Chapter Five: An Assassination Summoned

The barrier in the secret compartment of the Start family was once established by a high-ranking mage. It was said that if someone hid inside, it would be undetectable except by a Saint-level expert. Now, it was unclear whether the mage exaggerated, or the enchantment had deteriorated over time, or perhaps the person before him truly possessed Saint-level power—but none of this mattered. The other party had already called his name, so there was nothing left but to go out and meet him. The two assassins just now, seemingly low-ranked, had already shown incomprehensible strength; this apparent leader could only be stronger. Resistance or escape held no meaning.

A faint clatter echoed as the wall shuddered slightly, and a hidden door slowly opened. Baron Start did his best to steady his breath, then stepped out with measured calm, stopping five paces from the black-clad figure, sword gripped tightly in his hand.

The man in black closed his book and extinguished the candle. “I apologize for disturbing you so late at night.”

Start remained motionless, responding with silence.

“As you can see, we are assassins,” the black-clad man spoke with ease. “Assassins usually blend into the crowd, taking up ordinary jobs when not on assignment. In this respect, we are much like the assassins depicted in this novel.”

“About three years ago, a certain noble attempted to root out lurking assassins around him. He bought many books related to assassins and distributed them among his household. He found most people indifferent to such books, but one person seemed deeply interested. That person was later confirmed to be an assassin.”

“That unfortunate colleague was exposed and died a terrible death,” the man in black sighed. “So, since then, we assassins have abided by an unwritten rule—never show overt interest in any material regarding assassins.”

Start was tempted to reply, “So this is why you come to read pirated copies late at night?” But he restrained himself. He merely nodded. “I see.”

“The ‘Chronicles of Assassins’ is, in my view, an excellent work,” the black-clad man returned to the topic. “Especially for us, it feels authentic and gave me much inspiration. Though it’s clear the author isn’t an assassin and knows little of our craft, the narrative is quite reasonable. I’m puzzled, though—why is it so unpopular?”

“Well…” Start paused, “There are many reasons. The protagonist often wins by cunning rather than displaying strength, which doesn’t align with the prevailing knightly ideals. And the protagonist ends up with only one wife—which doesn’t match the nobles’… tastes. So most nobles don’t care for it.”

The man in black nodded. “I noticed the book contains detailed depictions of elves. Is the author an elf?”

“No, the author is half-human, half-elf,” Baron Start corrected. “He’s a citizen of Louball.”

“Kevin Indesitin?” the man in black pressed.

“Yes,” Baron Start replied, secretly astonished. The book only carried the pen name ‘K’. Destitute bards were as plentiful as ants, and finding a real name would be difficult—yet this man knew.

“It’s always unpleasant to see a fine work buried,” the man in black sighed. “I have an idea. Would you be amenable?”

“Please, go ahead.”

“I wish to take this book with me and recommend it to my fellow assassins,” the man replied. “Since you’re here tonight, we can negotiate a price.”

“Well… There’s only this one copy in the library. If you take it, we’ll have none left,” Start hesitated.

“Here are twenty gold coins,” the man in black produced a pouch, weighing it so the contents rang clear. But at five paces, Baron Start dared not approach to take it.

“Your armor is quite fine,” the man in black smiled, stepping forward. “But if I wished you harm, armor alone wouldn’t save you. My strength is about equal to four royal guards. No one here could match me. And as a baron, that armor shouldn’t really be yours.”

Start paused, still attempting negotiation. “Perhaps I could have my little octopus copy eight versions for you. We could meet tomorrow at a set time, and I’ll deliver them all—no charge.” (The ‘little octopus’ is a familiar resembling a small octopus, trained to copy books. Its eight tentacles can hold pens, copying eight versions at once, day and night, with great speed and accuracy. Typically, a single octopus can copy eight Bibles in a week; for a typical bard’s novel, eight copies in a day.)

“No need; we have octopuses too,” the man in black replied. “And as assassins, we never arrange meetings with outsiders. It’s taboo for us—we worry about ambushes and such.”

“Very well,” Start had no other options and could only agree.

“If the library truly needs an original copy, I’ll return it once I finish copying. I can make another trip, though the timing is uncertain,” the man in black added, seeming reasonable enough.

“Alright.” Start ventured a question. “May I ask—do assassins truly exist in reality, and can one really hire them to kill for money?”

“We assassins abide by a strict system. Lone assassins are not permitted to act independently,” the man in black replied. “Simply put, some things cannot be bought, no matter the price.” As soon as he finished speaking, the man vanished. Start felt a flash before his eyes, and all was calm again. The ‘Chronicles of Assassins’ had disappeared, and a money pouch lay on the floor.

Thinking back on the conversation, Start still felt a chill; talking with assassins was like bargaining for a tiger’s skin.

The next day, within the Louball Assassins’ Guild, a black-clad figure hurried in, kneeling on one knee before the Guildmaster to report the latest intelligence, domestic and foreign.

The Louball Assassins’ Guild answers directly to the king, though not entirely under his command, and the national parliament also wields some influence. In Louball, assassins mostly handle matters best kept in the shadows. However, the country has enjoyed peace in recent years, so their operations have been minimal, focusing mainly on gathering intelligence and accepting foreign commissions. Domestic commissions, for reasons of stability, are not accepted—no matter the price.

The Assassins’ Guild is not hidden in some dark corner as in most stories. Because it reports directly to the state, the Guildmaster holds the rank of count, and the headquarters is in his own home. Only a few know that the count is, in fact, the Guildmaster—even most lower-ranking assassins are unaware.

“Guildmaster, the Empire of Lyon has successfully domesticated a new mount. Our reconnaissance suggests it’s a hybrid between a land dragon and another species. Though not highly powerful, it seems suitable for large-scale equipping of troops, expanding their dragon rider ranks,” the black-clad man reported, handing over the intelligence file.

“Good!” The Guildmaster nodded while leafing through the documents.

“Smithda has secretly dispatched over six hundred agents to various jungles and ruins, seeking ancient artifacts.”

“The beast tribes are electing new chiefs, and relations with humans seem to be easing. Some reports say they might send powerful students to human academies, but the information is not yet reliable.”

The Guildmaster continued to flip through the files, asking casually, “No valuable domestic news?”

“Domestically, it’s mostly commercial and industrial growth. Increasing numbers of nobles are contracting projects. Overall…”

“I don’t need to hear what I already know.” The Guildmaster interrupted calmly.

The black-clad man fell silent. Indeed, what he’d just recited had already been verified by statistical departments; assassins were hardly needed for such matters. What was required was the sort of dark, secret, forbidden intelligence. But those things were not easily obtained, especially at home. Foreign affairs allowed more leeway, more subjective conjecture, and the Guildmaster wouldn’t go to a beast tribe to verify whether they’d really sent students. But domestic matters happened right under one’s nose; a mistake could cost one’s life.

“What’s this?” The Guildmaster turned the last page and found a copy of the ‘Chronicles of Assassins.’

“This is a novel I came across by chance while traveling,” the black-clad man explained. “I believe it offers some inspiration for our present-day assassins.”

The Guildmaster’s face was expressionless as he rifled through the book.

Gathering his courage, the black-clad man continued, “The protagonist is an assassin. While the assassination techniques seem fantastical and romantic to us, the philosophy of assassins is quite accurate. The author argues that assassins and killers are fundamentally different.”

“A killer takes money and serves whoever pays most. An assassin, however, acts out of a sense of justice—purging evil in their own way, through their own skill. I believe this is what many of our rank-and-file assassins lack. Cultivating an assassin with conviction and justice is, in my opinion, far better than raising a killing machine…”

The Guildmaster kept flipping through the book until a passage caught his attention.

The story described the Guildmaster of Assassins snatching the king’s chamber pot, scooping a spoonful from it, and eating it noisily, yellow matter smeared at his lips. Those nearby were instantly nauseated; several maids even retched outright.

The king was aghast: “What are you doing?”

The Guildmaster smiled. “Your Majesty, if a man is ill, his excrement will be poisonous. I ate yours and was not poisoned, which proves your illness will soon be cured!”

The king was dumbfounded. “But I am not sick!”

“That proves Your Majesty is healthy, and your excrement is free of toxins!” the Guildmaster replied solemnly.

The king: “…”

“You doubt me? Then I’ll eat more—ah, ah…”

Smack! The Guildmaster’s face turned cold as he slammed the book shut and tossed it to the floor. The black-clad man felt the Guildmaster’s murderous aura and dared not utter a word, bowing his head even lower.

“Hmph!” The Guildmaster’s voice was icy. “Unable to find intelligence at home, you make up for it with a worthless book. Hah!”

The black-clad man kept his head down, not daring to reply.

“Let it go for today. There’s truly been no major affairs lately, and you have a record of meritorious service,” the Guildmaster said, rising and walking out with hands clasped behind him. “Find this pen name ‘k’ and eliminate him!”

“Yes…” The black-clad man could not disobey, and only dared to rise once the Guildmaster had left the room.