[The Return: The Majesty of the Devil] The cold, biting breath of Draka pursued us like a vengeful specter as we approached the primary subterranean entrance of the Ryumin headquarters. Even without looking back, the psychological weight of Dan's presence was a physical pressure against my spine. He didn't merely walk; he moved with a predatory cadence that seemed to warp the very atmosphere around him. Stray cats hissed and vanished into the darkness as he passed, sensing a level of malice that defied the natural order.
Nero followed several paces behind, his entire frame rigid, muscles tensed to the point of snapping. Ryo, though pale from the agonizing puncture wounds in his side and shoulder, kept his hand pressed firmly against his bleeding flank. His golden eyes never left the small of Dan's back—a coiled spring of royal fury waiting for the slightest hint of treachery.
At the final reinforced steel gate, the Ryumin sentries froze. I watched as their knees physically knocked together, the master-crafted blades in their hands trembling with a rhythmic, pathetic rattle. The moment their eyes landed on Dan's crisp white suit and that wide, maniacal grin, they recoiled as if Death himself had arrived to collect a long-overdue debt.
"Steady!" I barked, my voice cutting through the rising tide of panic like a winter gale. "He is with me. Lower your steel."
The guards exchanged frantic, wide-eyed looks, their pupils dilated with terror, but they eventually obeyed, slowly stepping aside to create a narrow, tense corridor. They kept their heads bowed, desperately trying to avoid any direct eye contact with the monster walking in their midst.
"Ooh... look at these little rabbits!" Dan's laughter erupted, a deep, guttural sound that echoed off the damp stone walls of the tunnel. "Ray, are these the 'armies' I'm supposed to lead into the palace? They look like they're ready to lose control of their bladders just at the sight of a clean suit!"
I offered no response. I continued walking with a glacial indifference, while Dan amused himself by snapping his fingers in the faces of the terrified guards and distributing mockingly "friendly" pats on their shoulders. Every movement he made was a calculated insult to their dignity and a reminder of their mortality.
[The Stronghold: The Dark Fortress] We crossed into the Great Hall, the central artery of the Ryumin administration. Dan stopped, looking around with a slow, exaggerated whistle of feigned admiration.
"The last time I visited this rat hole, it was a crumbling ruin that reeked of failure and cheap ale," Dan purred, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It seems Skyro finally figured out where to launder the assassination gold. This place has become so... elegant. It almost makes me want to dismantle it just to see the rubble."
As we progressed, Dan continued his erratic, unsettling behavior—stroking the obsidian statues, leaning over the shoulders of silent, trembling scribes, and whistling a discordant funeral dirge. Throughout the entire facility, a heavy, funereal silence followed him. Every member of the syndicate knew his legend: this was the man who would pluck the throat from your neck simply because he found your expression uninspiring.
We reached the corridor leading to Skyro's private sanctum. I stopped before the massive, iron-reinforced doors, but before I could reach for the handle, they were flung open with a violent, singular force. Gina emerged, her movements a blur of lethal intent.
She froze. Her feline features contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated shock the moment her gaze collided with Dan's. He looked down at her, tilting his head with a "purity" that was utterly revolting, as if he were greeting a long-lost friend at a picnic.
Gina didn't hesitate for a single heartbeat. The years of suppressed trauma, the memory of her brother Luka's severed head, and her own shattered bones (from Ch 84) erupted into a suicidal surge of adrenaline. She drew her hidden blade and, in a movement too swift for the human eye to track, launched it directly at Dan's throat. It was a perfect strike—surgical, silent, and fueled by every ounce of her hatred.
Dan didn't even flinch. Without moving a single other muscle in his body, his hand shot up with the speed of a striking cobra. He caught the razor-sharp edge of the blade between two fingers, stopping it mere millimeters from his skin.
"I have no desire for a dance tonight, little cat," Dan said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. He flicked his wrist, tossing the blade aside with a gesture of profound contempt. "I have arrived as a guest of honor."
I stepped forward and gripped Gina's shoulder before she could lunge again. I felt her entire body vibrating with a primal, murderous energy. "Gina... stop. Everything will be explained inside."
[The Table of Blood] We entered the strategy room. Skyro was seated behind his massive desk, the dim light glinting off his spectacles. He didn't move, and his expression remained a mask of analytical coldness, but I could see the white-knuckle grip he maintained on the edge of the table beneath his papers.
We took our seats in a formation that felt more like a standoff than a council. Gina sat beside Skyro, her eyes burning with a killing frost. Dan lounged across from them, leaning back in the chair as if the entire fortress were his personal estate. Ryo and Nero stood behind me like silent sentinels, drenched in the blood of Ronan and the grime of the gala.
I began to recount the night's events with clinical brevity. I spoke of Ronan's execution at Ryo's hands, the sudden arrival of the Butcher, and my decision to forge this unholy alliance to expedite the fall of the crown.
Skyro listened with a terrifying, silent intensity, his gaze flickering between Dan and myself. Gina, however, never took her hand off the hilt of her dagger; her breath was shallow, her hatred so thick it was almost palpable in the small room.
"So..." Dan broke the silence, casually resting his muddied boots upon Skyro's expensive mahogany desk. "I shall cooperate. But I have one non-negotiable condition: the corpses of Baron and his two sons, Muriel and Cyril, belong to me. I want their blood. I want their flesh. Everything else—the gold, the thrones, the meaningless influence—take it. Do we have an accord, Mr. Spectacles?"
Skyro looked at me, his gaze searching mine for the hidden insurance policy. I offered him a sharp, subtle nod—a silent confirmation of our shared understanding: Let him believe he is the harvester. We are merely leading the sickle to its own destruction.
Skyro exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses. "Very well. The royal carcasses are yours, Dan."
Gina's grip on her blade tightened until her joints turned white. She looked physically ill at the mention of the alliance, but she remained silent, a loyal soldier of the syndicate's grand design.
[The Gambit: Skyro's Wit] Dan stood up with an explosion of manic energy, slamming his fist onto the table. "Splendid! Then let us move! Why waste time in this tomb? Let us shatter the palace gates now and butcher every armored pig in our path! I shall take the vanguard, and you can collect the scraps in my wake!"
Skyro looked up at him with the detached curiosity one might show a particularly loud insect. "Have you finally lost what little remains of your mind, Dan? Do you wish for us all to be erased by the first wave of royal sorcerers? The palace is fortified with space-time reflection arrays that would disintegrate your molecules before you reached the inner courtyard."
"Then what do you propose, genius?" Dan sneered, his eyes narrow and dangerous. "Do we skulk in the mud like common thieves? Do we kill and run like rats in the floorboards?"
"No," Skyro replied, sliding a fresh, glowing magical scroll across the table. It was a blueprint I hadn't seen before—meticulous and dark. "We shall use your insanity as a 'curtain,' while we perform the true surgery. We will not strike at Baron directly. Not yet. We begin with Jan (The Third Seat)."
We all leaned in toward the map. "Jan is the cold-blooded executioner of the Asura Squad," Skyro continued, his voice dropping to a gravelly tone. "He resides within the 'Tower of Bells' in the Western District. He is the only one who might actually respond to the scent of your blood, Dan. We will draw him out. And while he is preoccupied with your madness, Ryo and Gina will systematically dismantle the elite guards surrounding him."
Skyro smiled, a dark, serpentine expression. "We aren't going to them. We are going to make them scream and run to us, one by one, until the stage is cleared for Baron and his sons."