The Assassin's Seven Principles of Manipulation

Chapter 407: Chapter 402 — Gossip

Nourald’s arm was still draped around Zephyrion’s shoulders as he gestured to a tall, lanky Aerelith seated alone, staring dazedly into a small bonfire.

”...See that fellow over there? That’s Omer. I heard his mother dropped him on his head as a baby. Explains why his head’s shaped like an apple, doesn’t it? Haha. And, well, he’s also not exactly... em, right in the head. I offered him food once, and you know what he did? Just stood there smiling at me. Didn’t say a word. I swear, brother, it was some terrifying shit.”

”...I see.”

”Over there, we have Umar. You see, he once fell madly in love with a girl and spent three whole months trying to impress her. Bought her gifts, wrote her poems, even challenged another fellow to a duel for her honor. Turns out, the girl was his cousin. Hahaha! And the funniest part? He already knew! Apparently, he thought they were distant enough for it not to matter!”

Without waiting for a response, Nourald smiled and quickly found another target. This time, it was a slender, beautiful, and rather well-endowed woman. She was giggling while a tall Aerelith man leaned close to whisper something in her ear.

”Ah, that’s Joy. Beautiful, isn’t she? Well, I hear she’ll open her legs to just about any man who knows how to say hello.”

’W-wait, what?’

Demorian, who’d been silent all this while, suddenly coughed. Nourald had been spilling secrets about different Aerelith unprovoked as they walked through the camp, and it seemed this particular one had finally awakened the ancestor!

”Over there, we have...”

As Nourald moved on from the girl, Demorian instantly panicked.

’Wait, wait! Protégé, tell him to go back! How can he stop at the interesting part!’

’Shut up. I’m trying to think.’

He was barely able to think with Nourald’s constant ramblings. He certainly didn’t need Demorian screaming directly into his mind too.

’Think? What could be more important than this!? Ask him how we can get some joy from Joy! Please, protégé! If this ancestor doesn’t see some action soon, I’ll dry up! We have free pussy before us, and you want to think!? What the hell is wrong with you?’

Having had enough, Zephyrion tuned out the ancestor, and Nourald along with him. He let their voices fade into a dull, indistinct murmur.

There was a problem.

Saying he needed air scrolls was one thing, but actually getting his hands on them here... was another matter entirely. There was a reason for the order of ranks, and no matter how talented or gifted anyone was, it was impossible to skip ranks. Every Ascendant had to advance through them in order, with no exceptions.

The problem was, as far as Zephyrion could tell, every Aerelith currently gathered in the camp was a Herald, with not a single Vessel-rank Ascendant in sight. Why would any of them bother keeping something they no longer needed?

’One problem after another. At this rate, it might actually be easier to just...’

Zephyrion quickly suppressed the murderous thought. Slaughtering everyone here would be the easiest way to paint a target on his back. He needed a more delicate approach.

’The scrolls are still my best option. Now, if only I could actually get my hands on them...’

As they walked, Zephyrion let his gaze wander around the camp, paying particular attention to the Aerelith themselves. If he wanted any hope of finding the scrolls, he needed to know who he was dealing with. Luckily, there was someone beside him who seemed to know just about everyone.

”What about those people? What’s their story?”

Nourald paused his rambling and followed his gaze to a group of Aerelith seated around a bonfire, passing pipes between themselves and puffing out clouds of smoke. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they were lounging lazily on soft cushions of air, staring up at the sky.

”Ah, those fellows.” Nourald chuckled, seemingly pleased that Zephyrion had finally taken an interest. ”We call them the smokers. Creative name, I know. All they do is smoke and laze around all day. I’ve known them since our academy days, and believe me, getting them to do anything is like pulling teeth. But I suppose there’s a good side to it. They never cause trouble, and they mind their own business. Quite admirable, really.”

’So... lazy.’

Clearly not the type to hoard anything they didn’t need.

”What about those ones?”

He gestured to another group zooming around the camp, riding balls of air and laughing wildly.

”Ah, the training freaks. If they’re not fighting, they’re sparring, and if they’re not sparring, they’re trying out some ridiculous new technique. Even their idea of having fun involves training. I tried hanging out with them a few times, but brother, I was exhausted after just a few hours. I swear those fellows don’t know the meaning of rest.”

’Not them either.’

If they were constantly trying out new techniques, then it was unlikely they’d still be holding on to scrolls from their previous ranks.

Nourald suddenly chuckled, as though recalling something amusing. ”Oh, speaking of those fellows, you know one of them has a sister who apparently—”

Zephyrion cleared his throat, cutting him off before he could launch into another gossiping spree, and quickly gestured to another group.

”What about them?”

The next group consisted of Aerelith women seated rigidly around a bonfire, each surrounded by a thin layer of air. According to Nourald, they were called the Breath Sisters, and belonged to a larger religious order in the Aerelith Empire, a branch of the Aerelith Church.

Apparently, they believed all breath was sacred and refused to let the breath of the unworthy taint theirs. Which was why they constantly moved around enclosed in bubbles of air, breathing only the air within.

Nourald described them as pious, and in a rather roundabout way, a bunch of nagging bitches.

Whenever they saw something wrong, especially anything that went against their faith, they would complain endlessly until it was corrected.