Timeless AssassinC481: Fake It Till You Make It
Chapter 481: Fake It Till You Make It
(Planet Vorthas, Capital City, One Day Before the Autumn Festival)
Valterri walked the procession route for the third time that afternoon, his cloak dusted with ash from the spice carts and his boots scuffed from the uneven stone of Riverbend Lane.
Every corner he passed, every awning he glanced up at, every vendor he observed unpacking festival goods…. he took mental notes of all of it.
Veyr's training was currently being held in a secure facility under the Twelfth Elder's direct authority, which meant he wasn't allowed anywhere near it. So instead, Valterri did the only thing he could: prepare for tomorrow.
He had no illusions about the danger.
The new Dragon wasn't just a symbol. He was a target. A walking bounty mark with the bloodline of an ancient enemy, paraded openly through the capital's most crowded district.
Valterri ground his teeth.
Who thought a public appearance during a festival was a good idea?
From the Northern Gate to Hawkspire Avenue, then Riverbend Lane, he traced every part of the path. Most zones were manageable—guard rotations could be tripled, rooftops could be blocked off, and mana sensors could be calibrated.
But then came the Sunsteps Market.
The moment he stepped into the three-tiered plaza, he knew.
This was the problem.
Vendors packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Banners draped across rooftops. Lanterns swaying in the breeze. Kids darting between stalls. Slopes and stairs and pockets of blind spots at every level.
Too many places to hide a weapon. Too many points of elevation. Too many civilians to monitor.
He stood there a while, arms crossed, as he watched the evening crowd swell.
That was when he made the call.
"I want extra security in the market," he told the local police captain, his tone sharp and clipped. "Triple the usual patrols. I also want the crowd movement restricted."
A brief pause.
"And no double rows. I don't care if the locals complain, don't let too many people line up behind each other. If we can't see the hands of those in the backlines, we're sitting blind."
A guard on the other end tried to mumble something about tradition and public visibility, but Valterri cut him off.
"The Dragon's safety is not a joke."
He turned in place, scanning the surrounding buildings again, this time with narrowed eyes.
Slanted rooftops with clean throwing angles.
Stalls that could be toppled to cause confusion.
Loose grates near the fountain.
He hated this.
All of it.
They were inviting an attack. Not preventing one.
And the worst part was, even with every countermeasure in place, even with the Cult's best men on duty, Valterri still didn't feel safe. Not when the righteous faction and everyone allied with them wanted the new Dragon dead.
Especially with how just one assassin slipping through could potentially turn tomorrow's celebration into a bloodbath.
———–
While Valterri stewed in paranoia over tomorrow's threat, elsewhere, Veyr and Leo winded down for the night, as they quietly made their way back from the secret training facility, towards the bustle of civilization, aboard a hovercraft.
It was the night before the Autumn Festival and the Twelfth Elder had finally dismissed them both, permitting them to rest before reporting for their respective duties the next morning.
Leo sat relaxed, one leg propped over the other, arms crossed, his gaze distant yet calm, while Veyr sat opposite him, leaning forward with both elbows resting on his knees, his body language betraying a restless tension he couldn't quite shake.
He kept stealing glances at Leo, as if debating whether or not to speak, his fingers twitching slightly with hesitation, until Leo finally raised an eyebrow and asked him directly, "What is it?"
That broke the dam.
"You know, cousin," Veyr began, his voice lower than usual, his tone slower, more deliberate, "back at the Arena, when you said you don't feel like you're the right fit to be the Dragon… most days, I feel the same."
He paused for a second, taking a breath.
"When they ask me to wave, to smile, to show up and be this shining figure in front of a crowd, I feel like a fraud. Like I'm playing a part someone else was supposed to fill."
As he said that, his shoulders sank, and his gaze dropped to the floor, as though saying it out loud only made the weight heavier.
"I mean, I know what they expect of me tomorrow," Veyr continued, his voice dropping lower. "They want speeches and smiles and hope, they want some inspiring symbol, but I'm not that guy. I never was."
He paused for a second, then let out a slow breath.
"I've taken lives. Not in battle. Not with honor.
The Fourth Elder handed me targets, righteous faction spies, criminals, insurgents, some barely older than us. And I obeyed without question.
Their souls became fuel. Fast power. Easy strength.
That's what built me. Not destiny. Not heroism.
And now they want to parade me like I'm some chosen savior, when all I've ever been is a weapon that got lucky.
I was never meant to be the Dragon."
Leo didn't blink. He just let the words settle in the air, letting them hang there long enough to be heard but not pitied.
Before finally shrugging them off.
"Fine," he said casually, as if none of it surprised him. "I'll teach you a secret mantra… but you can't tell anyone."
Veyr blinked, caught off guard. "Oh?"
Leo leaned in slightly, voice hushed, eyes gleaming with mock seriousness as he added weight to the moment.
"It's a powerful mantra. Ancient. Passed down only to the deadliest of lunatics."
Veyr gave a half-laugh, unsure if Leo was being serious, but still curious. "And what happens if I master it?"
Leo grinned, tapping his temple.
"Then you can become anyone you want. See, I've got a crazy alternate personality too. He's cold, calculated, kind of terrifying actually. But he's not really me. He's just… who I aspire to be all the time."
He leaned closer, dramatic pause in place.
"The secret mantra is… 'fake it till you make it', cuz."
Veyr blinked, then scoffed in disbelief. "Seriously?"
"Dead serious," Leo replied, smirking as he leaned back again. "Doesn't matter if you don't feel like the Dragon. As long as you keep faking it, keep walking like you are, keep carrying that weight like you belong under it, one day you'll realize you're not pretending anymore."
Veyr was quiet for a while after that.
Then, slowly, he looked out the window at the distant lights of the capital beginning to flicker on in the dusk.
"…Fake it till you make it, huh."
"Works better than you think," Leo said. "And besides, who else will they have as their Dragon? Surely you're a better choice than me!"
That finally made Veyr laugh.
Not forced. Not guarded.
Just genuine.
As he slowly felt his trust in Leo grow stronger.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC482: Tension
Chapter 482: Tension
(Planet Vorthas, Hangar Bay Area, Early Morning)
Leo arrived at the Hangar Bay with a half-yawn still lingering on his face, his boots clicking against the steel floor as the ramp lights guided his path toward the awaiting vessel bound for Juxta.
He had expected a silent, uneventful ride, maybe some closed-eye rest en route, until a uniformed soldier intercepted him near the boarding ramp.
"Sir Skyshard," the soldier said, straightening to attention, "you're not flying out just yet. Commander Charles issued new orders. You have been asked to return to your family at once."
Leo's brow raised slightly. "Why?"
"Apparently your family made contact a few days ago," the soldier replied. "Your elder brother… he's awake. Luke Skyshard regained consciousness around four days back."
Leo froze. His mind blinked. And then, as the words settled in, his emotions flared.
A soft blue aura began to envelope his body, as he broke out in a wide grin.
"He's awake?" he asked again, this time slower, quieter, as if confirming it aloud would make it real.
"Yes, sir. The guards stationed at your house have all confirmed it through direct transmission."
*Huff*
A breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding slipped free, followed by the most excited rubbing of palms he had done in recent memory.
"I see…" he muttered, then nodded, more to himself than the soldier. "Convey my apologies to the pilot, but I won't be flying to Juxta today. Hell, I wouldn't miss this for the world."
His tone was steady, but his steps turned lighter as he pivoted and made a run for the hovercraft shuttles.
He needed to get home as soon as possible.
He needed to give his brother a good warm hug.
—————-
(Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Capital City, Morning of the Autumn Festival)
The scent of sweetbread and wood polish floated through the early streets, as thousands of citizens spilled out of their homes, dressed in layered silks, painted face-masks, and ceremonial sashes.
From the Northern Gate to Central Square, the capital city seemed to have come alive.
Children ran through alleys with dragon masks too big for their heads. Vendors rolled carts covered in fruit carvings, dyed cloth, and glittering incense braids.
Roofs were adorned with flags bearing the Cult's crest—newly minted, but waved with pride all the same.
The Dragon Army's new recruits, most of them locals who had signed up to join the Dragon on his future raids, stood tall in their polished gear as they rehearsed their synchronized demonstration for later in the day.
What began as a simple vow of allegiance had spiraled into a full-blown spectacle of combat formations, illusion spells and mid-air salutes that were all choreographed down to perfection.
Still, they weren't the only ones with plans.
The common folk had arranged surprises of their own.
Near Sunsteps Market, a group of elderly actors from the People's Theatre were rehearsing a skit reenacting the legendary liberation of Vorthas by Dragon Noah, complete with wooden swords, handmade horns, and a child actor playing a very enigmatic Twelfth Elder.
Across from them, another troupe was preparing a short scene titled "The Day of Two Gods," meant to honor the time when Lord Soron repelled a divine invasion all by himself, that was clearly over the top, but met with no less enthusiasm.
Further down the path, cultural dancers from the western provinces were tying silk bands and warming up barefoot in the plaza, while musicians tuned hand-drums and glowing flutes under shaded stalls.
And as for the finale…. fireworks were arranged to light up the skies with the Cult's sigil, being scheduled to erupt once the parade reached Central Square.
Vorthas hadn't seen a celebration this large in over three decades.
And for many of the people here, it wasn't just about Veyr.
It was about faith.
About hope.
About finally feeling like the Cult's rule wasn't just suffering dressed in scripture.
For today was the day they celebrated with their new messiah.
Today was the day they felt their pride returning to the streets once more.
—————
(Meanwhile Veyr and Valterri)
With the parade scheduled to begin in under an hour, Veyr was quickly dressed in the red ceremonial robes assigned to the Dragon.
A high-collared mantle settled over his shoulders, stitched with golden patterns, while a half-cape bearing the Cult's insignia hung from his side.
He stood still as the attendants clipped the final clasp, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable, looking every bit like a storybook hero forced into reality.
"I can barely move my arms in this thing… and forget about rotating my hips. It's too stiff," Veyr muttered, shifting uncomfortably, while Valterri stood behind him in silence, gaze steady, concern barely hidden behind his usual stoicism.
If it were up to him, Veyr would never step out dressed in robes that made it harder to defend himself—but the choice was not his to make.
The Twelfth Elder had personally selected the outfit to mirror his own, and Valterri had no room to object.
Still, even setting the robes aside, there was something deeper gnawing at him. A quiet unease that refused to let go.
He said nothing. Offered no comment. Just kept one hand close to his sword, senses sharp, instincts on edge.
Something about today felt wrong. Today's festival was too exposed, too loud, too unpredictable.
But the nature and challenge of today's event did not change his job.
No matter what came, he had to protect the Dragon.
Even if it meant dying for it.
"Lord Veyr…. If you're ready can you please proceed downstairs to the common hall? The Twelfth Elder wishes for you to meet the members of the local union leaders.
They will be riding the Festivities Chariot alongside you today…." An attendant requested, as Veyr sighed and acquiesced to the request.
This was his life now.
If he wasn't training, he was being dragged from one meeting to the next, because that too was part of what it meant to be the Dragon.
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Timeless AssassinC483: The Parade Begins
Chapter 483: The Parade Begins
Veyr wore a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, as he sat stiffly in a high-backed chair while half a circle of union leaders spoke excitedly around him.
His gaze flickered from one face to the next, but he said little, nodding when expected, smiling when necessary, offering the occasional hum of acknowledgement when someone leaned in with a particularly enthusiastic update.
"The Blacksmith Union is 100% ready to support the Dragon's Army, Twelfth Elder. The moment they need us, my men are willing to work non-stop, day or night, to meet production quota!"
"We've already started expanding the arable land under our control," another leader chimed in, straightening his tunic. "More and more hectares are being reclaimed from the wild forests. If the weather holds and the new irrigation channels go in on time, our production numbers should rise by ten to fifteen percent next year."
Their voices blended together…. plans, promises, pledges, they were all spoken with unwavering pride and patriotic fire.
But to Veyr, it all felt strangely distant.
He sat like a polished statue at the center of it all. Not knowledgeable enough to contribute. Not lucky enough to be excused.
It wasn't that he disliked them. Just that none of this was what he had trained for.
He was a warrior.
His job was supposed to be war.
But currently it was anything but war.
Numbers and hectares and supply chains meant little to him on a personal level. But still, he listened. Because the Dragon was supposed to listen.
Because that too was a part of the role.
"My Lord… it's time. The Celebration Chariot is ready."
A soft voice pulled his attention, as a servant bowed before the Twelfth Elder, who gave a silent nod from behind his masked helm, rising slowly to his feet.
He didn't speak. Just gestured calmly for the rest of them to follow.
Veyr stood without a word, motion stiff beneath the weight of his robes, as Valterri fell into step behind him. The union leaders followed shortly after, adjusting their sashes and straightening their posture as if preparing to be seen by history.
Together, they exited the common hall and made their way to the towering platform that awaited them outside.
The Celebration Chariot.
A moving ceremonial stage, built like a grand transport vessel, open-roofed with golden railings and deep red banners billowing from all sides.
It looked like something pulled from myth and dressed in festival light.
Veyr ascended the platform, joined by the Twelfth Elder, Valterri, the Elder's personal guards, and all nine union leaders, each of them finding their place on the upper deck.
The engine stirred.
And slowly, the Chariot began to move, its wheels rolling past the iron gates of the Twelfth Elder's private quarters and emerging onto the main procession route where thousands had gathered.
And that was when the crowd spotted him.
The Dragon.
As the roar that followed was instant and deafening.
*Cheers*
*Screams*
Enthusiastic cheers erupted like thunder from the throats of every commoner gathered as the parade ignited in earnest, with Veyr standing tall at its heart.
Flower petals flew through the air in bursts of color as entire families surged toward the barricades, elbowing for a better view, some hoisting children up on shoulders while others simply wept with joy at the sight.
Old women clutched prayer beads and bowed with hands trembling, whispering blessings meant for a generation they never thought they'd live to see.
Young men shouted war chants with voices hoarse from pride, as they vowed to drink till they passed out every time the Dragon claimed a new planet for the Cult.
Shopkeepers abandoned their stalls just to catch a glimpse of the Dragon.
Artists sketched furiously from rooftops, trying to immortalize the moment.
As pretty much everywhere that the Chariot rolled, it felt like a dream colliding with reality.
To most here, this was a once-in-a-lifetime sight. A holy figure not seen through a broadcast or told through story, but breathing, waving, standing less than fifty feet away.
Veyr smiled. He waved. He nodded with the poise of a leader born into destiny.
But inside, his thoughts churned like stormwater beneath calm glass.
'Was this how being the Dragon was supposed to feel?'
He saw their eyes, filled with awe. Their mouths, wide open with belief. Their cheers, deafening in their sincerity.
And yet, he couldn't silence the thought that clung to the back of his throat like a stone.
'They think I'm someone I'm not.'
'They believe in me this much even though I have done nothing to earn it.'
His lips never stopped smiling, his hand never dropped, but behind every perfect gesture was a silent whisper to himself.
'Fake it till you make it, Veyr.'
'Just keep faking it.'
'And maybe one day… it won't feel fake anymore.'
Behind him, Valterri stood with one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, eyes sharp and scanning.
He didn't share in the joy. He didn't wave. He didn't smile.
Every time someone leaned in too far. Every time a crowd member surged too fast. Every time a glint of metal flashed in the light, his grip would tighten and his muscles would coil, ready to strike.
But he didn't.
Because none of those false alarms were actually enemies.
Just pious citizens who had gone a bit crazy upon seeing the Dragon.
"I don't like this…. I don't like this one bit, I told the local guards again and again that they must not allow double lines to form, but there is no order to this crowd.
This is a security nightmare through and through," He muttered, as he grit his teeth in anger.
And yet, for all his frustration, he didn't act on impulse. Couldn't afford to.
Because in a setting like this, drawing his blade even once would cause chaos that could spiral far beyond control.
So he kept breathing. Kept watching.
Because whether he liked it or not, he was the final shield between the Dragon and anyone who wished to cause him harm.
And there was no room for mistakes.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC484: Alive and Home
Chapter 484: Alive and Home
(Meanwhile, The Skyshard Mansion)
At the same time that the Parade began, Leo pushed open the door to Luke's medical room with a wide grin already forming on his face.
*Click*
From the moment he had arrived back at the Skyshard Mansion, his body had started to move faster than his thoughts, as he could almost not wait a single second longer to see his brother awake again.
*Step*
*Step*
As he stepped inside, his subconscious brain registered the atmosphere of the room and how it looked serene with the sunblinds half open.
However, his active brain did not pay attention to such trivialities.
Because sitting there, propped up against a stack of pillows with a blanket tucked over his waist and a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, sat his brother, very much conscious, very much alive, and unmistakably himself.
"Took you long enough," Luke said with a lopsided grin, his eyes locking onto Leo's as if nothing had changed between them.
"I– that, yeah," Leo replied, practically stumbling into the chair beside him as his grin stretched even wider, teeth showing, eyes gleaming, the kind of expression only family could bring out in him.
"How bad's the pain? Can you move? Are you fine under all that gauze?" he asked quickly, pointing at Luke's bandaged torso as he leaned in, voice rising with excitement.
"You can hug me," Luke approved, cutting through the concern before it even had time to take shape, already knowing exactly what Leo had been leading up to.
*HUG*
Without another word, Leo threw his arms around him, burying his face into his brother's chest with the full weight of someone who had waited too long for this moment, while Luke let out a wheezing cough and a soft laugh as the air left his lungs in one short burst.
"Oye, oye, oye, calm down, I'm still healing, you idiot," Luke muttered between chuckles, wincing slightly as Leo only hugged him tighter.
"I missed you," Leo said, his voice trembling, as Luke gently placed his hand over his brother's back and patted him till he was calm.
Secretly, Luke felt the same way as Leo.
Scared, Relieved, Happy, Vulnerable.
However, outwardly, he did not let it show.
He was the elder brother afterall, and hence, appearing vulnerable before his sibling was something he could never bring himself to show.
"It's fine. I'm going to be fine. I'm a powerful Grandmaster, just like you–" Luke said, as he flexed how he had broken through to Grandmaster just before he had passed out, only for Leo to scoff at that remark.
Back when he and Luke were just gamers grinding in Terra Nova Online, 'Grandmaster' had felt like the ultimate peak of strength — a rank so impossibly high that nobody they knew could even hope to actually reach it.
The strongest NPC in the entire game was a Grandmaster-tier Dragon, and it was practically invincible, a behemoth capable of wiping out entire cities without taking a scratch.
At the time, the two of them used to joke that if they ever hit Grandmaster, they'd split the game world in half, ruling each side with iron fists and achieving total domination. But those turned out to be nothing more than the naive dreams of kids who didn't yet understand how weak the Grandmaster Tier actually was in the real universe.
Because once they left the simulation and stepped into the actual world, they realized the bitter truth: Grandmaster wasn't even considered 'Elite' in the greater cosmic power scale, and that those who sat at Grandmaster level were little more than bottom feeders in the eyes of the truly strong.
"Well…. You are strong, brother. There is no doubt in my mind about that," Leo admitted, as he gently tapped Luke on the shoulder, causing Luke to grin even wider from the compliment.
"You're not too bad yourself, Circuit Champion. I saw you entertaining quite the crowd while I was on the run from the Red Army. You made me proud," Luke said, his voice enthusiastic, as Leo raised an eyebrow at the mention of the Red Army.
"The Red Army?" he repeated, his brows furrowing, as the name rang a bell somewhere in the back of his mind.
He remembered hearing about them back at the Rodova Military Academy when a group of students were discussing the Evil Cult in the cafeteria.
According to his memory, the Red Army was a specialized military division under the Universal Government, formed for one purpose, and one purpose alone, which was to hunt down Cult operatives on the run.
Nicknamed the 'Cult Hunters', they were a relentless elite unit of trackers and killers who were infamous for chasing their targets for years if needed, never stopping until they succeeded in eliminating them.
"Brother, how did you even cross paths with the Red Army? Weren't you supposed to be training under the Cult's protection?" Leo asked, his voice sharper now, as Luke visibly winced, as though the very question struck a nerve.
"I… was training for the Cult?" Luke muttered, his voice strained and uncertain, as a dull ache bloomed in his head, growing worse the longer he tried to think about it.
"I don't really remember how I got involved with the Red Army, to be honest. It's all still a bit blurry in my head," Luke said, his voice low and thoughtful. "But what I do remember is being hunted… relentlessly… for nearly a year."
He paused, letting the words sink in before continuing.
"No matter how far I ran, they always found a way to close in. I lived a life filled with horrors, Leo….. the kind you can't explain.
There wasn't a single night I could sleep in peace without the fear that I'd be assassinated in my bed. Not a single meal I could finish without wondering if staying in one place too long would lead to me being tracked and ambushed."
His eyes darkened slightly, the memory clearly weighing heavily on his mind.
"It was a rough time… there were more than a few moments where I genuinely believed I wouldn't make it out alive," he said, the last part almost a whisper, as Leo squeezed his shoulders tightly, reassuring him that it was okay.
"I mean, you survived, brother, and now you're back home…." Leo said with a reassuring smile, as Luke smiled back at him.
"Yes, that's true…. I am alive. And I am home"
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Timeless AssassinC485: Doubts
Chapter 485: Doubts
Leo ended up chatting with Luke for a couple more hours, as the two brothers laughed, reminisced, and caught up on all the light-hearted things they hadn't been able to share over the past few years.
Luke, for his part, felt nothing but pride as he listened to Leo recount his journey, especially when he saw the kind of home Leo had secured for their family, complete with high-end architecture, top-grade medical care, and security systems that rivaled military bases.
Leo for his part though, did not take any of that praise too seriously.
What truly occupied his mind were the fragments of Luke's story—specifically the parts about his life on the run from the Red Army.
Luke never explained it directly, yet whenever he casually referenced the horrors he'd endured, Leo quietly paid attention and did his best to read between the lines.
Something about Luke's story did not add up in his brain, as no matter how hard he tried to accept it all at face value, the details seemed to be too off to be true.
Luke seemed to be unsure of which planets he'd been chased through, often skipping over key details or speaking in generalities.
He also described his pursuers as mostly 'Master' or 'Grandmaster' level agents, but Leo couldn't help feeling skeptical about that.
After all, the Red Army was known for deploying specialized trackers and high tier assassins, so it did not seem possible that they chased him for a year, yet never introduced someone higher than a Grandmaster in the picture.
Still, he said nothing out loud.
He did not want to risk stressing Luke further while he was still recovering.
And more importantly, he knew Luke wasn't lying…. there was no black aura around him when he spoke, so at least what he said was what he best believed to be true.
But even so, the whole story still smelled off.
And Leo knew he needed to investigate more about what actually happened without raising alarms.
——————
Once Leo was done chatting with Luke, he made his way downstairs to the living room, where the rest of the family had gathered around the TV, watching the live broadcast of the ongoing Dragon Parade.
"So? How was it? Did you two catch up?" Elena asked, her eyes lit with excitement, as Leo gave a small nod in return.
"Yeah, we caught up," he replied with a warm smile, as he settled down between Ben and Jacob, around the man-side of the living room area.
"Father, we need to talk," He said in a serious voice while leaning forward on his knees as he spoke while glancing toward the television.
"Something about Luke's recollection of what happened doesn't sit right with me," he said in a hushed tone, careful not to disturb the women who were still focused on the parade.
"Oh?" Jacob responded, his brow rising ever so slightly.
"It's next to impossible for anyone without proper training to evade the Red Army for more than a year," Leo began, keeping his tone thoughtful and measured. "But what makes even less sense is him saying that he was being pursued by Master and Grandmaster level agents. That part in particular… I just don't buy it."
"If the Red Army truly flagged him because of his lineage, they would have sent a Transcendent level operative to eliminate the threat outright. And even if they didn't deploy one immediately, the fact that he apparently survived more than three months on the run should have triggered an escalation in response. By then, they definitely would have sent someone stronger."
He leaned back against the couch, folding his arms as his gaze drifted back to the screen.
"Something about the whole story feels off. So over the next few days, try to gather as many details as you can from Luke, casually, while talking. Piece it together slowly," Leo added, his voice now softer, as Jacob gave a slight nod, understanding the assignment without the need for further explanation.
And with that, Leo relaxed into his seat like the rest of them, eyes shifting back toward the broadcast, as if nothing serious had just been discussed at all.
————–
Mu Fan sat alone inside a dark room, lit only by the soft blue glow of half a dozen floating screens that flickered quietly around her.
Her chair creaked slightly as she leaned forward, one hand adjusting the frequency dial on the surveillance panel, the other resting on her temple, fingers tapping against her skull in faint agitation.
And then it came.
Leo's voice. Quiet, serious, but unmistakably sharp.
Her eyes narrowed.
She sat up straighter as the conversation between Leo and Jacob played out through the embedded microphone planted discreetly inside Ben's ear implant—one that the Elder had planted specifically to spy on the Skyshard family.
At first, she listened without emotion, but as Leo's words turned more detailed, more precise, her breath caught.
By the time he uttered, "So over the next few days, try to gather as many details as you can from Luke…" she was already on her feet.
Her fingers darted across the holographic keyboard, pulling up the internal alert system.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath, eyes flicking toward the timestamped transcript as her pulse began to race.
"I told those idiots that messing with Leo's family was a catastrophic idea… but no. The Elder never listens."
She stared at the screen, jaw tight, heart hammering inside her chest as she felt that creeping, suffocating sensation she always got right before things spiraled beyond recovery.
"He doesn't buy the Red Army story anymore. He's already on to us. If he keeps digging…" she whispered, trailing off.
The air around her grew cold. A sharp, biting premonition surged through her chest, crawling up her spine like an electric shiver.
Something bad was coming.
And if they didn't move now, if they didn't cover their tracks before Leo pieced it all together—
She didn't finish the thought.
Instead, she transmitted a high-priority alert to her secured channel.
[Code Black: Subject Leo Skyshard has begun post-reconstruction inference. Family narrative compromised. Immediate containment protocol to be prepared. Recommend scenario reevaluation and potential memory anchor distortion. Requesting tactical guidance from the Elder.]
The message sent.
Mu Fan stood in the darkness, silent now, as the soft hum of the surveillance equipment continued to buzz faintly in the background.
This wasn't going to end clean. And she could feel it.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC486: Approaching Sunsteps Market
Chapter 486: Approaching Sunsteps Market
(Meanwhile, The Autumn Festival Parade)
The chariot carrying Veyr reached the entryway to Sunsteps Market without encountering the slightest disruption, its progress through the preceding three sectors having lulled many into a false sense of ease.
By this point, the Twelfth Elder's guards, once rigid and alert, began to relax visibly, their shoulders less tense, their formations slightly looser, as if the festive ambiance had gradually seeped into their discipline.
They no longer reacted to the sudden bursts of confetti that occasionally rained from above.
Nor did they seem particularly interested in admonishing the children who darted beside the Dragon's Chariot with gleaming eyes and carefree smiles, each one treating the procession as if it were a passing miracle.
From a security standpoint it was a big lapse, however, with such a large crowd, it became difficult to control every small aspect.
Since there had been no major incidents so far, the other guards started to let their vigilance down just a little.
But not Valterri.
Valterri did not loosen his stance, nor did his gaze ever truly settle, as his caution only deepened with each passing second, especially now that they were closing in on Sunsteps Market.
Unlike the Twelfth Elder's men who had begun soaking in the revelry, Valterri remained firmly rooted in vigilance, his expression unreadable and his posture tight, as though he were expecting danger to rise from behind every shadow.
Here at the sunsteps market, rows of tightly packed spectators lined both sides of the street, forming a corridor of eager faces, each one tilted toward the grand chariot that housed both the Dragon and the Elder.
Their eyes sparkled with anticipation, the kind that children wore when they neared the climax of a fable they had heard a hundred times and still adored.
*SCREECH*
The chariot rolled to a sudden halt just as its front reached the heart of the square.
"The citizens have prepared a surprise play for you… hope you like it," the Twelfth Elder murmured into Veyr's ear, his tone laced with pride, just as the first thunderous beat of ceremonial drums crashed through the open air.
*DHUM*
*DDRUM*
A wave of performers, clad in fitted crimson armor, sprang into the center of the square with precision and energy, their movements choreographed to near-perfection, while the crowd's attention shifted as one, drawn like iron to a magnet.
This was the Play of Vorthas: a commemorative reenactment of the famed liberation of Planet Vorthas, where Noah, the previous Dragon, had supposedly led a mere million soldiers against an enemy force twice that size.
The actors wasted no time in hurling themselves into exaggerated action, limbs flailing in dramatic combat, voices raised in passionate declarations that bordered on parody.
Oversized swords gleamed under illusion magic, illusory pyres flickered with controlled bursts of light, and every enemy that fell did so with guttural cries and writhing spasms, as though slain by fate itself rather than choreography.
Some spectators cheered. Others chuckled at the dramatics. Most clapped in time with the rhythm, not necessarily for the performance, but out of sheer politeness, as Veyr chuckled and enjoyed the over the top acting.
He could imagine how this was what the Cult members would expect him to do very soon, and in a way, he laughed at his own future.
*DDRUM*
*DHADUM*
The beat of the drum suddenly changed, as from the far end of the street, came a second ensemble, this one made up of older men, their forms wrapped in flowing robes and powdered wigs, as they stepped into the fray with a solemnity that suggested that the next act would be serious business.
"The second act is them showing Lord Soron's greatness…." The Twelfth Elder whispered, as a second play began, this one showing how Soron had once stood atop a cliff and repelled two invading gods by unleashing celestial fire from each hand.
That was how the story had been told to the Cult. However, Veyr seriously doubted that a fight between Gods could ever look so simple.
The two towering puppets meant to represent the enemy gods stumbled and clashed in awkward cadence, their heads disproportionately massive, their movements restricted by their oversized limbs.
Meanwhile, Soron's character dangled from a barely stable wire rig above them, floating shakily in mid-air as he mimed his spells with wild, theatrical gestures, casting fireballs that exploded into harmless puffs of light.
"Those are the legendary flames of judgment!" one actor cried, lifting his arms dramatically.
"No! That's the meteor destroyer!" another shouted, almost tripping over his robe.
The crowd responded with hearty laughter, not out of reverence for the story but because of how flamboyantly ridiculous the portrayal had become.
Children squealed with delight. Parents exchanged amused glances. Even a few guards allowed themselves brief chuckles as their eyes drifted between the ridiculous display and the surrounding rooftops, ever so slightly more relaxed now than before.
————–
Above the square, removed from the celebration and completely unseen, Dupravel remained still.
He crouched low along the curved spine of a weather-beaten roof, balancing effortlessly atop a forgotten alchemy shop, the dust barely shifting beneath his boots.
From his vantage point, he could see everything: the Dragon's chariot, the crowd, the guards, the play. And yet, not a single soul below so much as sensed his existence.
There was no aura around him. No breath. No heartbeat. Even the mana sensors embedded in the perimeter failed to detect anything beyond static air.
His presence was muted, suppressed entirely, like a phantom who had never been born.
'For fuck's sake…. If these fools can get a move on faster….' Dupravel thought frustratingly, as he couldn't believe how the procession came to a grinding halt for such a stupid play.
The dragon's chariot had not yet reached the precise tile he had marked for assassination.
And until it did, all he could do was wait.
'The moment this parade resumes and the chariot reaches the spice shop, I will launch the fireworks first. The sudden burst of explosions and noise will draw the attention of the guards upward, forcing their eyes and focus away from the streets, which will give me the perfect opening to push a few old men onto the street and trigger a commotion. With the chaos undoubtedly forcing the chariot to come to a screeching halt.' Dupravel thought, as he mentally rehearsed the steps of his plan one final time.
'Once the chariot is stalled and panic over the misfired fireworks grips the crowd, I will make my move. I will paralyse the Dragon with a poisoned dagger, swift and silent, and then teleport directly beside him to finish the job myself.'
His fingers tightened around the cold hilt of the dagger in one hand, while the other held a small glass vial containing the strength-reversing potion.
He stared at both for a moment longer, silently bracing himself for the moment he would need to shatter the bottle and down its contents, returning his strength back to Monarch Tier, so that he could take down his opponent without any unexpected problems.
For this mission, timing was everything. And when the moment came, Dupravel wanted to strike with no hesitation, leaving behind nothing but silence and blood in his wake.
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Timeless AssassinC487: A Face From The Past
Chapter 487: A Face From The Past
Once the two plays ended, the Dragon's chariot rolled forward once again, its golden wheels creaking softly over the cobbled stone, as Veyr smiled and clapped heartily for the performers, his approval evident in the way he nodded toward the crowd, acknowledging their efforts with the charisma expected of someone holding the post of the Cult's Messiah.
Valterri, however, did not share in the applause.
His eyes flicked across the market square, past the thinning performers and the slowly parting crowd, as he scanned each rooftop and shaded alley as though they concealed ghosts.
The tension that had curled in his chest before the plays had only grown tighter now that it was over, and though the road ahead appeared calm, something about the silence felt dangerous to him, like the hush before a storm no one had been told to expect.
*BOOM*
*CRACKLE*
*WHIZZ*
It happened all of a sudden.
The first explosion came from the left, from a small back alley nestled behind a row of spice stalls, and before Valterri could turn his head, a second blast split the air from the opposite end of the street.
Firecrackers seemed to be bursting in all directions, not in orchestrated arcs of beauty, but in erratic bursts that flew into shop windows, ricocheted off rooftops, and spun wildly into the sky, where they burst with ear-rattling shrieks.
The entire street flinched. Civilians gasped. Children shrieked.
"What the—?" one of the guards near Valterri muttered, already rushing toward the alley.
"Were these supposed to go off now?" another questioned, pulling out a baton as a group of local policemen darted past the chariot to contain the chaos.
"These pyromancers," an elderly man in the crowd spat, pulling his grandchild behind him, "they have one job! One job!"
"I hope it doesn't inconvenience the Dragon," whispered another, craning his neck for a glimpse of Veyr's reaction, who seemed calm and unbothered by the chaos.
*BOOM*
*WHIZZ*
Because of the explosions, the crowd began to shift uneasily, their instincts drawing them closer together in tight huddled lines that placed them as far away from danger as possible.
The noise alone was enough to split the concentration of the guards, but it was the suddenness of it all that seemed to take everyone by surprise.
It was all too erratic. Too close.
*Roll*
*Stumble*
*Fall*
Somewhere near the front, just ahead of the chariot's path, a cluster of citizens suddenly fell—toppling past the flimsy ropes that separated the crowd from the main road, their limbs flailing as two men and an elderly woman collapsed into the procession's lane.
*SCREECH*
The chariot ground to a screeching halt, the wheels jolting Veyr slightly forward on his seat.
"I—I'm sorry, My Lord!" one man cried, clutching his broken arm as he scrambled to his feet. "Someone pushed me… I didn't mean to fall, I swear…"
Guards rushed to pull the civilians back, helping them off the road, but their attention was all drawn to the wrong place.
Every head turned toward the injured man. Every hand moved to lift the fallen. Every voice shouted commands to restore order.
Except Valterri's.
Valterri stood frozen, his instincts screaming louder than the fireworks, louder than the crowd, louder than the guards yelling over each other.
'Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.'
He scanned the buildings again, his eyes darting rapidly, searching for anything…. any glint, any flash, any movement that could explain this heavy pulse of dread thudding in his chest.
And then he saw it.
Just for a fraction of a second, in the corner of a reflection on a windowpane above the alchemy shop, he caught it.
A shimmer of motion. A blade glinting unnaturally as it tore through the air, aimed not at the sky, not at the civilians, but directly at the Dragon's neck.
And then everything slowed.
His body moved before his mind could fully grasp it.
"GET DOWN, MY LORD!" he roared, lunging sideways.
As his arm cut across Veyr's throat just as the blade arrived.
*SLASH*
A searing, molten pain shot up through his forearm as the poisoned dagger sank clean into his palm, its sharp edge ripping through flesh and bone with ease.
*Splurt*
*Drip*
Blood spurted instantly, warm and thick, splashing onto Veyr's robes.
But the blade did not reach its target.
Veyr gasped, his eyes wide, but untouched, as he drew his own concealed blade beneath his ceremonial robes.
*Buckle*
Valterri fell to one knee, hand still wrapped around the embedded dagger, pain tearing through him like wildfire, but all he could think was—
'The threat is not yet over.'
His vision blurred as the poison started its work, but even through the agony, he kept his arm raised, shielding the Dragon with what strength he had left, while the twelfth elder's guards screamed and scrambled around him, finally understanding what had just taken place.
A highly skilled assassin loomed around them, and he was aiming for the Dragon's life.
————–
Dupravel's face turned to one of genuine surprise when Valterri managed to block his dagger.
He had thrown the dagger with perfect form.
From the arc to the weight to the timing, every part of the throw had been honed through decades of lethal practice.…. And yet, it hadn't landed.
'That face…. I have seen that man before—'
Dupravel thought, as in Valterri he saw a reflection of James, the shield of the previous Dragon Noah, and a man he had once killed with his own two hands.
His brow furrowed ever so slightly as his sharp eyes tracked the scene below, noting the trail of blood splattered across the Dragon's ceremonial garb, and the hunched figure of James, clutching his palm around the blade that should have hit its mark.
The man's unusual reflexes were not something Dupravel had foreseen, but it wasn't enough to rattle him.
He was a Monarch afterall at his peak strength, and even if a couple things unfolded beyond his expectations, he still had the confidence to see the mission through and end the Dragon's life.
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Timeless AssassinC488: The Battle Begins
Chapter 488: The Battle Begins
*Click*
Dupravel snapped the vial cap off the strength regeneration potion and downed its contents in one gulp, feeling the familiar surge of strength begin to crawl through his veins, as he slowly regained his true prowess.
Just below him, the fools tasked with guarding the new Dragon remained oblivious to his location, their eyes darting frantically from rooftop to rooftop, alley to alley, sweeping the entire market square with disciplined urgency, but never quite locking onto the precise spot where he crouched in wait.
"We must get the Dragon and the Elder to safety. Move, move, move… we're a sitting duck here. We need to relocate to an area we can fortify better," one of the security guards aboard the chariot barked, his voice sharp with urgency as the others fell into formation with practiced instinct, forming a living wall of muscle and armor around the Dragon and the Elder, as they moved as a unit and gradually inching toward the chariot's edge, their posture clearly preparing for a coordinated disembark to a safer zone.
However, unfortunately for them, that was exactly what Dupravel had planned for, as:-
*Slash*
*Slash*
Two more poisoned daggers flew from his fingers, his posture fluid as he moved swiftly to a new vantage point using a high-speed traversal technique that blurred his silhouette like a smudge of ink on canvas.
*Thud*
*Thud*
"Oh shit! There seems to be more than one opponent—" the lead guard called out, misreading the trajectory of the daggers and assuming, incorrectly, that multiple assassins were launching simultaneous strikes from different directions.
*CHAOS*
Meanwhile, amongst the commoners, panic erupted like wildfire.
All around the chariot, the crowd devolved into screaming confusion, unable to grasp what was truly unfolding.
Rogue firecrackers were still going off in sporadic bursts, igniting sections of the market street, while at the same time, the Dragon himself appeared to be under siege by invisible enemies.
"Who dares attack the Dragon? Coward! Show yourself!" an old man on the roadside shouted defiantly, standing tall even in fear.
*Splurt*
A heartbeat later, a dagger pierced through his forehead, his body collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut, as Dupravel silenced him without a second thought, simply because he could.
"Stop crowding me… I can't see jackshit with you guys blocking my line of sight," Veyr snapped, his voice clipped and irritated beneath the cloak of calm he usually wore.
"I appreciate the concern, but if a poisoned blade slips through a small gap in your formation, I'm finished. I would prefer you allow me to fight for myself. I am more than capable—"
He pleaded, however, his protests fell on deaf ears.
"Cover the Dragon! Protect him at all costs!" The lead guard barked again, louder this time, ignoring Veyr's words completely, as he and the rest of the Twelfth Elder's detail tightened their perimeter around him.
Shields overlapped and eyes scanned all directions as they finally reached the edge of the chariot, preparing to leap.
"Lord Dragon, Twelfth Elder, please prepare to jump at my command," the guard instructed, his voice steady despite the chaos, as he raised one fist in the air, then dropped it in one sharp motion.
"Now!"
He urged, as with synchronized precision, the entire entourage vaulted from the chariot to the cobbled street below.
However, unfortunately for them, that jump was the exact moment Dupravel had been waiting for, as the second he saw them leap, he too sprang into motion.
*Slash*
*Slash*
*Slash*
*Slash*
*THUD—*
Four guards fell mid-descent, their bodies slamming into the ground like meat tossed from a butcher's hook, which left only two: the lead guard and one other, as the last line of defense between Dupravel and Veyr.
*Step*
*Step*
It was at this moment, that Dupravel finally revealed himself, as he chose to descend from the rooftop with unhurried menace.
*Land*
Dupravel landed before the crowd like a specter born of nightmare, dressed in the signature robes of the Black Serpent Guild, which fluttered faintly under the wind.
A curved short sword gleamed in his hand, its black edge soaked with the blood of countless enemies, as he eyed Veyr with the gaze of a hungry predator.
"It's him… it's Monarch Dupravel! The Black Serpent Guildmaster!" the lead guard shouted, his voice cracking as the words left his throat.
As a chill swept the market street.
Everyone within the Cult had heard of Dupravel.
Everyone knew what he had done.
This was the man who had slain the previous Dragon, Noah, and walked away without consequence.
This was the man the Cult hated as one of its worst enemies.
*Shing*
*Shing*
*Slash*
*Dodge*
*Slash*
Dupravel moved like a shadow, eliminating the final two guards in a brutal flurry of blade and smoke, clearing the path to Veyr with ruthless efficiency as he blinked between short-range spatial points, his body dissipating and reappearing in clouds of black mist that confounded the eye.
'What the hell is that movement technique? He's right in front of me, yet I can't tell where he'll appear next…' Veyr thought, his jaw clenched tight as he clenched his sword tighter, muscles flexing beneath the tight ceremonial robes, as the fabric tore along the seams.
*Block*
*Parry*
*Slide*
Their blades clashed.
And to Veyr's surprise, despite the lethal speed of Dupravel's assault, he somehow managed to intercept the first wave of strikes without a hitch.
It seemed as if due to the effects of [Parallel Processing], his mind had split the sensory load across multiple channels, allowing him to read Dupravel's attacks just fast enough to react and defend, as he somehow managed to stand his ground for now.
"You will not harm Veyr! You coward! Now that you have entered Cult Territory, you're going to pay with your life!" The Twelfth Elder said, as he launched himself into battle, unleashing two powerful [Wind Slashes] that forced Dupravel to take a step back.
The Twelfth Elder felt the dam of his suppressed fury finally crack upon seeing Dupravel's face, as a flood of buried rage surged to the surface.
He too had history with Dupravel, for he had been there on the day Noah was slain, forced to flee as his closest friend stayed behind, choosing death to ensure their escape.
Noir had been weak back then, he had been unable to protect Noah, but ever since that incident, he had been praying for the day when he would get a chance to face Dupravel yet again, for in his head, he had already played this scenario a hundred times over, and had a plan to counter the Monarch.
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Timeless AssassinC489: Regret
Chapter 489: Regret
(Sunsteps Market, The Twelfth Elder's POV)
There are moments in one's life where they wish they could go back and do things differently.
Moments they obsess over quietly, wondering what might have changed had they reacted faster, fought harder, or simply chosen another path.
And then there are moments in one's life which they spend years preparing for, mentally rehearsing every word, every motion, hoping that if fate ever brought the scenario back around, they would get it right this time.
And this right here, was one such moment for the Twelfth Elder.
Ever since Noah's death, he had replayed that day endlessly, haunted by the image of his best friend staying behind while he fled.
Back then, he had no answers, no strategy that could have saved them both. But things were different now. Because now… Dupravel had a glaring weakness that everyone in the universe knew about.
His son, Darnell.
And that was the one card he did not have thirty two years back, when Dupravel was at his savage best.
*Shift*
In an instant, the Twelfth Elder altered his appearance, transforming into a near-perfect replica of Darnell Nuna, down to the trembling lips and anxious frown.
"Dad… are you here to save me?" he asked, voice shaky and laced with panic, mimicking Darnell's tone with terrifying precision.
As watching his face, Dupravel froze.
Despite having witnessed the transformation, despite knowing with absolute certainty that this could not possibly be his son, that voice and those eyes still landed like a blade between his ribs.
"Dad… they put me up there. They tied me beside the Dragon like some sort of meat shield. These Cult members… they're cruel," the Twelfth Elder whimpered, layering desperation over every syllable.
And Dupravel hesitated.
Not because he believed it. Not at all.
But because in that one-thousandth of a second, where logic collided with memory, and instinct was overrun by paternal fear, he couldn't ignore the flicker of possibility, the sliver of doubt, that this might be some sort of elaborate ruse set up by the Cult to have him kill his son with his own hands.
*Grip*
His fingers tensed around the hilt of his blade, eyes narrowing in conflict.
He knew it wasn't real.
He knew it was bait.
And yet… he couldn't strike the twelfth elder.
So he turned his back on the impersonator and lunged for Veyr again, his form disappearing in yet another puff of smoke, as he appeared from irrational pockets of space all around Veyr.
*Shing*
*Block*
*Block*
To his credit, Veyr managed to hold his ground perfectly.
Having recently fought a speed demon like Leo, he had been made aware about the lapses in his own defence, and had improved slightly since that bout.
And although Dupravel came crashing down on him with immense strength, somehow, the force felt manageable to Veyr, as if he were fighting against another Transcendent Tier opponent, and not a Monarch.
*Clash*
*Strike*
*Parry*
Over the next ten seconds, their blades collided again and again, metal screaming against metal as Veyr held his ground, deflecting each of Dupravel's precise strikes with a calm focus.
The market square had become a warzone, with cracked stone underfoot and a haze of smoke curling through the air like serpents on the prowl.
Dupravel fought with the cold ruthlessness of a killer, his blade moving with an eerie grace that made him seem less man and more phantom.
He blinked through patches of distorted space, closing gaps and reappearing mid-swing, his short sword singing arcs of death in the air.
Yet Veyr matched him, barely a step behind, relying not on speed, but on prediction and timing. He didn't need to outspeed Dupravel, only to stay alive long enough for the reinforcements to arrive.
*Whizz*
*Boom*
A sudden [Wind Shot] crashed into the stone by Dupravel's feet, narrowly missing his leg.
The Twelfth Elder, still in Darnell's form, stood a distance away, his palms glowing with residual mana as he hurled another strike toward the Monarch, hoping to create just enough distraction for Veyr to get in a kill shot.
*Crack*
*Deflect*
"Persistent little rat," Dupravel muttered, glancing toward the Elder without breaking his rhythm, as he spun mid-air to redirect a falling strike toward Veyr's left.
"You too shall die soon enough." Dupravel claimed, yet he made no move to eliminate the Twelfth Elder outright.
Instead, he focused entirely on Veyr, trying his best to somehow decapitate the Dragon, yet just as he began to fall into a rhythm, he felt another shot coming for him from the side.
*Dodge*
*Swoosh*
The Twelfth Elder's constant interference made it difficult for him to overwhelm Veyr's defence, but that wasn't the only reason he struggled.
He could feel it. The weakness in his muscles…..
His breathing felt too shallow. His arms ached more than they should. His strikes didn't carry the bone-breaking weight of a Monarch's blow.
At this moment in time, he was no stronger than a peak Transcendent Tier warrior, as despite drinking the potion and initially feeling a surge of strength rushing through his veins, it never actually materialized to him returning to his peak.
'Did Mauriss set me up?' Dupravel wondered at this moment, as from the corner of his eyes, he noticed some concerning movement.
Dozens of guards and reinforcements were closing down on his location, as the longer this battle dragged on, the worse his odds of success became.
"Damn you, Mauriss…" he hissed under his breath, his voice low and lethal, as he attempted one last hail Mary at killing Veyr, but the Dragon blocked it precisely.
*CLANG*
"OH DAMN YOU, MAURISS!"
He roared again, this time louder, as he spat each word with all the venom in his heart.
Then, as if realising that this was a wasted effort, he pulled back and reached into his robe as he hurled a dozen smoke bombs across the battlefield.
*Pop*
*Crack*
*Fsssh*
In an instant, a thick veil of smoke swallowed the entire square, cutting visibility to near zero.
Screams echoed as civilians stumbled in panic and the incoming guards halted to regroup.
And just like that, Dupravel turned to leave.
Slipping into the mist like a shadow, he retreated through the sewer grate prepared in advance with his pride wounded and his rage simmering into something far more dangerous.
The mission had failed.
The Dragon still lived.
And worse—he had been tricked.
Not by Veyr.
Not by the Cult.
But by Mauriss the Deceiver.
The sly old god had played him like a pawn, and sent him to a certain death, while making false promises of freedom and power.
*Splat*
*Splat*
Dupravel's boots splashed through shallow sewer water as he fled, his mind drowning louder than his footsteps.
'How pathetic,' he thought, jaw clenched tight. 'All these years serving them like a dog… all this blood shed in their name… and for what?'
He blinked, his rage giving way to something colder.
'I should have joined the Cult. I should have lived here with my son….. I should have negotiated a deal for my life. It would have been easier than the missions I did for Mauriss….'
His grip tightened around his blade's hilt.
'Instead, I fought for scum like the Eternal Deceiver. Let pride and vengeance blind me. Let lies shape my path….. HA–'
A bitter laugh escaped him.
'Maybe I was the fool all along. Maybe… I still am.'
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Timeless AssassinC490: Exactly As Planned
Chapter 490: Exactly As Planned
(Meanwhile, back at the Skyshard Mansion)
Leo watched the chaotic feed with a nonchalant smile plastered across his lips, as he enjoyed the chaos as if watching a movie.
*Fizzzz*
*Booom*
As the firecrackers went off in the distance, and Elena and Alia panicked at the sudden surprise attack on Veyr, Leo only laughed unworried, as he elbowed his father on the side.
"This…. This is why I chose not to be Dragon," he said, as he watched the guards around the Twelfth Elder drop like flies, looking completely clueless on where the attacks were coming from.
"What's the matter? These idiots don't know any sensory detection spells? Jeez, they teach [Absolute Vision] in the first year at Rodova.
This is exactly why–" Leo commented, as he felt thoroughly disappointed in Cult security, which clearly did not know high tiered perception spells necessary to do their jobs.
*Slash*
*Thud*
"Oooo—" Leo said, his face scrunching in disgust, as he saw four more guards lose their lives at once, leaving Veyr nearly defenceless now.
"The killer is good… whoever it is, their skills are the real deal…." He said, as Dupravel finally dropped into frame, his Black Serpent robes fluttering silently in the air.
"Well… well…. Well….. I'll be damned!" Leo said, as he looked at Dupravel, the Monarch looking as menacing as ever.
"Mom, that's my old boss…. I told you I was in the Black Serpents yeah? That's the guildmaster!" Leo said, pointing excitedly towards Dupravel, as Elena absentmindedly nodded.
"Is he very strong? Will he kill the new Dragon?" Alia asked at this moment, as Leo shrugged his shoulders in response.
"Yeah…. Veyr is fucked." He said, as he felt pity for his cousin who had to face this monster.
However, just as he dismissed Veyr's death as a foregone conclusion, it was Amanda who reminded him of the consequences of Veyr's death, should it actually come to pass.
"Leo, if Veyr dies you become the next Dragon.
That means, it would be you up on that Chariot during the next parade…." Amanda reminded, as it was at that moment that Leo realized what was at stake here.
"Oh hell no! Oh no, no, nonono, nono" Leo mumbled as he clutched his hair in panic.
"Go Veyr! Run! Fucking save your life somehow!" He cheered, as from that moment onwards, he too began to watch the TV with bitten lips.
Uptil now, he watched the Chaos unfold with complete nonchalance, forgetting that this would be his fate next, should Veyr actually die in battle.
However, thankfully, such an outcome did not come to pass.
Veyr managed to hold his own until reinforcements arrived, and in the end Dupravel was forced to retreat.
"He's safe! He managed to fend off a Monarch!" Elena said once the smoke cleared, as Leo blinked in confusion.
On one hand, it could not be refuted that Veyr managed to hold his own against Dupravel, however, on the other, it did not seem like he was fighting at Monarch strength.
"Interesting….." Leo mused, as when he compared the speed and power behind Dupravel's movements to those of Charles…. In his head, the movement speeds did not add up, as he felt like something was amiss about this whole episode.
————-
(Meanwhile Mauriss)
Mauriss watched the entire episode unfold from his home planet on a small crystal ball, as he felt extremely amused when he saw Dupravel curse him right before he fled.
"Hahahaha!"
He chuckled out loud, as it were moments like these that made eternal life worth living for him, as he derived a sadistic pleasure from deceiving gullible mortals.
"It will take twenty days for his strength to return to peak Monarch Tier, not twenty seconds.
Let's see if he can survive until then, or if Soron sniffs him out in between," Mauriss muttered, as he cut off the crystal orb feed and closed his eyes with a satisfied smile.
Everything had proceeded exactly how he calculated.
The Dragon had been attacked publicly, and Dupravel had escaped with his life intact which was going to trigger two major events within the Cult.
Firstly, a massive manhunt for Dupravel was sure to be launched, with every commoner searching for the Black Serpents Monarch like a rabid dog looking for something to bite on.
However, with Dupravel being the skilled assassin that he is, this manhunt was sure to pile up bodies in the tens of thousands, with the Cult eventually being forced to either mobilize Charles, or Soron to take him out, since they were the only two warriors within the Cult capable of making it happen.
In this case, if Charles was pulled away from the front lines, the Universal Army could then destroy Juxta that very day, pouring as much manpower as needed to make it happen.
And if he was not, and Soron moved himself, then they could gather information on how worse his injuries had gotten over the centuries and whether or not he had an origin metal blade in his possession or not.
Either way… it was going to be a massive win for them.
Secondly, in the weeks following the aftermath of Dupravel's death, the pressure on the Elders Council to declare war and seek retaliation for this attack was sure to grow.
Here, Mauriss predicted that the Elders desperate to appease their voters would take half-baked steps to satisfy public anger at once and try launching a massive counteroffensive against the righteous faction.
"Those fools will probably push back and try occupying fresh territories within the righteous faction" Mauriss muttered, as he could see it playing out as clear as day.
The Cult armies invading righteous planets, and the decades long ceasefire finally ending.
"I'll let them win too…. Let a couple planets fall rather quickly…." Mauriss muttered, as an evil grin spread across his face.
He wanted the Cult's threat to appear larger than it really was, as it would then force the gods of the six great clans to once again return to the negotiating table with the Universal Government, and be forced to hold a meeting regarding the Cult's rapid expansion and how to stop it at once.
"Mmm… we are in for some very interesting times ahead, HAHAHA—" Mauriss chuckled, as just thinking about the tumultuous future, he felt excited about all the entertainment unfolding after decades of lull.
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