The Legendary Fool

127:

Zirel had made quick work of the black-robed assassins. Their proprioception must not have been too high, because by the time the second assassin noticed, his blade had already run through the first.

He had been cloaked, that was true, but his card did not grant him true invisibility. His steps were muffled, true, but his Rare Card, World Meld, left minute distortions that would’ve been amplified at such close proximity.

The second black-robed assassin’s expression had crumpled into confusion instead of terror, the sheer oddity of blood slicking down a length of empty air too bizarre for him to immediately react to.

That moment of hesitation cost the second black-robed assassin heavily,, as Zirel pulled back his blade of necrosis and thrust it towards him. Realization came to him a precious moment too late as he drew upon his blade in an attempt to defend himself instead of raising the alarm.

Zirel’s blade found purchase in the black-robed assassin’s neck and he could not even bring himself to fault the trained killer for going down so easily. Reacting in time to a superior opponent while they were using a Rare card’s cloaking ability was too much of an ask.

Having done his best to keep his deliverance as painless as he could, Zirel sighed. There was no honor to be found in dispatching weak opponents and there was certainly nothing to be proud of besting them through the aid of an ambush. The Nottrakon pragmatism he so loathed wasn’t so easily forsaken, after all.

Honor was a privilege reserved for the strong. Synrak had called the leader of the Shadow Guild trouble.

Zirel could not afford honor in this fight.

Zirel canceled his cloaking, before pulling out an ordinary piece of cloth from his inventory. He meticulously wiped the blood from his blade, taking a few minutes to do so before he tossed the now used cloth back into his inventory to avoid leaving any more blatant traces than he had to.

Thankfully, World Meld had never given him any trouble over the armor he wore. The Rare Card seemed to consider it a part of Zirel, as long as he met the criteria to equip the armor he wore. It was a Rare Card after all.

Sheathing his blade, Zirel grabbed the crumpled forms of the assassins by one leg each and began to pull, retracing his steps until he rounded the bend Aleph and Tom were concealed behind.

Tom winced at the sight of the assassin’s corpses while Aleph just looked at Zirel and nodded.

“What now?” Aleph whispered, her question angled towards Zirel.

“I’m guessing there’s a lot more of them past the door that I found,” Zirel replied.

“Probably,” Tom chimed in. “Zirel, do you think you can slip past that door without alerting any more assassins?”

“Likely.”

“Good,” Tom nodded. “Don’t engage. I need you to pull attention away from the door without revealing yourself. Also, leave the door ajar, just enough for someone to peek out from. Can you do that?”

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“What are you planning?” Zirel asked.

Tom pointed to his eyes, before tapping the Elixir he had strapped to his waist. Then he spoke, “Come back after you see me peek my head out from behind the door. I don’t need much time to work.”

“Got it,” Zirel replied, before returning to a state of cloaking.

A minute after Zirel had disappeared, Tom began to trace his steps while clinging to the shadows after activating his own common card that shared the element. His common The Shadow card’s ability paled in comparison to Zirel’s but there was a reason why he still kept it around.

Not long after, he was crouched behind the cover of the ajar door, using it as a shield for prying eyes.

His ears picked up on a clattering sound as metal clanged against metal before landing with a loud thud.

That had to be Zirel’s distraction.

Tom didn’t hesitate, as he peeked out from behind the door.

The cavern was far larger than Tom remembered. His memories from the assassin’s time within the Shadow Guild were blurry, because the assassin had left the guild’s premises two days before they had run into their group.

It was far too well-lit for his liking, with crystal lanterns lining the cave walls that provided a soft, milky glow. There were small cloth tents pitched around the periphery of the cavern and Tom managed to peer into more than a few of them only to find that they were empty.

He did not allow his gaze to linger for long, as his attention shifted to the three large cloth tents that were pitched in the center of the cavern where the clattering sound had originated from. Before the largest tent, the one in the middle that was flanked by two other, slightly smaller ones, a row of weapon racks had been arranged, one of them having coincidentally toppled over.

A tall man stood near the collapsed weapon racks, his arms crossed as he gazed down upon the black-robed assassin that was meekly nodding his head in apology.

“Can you not even manage a task as simple as maintaining a few blades?” The tall man asked, his impressive musculature dwarfing the lanky assassin’s.

“It won’t happen again, sire,” The assassin replied, as he failed to keep the fear from leaking into his tone.

Tom couldn’t blame him for that. The tall man’s grizzled hair was pulled back and tied into a knot, his bulk easily twice the assassin’s. He was clad in beast-hide armor that resembled the bark of a mottled tree, covering both his chest and legs. His boots seemed to be fashioned out of a type of wool, undoubtedly an artifact and a large, jagged axe was strapped to his back.

He was undoubtedly a warrior like the gatekeeper had been.

Tom let his gaze sweep across the room, noting two more warriors that were seated on a long table amongst a dozen or so assassins that was placed to the far right of the main tents, serving plates that were piled high with mismash cuts of meat and metal jugs that were likely full of liquor catching his eye.

It appeared that he had caught the Shadow Guild during their lunch.

Tom’s gaze turned back towards the axe-wielding warrior, as he placed his right palm on the assassin’s shoulder.

“Good,” He gruffly said. “Because there won’t be a next time.”

Active Shroud—Maya told him that he needed sixty eight Soul Power to use the ability on the axe-wielding assassin. While he could afford it, Tom was certain that the axe-wielding warrior would offer a fair amount of resistance.

His strength didn’t necessarily mean his will surpassed everyone else. Zirel was one such example— Tom was stronger than prince but he had failed to break through into his Yul the first and only time he had tried to use Maya on him.

No, Tom didn’t want someone strong-willed and relatively important for his purposes. He wanted someone weak, who as a consequence of their own vulnerable position in a den of assassins would be keenly observant of anyone capable of posing a threat to them.

Weak did not mean inept, after all. A deer knew how to flee at the signs of a predator, even if it would not always succeed in it’s escape.

The cowering assassin who watched as the axe-wielding warrior retreated into his tent was perfect for his purposes.

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