Eclahim of the Royal City (4)
Tuktala Skymass, a mid-level officer of the Dark Moon Guild, possessed the gift of foresight.
Calling him a prophet would be an overstatement, as his visions extended only about a second into the future.
Moreover, his foresight was limited to himself, making his talent less useful than traditional crystal ball gazing or astrology.
However, the value of time is relative, determined by the person and the situation.
Even a foresight that couldn’t predict the continent’s future or even a single person’s fate was invaluable in battles where superhumans exchanged blows multiple times in a second, saving lives countless times.
Despite his relatively inferior physical abilities, Tuktala rose to a mid-level position in the Dark Moon Guild for this very reason.
And now…
“What the hell…!”
Boom!
The fact that he wasn’t decapitated by the hand axe that whizzed past his head was thanks to his foresight manifesting dramatically.
“That axe… it’s like a cannon from the Tsar’s army!”
Even with a second’s foresight, he barely dodged the axe, which crashed into the sewer wall, causing the ceiling to collapse.
If it had been any stronger, the entire sewer might have caved in. It was hard to believe such destruction came from a single axe throw.
And yet, the axe flew through the sewer walls without any sign of magic or sorcery, leaving him speechless.
“Abort mission! Abort mission! All Dark Moon operatives, retreat immediately! I repeat…”
Tuktala shouted into his communication stone as he quickly moved away, surrounded by a swarm of rats the size of human children.
The feat of throwing a weapon across space was impressive, but he was still a mid-level officer in an assassin guild that dealt with extraordinary beings.
The Dark Moon Guild excelled in hit-and-run tactics, and there was still a chance to escape.
According to the information they had, the assassination target hadn’t mastered spatial transference spells…
[Where do you think you’re going after throwing the first punch?]
A sharp pain pierced his temple.
The words echoed in his mind before reaching his ears.
The deep voice, laced with unfamiliar words, was a result of his foresight.
“Abort the mission—!”
He didn’t even have time to issue orders as usual.
A desperate cry, almost a scream. In response, a massive swarm of rats formed a barrier.
Beyond the dark fur, a gray shadow flickered, and in the next moment, a muscular warrior appeared from thin air.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Well, if it isn’t Tuktala.”
“Wh-what?! How do you know my name…?”
“I tried joining the Dark Moon Guild over ten times, thinking maybe I could assassinate a god.”
He added with a grin. Tuktala couldn’t comprehend the meaning behind those words.
That giant had joined the Dark Moon Guild? That mercenary known as the Dragon Slayer and Witch Killer?
But the Dark Moon Guild had been in hiding for decades. Was he saying this human was over a hundred years old?
A sharp pain.
Amidst the unanswered questions, a scene pierced through his mind with a throbbing headache.
The man wielding a holy sword. His own torso severed by its lightning-fast arc.
Tuktala didn’t hesitate. He immediately retreated, widening the distance.
Crash!
The large rats were sliced like straw, and Tuktala barely dodged the sword, fleeing immediately.
“Change of plans! Continue the assassination!”
He called back the retreating assassins nearby, releasing all the smoke bombs he had as he continued his escape.
Squeak, squeak, squeak—!
In response to his call, ratmen armed with daggers and skewers emerged from the sewer’s darkness. But within seconds, they were cut down and thrown into the muck.
As several Dark Moon operatives were cut down, the distance between Tuktala and the man gradually increased.
He was essentially using the other assassins as meat shields.
But it wasn’t just for his own safety, so Tuktala felt no guilt.
The Dark Moon Guild had only awakened from the shadows a few months ago. Normally, they should be focusing all their efforts on reorganizing and consolidating power.
Yet, for some reason, the guild’s leader, the Six Fingers, made a different decision.
“The end is near. Begin operations immediately.”
The problem was that, having been dormant for decades, they lacked up-to-date information on the current era and their assassination targets.
Among the targets, they knew even less about Dalen, a warrior ranked among the top by the Six Fingers.
He was a mercenary who appeared out of nowhere. No matter how much they investigated, they couldn’t uncover his origins, status, or even his childhood.
Yet, despite his mysterious past, he was rapidly gaining fame as a warrior and magician, unprecedented in history.
Such assassination targets couldn’t be taken down in one go.
The key was to throw dozens of daggers, hoping one would hit the mark.
To do that, they needed to gather information through multiple assassination attempts, and the fact that he could throw an axe across space was valuable information to bring back.
‘And he could traverse space with his body. It wasn’t even a spell…!’
A sharp pain.
Once again, a headache signaled the onset of a vision.
But this time, even Tuktala couldn’t understand it.
A vivid red hue filled his vision.
A bear-like paw approaching.
“What is this…?”
As he questioned, the answer unfolded before his eyes.
Whoosh—
A gray shadow loomed over him. The man who appeared from thin air spoke in a slightly annoyed tone.
“Where do you think you’re going? Ignoring me?”
Boom—!
In the spot where the warrior’s form blurred, the frozen sewer water shattered along with the stone floor.
Thud!
At the forefront of the massive rat swarm that quickly blocked the warrior, the sound of a leather drum tearing echoed.
There was no death cry. The death was too sudden for that.
The belly that collided with his shoulder burst open, and fragments of shattered spine and crushed innards flew in all directions.
And that was just the beginning.
Boom, boom, boom—!
It exploded again and again.
The warrior’s relentless charge scattered blood and flesh everywhere.
It wasn’t some sophisticated technique or spell. It was a brute-force charge, relying solely on a solid body and overwhelming strength.
It was like lining up wine skins filled with air and firing special Tsar cannonballs at them head-on.
Only then did Tuktala understand the scene he had foreseen. The red that filled his vision. And the hand that pierced through that red…
Thud!
“I thought I’d grown numb to increases in my stats, but surpassing a strength stat of 50 is quite something.”
“What are you talking about…?!”
“Doesn’t matter. You heard what I said earlier, right?”
Beyond the large hand gripping his head, the man’s dark eyes were visible between his fingers.
Eyes that seemed to have lost their color, dark and dull. There was no intricate malice or burning rage in them.
Even after turning dozens of giant rats into minced meat, his eyes remained calm, as if it was nothing.
The man spoke.
“Since you made the first move, I hope you’re prepared. You and the Dark Moon Guild.”
Crunch…
The brutish hand slowly tightened. Tuktala’s breath caught in his throat.
His vision turned red. The sound of bones misaligning in his jaw.
”…!”
He flailed his limbs in a silent scream, but it was futile.
The man continued to apply pressure with a businesslike demeanor.
In a situation where even his foresight seemed paralyzed, it happened.
“That’s enough, human.”
Amidst the growing numbness in his ears, a familiar voice echoed from the other side of the sewer.
Dalen turned his head. Behind him, someone was approaching from the other side of the sewer.
A ratman.
The same species as the mid-level officer of the Dark Moon Guild whose skull was about to be crushed in his grip.
The creature was shorter than average, roughly the size of the dwarf Bjorn.
Yet the contours of its muscles beneath the chainmail made it impossible to consider its build small.
Splash.
“I’ll say it again. That’s enough, human.”
The creature spoke as it strode forward.
A white beard, more luxuriant than those of other rats. And the dozens of ratmen trailing behind it.
Recognizing its identity wasn’t difficult.
It was a presence he had encountered countless times beyond the monitor.
In terms of sheer encounters, he had met this one more than twice as often as Tuktala, whose head was currently being crushed.
“The Sixth Finger of the Dark Moon Guild. Pikkake Skymass.”
”…If you know who I am, this will be quick. They said you weren’t as brutish as you look, and it seems the information was accurate.”
What the hell do they mean by how I look?
Dalen, instead of reacting with anger, simply flicked his hand. Instantly, the holy sword that had fallen to the ground flew into his grasp.
In his right hand, he held the head of a rat-man; in his left, the gleaming holy sword.
Covered in blood and gore, Dalen looked like a hunter risen from the depths of hell.
Pikkake, the sixth finger of the Dark Moon Guild, trembled slightly at the sight. Unconsciously stepping back, he spoke.
“I am one of the six fingers of the Dark Moon Guild. Surely you’ve heard what it means to hold such a title.”
“I’ve heard. It’s given only to those who’ve assassinated a transcendent. So what?”
“So what? It means exactly that. I may not be a transcendent, but I’ve taken down a fifth-tier one. Just because you’ve achieved a grand domain doesn’t mean you’re immune to death by my hand.”
Ah, so it’s a threat. And a stalling tactic, too.
The mental map in Dalen’s mind remained intact, allowing him to vividly perceive the dozens of rat-men surrounding the nearby sewers.
The rat-man before him, the sixth finger of the guild, was likely dragging out the conversation to perfect his assassination attempt.
If he wanted to play mind games, Dalen was more than willing to respond in kind. He chuckled softly, his fingers lightly caressing the hilt of his sword.
A menacing aura suddenly radiated outward, the flow of magic twisting unnaturally.
The mere presence of a transcendent’s will was enough to exert a crushing force on the surroundings. Pikkake swallowed hard, retreating a few more steps.
Dalen matched his movements, advancing slowly. As Pikkake and the assassins retreated, a delicate balance was maintained. Each step Dalen took forward caused the assassins to step back, the distance between them as precarious as a fraying rope.
In their retreat, they reached a dead end—the collapsed sewer passage from an earlier axe strike.
Perhaps thinking he needed more time, Pikkake, cornered but undeterred, spoke again.
“I have only one demand. The one in your hand is my son. I have over a hundred sons, but he’s the only one who truly inherited my abilities. Let him go, and I’ll spare your life.”
“Then let me ask you something.”
“What is it?”
“You said you have over a hundred sons. Do you remember all their names?”
The rat-man’s eyes narrowed. He asked, “Why do you ask?”
“Why do you think?”
With a slight squeeze, Dalen applied pressure to his grip.
He felt something hard shatter in his hand. The trembling head crumbled into white and red fragments, falling to the ground.
Seeing the rat-man’s eyes widen and his composure falter, Dalen grinned.
“Of course, it was a bluff, you fool.”
At that moment, from within the rubble of the collapsed passage, a golden light burst forth.
“You cunning little…!”
BOOM―!
The rat-man’s belated realization that it was a trap was drowned out by the golden explosion that swept him away.