The Runesmith - Chapter 596 – Assassin Stew.

“Is something the matter, My Lord?”

“Oh, everything is fine. Just head back.”

“Ah… yes, My Lord.”

The old head maid adjusted her glasses and bowed to the young lord. She had heard a noise coming from near the main bedchamber and had gone to investigate. There she found Arthur Valerian standing with his two knights outside the door. Although he claimed everything was normal, she noticed that both men had their hands on their weapons and also on the door handle, as if they were prepared to rush inside at a moment’s notice.

“If you need anything, just ring the bell, My Lord.”

“Of course.”

The lord gave her a smile, but even he seemed somewhat uneasy. He looked slightly tense and was carrying weapons himself. Still, there was no sound coming from within, nothing unusual to be heard. This was a district known for its noble residents, but on rare occasions, strange things did occur. Every now and then, a highly skilled thief would attempt a heist, but there was not enough disruption tonight to suggest such a situation. Deciding not to press further, she returned downstairs.

However, behind the door to Arthur Valerian’s bedchamber, a fight was taking place. It was a fight that appeared entirely one-sided. The bodies of the assassins hit the ground one by one, their aura-dripping blades clattering uselessly against the cold floor. In mere moments, their confidence had crumbled and turned into despair. 

One of the attackers, blood trailing from a deep slash across his abdomen, tried to retreat. He leapt toward the hole in the balcony glass, hoping to escape before the spell pressure locked him in place. As he crossed the threshold, the woman standing near the balcony turned with inhuman speed. Her twin blades descended on him like a flurry of high-speed guillotines.

The assassin raised his weapon and defended himself, channeling all the aura he had stored. With each clash against her strange, enchanted blades, he felt his strength draining. A foreign energy seemed to leech away his power, and he soon noticed something worse. Invisible threads were tightening around him, restricting his movements and preventing him from unleashing his full force. It was as if he had become a puppet, tangled in unseen strings.

A sharp cry tore from his throat as one of his limbs flew through the air, severed by the relentless woman he faced. Moments later a kick struck his chest and launched him into the rest of his comrades, all of whom had already been disabled by the two people they had encountered during their mission. The only one still standing was their leader, and he was staring in horror. His fingers trembled as he clutched the medallion that had failed him, but he refused to surrender.

He reached into one of his many pouches, retrieved an object, and threw it. Several orbs marked with strange symbols soared into the air and struck his opponent, the man named Wayland. Instead of releasing a burst of magic, they bounced harmlessly off his shield and dropped to the ground beside him. Their magic had failed just like every other item the leader had tried, and he could not understand why.

“Just give up. None of that will work anymore.”

His opponent stepped forward, his cape trailing behind him as his body shimmered with a thick layer of mana. Still, the assassin leader refused to yield. He reached into his satchel for his strongest trump card, but there was a problem. When he slipped his hand inside, he could not feel anything. The spatial compartment that held his final magical item had stopped functioning, leaving him with nothing to draw. He realized then that the man he was fighting had caused it. He did not know how, but all the enchantments on their weapons, armor, and accessories had been nullified. It was as if a precise anti-magic field had settled over the area, stripping their gear of all power.

The last standing assassin remained still, his breath ragged and his body hunched in a defensive stance, though his hand was still holding a dagger. His eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for an exit or even the faintest chance of survival. All he saw were the broken bodies of his comrades and the two opponents standing before him. They looked human, but he knew better. They were monsters, impervious to every weapon and trick he had used. Wayland stepped closer, his boots clicking softly on the polished floor.

“You’ve already lost. Now speak. Who sent you? If you cooperate, I will spare your life.”

The assassin stayed silent. He knew better than to believe such promises. Mercy was a luxury never afforded to people like him. If he were captured, his organization would see to it that he never lived to speak a word. His fate was sealed the moment he failed. Only one option remained.

“Hee…hee… HAHAHA!”

“…?”

Wayland halted as the assassin leader began to laugh. His shriek echoed through the room, his head thrown back and his eyes bloodshot. He did not speak. He did not need to. Years of brutal training had carved obedience into his soul. He was no longer a man but a tool, one final sacrifice to protect the secrets he carried.

“What is he… step back!”

The assassin opened his mouth, his tongue covered in strange occult symbols started to shine brightly. A strange purplish smoke began to seep from the markings, pouring out of his mouth, eyes, and ears. His body convulsed violently as the smoke thickened, clinging to his flesh like tar. At this sight, even Wayland took an involuntary step back.

“That’s some kind of curse spell…”

The smoke was unnatural, and when it came into contact with the other assassins, something strange happened. Their bodies began to change. Flesh melted away like hot wax beneath a flame. Even their bones softened and liquefied within seconds. Despite the agony they must have felt, none of them screamed. They remained silent while their leader laughed. His laughter continued until his throat collapsed inward, leaving behind only a series of wet, choking gurgles.

One of the assassins slumped forward, completely consumed by the smoke. The moment his body struck the floor, it turned to mush. The others met similar fates. To make matters worse, the smoke continued to spread, filling every corner of the bedchamber. It was clearly a final, desperate act by the assassins’ leader to complete their mission. If they were doomed to die, he intended to take everyone else with them.

******

Roland stood motionless, ignoring the status window floating in front of him. The group of infiltrators that had slipped into Arthur’s bedchambers to kidnap him was dissolving into steaming puddles. He had not expected such a result. Had he known what the assassin was planning, he would have cut out the man’s tongue before he could activate the strange occult spell. The event revealed a key limitation of his Rune Authority skill. He could not interact with enchantments that were directly infused into living tissue.

Throughout the confrontation, he initially stayed hidden in the corner of the room and began his calculations. Using his skill, he took control of all the enchantments within the men’s possessions, which fortunately were not too difficult to manage. He identified the medallion quickly and disabled its mana-dampening properties before it could fully activate. Everything soon came under his control, but he was unable to affect the magic embedded in the bodies of the assassins. Now he needed the toxic spill to be contained before it got outside. 

Golden light shimmered along his wristguards and flowed into his fingertips. A burst of energy formed around the violet mist as a circular construct made of divine energy. He clenched his hand into a fist, and a mass of threads unfolded into a net. The threads of light wove themselves together, forming a glowing golden dome.

The dome locked into place at exactly the right moment. For a brief instant, the toxic smoke pressed against the holy spell. It tried to escape into the surrounding air, but the shield covered even the ground beneath it. The violet smoke remained trapped inside the barrier. It clawed and coiled against the shimmering boundary, unable to move beyond it. The liquefied remains of the assassins writhed unnaturally, as though they had not entirely lost sentience, but they too were unable to keep their form and soon turned to goo. 

“Is it safe?”

“Give me a moment. This looks easier than it is.”

Roland answered Mary as she stepped closer. There was a reason he had immediately used holy mana instead of attempting a more conventional approach. The energies inside were occult, dark magic that could not be contained by normal means. It took a minute, but eventually he managed to stabilize the containment. The smoke began to dissipate, purified by the sacred energies he had copied from Solarian priests.

‘Using this substitute armor is giving me a headache.’

Although the danger had passed, Roland still had to strain his mind to its limit. The runes on his halfplate armor kept shifting and rearranging themselves as he continuously customized spells in real time. Mary stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable, while she studied the remains inside the dome. The acidic ooze had mostly settled, leaving behind a slurry of bone fragments and twisted metal, all that was left of the elite assassins.

“They really didn’t want to be taken alive.”

Roland didn’t respond right away. He remained focused on reinforcing the dome’s structure, making sure that no part of the dark enchantment could reactivate. Only when he was certain all traces of evil energy had faded did he undo the spell.

“Or they didn’t want us identifying their bodies. Even their weapons are completely melted.”

Nothing remained but sludge. Even the lookout they had taken down earlier had been reduced to a foul soup. If Roland had known it would end like this, he would have approached the situation differently. Now, it was impossible to determine the identities of the attackers. Worse still, some of them had stayed behind at a more distant location and had likely already escaped to report back to their masters.

“It doesn’t smell like much.”

“The magic purified the odor.”

“Is it safe to touch?”

“It should be, but be careful.”

Mary nodded at Roland’s explanation and stepped forward. She wore gloves stained with blood and began examining the puddle. She tried to extract something useful from the remains, but there was nothing recognizable. No names, no faces, only theories about who might have sent them.

“It should be safe now. All the poison is gone.”

Mary gave a short nod, then peeled off her gloves and tossed them onto the sludgy mess in the center of the room. She walked over to the door, knocked three times, and only then did it open.

Arthur Valerian stepped into the room, flanked by his two knights. His eyes scanned the carnage in silence. The air was thick with the lingering traces of magic, and although the dome of holy light had faded, the floor still shimmered faintly. His gaze settled on the twisted remnants of the assassins. While they were barely recognizable, it was clear to him what had become of the would-be attackers.

“I see the situation has been handled.” 

Arthur said calmly, though his jaw was tight.

Roland didn’t respond right away. He waited for the door to close behind them before speaking.

“You could say that. Unfortunately, our friends here won’t be telling us anything. Analyzing what is left of their bodies might help, but I can’t do that properly under these conditions.”

As he spoke, Roland cast another spell. A metal container emerged from one of his spatial runes, and with the help of magic, he began to scoop up the liquefied remains. All of them could now fit into something no larger than a barrel. Once the gruesome collection was complete, he sealed it back inside the spatial rune for later study. Only in the controlled environment of his workshop would he have any real chance of discovering who these people had been, so for now, they would need to figure it out some other way.

“Can you hear that?” 

Arthur asked as he moved toward the balcony.

“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.” 

Roland replied while Mary stepped ahead, positioning herself to guard her lord against any potential new threats.

“Exactly. Not even a murmur or a single cough, where are the outside guards?” 

Arthur said, pointing out toward the distant city district. It was the middle of the night. A few lanterns flickered in the distance, but there was no movement, no sound, and not a single patrol in sight. The streets were eerily empty, as if the entire area had been abandoned.

“You would think some soldiers would have been alerted by now, or at least be patrolling nearby. But there is nothing. I wonder…” 

Arthur trailed off, his expression darkening.

“Do you think the city guard is involved?” 

Roland asked while stepping onto the balcony to extend the range of his scanning spells. Just as Arthur had said, there was a strange absence of patrols, an unnatural stillness that suggested someone had ordered the guard to ignore whatever happened at the mansion. Roland considered the possibility that Ivan or one of the other brothers had orchestrated this attack. The motive seemed clear. These assassins had not come to kill Arthur, only to capture him.

It fit perfectly with the subtle rules of Valerian politics. If Arthur had been captured and detained, missing the upcoming assembly, his absence would have made him a subject of ridicule. The court would see him as weak, unprepared, and unworthy of the title of Duke.

“My brothers? That’s a possibility.”

Arthur said quietly. He nodded to himself and turned his gaze back to the spot where the pile of liquefied assassins had once been.

“But I’m not sure. Would his men really act like this?”

Roland nodded.

“They were also using occult items and spells.”

“Dark magic?”

Arthur looked surprised by the revelation and began to think. Occult items and magic were strictly forbidden. If one of his brothers had been caught using them, they would have a lot to answer for, not just to their father but also to the Solarian Inquisition. 

“I see.”

Arthur seemed to grasp the implications of what had happened. The group quietly retreated into the bedchamber. They exchanged nods and silently agreed not to speak of the events to anyone. None of them attempted to sleep. The risk was too great with so many questions unanswered and the possibility of another attack looming. They remained there, sitting in silence and waiting until the sun finally rose, or at least appeared to.

Morning arrived with birdsong and the warm glow of sunlight projected by the illusions overhead. Faint sounds rose from below: the clatter of carriages, the murmur of servants, the familiar rhythm of daily life. Everything continued as it always did after a storm. The group had remained alert through the night. Apart from a few yawns, they were in good condition.

“I suppose the rest of my brothers will be arriving today. It would be best not to miss their arrival.”

“Ready to face the top three?”

“Not really my friend… but not like I have a choice.”

Arthur stretched as he drank a vial of potion to relieve the symptoms of sleeplessness. Roland had no need for such things. His sleep resistance skill was already unnaturally high. From his perspective, this had likely been the first and last attempt on Arthur’s life. With the other brothers arriving soon, accusations could be made more openly. At the same time, the number of soldiers and tier-three class holders would increase significantly.

The day began as usual. They descended the stairs, but the atmosphere had changed. They found themselves watching the servants, wondering whether any of them had played a role in the attack. The food prepared by the staff was replaced with provisions they had brought from Albrook. Once they were satisfied, they set out to explore the city again. This time, however, their goal was different.

They headed straight for the teleportation gate. Not the one they had used themselves, but the one reserved for higher nobles. When they arrived, Roland felt it. Mana was building. Someone was coming through, and it was almost certainly one of Arthur’s siblings. The time had come to gauge the strength of their potential enemy.

They still lacked concrete evidence, but Roland had already recorded the strange magic from the attack into his runic system. If any of the ducal sons carried the same mana signature, he would know immediately.