Chapter 35

Chapter 35
In the expansive lands of Malteon, to the south of the Kingdom of Ashtalon, two men were seated in the basement of a grand estate.

One was Carmine, the third son of Duke Komalon, who owned this mansion.

The man standing opposite him wore a casual expression, even though he was in the presence of Carmine, a figure widely known for his cruelty and villainy.

“You are the ‘Agent,’ I presume?”

Carmine posed the question as a form of verification.

The man with heavy-lidded eyes gave a soft smile and, without speaking, drew a quill from within his coat.

At first appearance, the quill seemed entirely ordinary.

But then a low hum emerged, and an aura blade materialized at its tip.

Wearing a slight grin, the man lifted his arm overhead and, unleashing the aura, sliced a line through the empty air.

Though he drew on nothingness, a stark black line remained suspended where the quill had traveled.

Carmine observed as this dark streak began to seep into the atmosphere, much like ink dispersing in water.

The instant the black mark vanished from the air, a harsh, wet sound ripped through the silence—

Chwaaak!

Blood erupted in the previously vacant cellar, and the bodies of men who had been concealed until now dropped to the ground, their blood pooling around them.

There were nine corpses in total.

In an environment that had been immaculate moments before, the metallic smell of blood now dominated, all due to the actions of the man, who calmly tucked the quill back into his pocket.

“I trust my answer is now evident. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The man flashed a roguish smile.

Carmine, who had briefly seemed stunned, now allowed a harsh smile to form on his lips.

“Truly. A swordmaster with such a distinctive skill… as anticipated, you belong to the ‘Agents.’ Your caliber is in a completely different league…!”

Even though his own men had been eliminated with one blow, Carmine displayed no distress, only a sense of respect.

“I appreciate the praise,” the Agent replied, smiling.

Pleased, Carmine gave a nod.

‘This confirms it. This is the correct path.’

The Agents.

They were a guild of assassins based in the United Kingdoms.

Their full membership was a mystery, but Carmine was sure that every Agent operated at a skill level comparable to a swordmaster.

Their prices were extremely high, and they were cautious about which contracts they undertook, but once they accepted a task, it was always accomplished.

“Let us proceed to the main issue,” stated the Agent.

Without any delay, Carmine declared, “I need you to eliminate a noble.”

“Which noble?”

“Count Palatio of the Asteria Kingdom.”

Hearing this, the Agent paused, considering carefully, before answering, “I regret to say that contract may present some challenges.”

It was a straightforward rejection.

But Carmine had partly expected this, so he pressed on.

“Is the payment insufficient?”

“Precisely. You know our rates are substantial. Furthermore, targeting Count Palatio would involve extra expenses.”

“So, you are saying that for the appropriate price, Count Palatio can be killed?”

“We have never broken a contract once accepted—whether it involved claiming the life of a noble,”

Pisik-

“Or even a member of a royal family.”

The Agent’s words radiated absolute assurance.

Carmine then stated, “I will provide payment.”

“The fee we require would be a significant burden for you.”

“Certainly, if it were only coin, that could be problematic. However—”

Carmine, with a self-assured smile, retrieved an object from within his clothing and displayed it.

“What about this?”

Carmine held a black cube.

It was a cube of such profound darkness it appeared to swallow all light, reminiscent of a bottomless pit.

A spark of interest showed in the Agent’s gaze as he examined it.

“Hmm, this is not Abyssal Jade, but an Abyssal Core…?”

“Correct,” Carmine confirmed with a nod.

The Agent studied the item in silence for a time.

A hint of avarice shone in his eyes, but after a moment of reflection, he shook his head as if the decision was obvious.

“Hmm, it is an attractive offer, but a single Abyssal Core is still not quite…”

The agent spoke with what seemed like genuine regret.

But then,

“What if I offered three Abyssal Cores?”

At Carmine’s next statement, the agent went quiet.

And then,

“Can you guarantee this?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Heh.”

With a quiet laugh, the agent said,

“I will finish the assignment with all speed and come back.”

Having spoken, he disappeared from the spot as though he were never there, leaving behind only the sharp odor of blood.

Alone now, Carmine finally allowed himself a wide, vicious smile.

‘Finally!’

Five months prior, after his failure to achieve vengeance through Vilan, Carmine had relentlessly pursued other methods, though each attempt had ended in disappointment.

Word had circulated that Deus Macallian, a senior knight of Caliban, had strong ties to Count Palatio.

And as his revenge was postponed, Carmine’s hatred for Alon intensified, growing into a near obsession.

It was no longer a logical feeling but a deep, irrational animosity.

Driven by this overpowering hatred, he had used far more Abyssal Cores than was prudent, straining his standing with his father.

Yet, in spite of this, Carmine continued to smile malevolently.

‘Did you believe you could disregard me and lead a peaceful life? …That will never be allowed, not in any lifetime.’

His warped sense of inadequacy and suffering had transformed into pure hatred, now focused entirely on Alon.

***

For an inexplicable reason, a phrase that felt like the title of a web novel from another world crossed his thoughts:

“I accidentally became the leader of a group formed by a shadowy alliance.”

[Do you have anything to add?]

Oblivious to Alon’s inner turmoil, the moderator posed another question.

Alon, however, felt like responding with a question of his own:

What? Me? The head of a faction established by a secret coalition?

[Hmm, it appears you have no further comments, so we will proceed.]

Before Alon could voice his bewilderment, the moderator moved the agenda forward, trapping Alon’s unspoken words.

Alon, striving to make sense of the circumstances,

Turned his eyes and looked directly at Duke Altia.

Nod!

Duke Altia, who no longer resembled the youthful man from his memories but now carried the presence of a seasoned conspirator, gave a firm, confident nod.

Beside him, Lady Zenonia—now officially Countess Zenonia, having assumed her title after her father’s death several months earlier—was also smiling.

‘…Is this some kind of joke?’

The idea occurred to him, but he understood deeply that this was no mere jest.

As he slowly assembled the pieces of his confusion,

‘Ah.’

He finally grasped what was happening.

He recognized why the nobles had appeared confused when he took his seat earlier.

And why the two battle-hardened men seated across from him were observing him with such sharp suspicion.

‘Ah.’

With this new awareness, Alon accepted once more that he had, in fact, become the leader of a shadow faction.

A wave of dizziness washed over him; Alon instinctively brought a hand to his forehead and shut his eyes tightly.

***

Roughly two hours later, the grand council meeting concluded.

Although many topics had been debated, Alon could remember nothing of what was discussed.

For Alon, the mystery of how he had ended up leading the Kalpha faction was far more pressing than the nobles’ conflicting opinions.

For two hours, he wrestled with this seemingly unsolvable puzzle, and as the meeting drew to a close, a possible explanation came to him.

‘…Could it be that I’m merely a puppet leader?’

It was the most troubling possibility for him, yet it seemed entirely likely.

However, once the grand council meeting ended, Alon found himself, as if in a trance, guided toward the banquet celebrating the formation of the Kalpha faction.

And as the banquet got underway and he engaged in a three-person discussion with Countess Zenonia and Duke Altia, Alon soon understood that his theory was mistaken.

But then,

“What is your opinion? I believe it is perfectly arranged now.”

From Alon’s viewpoint, the circumstances were growing more baffling by the minute.

At the words of Lady Zenonia—now Countess Zenonia—Alon found it difficult to formulate a reply.

To be honest, he was unable to respond.

He had no understanding of what Countess Zenonia was referring to, or what she intended.

“It appears to have been shaped exactly as Count Palatio desired.”

Upon hearing Duke Altia’s comment, Alon felt like scattering a cascade of question marks in the air, wanting to ask, ‘Me? What do you mean?’

Naturally, he managed to keep his expression neutral on the surface.

Alon looked from Duke Altia to Countess Zenonia and back.

Their gazes held a glimmer of anticipation, as if they were waiting for him to offer his thoughts.

Seeing their faces, Alon started to seriously question whether he might have a hidden alternate persona.

He did not share a close relationship with either Duke Altia or Countess Zenonia.

In fact, he had only encountered Duke Altia a handful of years ago, and their exchange had been brief.

Even that brief exchange had not been positive, as it involved him denying Loria’s request for assistance at the time.

Similarly, Alon was not well acquainted with Countess Zenonia either.

They had met on only two occasions, and on the second, Alon had commanded her to leave his estate.

Realizing his silence had stretched too long, Alon finally spoke.

“I understand.”

What he truly wanted was to demand an explanation for what was happening, but Alon was shrewd enough to assess the context.

It was evident that these two were convinced he had deliberately established this faction.

Asking ‘What is the meaning of this?’ would only complicate the situation further.

For the moment, Alon resolved to collect as much information as he could to identify the source of their misconceptions.

Once he had a clearer picture, he could begin to address the problem.

However,

“I am simply relieved I could finally repay you for sparing my life.”

As soon as Alon acknowledged them, Duke Altia followed with this remark.

Alon instinctively squeezed his eyes shut.

‘What on earth is happening!?’

He shouted the words inside his mind.