The Assassin's Seven Principles of Manipulation

Chapter 276: Chapter 271 — Layers

The second-in-command of the northern house, Gordon Sarakhel, paused before the large door. Even now, he was still wearing several thick sweaters, not daring to take them off. His face was drenched with sweat. Still, he stood there, staring at the door with slightly trembling fists and hesitant eyes.

After a moment of steeling his resolve, he carefully knocked before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

He was met by a serene, almost peaceful atmosphere. Yet somehow, it felt suffocating. And it was all because of a single presence in the room.

Malach Sanct Sarakhel sat at a table, his attention fixed on a game of Wargrid. No opponent sat across from him, yet he seemed completely engrossed despite playing by himself.

Several hours had already passed since Jogo and the others had been captured by the southerners, yet this was all he had done. Gordon, however, dared not disturb him.

Malach, despite essentially being a madman, was, in fact, of the primary line.

The youngest son of Severin Sanct Sarakhel, the head of House Sarakhel and Magister of Alloyn of the Ferran Church. Severin was second only to Ecclesiarch herself. To say the man possessed immense power and influence would be an understatement. And Malach was a spawn of such a man. He and his siblings had been manipulating people since before they had even left their mother’s womb.

Gordon quickly approached and bowed.

”Prime.”

Malach responded without looking up.

”Hm?”

”I came to report. Your order has been carried out. By dawn, every cadet will be gathered in the courtyard.”

Malach barely nodded. Then, he slowly moved a piece across the board, as though signaling that the conversation was over.

However, Gordon didn’t move. Several moments passed, his hesitation becoming increasingly apparent. Eventually, Malach seemed to notice. He slowly turned toward him. Then, raised one of his eyebrows.

”You look really hot, Gordon. Are you alright?”

Gordon held himself back from blurting out what was on his mind. After all, Malach himself was the reason he was wearing these accursed things. And Malach knew that very well.

Instead, Gordon simply lowered his head.

”...Yes, Prime. I’m alright.”

”Good, good.” Malach nodded pleasantly. ”Now then... you clearly have something weighing on your mind. Go on.”

Gordon’s hesitation melted away. Since Malach himself had invited the question, he no longer had to worry about the repercussions. At least, not as much.

”I-I was just wondering what brilliance my Prime has in store.” Gordon carefully chose every word. ”Jogo and the others have been captured. They’re possibly being tortured for information as we speak. I was wondering what brilliance my Prime intends to unveil next. It’s also possible the Lightning Prince might try to use them as bargaining chips...”

”Hmm.” Malach smiled to himself. Then, a moment later, turned his attention back to the game board. ”Tell me, Gordon... have you ever played Wargrid?”

Gordon frowned, but still answered.

”Only as a child, Prime.”

”Hm. Then tell me... what makes a truly great player? One who wins every single game?”

Gordon’s gaze drifted to the board.

A four-by-four square filled with black and white pieces.

Wargrid.

A game played by practically every Ferran child, supposedly to teach the art of war from an early age. To win, one had to gradually eliminate the opposing army through careful moves before finally reaching the head—the king.

After a moment, Gordon answered.

”Outmaneuver your opponent, wear down their army, and kill the king.”

”No.” Malach gently shook his head. ”That’s only the result. I’m asking about the method. How do you outmaneuver someone?”

Gordon fell silent. However, as though Malach had never expected an answer in the first place, he continued.

”It’s through layers.” He smiled. ”Every move you make should have layers hidden inside it.”

He picked up a piece from the board, then placed it firmly in the center. Several of the opposing pieces scattered.

”You make one move... then you let it bloom into something beautiful. Your opponent sees the first layer, but that’s alright. There are more.”

He nudged the piece forward, sweeping several of the opposing pieces aside.

”They peel away the next one. Again... that’s alright. It’s only another layer.”

He advanced the piece once more, brushing aside several more pieces as it drew closer to the king.

”You keep going deeper and deeper, until the third. They saw the first. They saw the second. Those consumed all of their attention. They never even realized there was a third.”

He swept aside the last few pieces until only the opposing king remained.

”By the time they finally do...”

With a flick of his finger, he sent the king piece flying. It slid across the table before falling to the floor, where it struck with a sharp crack.

Malach’s crimson eyes gleamed coldly in the dimly lit room. Slowly, the corners of his lips curled into a wicked grin as he mouthed,

”Boom.”

Somehow, despite not understanding the full scope of Malach’s words, Gordon still shuddered. Even beneath the thick sweaters he wore, the chill filling the room bit into his skin.

Malach suddenly leaned back, laughing.

”Lightning Prince...” He chuckled softly. ”Lightning Prince... I wonder how he’ll receive my gift. Will he appreciate it? Or...” Another chuckle escaped him.

”Oh... I’m going to have so much fun crushing him.”

...

Boom!

Smoke swallowed the room. Ears rang from the explosion, while eyes widened in shock. Zephyrion stood calmly amidst the devastation. His eyes pierced through the smoke, staring at Jogo and the northern cadets, or rather, what remained of them.

Seconds ago, Jogo had been about to speak when their bodies suddenly flared before exploding. None of them were dead, but their bodies had been burnt black, every one of them lying unconscious.

”God damn it!” Kaiden cursed. ”This bastard rigged his own people to blow up?!”

Nedra, Tobias, Fiona, and Draven stared at the scene with darkened expressions. Lumi burst into the room, clearly having heard the explosion. Her eyes immediately swept across the room before she visibly relaxed upon seeing Zephyrion unharmed. The others were unharmed as well. After all, Zephyrion had expected something like this.

’So he’s that kind of person.’

After dealing with Kaelith’s rune of forgetfulness, he had become far more sensitive to things like this. Someone like Malach, smart enough to devise that Trojan horse stunt within such a short timeframe, was naturally the type to prepare contingencies in case his people were captured.

That said, the reason Zephyrion had allowed it to happen was a test. To see how far Malach was willing to go. To determine what kind of person he truly was.

The fact that he would reduce his own people to such a state...

Though the common people were blinded by reverence, those within high society knew what the Sarakhel truly were. Sick, wicked, manipulative people willing to go to any lengths to achieve their goals.

Now, though, Zephyrion had his answer.

Regardless, that wasn’t even the most valuable thing he had determined that night. The truth was, he had only asked about the armor to trigger whatever Malach had placed on the cadets. The answer to that question... he already knew.

’It was obvious from the start.’

From the moment he arrived at the academy, when the southern gate had suddenly ”malfunctioned,” he had suspected something was wrong. But now, more clues had gathered, making it increasingly obvious.

The resource crate that landed at the Sarakhel base instead of the center. The military-grade armor worn by the northern cadets.

All of it pointed toward one single, undeniable fact.

’Someone high enough within the academy is helping them.’