[Check Out My P4treon For +50 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!! And get chapters before publishing them here for free on my p4treon][patreon.com/roaverse]
===
Holding a girl while killing was exhilarating.
Holding two girls while carrying another on his shoulder? Even better.
Perhaps this was the true meaning of transmigration.
Yet, Allen hadn't quite achieved this feat.
How could he kill if his hands were full?
The moment his feet touched the ground, just as the girls' screams—each laced with different emotions—faded, he had already set Sylphiette and Isolte down.
Eris needed no assistance. The moment she started yelling, she had been the first to land. By the time Allen came to a stop, she used the momentum of his descent to flip out of his loosened grip.
A flash of crimson, then a thud.
She landed firmly on her feet! Whirling around, she gaped at the spectacle behind her—her face a mix of awe and exhilaration. As an Advanced-rank Swordsman, Eris was no stranger to Allen's inhuman speed. Though she couldn't fully track his movements, her swordsman's instincts allowed her to sense what he had done. It was just too fast for her to react in the moment.
Isolte, meanwhile, activated her Flow in surprise, glanced at Allen, then frowned and turned her puzzled gaze toward the pile of puppets. As a Saint-rank, she could deduce in that split second that Allen had carried them all away from the stone steps in a burst of speed.
Notably, despite Allen's speed, she—being the first he grabbed—could have evaded or resisted using her Water God-style training.
But… she didn't want to. Nor did she see the need.
Her senior brother never acted without purpose. He was disciplined, and if he did something, there was always a reason. He wasn't the type to mess around for fun.
…Disciplined?
An image of him eagerly scrubbing women's backs in a brothel flashed through her mind. Isolte shook her head violently.
Sylphiette was simply stunned. Of the group, her reflexes were the slowest—the most normal.
Her face was a picture of confusion and bewilderment. In this timeline, she had no swordsmanship training whatsoever. One moment, the world spun; the next, her feet left the ground. Then, just as suddenly, everything stopped, and she was standing again.
The stone steps they had only climbed twice were now behind them, the archway looming just ahead.
And then—Allen's hand was around her waist. Gripping tightly at her side.
The moment Sylphiette registered this, her entire body stiffened.
The next instant, the pressure vanished. His fingers lightly brushed her waist as he withdrew.
Gone.
In her vision, Allen stepped through the archway.
He turned, glancing back.
That single motion snapped Eris and Isolte's attention back to him. They turned, about to ask what had just happened—
—when crimson, russet, and black eyes alike reflected the same sight.
Beyond the archway, the evening sun cast its glow over the brickwork of Stellan's Well, the sharp contrast of light and shadow framing the silhouette in the doorway.
Allen stood bathed in the fiery hues, his arm calmly extended, pointing back the way they came.
Between his fingers dangled something strange—a long, needle-like object, pitch-black.
Falling.
Thud.
A gust of wind ruffled Allen's hair, his lips parting with a soft sound.
The needle vanished into thin air.
Allen smiled, retracting his hand with a satisfied expression before turning to the stunned girls.
"An assassination attempt. It's handled now. Let's go—ah, wait a moment."
With that, he stepped back through the archway, brushing past them.
Just then, a shrill scream erupted from outside.
"Ah—!!"
"Someone's dead!!"
The three girls froze, then hurried out after him. They found Rudeus sitting on the ground, staring blankly at the opposite side of the canal.
Following his gaze—
Under the sunset's glow, across the water…
A pool of crimson.
A headless corpse, gushing blood like a fountain, swayed briefly before collapsing.
The bloodstained clothes, streaked with red and white matter…
Looked familiar.
"AHHH—!!"
Finally, the pedestrians on their side of the canal joined the screaming.
Clap. Clap.
Everyone turned to see Allen casually drawing their attention. He surveyed the horrified crowd, his Flow confirming that no one had witnessed his actions, then tossed a puppet's severed wrist into Rudeus's lap.
His voice, light as a whisper, reached their ears:
"The vendor was a magician. It was a trap. The puppets in Stellan's Well were autonomous. The steps and bridge were the kill zone. I disabled them, then killed him."
Sylphiette, Isolte, and Rudeus stared at him in shock—bordering on terror.
Yet another assassination attempt, over before they even realized it.
If anything, Allen—the target—had moved more like the assassin.
Too smooth. Too calm.
Allen nodded approvingly at their expressions.
"Good. Perfect reactions. Keep that up—it's what normal bystanders would do. Staying calm would seem suspicious."
"Don't worry. We have airtight alibis."
"Stare a bit longer, then we'll leave. That'll sell it."
With that, he turned toward the canal, deliberately widening his eyes and covering his mouth in an exaggerated gasp.
"Ah! How horrifying!"
Rudeus: "…"
Sylphiette: "…"
Isolte: "…"
Too over-the-top! That doesn't suit you at all, Allen-sama!/Allen!/Senior Brother!
Eris, however, remained unfazed. She'd seen Allen's handiwork before—far more gruesome than this. She merely frowned, mimicking his finger-flicking motion with her wrist.
This wasn't the first time Allen had done this.
The first had been in Buena Village, during their first meeting.
Back then, the black needle had been a water droplet. And she had been the one "getting her head blown off."
But the essence was the same.
At the time, logic told her to despise him—yet she'd felt an inexplicable familiarity.
He's really skilled, she'd thought, to make water droplets so lethal.
But now, having mastered aura emission and fine-tuned her control…
That "simple water trick" was anything but.
It was textbook-perfect aura compression—condensing energy into a single point before releasing it.
The same principle as sharpening a blade's edge with aura.
"This, too, is a form of swordsmanship."
"It's also an application of the North God-style throwing technique."
Allen's words from months ago, spoken on a rooftop, echoed in her mind. She still didn't fully grasp what "application" meant…
But damn, her big brother was impressive!
(The fact that she'd kicked him in the face back then? Long forgotten.)
Such honesty.
———
The sun dipped lower.
Allen watched as the city guard arrived by boat, cordoning off the scene.
The corpse's blood had long since drained.
A shame—the remote-control puppet artifact couldn't be retrieved.
He glanced at Rudeus, who was now carefully examining the intricate magic circles embedded in the puppet's wrist joint.
Still, this encounter had yielded unexpected gains. In this timeline, could the Magic Armor be developed earlier?
If it could be modified into protective gear, he'd want sets for Roxy and Sylphiette.
His gaze flickered. Far away, an intact eyeball—still attached to trailing, pinkish nerves—lay on the ground. To his heightened senses, every detail was starkly clear.
Allen stared into the dead man's eye.
That "shot"—or rather, this iteration of "Purple"—lacked its full destructive power. But for an unguarded puppeteer? More than enough.
An unaugmented human body was that fragile.
Allen checked the darkening sky. Around them, onlookers began dispersing.
"Alright, time to go."
In the intervening moments, Isolte had quietly explained the assassination's details to Sylphiette. Now aware of what transpired, the group followed Allen away from the scene.
As they turned—
Allen's gaze lingered on the eyeball. He recalled the wish he'd made when tossing the puppet's arm into the "well."
He didn't believe in gods. Didn't seek divine protection.
So his blessing was for someone else.
The Stellan deity would surely answer a wish made for a Stellan believer.
Right?
Allen's lips moved soundlessly, his words lost in the twilight.
Yet they echoed across the bloodstained canal.
"Sleep well."
Far off, at the city's edge—
The sun vanished below the horizon.
The corpse's terrified gaze faded into darkness.
No need to close its lids.
It was already asleep.
In its dreams—
It had surely killed Allen and claimed those 1,000 gold coins.
———
"Where there's a reward, there'll be bold men."
"But it seems your latest 'bold man' has fallen."
In a tower overlooking the scene, James and Veigh Taa watched Allen's performance with differing expressions.
James observed the crime scene below, now illuminated by lanterns in the deepening night, his fingers idly rubbing a chess piece. Though his tone was steady, his eyes burned with unspoken intensity.
Veigh Taa, meanwhile, stroked his thick beard, a sly grin hidden beneath it. His gaze followed Allen's retreating figure before settling on the Continent Bridge's shadowed underbelly—where countless puppets swayed invisibly in the dark.
"This was always part of the plan, no? That puppeteer had some reputation among assassins. To fall so quickly… Well, it's less about his weakness and more about Allen Boreas Greyrat's strength. Who knew he'd mastered the North God-style throwing technique so flawlessly?"
"My strategy needs adjusting. Still, this death wasn't in vain—it revealed valuable intel."
Before him, the chessboard displayed yet another checkmate.
James raised an eyebrow. "I'd heard of this puppeteer. Tried hiring him once, but he refused. Why take the job now?"
Veigh Taa's foxlike eyes gleamed, though his round face remained genial. "A long story—"
"Short version." James clearly had little patience for the man's theatrics.
Unfazed, Veigh Taa chuckled. Money was money. "A spoiled heir. His father, Scorca, was a renowned magician in Rikarisu—the last devout Stellan follower. Rumor says he orchestrated the city's grandest Water Festival two decades ago. Even now, Stellan's Well stands because of his influence."
"His puppetry earned him vast wealth. But… eleven years ago, he vanished. Left his son with nothing but debts. The boy had no real skills—just a taste for brothels. Probably blew through his inheritance. Joined the assassins' guild recently, taking jobs more frequently. Desperation, I'd guess."
"Vanished?"
"Some say the Dragon God took him as a subordinate. Absurd, no? That elusive being, meddling in mortal affairs? More likely, he died of illness, and the son couldn't accept it."
James smirked. "At least he honored his father. Unlike my rebellious 'son.'"
Veigh Taa wisely avoided commenting on the employer's family matters.
Just then—a knock.
"Enter."
A sharp-eyed butler in a black tailcoat stepped in. Noting Veigh Taa's presence but receiving no dismissal, he wordlessly retrieved a note and handed it to James.
James unfolded it, sparing Veigh Taa a glance. The assassin feigned disinterest, studying the window.
The note's contents, illuminated by candlelight:
—Princess Ariel arrives at Rikarisu at dawn tomorrow. A welcoming ceremony will be held.
===
Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 330 on my patreon, go check it out
https://p4treon.com/roaverse
if you want more updates == supports with power stones
Every 10 Power Stones==Bonus Chapter