Chapter 69

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 69

Chapter Title: The Crown I'll Steal from You

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They moved as if determined not to leave a single soul alive in the minister's mansion.

Who, and why, was trying to wipe them all out?

But slaughtering everyone, even the servants, isn't like my reputation-conscious uncle— Ah. It's you, Samon.

The sleazy Samon Claudio appeared to be settling the grudge from the last banquet by striking at Etienne from the shadows like this.

Cowardly bastard.

Without Etienne, he lacked the confidence to handle Hydra, so he'd decided to burn down the mansion itself—with its teleportation magic circle—entirely.

A chill swept through Medea's chest. If it hadn't been for today, she never would have found that signed document.

At the same time, she realized she had to slip out without them noticing.

Because if they learned she had the document in her possession, they'd kill her to take it back.

"The flames are closing in. This way."

Cezare seemed to be thinking the same thing. He had already drawn his sword.

The moment he opened the door to the study, a swarm of assassins poured in.

The room filled with the clash of steel on steel.

Beastly speed. Unhesitating blades stabbing precisely for the solar plexus. The men Samon had sent were no match for Cezare.

In an instant, the black-clad figures crumpled to the floor.

At that moment, the sharp ring of clashing weapons snagged at Medea's keen senses.

Looking out the window, she saw new assailants who had breached the outer walls, clashing with Samon's assassins far in the distance. They were the ones with white bands tied around their arms.

Who are they? Not with Samon's group?

With overwhelming skill, they began slaughtering Samon's assassins indiscriminately.

"Kugh! Urk!"

In a flash, Samon's shadows toppled like dominoes.

Cezare kicked aside the last assassin on site and turned.

"We need to hurry, Princess."

His tone was casual, belying his words.

The two descended corridors and stairs at speed.

They avoided places with noise and changed direction if already exposed. Medea was confident in her silent movements as well.

Cezare raised an eyebrow.

The princess, dodging the commotion and weaving through, seemed remarkably familiar with the mansion's layout.

"Spare me! Please, spare— Aaaagh!"

A distant scream faded away. Medea squeezed her eyes shut.

I know I can't save them.

She'd long since discarded any fleeting pity. She had neither the spare capacity to sacrifice herself for others nor the ability to do so.

Yet the anguished cries clinging to her ears...

"They say the Princess of Baldina doesn't indulge in outings."

The mercenary spoke up abruptly.

Medea wondered what he meant. The guilt gnawing at her ankles was swept away by his presence.

"So all the rumors were nonsense?"

"...You're still poking your nose everywhere, I see. The boss must value you highly if you haven't been kicked out yet."

"He's not my boss yet, remember."

"Or maybe you're the boss's boss."

Cezare halted at her quiet remark.

He turned to stare at Medea. In response to his demanding gaze, she replied calmly.

"How could I be the only one hiding beneath the surface, deceiving the world?"

Facade's leader had revealed himself to the world far too easily.

Since when had a massive arms trading syndicate like Facade operated so straightforwardly?

If Garo was a front to hide the true leader, then Facade's real master was...

As Medea met the mercenary's eyes, the corner of his mouth twitched faintly.

"Sharp as ever."

It looked like a smile—or like he was barely holding back a laugh.

"Fine. Since we're both hiding our identities, let's keep this our little secret."

He stroked his jawline.

At that moment, both turned simultaneously to look in the same direction.

"Well, now. We've got a tail."

He muttered in mock dismay, though it sounded more like humming than anything alarming.

As the two reached the west corridor of the count's mansion, Cezare suddenly shoved Medea behind a statue.

What is he—?

"Shh."

Cezare pressed a straight finger to his lips.

At that instant, Medea froze. She'd spotted the thugs blocking the corridor a beat too late.

It was the men with the white bands tied on their arms.

So they're the ones targeting Facade.

Medea's green eyes flashed sharply. She quietly melted into the shadows.

"Looks like we have some welcome guests."

Cezare spread his arms leisurely, as if greeting them.

Killing intent poured from the thugs like dripping venom, bent on eliminating their target at all costs.

A split-second silence. Without a word, deadly blades flew.

Their swords all targeted Cezare alone.

The thugs' skills far surpassed Samon's shadows from earlier, but they still weren't his match.

Fluid sword arcs sliced through the night, felling the assassins one by one.

He carved through them mercilessly, like a beast unleashed from its seal.

Unlike his blood-drenched, savage bladework, his movements were startlingly simple and elegant.

That dissonance radiated an untouchable madness.

An ordinary young girl might have struggled to keep her wits amid such brutality.

But Medea, who had weathered countless massacres in her past life, instead observed them closely.

She sensed a familiar feeling from the assassins' movements.

Why are they using the long-forgotten swordsmanship of the Kazen imperial family?

Then, Cezare faltered.

His sword arm stiffened. His fingertips turned blue. A curse seizure had struck.

A momentary lapse.

Even that brief opening was enough for a skilled assassin.

As the assassin's gleaming blade thrust toward Cezare's chest,

Pfiu—! An iron arrow pierced the assassin's throat.

The assassin turned toward the arrow's origin with eyes full of disbelief.

Pfiu—! Pfiu—!

More iron arrows shot out, targeting the remaining assassins. As they barely dodged, explosions erupted.

Boom boom boom—! Thick white smoke billowed.

Shattered ceiling and walls filled the air with choking dust, turning vision pure white. Nothing was visible.

Finally, when the dust and smoke settled, nothing remained in place.

"Damn it, they got away! Where'd they go?!"

The assassins vented their frustration.

"You saw the First Prince staggering, right? With his condition flaring up like that, he can't have gone far. Find them, quick!"

The statues lining Count Etienne's mansion corridors came in all varieties and forms.

Among them, behind the statue of Eros as a young boy, lay a secret passage leading outside the mansion.

It connected straight to a quiet street in the royal capital.

In her past life, Medea had fled to Kazen with Jason through this very path.

Amid the explosion and blinding smoke from the iron arrows, Medea had swiftly supported Cezare and vanished into the passage.

We have to move.

As if hearing her low whisper, the mercenary moved without question.

They traversed the pitch-black corridor devoid of light.

The only sound was the breathing of the person beside them. With nothing visible ahead, their other senses sharpened.

Firm arm. Rising heat. Occasional low groans and breaths brushing her ear.

This was the first time in her past or present life that she'd been this close to a man who wasn't Jason.

Whether from his breath tickling her ear or the sweat from supporting his heavy frame, heat kept rising to Medea's face.

Then, hearing Cezare's stiff, pained groan, she shook off her thoughts and pressed on.

They walked the passage for a long time.

To evade pursuit, they passed the first and second doors, stopping only at the third.

Creeeak. The opened door led directly to the street.

Clustered, rundown houses lined the way, and at this late hour, no one was around.

Medea scanned the surroundings before ducking into a dark alley. She set Cezare down and checked his condition.

His rigidly stiffened fingers were turning blackish-blue.

Ugh. He suddenly vomited blood. A dark clot seeped into the cracks of the worn stone pavement.

Poison?

At the thought flashing through her mind, Medea rolled up his sleeve.

On his robust forearm, where dark blue veins bulged, were two tiny puncture wounds.