The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 413: Killing every last one of them

Then he grabbed the assassin by the throat and threw him with such force that the body became a projectile, smashing through two other attackers and demolishing the wall of a building beyond.

More assassins converged, attacking with everything they had—blades, energy attacks, poison darts, techniques that would have killed most warriors.

The Fudrachen moved with speed that defied its size, each gesture unleashing devastating force. A backhand strike sent three assassins flying in different directions. A stomp created a shockwave that shattered the street and knocked several attackers off their feet. When one assassin managed to land a blade strike, it simply bounced off the thick fur without leaving a mark.

”You interrupted my evening,” the Fudrachen said, and the voice was Jolthar’s but deeper and more primal, carrying harmonics that resonated with bestial fury.

”You threatened people under my protection. You made the mistake of thinking you could kill me.”

He grabbed an assassin in each hand and slammed them together with bone-crushing force before hurling their bodies aside. Another assassin tried to flee, the first to break ranks, but telekinetic force caught him and dragged him back, screaming.

”No one leaves,” the Fudrachen growled.

”You came to kill. Now die.”

What followed was less a battle and more a massacre.

The Fudrachen tore through the remaining assassins with methodical brutality, combining physical strength that could shatter stone with telekinetic power that turned the very air into a weapon. The Beast King Aura made every strike even more devastating, infusing physical attacks with primal energy that overwhelmed defenses.

Within minutes, it was over.

Bodies littered the street, red-clad assassins broken and still. The cobblestones were cratered and cracked. Buildings showed damage from impacts. Blood stained the ground.

And in the center of the carnage stood the Fudrachen, breathing heavily, its green aura still blazing around its massive form.

Then, slowly, the transformation reversed. The ten-foot frame contracted, fur receding, features becoming human again. Within moments, Jolthar stood there in torn clothing, covered in sweat but unmarked by injury.

He looked around at the bodies with grim satisfaction, then turned to where Milan stood behind his barrier, still holding the dozing Andrion.

Milan’s expression was pure shock. His mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to speak.

”You’re... you can transform into a Fudrachen. A beast god form. How is that possible?”

”Long story,” Jolthar said, his voice hoarse from the transformation.

”I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to leave before city guards arrive to investigate.”

”Ah, right. Yes, we should,” Milan seemed to shake himself out of his stupor.

”The carriage is damaged, but it should still roll.”

”You should tell me about the beast form.”

They moved quickly, Jolthar helping to load the still-unconscious Andrion into the broken carriage.

Jolthar took the reins himself. Within minutes, they were moving away from the scene of slaughter, leaving the bodies behind.

As they rolled through the empty streets, Milan kept glancing at Jolthar with an expression that mixed awe, confusion, and a dozen questions he was clearly holding back.

Andrion, blissfully drunk, mumbled something about soft cushions and continued sleeping.

Behind them, unseen and unnoticed, a figure materialized in the street where the battle had occurred.

The person, whose gender or even humanity it was impossible to determine, moved among the bodies with clinical precision, examining each one. They paused at the crater where the masked assassin’s broken form lay, studying the impact pattern and residual energy.

Then they looked in the direction the carriage had departed, and though their face was hidden, there was a sense of intense focus in that gaze.

After a long moment, they reached into their robes and produced a small crystal. They spoke into it, their voices distorted by whatever magic concealed their identities.

”The Shishusuto team was eliminated. All members are dead, including the Tier 8 commander. Target displayed abilities beyond initial assessment—transformation into a beast form and telekinetic power at extraordinary levels.”

They pause for a few seconds, watching the bodies.

”This target is beyond standard assassination techniques.”

The figure crushed the crystal, which dissolved into mist.

Then, with a gesture, they disappeared entirely, not running or hiding, but simply ceasing to exist in that location.

The street was silent except for the wind and the distant sounds of the city beginning to wake to the discovery of carnage.

*

Milan’s Villa - Late Night

They arrived at the villa through a side entrance, avoiding the main gate where servants might see them. Jolthar helped Milan carry Andrion to a guest chamber and deposit him on a bed, where the prince immediately began snoring.

In Milan’s private study, the two men finally had a moment to process what had happened.

”The Shishusuto don’t fail,” Milan said quietly, pouring two glasses of strong liquor—something to settle nerves rather than for pleasure.

”They’ve been the most feared assassin organization in the empire for decades. And you just... annihilated an entire strike team.”

”They attacked first,” Jolthar pointed out, accepting the drink.

”I know. But Jolthar—” Milan looked at him seriously ”—they don’t give up. If one team fails, they send another. Better equipped, better prepared. And now that you’ve revealed the Fudrachen transformation, they’ll plan for that.”

”Let them plan,” Jolthar said, downing the liquor in one shot.

”I’m tired of being attacked. Tired of schemes and ambushes and people trying to kill me for doing the right thing.”

”Who do you think hired them?” Milan asked.

”The Shishusuto don’t take contracts lightly, and they’re expensive beyond imagination.”

”Could be the ministers or your stepmother. Could be the Rothgards.”

”You should have at least kept one alive. We could have interrogated them,” Milan said.

Jolthar set down his glass.

”At this point, I’ve made enough enemies that narrowing it down is difficult.”

Milan nodded slowly.

”We need to be more careful. Increase security, limit your public appearances—”

”No,” Jolthar interrupted.

”I’m not hiding. I’m not changing my behavior because assassins exist. That’s letting them win.”

”That’s also potentially getting yourself killed,” Milan countered.