Assassin

The old house was very quiet.

The fire in the fireplace had died down, leaving only dark red embers that occasionally crackled and sparked.

Frieren lay on the bed against the wall, wrapped in a blanket, only her silvery-white head showing. She gazed at the low ceiling, her emerald eyes reflecting a faint light in the dim light.

"I have a feeling this plot has happened before."

Her voice was clear in the silence, without any inflection.

Ruby was sitting on a wooden stool by the bed, taking small bites of an apple. Hearing this, she looked up, her cheeks puffed out.

"Huh? What's the plot?"

She asked vaguely, blinking.

Himmel leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed. He turned to look at Lowell, who was sitting by the fireplace, poking at the embers with a stick.

"Lowell, you noticed too, didn't you?"

Lowell didn't look up, but poked a piece of charcoal with the stick in his hand, sending sparks flying.

"Rather than saying I discovered it," he began, his voice a little muffled, "It's more accurate to say I knew all along."

He stopped and threw the stick into the fire.

"After all, this is someone I've always disliked."

Fern sat on a small stool on the other side of the fireplace, wiping Frieren's staff. She looked up, her pale purple eyes gazing at Lowell.

"Disgust?"

Her voice was steady, with a hint of confirmation.

"It's rare to see Lord Lowell use that word."

"Kindness."

Lowell leaned back against the rough stone wall. The firelight flickered on his face, illuminating the taut lines of his jaw.

"Because I'm used to putting myself in others' shoes, I can understand most people's actions. Generally speaking, I rarely feel disgusted by them."

He remained silent for a moment.

"This person... is mainly because he actually pinned Frieren to the ground in that timeline..."

His voice deepened, then suddenly rose again.

"I'm so angry! I'm so angry!"

He raised his hand and grabbed his hair hard, the movement conveying frustration.

"If he hadn't already done that kind of thing, I wouldn't like to hold him responsible for something that hasn't happened yet. I'd give him a three-year Tsukuyomi package, chop him to pieces, or even hire a hundred or so black men..."

Fern continued silently wiping his staff.

"Is it really that infuriating..." she whispered, as if talking to herself, "They just pinned me to the ground, didn't they..."

Frieren reached out from under the covers and rubbed her eyes.

"That guy's so sensitive. Lowell wasn't joking about that little girl who called me old." Her voice still had a slight nasal tone, and her tone was flat. "He really wanted to go up and punch her, if Lupa hadn't stopped him..."

Ruby the apple in her mouth, picked up her water pouch, and took a sip. She looked at Lowell, then at Frieren, her turquoise eyes crinkling into a smile.

"Oh dear, so easily jealous."

Her expression turned confused.

"Seriously, what are you guys even talking about?"

Frieren turned her face, her silver hair rustling softly against the coarse cloth pillow. She looked at Ruby, her emerald eyes calm in the dim light.

"Ruby, after all these years you still don't care about anything."

"Haha..."

Ruby scratched her fiery red curly hair and smiled a little shyly.

"With Himmel here... I'm not really good at observing my surroundings..."

Lowell let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing. He raised his hand and rubbed his face vigorously.

"Too."

His voice returned to its usual casual tone, though a trace of lingering anger remained.

"Compared to those of us who rely on magic to detect attacks, Himmel's intuition can almost evade any sneak attack. Warriors are so convenient."

He lowered his hand and looked at the people inside the room.

"Fine, let's just be frank."

He spoke clearly, word by word.

"That old man, Radaal, is an assassin."

Himmel nodded, her expression unchanged.

"Indeed."

He raised his right hand and made a loose clenching motion, as if sensing something.

"And there was absolutely no rustiness. His hands were exactly like those of an active-duty soldier."

The room fell silent for a moment.

The only sound was the faint crackling of the embers in the fireplace.

Outside the village, deep in the woods.

Radaal stood in the shadow of an old tree. He was dressed in a tight-fitting black night suit, the fabric absorbing light and almost blending into the night.

On the ground in front of him lay a black leather briefcase. The briefcase was old, with worn edges, but the locks were still secure.

He crouched down and opened the box.

Inside, there was a dark velvet cloth and a dagger.

The dagger lay unsheathed on the velvet. The blade was about twenty centimeters long, with smooth lines that exuded a simple killing intent. The blade was a matte dark gray, with only a very thin, cold silver line worn into the edge. The handle was made of some kind of dark hardwood, wrapped with a fine black anti-slip rope, and there were obvious dents left by years of use at the grip.

Radaal reached out and picked up the dagger.

The moment his fingers touched the handle, the indentations perfectly conformed to his knuckles and the edge of his palm. A familiar, almost instinctive sensation traveled from his fingertips back to his brain.

He held the dagger and stood quietly for a while.

Then, very slowly, he ran the edge of the blade along the pad of his thumb. The movement was gentle, as if he were caressing something fragile.

The blade is cold and sharp.

He withdrew his hand and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. The paper was old, with frayed edges and a yellowish tinge. He unfolded it and, in the dim moonlight filtering through the woods, looked at the writing on it.

The paper contained a handwritten list, dozens of names and their portraits, neatly arranged.

Radaal's gaze slowly swept over those names.

His expression was calm, and the wrinkles etched on his face over the years appeared even deeper and more pronounced in the moonlight.

Memories are silent.

The image has a yellowish tint, with the blurred texture characteristic of old objects.

A few dim rays of light pierced through the brick and stone walls. The walls were plain and undecorated, and the floor was made of polished stone slabs.

A middle-aged man wearing glasses stood at the front of the house. He was dressed in a dark uniform, simple in style, with the top button fastened. His face was expressionless, and his gaze, through his glasses, calmly swept downwards.

Standing below were seven or eight young people, both men and women, all wearing the same dark uniform as him. They stood ramrod straight, their faces uniformly blank and calm.

Radaal stood among them. He was still young then, with no wrinkles on his face, and his hair was dark brown and shaved very short. His back was straight, and his eyes, like those of the people around him, were empty and calm.

The man with glasses spoke, his voice muffled in the closed room, but every word was clear.

"You are carrying out a top-secret mission. Even within the Imperial Capital, only a small group of people know about it."

His gaze swept across everyone's faces again.

"Those lurking in the shadows, you are warriors sworn to serve the Empire, 'Shadow Warriors'."

He raised his hand and pointed to a large map hanging on the wall next to him. The map was densely marked with mountains, roads, and towns, with a red line winding through it.

"Your mission is to monitor those who travel along this mountain path."

His hand fell, and he picked up a stack of papers, about several dozen sheets, tied together with thin string, from the table beside him. He untied the string, unfolded the papers into a fan shape in his hand, and faced the crowd.

"And kill everyone on that list."

A pretty girl with a ponytail took the stack of papers and quickly flipped through them. Her brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed just as quickly.

"The list includes many people who have made outstanding contributions to the empire."

She looked up at the man above her, her voice not loud, but clear enough.

Why kill them?

The man with glasses looked at her for two seconds. Then, he pushed up his glasses.

You don't need to know the reason.

His voice was flat.

Another boy, standing diagonally in front of Radaal, spoke up. He looked a little younger than Radaal, with a pale face and large, but empty and unfocused eyes.

"How long do we need to remain in hiding?"

The man turned to him, his expression unchanged.

"Continue until everyone on the list disappears from the public eye."

He added.

"If any unforeseen circumstances arise, we will decide whether to continue the mission. Just wait for our contact."

The screen went dark.

In the woods, the night wind rustled through the leaves.

Radaal remained standing in the same spot, holding the yellowed list in one hand and the matte dagger in the other.

He looked up and peered through the gaps in the trees towards the village again. There were only a few scattered lights there; most of them had already gone out.

The moonlight fell on his face, illuminating his tightly pursed lips and sunken eye sockets.

"It seems we're not even allowed to enjoy the rest of our lives..."

He spoke in a low, hoarse voice, which drifted away in the wind.