He knew it would work.
The identity of the informant was beyond certain—it was formidable—and the troops were beyond sufficient—they were overflowing.
But.
"You thought it would work?"
It wasn't a question thrown out expecting an answer. Because the boot of the one who asked the question was mercilessly trampling on the nape of his neck.
Against the backdrop of the black sky, his face was visible.
The one who, even after completely severing another's leg and arm, did not lose a single breath. The one who tried to lead him to death, yet was instead driving him to his own death.
Beneath his disheveled black hair, terrifyingly deep blue eyes were visible.
"I suppose so."
The face of the man, who smirked and took out a cigarette to light, was frighteningly handsome—too human-like.
Oscar Reichinhardt.
Enveloped in cigarette smoke, he laughed.
"If you had known it would turn out like this, would you have come? Right?"
Cough, cough...
Even as he watched the agonizing struggle of a man at the end of his life, Oscar merely smoked his cigarette. Behind him stretched a wasteland reeking of blood.
A group of men was silently moving the bodies of the assassins, and birds of prey, having smelled the blood, were circling the area.
"We captured two alive, and confirmed that the rest had died."
Oscar lifted his foot from the nape of the dead man's neck. Then, wiping the blood from his shoe onto the hem of the dead man's clothes, he opened his mouth.
"Bury the dead, and make the captured speak."
"Understood. What will you do with the remaining schedule?"
Oscar took a few puffs of his cigarette while leaning on one leg in a crooked posture, then carelessly tossed the cigarette onto the ground and removed his black gloves. He then turned to look at the man standing beside him and smirked.
"You have to keep your promise, Simon."
And as he took a step, he muttered.
"Of course, that dimwit would have wanted me to die here."
As he crossed the corpse-strewn wilderness, men in black suits who had been doing their jobs here and there approached. Lined up in an instant along the path leading to the carriage, they bowed respectfully in step with their master's pace.
Oscar, having boarded the carriage, wiped his hands with a wet towel and wiped his face as if nothing had happened. A few drops of blood had splattered on his sleeve, but he was not only too lazy to change his clothes, but also had no reason to do so.
Oscar, having shoved a blood-stained towel into the corner as if tossing it, turned his gaze toward the window.
He was sick and tired of the scattered deaths. To be freed from those filthy and repulsive things, there were only two ways.
Either he behead Leopold, King of Luxen, or he die.
However, he had absolutely no intention of dying. Nor did he have any intention of suffering any loss. Oscar had no interest in such a petty act as giving up his limbs to take his neck.
Oscar took out another cigarette and put it in his mouth. The acrid smoke seemed to dispel the fishy smell a little, so he took several drags. The deep blue eyes revealed from behind the hazy smoke were hard and cold, like the cross-section of a glacier.
What he wanted was not just any victory.
He wanted an overwhelming victory.
He meant an overwhelming and perfect victory without shedding a single drop of blood.
***
No one in Felphe did not know the magnificent stone mansion situated on the banks of the Daub River.
A century ago, the ownership of the mansion gifted by the King to his mistress, whom he licked and sucked like a buttered flower, passed from person to person over the course of a hundred years. The mansion, which was used sometimes as a theater and sometimes as a summer villa for a certain family, was able to regain its original name exactly 50 years after the death of its original owner, the King's mistress.
Armand Rose.
If Herod had the tuberose, Felphe had the amang rose.
In Felphe, where prostitution was legal, the most popular sanctuary of pleasure was none other than this very place, the Armand Rose Mansion. It was a place with an atmosphere distinct from the mediocre red-light districts in the back alleys; as most of its customers were royalty or nobility from the Norfolk continent, a single night at the least-known Armand Rose cost as much as two months' worth of living expenses for an average middle-class Felphe resident.
So, on days when big names that everyone would recognize visited, it was common for the revenue of the Armand Rose mansion to easily surpass the monthly revenue of an average business.
And today was the very day.
"He is finally coming!"
The doorman, who had been scanning beyond the front gate like a sentry, turned around and made a call. Catherine, the owner of the Armand Rose mansion, hurriedly lit the cigarette she had been smoking in succession. However, her hand trembled slightly as she put out the cigarette.
"What is the Grand Duke doing?"
The man who approached shook his head at the quick, low question.
"It is already chaos. The door is locked and won't open. His Highness the Grand Duke's secretary is asking me to please stall for some time."
"..."
It’s been decades since she rolled around in this field.
She had a hunch that something was going wrong.
The person scheduled to visit Armand Rose Manor today was a big shot among big shots, known to everyone in East Norfolk.
Grand Duke Baden, King Felphe's half-brother and the president of Felphe Bank, was also a big shot, but he was no match for Marquis Reichinhardt of the Kingdom of Luxen.
The uneasy feeling began when the Grand Duke of Baden, who had arrived earlier than scheduled, brought along unannounced guests. He played billiards with the guests he had brought at will, drinking liquor worth at least 50 million to 100 million kertes per bottle like water.
Moreover, despite the appointment time approaching, far from preparing to welcome the guest, he merely raised the level of the party and enjoyed himself.
It was undeniably rude. And not just ordinary rudeness.
So, to ensure that the behavior wouldn't be rude, there was only one way.
Marquis Reichinhardt, who was supposed to meet with the Grand Duke, is not coming.
But didn't they say the other person just arrived?
Catherine swallowed hard and turned to look at the woman standing beside her.
With a deeply plunging dress that revealed her entire chest, and breasts so luscious that even other women wanted to touch them, there were men everywhere desperate to suck on them. But breasts weren't everything. The reason she didn't come across as vulgar—despite her pretty face that never grew tiresome to look at, her innocent smile devoid of any worry, and her surprisingly weighty voice—was due to her unexpected presence.
Even in the eyes of Catherine, who had rolled around in this world for decades, there was no gem quite like this. So, unless one was a eunuch, no one could resist if a girl like this set her mind to it. Especially not those who frequented a place like this for whatever reason.
"Anna."
She could feel the sound of the carriage wheels slowing down. Catherine adjusted her clothes with a neat demeanor. The classic dress, with its collar raised all the way to the neck, made her look like a head lady-in-waiting at the royal palace rather than the owner of a brothel.
Catherine whispered to Anna as she took a step toward the wide-open front door.
"He is a man who could spend five years' worth of Felphe's budget overnight."
Anna's gaze, which had been full of innocent charm, transformed into a fierce look as if nothing had happened.
A man who could spend five years' worth of Felphe's budget overnight.
It wasn't an exaggeration.
He was the owner of a transcontinental railway and a massive steel company known as the blast furnace of Norfolk, as well as the head of the historic Marquis Reichinhardt family. He was even young, despite having accomplished all these feats with his own hands.
"If you get your hands on him right, you wouldn't even be comparable to King Felphe's mistress."
"..."
"So you stall for time, at least until the Grand Duke realizes the Marquis has arrived."
As soon as those words were finished, she felt the carriage come to a halt. Catherine’s expression, which had been serious the whole time, brightened up as if by magic. While she went out to greet the Marquis like someone welcoming a blood relative she hadn't seen in years, Anna stayed by the door, waiting for the right moment.
"Welcome, Your Excellency. I have been waiting for you."
The Marquis gave no answer to Catherine's gentle words. Only the sound of long strides could be heard.
Anna, who had been waiting for the right moment, quietly poked her head out.
Anna, covering her chest with one hand as if embarrassed by her low-cut dress and wearing her characteristic innocent expression, was about to block the young Marquis's path by chance.
Living as Armand Rose in Felphe, she had met almost everyone of high status. Even the King visited secretly last month, so what could a young Marquis from another country possibly be?
However, Anna did not even dare to block the young man who whizzed past her. All she could do was stare blankly, following his movements.
"..."
She could not remember what the man looked like as he walked away with unhesitating steps—a height that far exceeded the average, broad shoulders contrasting with a slender waist. It was merely an afterimage. Nevertheless, Anna could bet her entire fortune that, out of everyone she had ever seen, there was no one as handsome as him.
Just then, Catherine poked the dazed Anna in the waist.
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