prayers and watched as the Count of Auvergne offered his blessings at the end.

“So that’s the Count of Auvergne. His security seems impenetrable.”

From his observations, the count’s schedule was practically public knowledge, making it easy to track.

The locals adored their lord, and with a few drinks, they eagerly shared tales of his heroics.

However, knowing the information was one thing; assassinating the target in broad daylight was another, fraught with challenges.

Guards were stationed everywhere, and the locals, who revered the count like a deity, acted as a self-appointed watch.

How many had been deceived and exploited by that silver tongue?

Yet, the count wielded absolute influence over the estate.

Even if some madman attempted to attack him, they’d be stopped by the guards or the loyal locals.

The one saving grace was that the count’s popularity meant no one suspected a thing, even with someone following him around.

The assassin from Alamut observed the count from a distance whenever he left his mansion.

“Who’s visiting today?”

“The Viscount of Limoges.”

“Why’s he coming? Did we smear honey on the place?”

“He’s practically a follower of yours, my lord. It’s good to maintain friendly relations with neighboring estates.”

“I know, but he always brings up marriage, and it’s getting tiresome.”

Eavesdropping on the count’s conversation, the assassin jotted down notes on a small piece of parchment.

“Exerts significant influence over neighboring lords… Receives many marriage proposals… Seems personally uninterested.”

He also noted physical traits, gait, whether the count favored his right or left hand, and his demeanor towards others.

“His physique matches the records of his crusading exploits. If the rumors of him being one of Europe’s finest knights are true, a frontal assault is out of the question. He seems ambidextrous, making it uncertain which hand he’ll use in a fight.”

Even at night, the mansion’s security was unusually tight, even for a noble of his stature.

“Is it because of past assassination attempts? Those fools only made my job harder…”

No matter how he looked at it, the conclusion was the same.

Infiltrating the mansion at night was impossible.

Did they appoint someone exceptionally skilled in defense?

The lack of any visible weakness was frustrating.

“No need to rush. Targets of this magnitude require time.”

Even the most fortified stronghold has its cracks.

If direct assassination was too difficult, there were other ways—using those around the target or gradually dismantling the defenses.

The Ayyubid dynasty hadn’t demanded a specific timeline for the assassination.

Deciding to take things slower, the assassin headed to a nearby tavern.

The place offered simple lodging and meals, but the food was good enough to attract regulars.

Blending into the local scene was a basic skill taught to assassins from their earliest days.

For someone of his elite status, even among Alamut’s ranks, this was easier than sipping soup.

Ordering a light meal and a drink, the assassin discreetly observed his surroundings.

Then, unexpectedly, a woman with a drink in hand took a seat a little distance away.

Seeing women in the tavern during the day wasn’t unusual, but he was shocked he hadn’t noticed her approach.

“Was I too focused on the assassination? How could I let my guard down like this?”

The woman’s voice reached him.

“How’s business these days?”

The tavern owner, known for his culinary skills, nodded with a smile.

“Going well. Is today a day off?”

“Yes, the count has no schedule today, so I’m free.”

“Serving such a distinguished person, you should eat well. I have fresh ingredients from this morning. Shall I prepare something for you?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

The woman seemed familiar, and then he remembered.

She was one of the maids who accompanied the Count of Auvergne.

Feigning indifference, the assassin continued his meal, listening to their conversation.

“How’s the count these days? There’s been talk of marriage proposals from here and there.”

“That’s nonsense. Our count wouldn’t settle for just any family.”

“That’s what I thought. Even our patrons say someone like the count should marry a queen.”

“Exactly. But our count seems a bit clueless about these things, which worries me.”

Do the locals often gather to discuss their lord like this?

He must be adept at managing public sentiment.

Even if he were to die, the mask of the hypocrite deceiving these people should be torn off. It’s a shame.

Then again, if someone claiming to be a divine messenger were to be assassinated, it would prove he was a fraud.

Imagining the expressions of those naive people when that day came brought a slight smile to his face.

The woman, noticing his smile, turned and spoke to him.

“You seem new around here. Did you arrive recently?”

“Yes, I’m a merchant. I discovered this place while looking for promising estates to invest in. I’m confident this will be the most profitable, so I’ve decided to move here.”

“Welcome. If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from? You don’t seem local.”

“I’m from Byzantium.”

“Ah, I thought so. I’m from that area too.”

The woman moved her bowl and sat closer.

Up close, it was clear she wasn’t of Western European descent.

If categorized by European standards, she seemed to be from Greece or Asia Minor.

Meeting someone from the same region in this distant land was naturally a pleasant surprise.

The assassin suppressed a grin, seeing an opportunity.

If he played along and extracted information, his task might become easier than expected.

“Where in Byzantium are you from?”

“Thessalonica.”

“What a coincidence! I lived there too.”

Thessalonica, being the second-largest city in the Eastern Roman Empire, sometimes led to such overlaps.

But assassins had long studied not only silent killings but also blending into everyday life.

He was well-versed in protocols for such situations.

“In my grandfather’s time, we easily repelled invaders, but things became unstable in my generation. I sometimes miss the grand view of the harbor fortress. But I’ve heard it’s too chaotic to return.”

“Listening to you makes me want to see the Arch of Galerius again. Have you been to the Rotunda Church?”

“Of course. My parents were devout, so I visited often as a child. The artistic mosaics are still vivid in my mind.”

“Right? Just hearing about it makes me nostalgic.”

“But you seem quite young. How did you end up here?”

She couldn’t be more than her mid to late teens.

While that was old enough to be married with children, leaving Thessalonica for this distant land suggested a tumultuous life.

Slowly, he aimed to build rapport by probing her vulnerabilities.

As if following his plan, the woman nodded, her expression a mix of emotions, and ordered another drink.

“I’ve faced many hardships to get here. The story might be long, so shall we have another drink? My treat.”

“That sounds great. Meeting someone from home here is a rare joy. Let’s enjoy.”

The assassin raised his glass, smiling at the woman.

“You seem in good spirits. Haha.”

“Yes, meeting someone from home must be why. So, where did you say you were from?”

“Um? Didn’t I say Thessalonica…”

“No, no. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

What was going on? He’d only had a couple of drinks, but was he already tipsy?

The woman clicked her tongue at his confusion and asked again.

“Alamut? Syria? It can’t be Syria, so it must be Alamut. Who sent you?”

The unexpected question made the assassin’s expression turn to stone.

As he instinctively tried to pull his hand away from the glass, the woman swiftly drew a dagger from her cloak and stabbed his hand into the table.

Crack!

“Argh!”

“Don’t even think about running. Oh, and sorry about the table, sir. The count will compensate you, so don’t worry.”

The innkeeper, who had been watching the commotion from afar, nodded nonchalantly and went back inside.

‘Did she know from the start… but how?’

He hadn’t made any mistakes, so how had he been discovered?

Before he could voice his confusion, the woman spoke again.

“I told you, it’s nice to meet someone from the same place.”

”…What…?”

“Disguising yourself as a merchant, looking for a place to settle, getting close to the locals. Pretending to be a big shot, buying drinks to investigate the target’s surroundings. When the target is influential, you buy them drinks, ask for stories of their exploits, and gather information. You followed the textbook perfectly, didn’t you?”

By now, the assassin had a good idea of who this woman was, the one who had driven a dagger through his hand.

“You… you’re from Syria…”

“Yes. I came here to confirm your identity one last time. Claiming to be from Thessalonica, using the chaos as an excuse to move elsewhere. The scenery of the harbor fortress, the Arch of Galerius, and the mosaics of the Rotunda Church—still your go-to stories, aren’t they? Isn’t it time for a change?”

It hadn’t even been twenty years since the Assassins of Syria had split from Alamut. Naturally, they still shared many of the old training guidelines and assassination protocols.

He must have stood out like a sore thumb to someone who was already on the lookout.

But what he couldn’t understand was…

“Why would the proud descendants of Hassan ally with heretics who defile Islam?”

Both sides were equally fanatical in their faith, weren’t they?

His genuine question was met with an unexpected outburst from the young woman, leaving him even more bewildered.

“Heretics? Heretics? You ignorant heretic scum dare to insult the Prophet! You’re going to lose your tongue today, you bastard.”