A short while later, in the Calvados Fief of the Charlemagne Kingdom.
The sea breeze brushed against the tip of Sien’s nose from a distance. Between the blowing wind and the scent of salt, a towering fortress came into view.
‘Whew.’
He leaned his back against the darkness of the forest where no one could see and took a long, deep breath. It was a sigh that clearly carried the weight of his exhaustion.
After secretly boarding a high-speed galley and disembarking in the southwestern region of the Charlemagne Kingdom, he had moved for several nights and days without rest. It was a hellish forced march that would exhaust even the body of a Nightwalker.
Sien sat down against a tree in front of the enemy camp, pulled an apple from his pocket, and took a large bite. *Crunch.* He drank every drop of the bursting juice, quenching his parched throat.
The Undying Knight, Sir Calvados.
Sien was well aware of that name and the reputation attached to it. He even knew the fact that back when he was still immature, a Highmaster of the family had dealt with him.
Whether he liked it or not, the Undying Knight was destined to die at the hands of a Nightwalker assassin. Nothing would change that.
‘Fate is fate because it cannot be changed.’
‘Where should I enter?’
Having received the news in advance, Count Calvados was not in the castle located within the fief. Instead, he had finished stationing himself in a fortress to intercept the enemy at the expected landing point of the Seven Kingdoms’ fleet.
Of course, the fortress was not meant to stop the landing of the enemy fleet itself. Rather, it was intended to serve as a base to tie down and isolate the landed enemies—a goal aimed at a sophisticated war of attrition to slowly bleed them dry.
In other words, unless there was a commander with the capacity to carry out such complex tactics and operations, a mere count’s fief could never hold back a massive army on a national scale.
And Sien’s role was to kill that veteran, charismatic commander.
That was all.
A veteran knight who had protected the territory for decades against the Seven Kingdoms and even the raids of the Orc tribes from the northern Skaadi Archipelago, known as Vikings.
He was a loyal subject of the kingdom who had even refused the honor of being named one of the twelve knights of Charlemagne, claiming he was merely a gatekeeper protecting his motherland.
There was no sin for which such an old general deserved to die.
There was simply a reason why he had to.
“**[Moonless]**.”
After whispering the words softly, he looked up at the towering walls of the fortress.
He could see the faces of the guards monitoring the area from a distance. From their perspective, it was impossible to see Sien.
Before long, Sien lightly extended his arm toward the top of the wall.
A black bracer was fitted over his wrist. He launched a “Spider Silk” made of a special fiber material, also known as the Spider’s Shedding.
**[Spider Silk Movement]**
When performing a black ops mission, one could not recklessly show off the family’s Sword Style. However, that did not mean one could not use the Sword Style or the techniques included within it at all.
Like a spider moving along its thread, Sien quickly scaled the wall using the silk ejected from the bracer.
Even if Sien had not perfectly mastered the Pose of the Black Widow, he was far from ignorant of it. Furthermore, there was no rule stating that the family’s techniques had to be used only in combat.
For instance, Sien was currently using the Spider’s Shedding in the form of gloves or wrist guards for infiltration and stealthy movement.
By the time he leaped over the battlements and revealed himself—even after he had landed—no one present realized Sien was there.
It was only natural.
Sien was someone who had passed the trials against the people of the Nightwalker family and proven his **[Pose of the Wraith]**. For the commoners here, or even for knights who had reached the level of using Aura, it was impossible to notice Sien’s presence.
Therefore, he killed no one. Splattering blood and knocking people down would only break his form and cause unnecessary commotion.
Moonless. A missing moon.
It literally meant not showing one’s form.
Among the techniques of the **[Pose of the Wraith]**, it was the most assassin-like.
Unlike **[Water Moon]** or **[Mirror Flower]**, it did not blur the vision or confuse the five senses in front of the opponent. At the point this technique was used, the opponent could not even perceive his existence in the first place.
At the same time, unlike **[Water Moon]** or **[Mirror Flower]**, this technique could only be used as long as the opponent remained unaware of his presence.
In reverse, the moment a “suspicion that something is there” arises, **[Moonless]** crumbles.
He could not open closed doors himself, nor could he afford to make even a clumsy footstep. It was the same for the life energy he was strictly controlling subconsciously; he could not let any form of presence slip out unintentionally.
Thus, he merely stood in his place, quietly waiting for the right moment.
Until the next shift appeared to kindly open the door and swap places with those guarding the area. Until he could blend into that gap and successfully infiltrate the interior of the fortress.
It was then.
“…Hey, did you hear about that?”
“What?”
The guards continued their conversation, never dreaming that an intruder was standing right there.
“They say that guy called King Arthur of the Seven Kingdoms never lets a prisoner live in peace.”
“You idiot. Being taken prisoner and spared is a story for the noble knights. What does that have to do with commoners like us?”
“No, that’s not it…”
The guard continued, hesitating.
“Whether it’s a knight or a commoner like us, they say you’d be lucky if he just killed you.”
“What?”
“They capture as many as they can in battle, put them on display, and then tear their limbs off or skin them alive. They even make bets on who can scream the loudest.”
“Sh-shut up, you bastard!”
Upon hearing that, Sien could not help but suppress a sudden urge to laugh.
It is those without a Way who discuss the Way most.
Charlemagne, the kingdom of chivalry.
Just as those full of cowardice discussed the bravery and honor of knights, the Seven Kingdoms were the same.
He recalled the words that the nobles and knights of the Seven Kingdoms spoke so often they left a bitter taste in one’s ears. Just like the chivalry the knights of Charlemagne usually preached.
“The Land of New Gentlemen.”
‘Manners maketh man.’
The guard’s worry was correct. Those bastards had no manners. In fact, they had none at all.
With their country split into seven pieces, being endlessly plundered and squeezed by the Vikings of the Skaadi Archipelago, and enduring constant warfare amidst internal strife, the savagery of the Seven Kingdoms was incomparable to any other nation.
They lacked manners, and so, in this world ruled by justification, they began to call for what they lacked, just like the Charlemagne Kingdom.
The New Gentlemen.
“S-still, I heard things are different lately! Since it’s a war claiming a legitimate cause, they say they won’t treat us too harshly over there…”
“What’s the point of talking about losing before we even fight? If the Count hears you, you’ll have to worry about your own neck being hung first!”
The soldiers’ voices grew louder.
They remained oblivious to the existence of the assassin standing right behind them.
Before long, the moment arrived.
“Hey, shift change!”
The door opened. Sien’s shadow slipped through the gap, and no one there harbored any suspicion.
Nothing had happened there, after all.
***
The Undying Knight, Sir Calvados.
Grasping the profile of the assassination target before a mission was the most basic of basics. Sien knew far too much about him without even having to rummage through his past memories.
‘The stance he uses is the Pose of the Deep-Rooted Tree.’
It was a Sword Style of absolute defense that hardened his body by flowing a massive amount of Aura into his seamless, full-body mithril armor.
As long as he maintained this stance, Sir Calvados’s mithril armor could effortlessly deflect even Sien’s Aura Blade, just as steel armor repels common metal.
Moving through the corridor in the darkness, Sien drew a hilt from his sleeve.
It was not his favorite sword made of Dark Mithril, Kingslayer.
It was a karambit knife with a blade curved like a raptor’s claw, known as a *Night Talon*.
Just as the determined Sien was about to carry out his mission…
“My, would you look at this?”
It happened right then.
In the Count’s bedroom, alongside the sound of ragged gasps, another relaxed voice echoed. It was a presence that even Sien had not realized until just a moment ago.
“Goodness, the timing couldn’t be more coincidental.”
There was a man in a suit.
Standing before the old knight who employed the Pose of the Deep-Rooted Tree, he was effortlessly shattering the absolute defense of the full-body mithril armor.
“If I’d known it would be like this, I should have come tomorrow.”
Sien realized it the moment he saw him.
“A rat of the Empire…”
“For a mere rat of the Empire to be granted an audience with the great Nightwalker. I am honored.”
The man smiled playfully and offered a polite bow.
“Come to think of it, there was no way the Republic and the Nightwalker family would miss out on such a big business opportunity.”
“Y-you bastards…”
The Undying Knight spoke with difficulty, blood spilling from his mouth.
“Wow, you still have the energy to talk? For a dying old man, you certainly have strength.”
The man in the suit mocked him and turned his head.
On the surface, there were no visible wounds on Sir Calvados’s mithril armor. However, the old knight inside the armor was different. He looked to be on the verge of death.
“To such scoundrels without honor or creed… I will never… hand over this land—”
*Thump!*
Before he could finish his sentence, the old general’s body collapsed.
The death of the Undying Knight.
There was nothing particularly surprising about it. Sien himself possessed countless techniques to break that Pose of the Deep-Rooted Tree.
But the man before his eyes was different.
“It looks like your business here is finished, too. Can I just pass by and pretend I didn’t see you?”
“Hmm, I wonder. Would you do that?” Sien asked calmly.
The man in the suit, the rat of the Empire, chuckled.
Sien recalled the face of a man he had once faced alongside Vigo. The man wearing a monocle in a suit, who had been engrossed in crafting ruby pieces.
A fanatical monster who would do anything for what he believed was right, even throwing his own life away without a second of hesitation.
The man before him was of the same breed.
A rat of the Empire—officially known as the Public Security Department of the Ministry of Inspection under the Holy Romanius Empire’s Church.
Guardians who protected the Empire’s faith and order from the various heresies and evils rampant in the world.
“I don’t see any of the famous weapons of the Nightwalker family.”
The man, who held the title of Imperial Public Security and High Inquisitor, continued.
“That must mean this is a black ops mission that cannot be revealed publicly, and that you are a powerhouse at the Highmaster level or higher.”
“You certainly know a lot for a rat.”
“Rats are everywhere, you see.”
The man smiled. Sien smiled back.
“You don’t know my identity yet.”
The shadow cast beneath Sien’s hood was not just a mere shade. It was a shadow imbued with a magical treatment to intentionally hide his face.
First-tier dark magic, **[Shadow Face]**.
Facing Sien’s shadowed face, the man spoke.
“Phew, I’ve been curious for a long time.”
“About what?”
“Just how much of a monster a Highmaster from the infamous Nightwalker family really is.”
“Do you want to find out?”
Sien responded in a cold voice to the man’s question.
“Then I shall show you.”