Overwhelming Firepower

An average-looking man was walking through the crowd. He, like everyone else, seemed to be preparing for the parade.

As he was walking, he would glance around and look at the guards in the vicinity. Each one of the guards had a sword and one of those new revolvers.

The man paid particular attention to where the guards kept their hands.

Most rested one hand upon the hilts of their swords. They were accustomed to dealing with disturbances using familiar weapons and had not yet developed the habit of reaching for their revolvers first.

He continued through the crowd and purchased a small bundle of flowers tied together with twine. Many of the spectators carried similar bundles, intending to scatter the petals before the king’s carriage.

The woman selling them smiled brightly as she handed the flowers to him.

”Are you here to see His Majesty?”

”Of course. It isn’t every day an ordinary person gets to see the king.”

The man was a little confused. Why was everyone in the mood to celebrate?

Norvaegard was at war. Some of the soldiers marching today would never return, while others would come home missing limbs or carrying wounds that would trouble them for the rest of their lives.

Yet the streets were filled with flowers and laughter. Children sat upon their fathers’ shoulders, merchants called out to passing customers, and people leaned from their windows to hang colorful cloth across the buildings.

’So they weren’t joking when they said that this place is filled with warrior-crazed people.’

The man had passed through cities preparing for war before. The people usually remained inside their homes, while frightened families crowded the temples and prayed for their soldiers to return.

Norvaegard was different. Its people appeared almost eager to head out into war. The only other place he had seen such devotion to war was in places that worship Varkun, the God of war and honor.

That made the crowd more dangerous than he had originally expected.

In most kingdoms, civilians would immediately flee once the first weapon was drawn. Here, there was a good chance that some of them would attempt to help the guards.

Several men within the crowd carried swords at their waists. Others possessed the posture and calloused hands of retired soldiers. Even some of the women looked as though they would not hesitate to throw the flowers in their hands and attack him.

Still, the crowd also offered advantages. The constant movement made it easier for him to disappear, while the cheering would prevent anyone from hearing quiet conversations.

Once panic spread, even the most disciplined guards would struggle to move through thousands of fleeing people.

The man thanked the woman before continuing toward the eastern plaza.

The road gradually narrowed as the buildings on either side grew taller. Wooden barriers had been placed along the edges to prevent spectators from approaching the king’s carriage.

He counted the guards as he walked. Four stood near the entrance to the plaza. Another six were spread throughout the road, while pairs of soldiers watched the nearby alleys.

There were slightly more than expected, but not enough to change the plan. His eyes moved toward the upper floors of the surrounding buildings.

A heavy crossbow had been hidden inside a room overlooking the narrowest part of the road. Its wooden stock had been worn smooth by years of use, and the man knew every scratch along its surface.

It was one of the few weapons he trusted completely.

Beside it rested a single black bolt provided by the people who had hired him. Runes covered its metal tip, while a thin groove along the shaft held enough poison to kill even a powerful aura user.

He also needed to double-check the area he would need to flee to after taking the shot. He had only one shot at this; if he failed, there was no second chance.

His escape route began at the rear of the building where the crossbow had been hidden.

After taking the shot, he would climb through the back window and cross onto the roof of the neighboring building. From there, he could descend into a storage yard that connected to one of the alleys leading toward the southern market.

From the storage yard, he could enter the southern market. He would then blend into the supposedly panicking crowd and start running alongside them.

At least, that was how the escape was supposed to unfold.

After observing the people of Norvaegard, the man was no longer certain they would behave as expected. Some would undoubtedly run once the king was struck, but others might search for the attacker or block the streets to prevent anyone from escaping.

Now he needed to act like he was also looking for the shooter. Once everything calmed down a bit, he could escape the kingdom. This job might take a few months or several years depending on the situation.

Still, the pay for this job was good enough that such a thing was simply a minor inconvenience for him.

A series of horns sounded from the direction of the inspection grounds.

A moment later, the distant beating of drums joined them. The soldiers had begun marching, which meant the king would reach the eastern district soon.

The man joined the crowd moving toward the barriers. He raised his flowers whenever those around him cheered and gradually approached the building where his crossbow waited.

Before he reached the entrance, the door opened. A merchant stepped outside carrying an empty wooden crate. That was the moment he saw inside the building.

Two soldiers were walking up the stairs. The trench coat and the emblem they wore marked them as Thornefang soldiers.

The man clicked his tongue as he continued walking. If Thornefang was around, that meant the Ever-Victorious might be handling security.

The name that was gaining more and more fame due to this war. The young man who was rumored to have never known defeat.

There had been many stories about him outside of Norvaegard, one more exaggerated than the last, and there were many more stories here in Norvaegard.

Some claimed Lucen Thornehart had walked unharmed through entire armies. Others insisted that he could summon weapons from thin air and strike enemies he could not even see.

The man believed very few of those stories. Every victory grew more impressive each time it passed through another person’s mouth.

Still, it was true that since this war started, the soldiers under Lucen Thornehart had never been pushed back or defeated.

Aside from the King, the four Dukes, and the Tower Masters, Lucen Thornehart had quite a high bounty on his head. Higher than any other noble, higher than even the princes and princesses of Norvaegard.

That bounty was more convincing than any story. Kingdoms did not promise fortunes for men they did not consider dangerous.

The assassin made no attempt to approach the entrance. He continued walking at the same pace, his attention seemingly fixed upon the approaching procession.

If the Thornefang soldiers were searching the building, they would eventually find his crossbow. Attempting to retrieve it would mean fighting his way upstairs before taking a shot at one of the most heavily protected men in Norvaegard.

He slipped into the crowd gathered beside the barriers. As he was walking, someone spoke beside him.

”So are you alone, or do you have accomplices?” The second the assassin heard those words, he glanced at the one who spoke and saw someone wearing a hood. It was a young man with silver hair and ruby-red eyes.

This timing and that description could only mean one thing: this person was the famous Lucen Thornehart.

The assassin did not hesitate as he quickly threw something on the ground, creating smoke. The assassin did not use his aura since that would only make him more noticeable.

The smoke swallowed the surrounding crowd. Instead of fleeing, the people of Norvaegard prepared to fight.

Parents pulled their children behind them, while armed spectators drew their swords and searched through the smoke. Several retired soldiers moved toward the source of the disturbance, and others began blocking the nearby streets to prevent whoever had caused it from escaping.

The assassin cursed under his breath. The smoke had concealed him, but it had not created the panic he expected. The crowd was forming a net around him without anyone needing to give an order.

Still, the assassin continued towards his escape route. He just needed to move fast enough.

The assassin slipped between two spectators and entered the eastern alley. He expected to hear Lucen following him, but there was nothing.

There was no one shouting orders, nor the sound of footsteps from behind. That silence made him run faster.

He reached the first intersection and stopped. Lucen was there, leaning on the wall, looking at him with a bored expression.

”Is this chase over?”

The assassin did not answer. Aura surged through his legs as he turned and rushed into another alley. He passed two intersections, climbed over a stack of crates, and changed direction again.

Lucen could not possibly have followed without making a sound. The assassin turned the next corner, and Lucen was already there.

He stood in the middle of the alley with both hands inside his trench coat, as though he had been waiting for several minutes.

The assassin immediately drew his dagger and threw it at Lucen. He did not even bother to see if the dagger hit, since he knew it wouldn’t, and quickly turned to run in a different direction.

The assassin reached the next intersection before hearing Lucen’s voice again.

”You forgot something.”

He looked ahead. Lucen stood beneath the shadow of an overhanging roof, holding the dagger between two fingers. Lucen then threw the dagger at the assassin as he jumped down with his hands inside the pockets of his trench coat.

When he landed on the ground, he did not even make a sound; it looked like he floated downward.

”Are we continuing this game, or are you going to talk?”

The assassin who caught the dagger by its handle got into a fighting stance. As he watched Lucen coming towards him, he finally understood the other nickname Lucen had: the Ruby-Eyed monster.

The assassin knew when to fight and when to flee. Every instinct told him neither choice would change the outcome.

Even so, he tightened his grip and lunged. Lucen disappeared before the blade reached him. There was no burst of mana or sound. Lucen’s voice came from directly behind him.

”I’ll take that as continuing the game.”

The assassin spun, but Lucen was already leaning against the opposite wall. Several blue rifles floated above his shoulders, yet his hands remained in his pockets.

Seeing this, the assassin sighed and finally lowered his weapon. He raised his hands in defeat.

”I suppose that means I win. Now you’re going to tell me who hired you and whether you came alone,” Lucen said with a smile on his face, the floating rifles still pointing at the assassin.