Midnight Fireplay (1)
The poison seeped in, stinging his skin. The fine, deadly powder clung to the mucous membranes of his eyes, nose, and mouth, rapidly causing cell necrosis and inflammation.
Thump.
His heart pulsed.
Thump.
A dormant energy within his veins, reaching to the tips of his limbs, began to blaze fiercely.
Sizzle―!
Dead cells burned away, replaced by newly grown ones. As soon as one died, another eagerly took its place.
The poison that had penetrated his skin hesitated against this unnatural wave of regeneration.
The heat surging from his bloodstream began to drive the poison out.
“Ugh, it’s so hot.”
Dalen turned his head. The silver-masked assassin hung limp in his grasp.
The assassin’s hand and wrist, crushed and reddened, were cooking in the intense heat radiating from Dalen’s body.
“How… how are you withstanding this poison? No human could do that, unless you’re…!”
What a noisy bastard.
“Gah!”
Dalen tightened his grip around the assassin’s neck.
Despite inhaling the toxic mist, the assassin struggled vigorously, as if unaffected.
With the strength typical of a vampire, far surpassing that of an average man, Dalen applied a bit more pressure than usual.
Crack!
The assassin’s body went limp. Even a vampire dies when its neck is broken.
‘A high-ranking vampire might be different.’
A high-ranking vampire would have transformed into a bat or shadow the moment Dalen grabbed it, making it a tricky opponent to handle with physical means alone.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to deal with such creatures for now. Dalen let the lifeless body drop.
Sizzle―!
The toxic mist slowly dissipated. There seemed to be no need to worry about civilian casualties.
The assassin’s poison, while deadly, was surprisingly easy to break down and vanish.
For an assassin, leaving no evidence is the most crucial trait.
Dalen absentmindedly rubbed his eyes with his hand, then grimaced.
“…Damn it.”
Steam rose from his eyes. He hadn’t considered the residual poison still on his fingers.
Luckily, the regenerative factor he acquired from the sewers could even restore delicate tissues like his eyes.
Sizzle―
“…”
Though it didn’t eliminate the pain.
After expelling a cloud of steam from his eyes, Dalen checked the body on the ground.
The assassin’s corpse, now ashen gray.
The body, drained of blood and mummified, was the final form of an assassin character he had nurtured long ago.
[Corpse of the Assassin Who Pierced the Night Sky]
‘I intended to build a strength character, but somehow ended up learning skills suited for an assassin.’
The forgotten memories brought a wry smile to his face.
It was a character he had developed during the early days when he hadn’t fully adapted to the game.
Yet, as time passed, it became a legacy of immense power for him.
Dalen extended his hand.
‘Corpse Absorption.’
[You have recovered the corpse of the Assassin Who Pierced the Night Sky. You will inherit its abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: Strength +3, Leap (E)]
Crack―!
His muscles surged. Already inhuman, they now intertwined like steel fibers.
Crash―!
“Well, that’s something.”
He had casually placed his hand on the chimney, and the brick structure crumbled like a sandcastle.
Amidst the overwhelming sensation of his body filling and nearly bursting, Dalen had to spend some time calming himself.
And then.
“Inhale―”
He took a slow breath, focusing his mind from his spine down to his toes.
This wasn’t a feat achieved by pure strength alone.
Even a simple leap, when manifested as a skill, required a certain finesse.
Not too much, but just enough power.
He set his sights on the distant Galleos Trading Company building across the street.
Boom―!
Dalen’s figure launched into the sky, disappearing into the heights.
Volkma felt like his heart would burst.
Even though the Bronze District was a lawless area, he had believed the main road extending from the square was safe.
But the arrows that flew into his room shattered that belief.
‘Safety, my foot. Even the northern Tsar Kingdom, constantly clashing with barbarians, isn’t this bad. Arrows flying within city walls—it’s like a battlefield!’
Why had he thought of establishing a branch in this city? Why had he taken an interest in the leather workshop business?
It was a moment of self-reproach.
He had already lost many nights of sleep due to the recent unsettling movements of the Telia Trading Company.
The Telia Trading Company had nearly monopolized the leather workshop business in the Bronze District, making conflict inevitable.
But assassination?
Assassination in broad daylight!
‘Calm down. My head is still attached.’
Volkma clenched his fists tightly. He decided to muster his courage.
Dalen had told him to hide under the bed, but he couldn’t just sit idly by.
No matter how great a warrior Dalen was, he was still a man of flesh and blood.
Following the merchants’ adage to always minimize risk, he had to prepare for any situation.
Swiftly, Volkma crawled out from under the bed. He retrieved a full leather armor and sword from the wardrobe.
He tried to be stealthy, but his movements were clumsy at best.
After struggling to put on the armor by himself, he cautiously peered out the window.
“…”
It was quiet.
Contrary to his imagination of a battlefield with arrows raining down, the street was as peaceful as ever.
The sounds of cows and horses, and the chatter of people bustling about, filled the air.
‘Where is Dalen…?’
A sudden wave of anxiety washed over him.
Volkma slowly backed away from the window.
The quiet street meant the battle hadn’t lasted long.
And no matter how skilled Dalen was, he couldn’t have dealt with the snipers in such a short time. Unless it was the other way around.
‘Dalen, I hope you’re alive…!’
Volkma gritted his teeth. He had to do something.
He would gather the staff, barricade themselves inside the building, and hold out until the guards arrived.
Just as he made up his mind and reached for the door handle with trembling hands.
Crash! Crack!
Something in human form burst through the roof and ceiling, landing in the room.
“…Gah.”
Too shocked to even breathe, Volkma watched as the figure dusted itself off and spoke.
“Tsk, I need to work on my control… What are you doing there, Master?”
“D-Dalen?”
“I told you to stay under the bed. Why are you out here causing a fuss?”
Dalen spoke in a nonchalant tone. His casual demeanor made Volkma’s gaze wander.
The tiles and wooden fragments clinging to Dalen’s body. The debris falling from the gaping hole in the ceiling, and the sunken floor.
After taking it all in, Volkma reconsidered.
Perhaps the warrior before him wasn’t just a man of flesh and blood.
It took nearly an hour for Volkma’s scattered wits to return.
And Dalen realized that calming a person was more challenging than taking down a group of assassins.
After instructing the staff to clean and repair the room, the two moved to the parlor where they had previously conversed.
Volkma still wore the leather armor, with his ornate sword by his side.
“So… you’ve dealt with all the assassins?”
“Yes.”
For the umpteenth time.
Dalen popped a strawberry into his mouth to soothe his frustration.
The sweet, slightly under-ripe fruit crunched pleasantly. It was of quite expensive quality.
“So, you’ve opened a leather workshop? Naturally, there was some friction with the trading company.”
“Indeed. I did conduct business rather aggressively. But an assassination attempt, does that make any sense?”
Volkma, exasperated, gulped down his tea.
He drained the cup in one go, sighed, and set it down.
“Phew. A merchant’s battle is fought with money and connections, not with swords and arrows.”
“Yet you tried to hire me?”
“That’s because they’ve attacked our staff twice already. Within just three days.”
Ah, so there was more to it.
Listening to Volkma’s story, Dalen confirmed once again.
The Apostles of Regression were moving more aggressively than ever.
To counter their actions, he needed to act swiftly.
“Well, it seems you’ve calmed down, so I’ll be on my way. Thanks for the tea.”
Dalen rose from his seat, ready to head straight to the Crow’s Nest.
Knock, knock, knock.
Just then, an employee knocked on the door from outside.
“Master, you have a visitor.”
“I’m not in a position to receive guests right now. Tell them to come back later.”
“Uh, well…”
Creak.
The door swung open, and Dalen raised an eyebrow.
He’d always thought she was capable, but this was beyond his expectations.
Click, click.
Low heels tapped briskly on the floor.
The employee, flustered by the unexpected guest barging in, tried to intervene, but a simple gesture from her silenced him, and he bowed his head.
Long black hair, equally dark eyes, and a luxurious dark fur coat. The woman with the beautiful long lashes looked directly at Dalen and spoke.
“Dalen.”
“I was just about to come find you. How did you know?”
“Hehe, seems I’ve surprised you this time.”
Sienna smiled, her eyes twinkling with charm.
Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Volkma gestured for the hesitant employee to leave.
Thud.
The door closed, and Sienna naturally joined them at the table. She greeted Volkma first.
“I’ve heard a lot about your new venture, Master Gallios. You’ve invested so much that even the Telia Trading Company is astonished.”
“Could it be… information from the Crow’s Nest?”
Volkma asked uncertainly. Sienna chuckled.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m Sienna from the Crow’s Nest. You’re quite adept at spreading rumors, but not so much at remembering them.”
“Well, I tend to forget things that don’t make money.”
Ah, she’s subtly pointing out that he’s a gossip with poor information-gathering skills. Seems he didn’t catch that.
‘As long as he’s the only one feeling slighted, it’s fine.’
Dalen thought, popping another handful of strawberries into his mouth.
Meanwhile, Sienna spread a map across the table. She spoke.
“The silver mask you gave me—I found out what organization it belongs to.”
“Who?”
Dalen feigned ignorance. Sienna narrowed her eyes, as if to say she knew he was pretending.
“They’re cultists worshiping a dark god. They call themselves the ‘Apostles of Reversion.’ They use masks with exaggerated mouths as their symbol, just like the one you gave me.”
Dalen munched on the last of his strawberries. Volkma, on the other hand, listened wide-eyed, as this was all new to him.
“I didn’t find this out just because I’m skilled. It was all about timing.”
“Timing?”
Sienna pulled out another bundle of papers.
The sheets were filled with numbers and letters, interspersed with familiar units like florins and shillings. Volkma exclaimed.
“This is a ledger, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s the Telia Trading Company’s ledger.”
She nodded, then turned back to Dalen.
“Here’s the point. The head of the Telia Trading Company is a member of the Apostles of Reversion. A high-ranking one, known as the Silver Mask.”
“No wonder. Their ruthless methods are beyond what any merchant could imitate!”
Volkma burst out, standing up in indignation. Sienna ignored him and continued.
“In recent days, the Telia Trading Company has been buying up massive amounts of supplies—herbs, weapons, metals. Rumors are flying among merchants that they’re hoarding or have exclusive contracts with the southern empire.”
“Those scoundrels! What are the smaller traders supposed to do if they buy everything up…!”
“But it’s all nonsense.”
Volkma, who had been fuming, fell silent.
Sienna shot him a cold glance, then pointed to a spot on the map.
“The supplies are being gathered here. An old warehouse the Telia Trading Company bought long ago and supposedly left unused.”
Dalen looked at the map with a blank expression. He knew the place.
A rare five-story building in the back alleys. Sienna asked with sparkling eyes.
“Do you know what’s happening around there?”
“Masked cultists must be showing up.”
“Exactly. And they’re kidnapping merchants and craftsmen, hiring thugs and street vagrants with money.”
Dalen nodded. Thugs and vagrants, easy prey to turn into monsters.
Thugs could be tempted with promises of power and money, while street vagrants would risk their lives for a loaf of bread.
Gather the Apostles, build an army of monsters, and use the merchants’ funds and craftsmen’s skills to produce weapons for the army.
“They’re preparing for war.”
“Yes.”
Sienna straightened up and rang the bell on the table.
She asked the entering staff for more refreshments.
Volkma’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Could it be… you’ve planted someone in my company too?”
Sienna gave him a provocative smile.
“Of course. How else would I know Dalen was here? Or how to get to the reception room?”
”…”
Soon, the refreshments arrived. Dalen grabbed another handful of strawberries. He spoke.
“Is there no word from the Bronze Guard? Aren’t you on good terms with Captain Silence?”
“I’ve informed them. They’ve agreed to cooperate. But…”
“But?”
Sienna fiddled with her teacup, her earlier confidence slightly waning.
She was quick to gather information and assess the situation, but it seemed she was struggling to devise a next step.
It was only natural.
Without having experienced hundreds of iterations like Dalen, how could anyone come up with a perfect response to the cultists’ sudden movements?
Uncovering the conspiracy of such a shadowy organization was an achievement in itself.
Sienna sipped her tea and continued.
“But even the Guard can’t raid a trading company’s building without clear evidence. Especially a warehouse in the back alleys, outside their patrol jurisdiction.”
“That’s not a problem.”
Dalen stood up, resting his hand on the axe at his belt.
“I just need to give them a reason to get involved, don’t I?”
Sienna’s eyes widened.
”…How?”
Dalen grinned.
“Even if it’s outside their patrol area, the Guard will have to respond if there’s a fire.”
A five-story warehouse teeming with cultists and monsters.
The perfect place for a little nighttime arson.