Episode 558

“Hold on, hold on. Stop right there.”

At the signal from the palace guards, the coachman slowly pulled back on the reins. Behind the carriage, a dozen large crates were stacked, each one emitting a musty, unpleasant odor.

The guards wrinkled their noses and brought out their ledger.

“Where are you from?”

“Rakkan Foods. We’re here to deliver supplies to the royal kitchen.”

“Ah, the duck meat specialists? But that smell is pretty strong. Is the meat spoiled?”

“The weather’s been hot lately, so the meat goes bad quickly. A few days ago, some rotten meat spilled out between the carriage boards. That must be the source of the smell.”

“And your companions?”

“Besides me, there are five laborers. There’s another carriage behind us.”

With a swift motion, the food supervisor showed his ID. The guards hurriedly made a note and then gestured broadly—open the gates quickly.

The coachman tipped his hat in thanks, and the two carriages rolled in one after the other.

Clatter, clatter!

The carriages headed toward the food storage. The coachman and laborers began unloading the crates one by one, but one man kept glancing around nervously, pulling a robe over himself. He was the source of the rotten stench.

The man adjusted the necklace of animal bones hanging around his neck.

Clink.

Without a word, he placed a pouch of gold coins on the spot where he had been sitting. The coachman naturally pocketed it.

No one paid any attention as the man suddenly disappeared. Their contract was simply to get him inside the palace grounds.

Clatter, clatter!

The man crouched low, scanning his surroundings. Then, slipping into the bushes, he shed his robe and lit a small torch. Shadows stretched unnaturally long. It was an eerie sight, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“Heh heh. Everyone, come out now!”

Ssshhh!

Heads emerged from the shadows, stretching out like tendrils. They cautiously stepped away from the darkness, clearly uncomfortable with the sensation. They moved with a sense of urgency.

“Ugh, this is unpleasant.”

“Did you expect a bed or something?”

“Shut up. Don’t get cocky.”

“Hmph. How else are you going to get out if not with me? Unless you want to die hugging King Damon.”

The man from the Natan tribe sneered, drawing a fierce glare from Nakasta. How dare a northern minority act so insolently.

Nakasta had been one of King Damon’s closest aides before Burgos fell. He was part of the old regime’s elite, someone who once had the power to command even the northern tribes with a mere gesture.

Though now, that glory was faded and distant.

“Enough. I’ll stay here. Handle your business quickly. The delivery carriages will be gone in exactly two hours. Ah, the palace is nice—so green and fresh.”

With a thud, the Natan man flopped down.

The Natan tribe could manipulate shadows like a separate dimension, but their combat ability dropped to nearly zero at night. The rotten smell from the bone necklace was an added drawback.

Nakasta and his men clicked their tongues and began preparing for the assassination.

“Let’s move.”

“Yes, Nakasta.”

Masked, Nakasta led his men into the darkness. Their destination was clear.

“The mage tower?”

“That way!”

The tower where King Damon was imprisoned.

Though Nakasta was officially loyal to the royalist faction, over time he had lost hope. Who was to blame for this endless war? Wasn’t it Bariel’s constant talk of balance of power that only fanned the flames?

In the end, the royalists existed only because of the enemy that was eating away at the country. Nakasta had long since switched to the anti-royalist side, yearning for national unity.

“But are you sure about this?”

“About what?”

Going to kill the lord he once served? Why would that be a problem? Nakasta smiled faintly at his subordinate’s concern.

“The king will understand. It’s for the greater good.”

That was why he was going.

Rutherford expected Damon to die quietly, but exceptions always existed. If the king still clung to life, if he wanted to survive, then the only option was to protect him while pretending to serve.

“Have the body bags been prepared?”

“Yes, without issue.”

Bariel’s side would never accept Damon’s death—at least not until after the war ended and the royalists helped with the aftermath.

They needed undeniable proof: the king’s corpse. The only way to confirm his death with one’s own eyes.

“Hm?”

Thud!

“What’s going on over there?”

“Are you alright?”

Romandro’s coachman was attacked from behind while smoking. The dull thud of his fall drew puzzled looks from the guards at the tower entrance. The assassins swiftly leapt in, cutting every throat with precision.

Clean and exact—

All in a single strike.

Swish!

“Ugh!”

“Move! Hurry up and get inside!”

“Any response from the windows?”

“None from here!”

Burgos’s other soldiers were stationed by the windows, but they didn’t expect to succeed. Or maybe they hoped to fail. This operation had to succeed on their own terms.

To make a name in chaotic times, one had to shape history with their own hands.

Clatter, clatter!

The infiltration team numbered over a dozen assassins. Centered around Nakasta, they aimed not only to kill King Damon but to cause chaos within the palace. To let the empire’s citizens know that Bariel’s grand palace had been breached by the enemy.

‘Even if the commotion keeps us from escaping, it doesn’t matter. We can vanish into the Natan shadows completely. We just have to hold out there until Rutherford figures out a way.’

“Once you secure King Damon and leave, set the place on fire!”

“Yes, understood!”

Their footsteps were resolute, like predators chasing prey. They cut down soldiers without pause, pushing forward relentlessly.

Finally—

“Hey, you! Do you know where you are…?”

They had arrived.

The assassins exhaled lightly and immediately turned to secure the stairs.

Nakasta drew his sword and stepped inside, facing Romandro, who trembled as he blocked the way.

“Where do you think you’re going, scum?”

“You don’t look like a warrior. Better drop and play dead now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re the one who should be down!”

“Your Highness!”

At Nakasta’s shout, Damon lifted his head. Though restrained by soldiers and unable to move, his gaze was free.

The subordinate he hadn’t seen in nearly ten years looked just the same.

“Your Highness! Do you know the situation in Burgos right now?”

“Nyaaaah!”

Clang! Clang!

Romandro charged with his eyes shut tight, but Nakasta easily parried the blade.

Oof! Romandro stumbled back, reflexively rising and gripping his sword again. Blood trickled from his right nostril, but he was too tense to notice.

“Ugh! Ugh!”

Damon made a final desperate plea to Nakasta—take him away, free his breath, and let him pass into the next world.

Nakasta smiled with relief. Yes, that was the way. As king, face death with honor.

“Your Highness! I will serve you!”

Or rather, serve your corpse.

Nakasta sharpened his blade. This time, he wouldn’t just block—he was ready to strike back.

Snarl!

Romandro, sniffling blood or snot, lunged again.

“You bastard!”

“Annoying!”

Clang!

Whoosh!

Romandro squinted. What was that? He clearly heard metal clash loudly, but felt no impact or pain.

“Huh?”

He stood alone, stabbing at empty air.

Then, who was his opponent?

“…!”

“Long time no see.”

Nakasta was already beside him, blades locked with Timothy. Just as Romandro prepared to attack, Timothy threw a chair from behind.

Dazed and alone, Romandro quickly regained his senses and moved to block Damon’s side. Forget fighting—he was better at taking hits.

“Sir Timothy! Help me!”

“Sorry I’m late.”

“I-it’s okay, the king’s still fine.”

Creak!

Nakasta smiled coldly and interrupted their exchange.

“You’ve become a true Bariel man, Timothy.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Do you blame me?”

Timothy’s grip tightened.

Blame me? Was that even a question? He had lived only for Burgos, worked only for Damon, and wanted to live as a husband and father.

But—

“…I hate you more than I blame you.”

Damon and Nakasta had ruined everything.

Damon had doubted him, and Nakasta had whispered conspiracies in the gap. Their fate, unchanged from yesterday to today and tomorrow, had been swept up in a great storm. Tragically, it was his family that had been swept away.

“Ugh. You’ve gotten bigger in the meantime. Must have liked Bariel’s food, huh? Meanwhile, your wife and child are dead, feeding only the earth.”

“You bastard!”

Timothy lashed out fiercely, swinging his sword.

He managed to fend it off, but barely. Nakasta had thought he’d honed his strength through the civil war, but it seemed that, after all, an ordinary man couldn’t overcome the difference in size.

Calling out to his men, he begged for help.

“This way! Damn it!”

“Nakasta-sama!”

“Not me—over there! Toward King Damon’s side!”

“I’ll cover the rear!”

The assassins split, some heading toward Timothy, others toward Damon. Romandro shut his eyes tight and charged again, but a single punch sent him sprawling helplessly. The soldier holding Damon collapsed as well, and one assassin shouted out.

“We can’t break the shackles. It’s better to finish this here and cut our losses.”

“Do it!”

Damon offered his neck without resistance, and the assassin raised his sword.

“An honor, Your Majesty!”

He was dead. All of them were dead.

Bariel, Ian Hielo—on this third life, I will trample them mercilessly. This very moment, after enduring and waiting for ten long years!

Ssssh!

At that moment, Timothy shoved Nakasta aside and lunged at the assassin. He swung his sword wide, and in one swift strike, the assassin’s arm was severed—effortlessly.

“Aaagh!”

Clutching the severed limb, Timothy plunged his sword mercilessly into the fallen assassin.

Thrust after furious thrust sent dark red blood spurting. It stained Damon’s pale cheek, and the gleam in his eyes dimmed, clouded by the spreading crimson.

“…Your Majesty.”

Wiping the blood from his eyes with the back of his hand, Timothy muttered,

“You’ve pushed me into despair, yet you still seek hope?”

“…Ugh.”

“No. Your Majesty, you cannot choose anything. You must live as if dead, without dying.”

Romandro shook his head, clearing the haze from his vision. Then, he wrapped his body protectively around King Damon. “If you want to kill the king, you’ll have to go through me first.”

“Nakasta.”

In his eyes, Timothy seemed to be weeping tears of blood—already as good as dead.

“I will abandon all reason as a man and slaughter you.”

No. Perhaps he was already dead.

From the moment his wife and child were killed.

With a chilling, unnatural ferocity, Nakasta swallowed hard and gripped his sword tighter.

“So scream. Let the screams of my wife and child… be erased from this world.”