Episode 64

“Hey.”

As the alley’s end came into view, the assassins sprang into action. They stopped trailing quietly and made their presence known. Just a few more steps would lead to the main street, so the narrow, shadowy alley was the perfect place to take someone out.

“Ian?”

“Do you know me?”

Ssshh!

The moment they confirmed their target, the group drew their swords and charged. Their faces and bodies were wrapped tightly in black hoods, making them look like shadows lunging forward.

Clang! Clang!

Berrick instinctively drew his sword to meet their attack. The blades clashed so sharply that sparks flew instantly—a clear sign the enemy was giving it their all.

Ssshh!

That also meant they knew Berrick’s skill well. They understood that if they couldn’t take him down in one strike, they had no chance.

Three or four of them kept Berrick occupied, while the remaining one tried to stab him through. Their attacks rained down relentlessly—slashing at his cheek, neck, and ribs.

“Oh?”

A fierce battle erupted as swords met and pushed against each other. Berrick hadn’t unleashed his full magic swordsman power yet, but the opponents were pushing back with surprising strength.

Watching this, Ian stepped back cautiously, observing the situation. His stance, the way he held his sword, and how he maintained distance—all showed he wasn’t some street brawler. This was the movement of someone systematically trained.

Judging by the circumstances, it was highly likely he was connected directly to Morlin.

“Berrick! That guy! Don’t kill him!”

“Don’t kill him? Should I just cut off his arm then?”

“Use your judgment…”

“Arrgh!”

Berrick grunted as he plunged his sword into one thug’s thigh.

‘Strange. If they know Berrick’s skill, they must also know I’m a magic user.’

No one dared to attack Ian. Morlin, who knew the true power of magic better than anyone, wouldn’t leave Ian—their target and obstacle—unattended.

Swish.

At that moment, long shadows stretched behind Ian. Over a dozen armed thugs were entering the alley from the main road.

“Hah. Figures.”

More than expected. They came well prepared.

Ian tried to gauge their numbers by sight, but the darkness made it difficult. When they drew their swords, Ian simply stepped back and smiled wryly.

“Working hard in the middle of the night, huh?”

“Shut up. You’re Ian, right?”

“Yeah. I’m Ian.”

Now Ian understood why the assassination plan took so long to execute. It wasn’t just a lack of opportunity—they had to gather this many people.

Ziiing.

Ian opened his golden eyes. Magic surged, stirring a subtle breeze of shifting temperature. Those who had never seen a mage before froze in surprise.

But only for a moment.

Confident in their overwhelming numbers, they closed in.

“Aren’t you afraid? Why do you do this?”

“Shut up! Just give up your life.”

“Do you know how much money is on your head?”

In truth, even after rigorous training and earning the title of mage, Ian’s magic was still limited. His magic resonated with power, but it was far from the legendary glory that could shake the world.

“Die!”

Ssshh!

The man at the front charged first. Ian drew his sword and swung his arm wide, deflecting the attack to the side. At the same time, he grabbed the man’s face squarely with his left hand.

“Wha—”

Ziiing!

Ian poured all his magic into the man’s body. Like he had done to Berrick in training, an invisible force flooded into his opponent’s core.

“Ugh, ugh…”

The man staggered back, and the others hesitated. Blood flowed from every orifice—eyes, nose, mouth, ears. The man wiped his face in shock, trembling uncontrollably.

‘No good.’

Ian frowned slightly, looking at his hand. It wasn’t a frequently used spell, but it was supposed to be an easy attack. Normally, the man’s head should have exploded.

“W-what the hell—”

“Idiot! Just stab him already, why hesitate?”

“Looks like you all know each other.”

“Why does it matter? You’re all gonna die soon anyway!”

Their crude, rough language suggested they weren’t from the royal palace. Probably commoners—maybe from Bratz?

While Ian was pondering, the thugs ignored the bloodied man and charged simultaneously.

“Yaaah!”

Swish!

A flash of steel appeared in front of them. Berrick. He had already knocked down those who had been clinging to him and rushed over. Blood dripped from his hair. Turning back, the ground was flooded with blood—spilled by the thugs.

“I’m dead tired, and these damn bastards make me exercise under the moonlight?”

“Berrick, did you kill them?”

“Don’t know. Just stabbed ‘em.”

“…Berrick. Just in case, leave one alive. Please.”

They needed to know where these people came from if they weren’t Bratz locals. Helping Morlin meant being a thorn in Ian’s side.

Ziiing.

Ian gave the order, grabbing Berrick’s shoulder. Blood-soaked hair fluttered in the night breeze as Berrick’s vitality began to return. Clouds that had hidden the moon drifted away, and the sky brightened slightly.

“Hah… Maybe it’s the exhaustion, but my magic feels amazing tonight.”

“Must you always put it that way?”

“Move! Damn it!!”

Flash!

Berrick’s voice, hoarse from fatigue, tore through the night. At the same time, a head dropped to the ground.

Swish!

It happened so fast that even as blood spurted from the neck, the thugs stood frozen. The speed was unreal.

“Ugh, ugh, aaargh!”

“Kill him!”

“Forward, forward!”

“Don’t push, damn it!”

Berrick pressed against the wall, swinging his sword as he climbed. Screams echoed all around, but no one could tell whose they were. Some tried to reach Ian, but he parried their attacks with his sword, maintaining his defense.

Swish!

His movements were inhuman. He barely touched the hail of blades, never giving an opening. Reflexively, he blocked, stabbed, and slashed…

“Arrgh!”

“Damn it! Aaargh!”

The alley was narrow—definitely a disadvantage for Berrick. But in reality, it was the opposite. The close quarters meant that even a slight swing could strike a vital spot. For Berrick, the alley was an advantage.

“Hah…”

Moments later, a mountain of bodies and pools of blood. Berrick was soaked red, except for his eyes.

“I told you to leave one alive.”

“This one’s still breathing. Twitching a bit.”

Berrick tapped someone’s head with his sword tip, then grinned and clenched his fist.

“Ah! Feels so good!”

It was a different thrill from defeating a strong opponent. The carnage born from overwhelming power. Sometimes, this kind of fight was better than a fierce, desperate battle. Like junk food for the soul, Berrick savored that simple pleasure.

“Delightful! Refreshing! Exhilarating! Hahaha!”

‘What a madman.’

Ian left the raving Berrick behind and approached the group that had come first. One by one, he pulled off their hoods to check their faces.

Among them was a groaning man—the one Ian had ordered to spare. Ian felt his upper body, confirming well-defined muscles. A man who lived by his strength.

“Looks familiar somehow…”

“Yeah? Take a look yourself.”

“Don’t you think you’ve seen him somewhere?”

“Hmm. Not sure. But definitely ugly.”

The man whimpered, twitching his left hand. Then he brought his palm to cover his cheek. Ian thought it was a dying man’s futile struggle to hide his face.

But then—

“Aaaargh!”

“What the hell? What’s wrong with him?”

“Damn it!”

A ring was on the man’s left middle finger. It was a tool with a hidden poison needle for suicide.

The man trembled violently, screaming in pain. Ian tried to stop him, but it was too late. He had no choice but to stuff a cloth into the man’s mouth as a temporary measure.

“Ugh…”

“Ugh, his face is really messed up now.”

Even Berrick, who rarely backed down, took a step back, muttering. The poison was spreading fast, causing necrosis. Flesh was falling away, distorting his features horribly. Even if his parents came, they wouldn’t recognize him.

“We’ll move the survivor and this one to the mansion. Go fetch some help.”

They intended to ruin the man’s face completely to hide his identity. That meant he was the mastermind behind this. If his identity disappeared into the shadows, Morlin would be safe.

Just then, Berrick poked the man’s side with his foot.

“Want me to carry him? But he’s heavy, so maybe cut off some limbs first.”

“Berrick.”

“Just kidding. Just kidding.”

The path back to the main road was blocked by piles of bodies. Berrick carefully pushed through the corpses, and soon the guards’ lanterns—deliberately left unlit for days—were finally lit.

---

“Did they take care of them?”

Mac, who had been anxiously watching from the window, couldn’t hold back and downed his wine, ignoring the trickle running down his chin.

“There are more than ten of them. In that narrow alley, even brushing past once would leave a dozen or so stab wounds. There’s no way we can come out unscathed.”

Dugor, who had been sitting silently on the sofa, finally spoke up. Even if they failed, their subordinate Petreio was someone who never botched the cleanup. He carried a poison needle that could dissolve a face instantly—any connection between them and the group would be buried in eternal silence.

“What if we fail?”

“Mac, you tend to worry too much.”

“This is about making a plan!”

Bang!

Mac slammed his hand on the table in frustration. Morin shot him a sharp look, warning him to calm down.

“You’re planning to wake up all the servants, huh?”

“I- I’m sorry, sir.”

“Petreio is highly skilled. He’s older now, but he once served as the captain of the prince’s personal guard in the palace. More importantly, he’s loyal—there won’t be any loose ends. You know that, and I know that.”

Just two rookies.

Beric’s reputation as a formidable fighter was often mentioned, but Morin only heard it in passing. Ian was a magic user, but he was only sixteen. His limits were clear.

“You can only pour out magic so many times. Facing a dozen grown men, I’d be the first to fall.”

“And even if—just if—we fail, do you think they’d dare come after us without evidence? If we die, the investigation team will come down again.”

That was the last thing they wanted. Mac finally seemed to calm down, apologizing with a shake of his head.

“Sorry. I guess I got a little worked up.”

Then—

Knock knock! Knock knock knock!

Someone pounded on the door roughly. The three men stiffened, swallowing hard. At this late hour, only two people could be knocking.

Petreio, returning from the mission.

Or…

“W-who is it…?”

Creak.

Through the crack in the door, a flash of red hair appeared. Covered in blood—or maybe it was raw flesh, as if his skin had been peeled off—he was drenched in bright red from head to toe. Beric wiped his face and smiled.

“…Were you waiting for someone named Petreio?”

“What the hell…”

Morin stood up, startled.

“Everyone, come out as you are.”

“W-what kind of disrespect is this?!”

Swish.

Beric drew his sword in response to their shouts. He pressed the blade against Dugor’s throat, stepping in close as if ready to strike.

“If Ian wants to cut you down, then let him.”

“You lowlife! We’re from the palace—”

“I know. But this is the borderlands.”

The borderlands.

A place that opened up countless possibilities.

“The borderlands don’t care about that kind of thing. Ian doesn’t.”