The Assassin's Seven Principles of Manipulation-Chapter 11 - 10 — Threat

It was only after an hour that Zephyrion finally opened his eyes. The fierceness that once filled them had faded, leaving behind a still and controlled gaze.

’Why...?’

Now that his emotions had settled, he began to consider the reason that man had chosen to manipulate him.

Zephyrion couldn’t understand the motive behind suppressing his progression for so many years. To keep him in the Order? Or for something else entirely?

’It doesn’t matter.’

He shook his head.

That man had gone through such great lengths. Clearly, he had some unknown interest in him.

’He’ll come for me.’

Even after all his years in the Order, he barely knew anything concrete about the man. He had gone by the name Frost, yet Zephyrion was certain it was not his real name.

However, if there was one thing he was certain about, it was that, whether directly or indirectly, he could not win against him. Not as he currently was.

Returning to Calderalth might shield him for now, but it was protection that would not last.

Only one thing could help him now.

Power.

Zephyrion shut his eyes and drew in a slow breath. There was no changing the past. There was only moving forward.

Exhaling, he calmed himself.

’I can now advance.’

Because of the seal, he had been trapped at the First Mark of the Vessel rank since the age of eight.

Now, after nine long years, he could finally move forward.

Zephyrion brushed a hand against the pendant hanging from his neck, his eyes growing fierce.

"Hah..."

Taking a slow breath, Zephyrion entered his mental space.

A vast dark expanse unfolded before him, like a boundless inner sky.

Suspended within that void, four spherical runes revolved slowly around a central axis.

Three of them were smaller, one translucent and weightless, one burning red, and one radiating a cold, pure white.

Air. Fire. Frost.

Though he had acquired them during his time in the Order, they were only fragments of complete runes.

His gaze settled on the Metal Rune, whose size dwarfed the others by a considerable margin.

Because of the seal, a dense fog obscured most of it.

’It’s slowed.’

He frowned.

He felt the seal weakened drastically when the Relic first broke, and he had managed to free a large portion of the rune up to Mark Two of the Vessel rank.

But now the rate at which the fog receded had diminished considerably.

After considering it briefly, Zephyrion decided to use this time to comprehend the portion that had already been freed.

Closing his eyes, he entered a state of deep focus.

There was still much to be done.

...

From his past visits, and judging the urgency of the situation, Zephyrion estimated it would take at least two days for anyone from Calderalth to arrive at the bastion.

He had not forgotten Denmar’s attempt on his life, but to grasp the full scope of it and plan his retaliation, he needed to understand what had changed during his absence.

He intended to make proper use of this buffer, gathering information about the current state of affairs.

But the process was not without interference.

Under the guise of protection, Denmar’s assassin remained within arm’s reach at all times, and Zephyrion consistently found the soldiers he questioned unable to respond properly, instead casting uneasy glances toward the assassin.

Time slipped by swiftly, until the evening of the second day arrived.

Knock.

As the sound echoed through the training room, Zephyrion, seated at its center, slowly opened his eyes.

"Enter."

The door opened, and a woman stepped inside and approached him.

"Young lord... I’ve brought the tea, as requested."

"Thank you."

She bowed respectfully before placing the tray down and leaving the room.

Zephyrion calmly poured himself a cup, took a sip, and set it aside.

"You’ve been standing there for two days," he said casually. "Impressive discipline."

He turned his gaze toward Denmar’s assassin positioned in the corner of the room.

"...."

The assassin remained silent and motionless.

"Most men would’ve shown it by now," Zephyrion continued. "Fatigue, irritation... something. But then again, you don’t strike me as most men."

"...?"

’He reacts.’

Though the assassin’s expression did not change, Zephyrion did not miss the faint tightening of muscle.

As an assassin himself, he understood what that meant. Those like them survived by being unseen. By blending in. Anything that threatened that anonymity was treated as a threat.

"Sit."

As Zephyrion’s gesture toward the space opposite him, the assassin regarded it briefly before giving a slight bow.

"...Yes, young Lord."

As he took his seat, Zephyrion poured a second cup and nudged it toward him.

"The bastion feels different from what I remember," Zephyrion said, taking another sip. "More orderly."

The assassin looked at the cup but did not touch it.

Zephyrion refilled his own and continued speaking at an unhurried pace.

"It used to be rather chaotic when I visited with my mother. I suppose things have changed."

"...."

"Maybe you can tell me," Zephyrion continued. "What’s the situation here these days?"

The assassin inclined his head slightly.

"I apologize, young lord. I am not versed in political matters."

"I see."

Zephyrion nodded, then poured another cup and drank calmly.

"Then I must’ve misjudged you," he said. "You seemed observant. Especially when the floor collapsed earlier."

Zephyrion did not miss the faint twitch of the assassin’s fingers.

"Something wrong?"

"...No."

The assassin stiffly lifted the cup and swallowed a large mouthful before placing it back down.

"Good."

Zephyrion allowed silence to settle after that. It was not long before the assassin’s posture slackened and he lost consciousness.

A thin trail of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth as heavy snores filled the room.

’Hmm... it’s quite potent.’

Zephyrion glanced at the empty vial in his hand. It was a mixture he had concocted from the fruits and vegetables he had received since arriving.

Though he had expected the assassin to lose consciousness, he hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.

Moments later, Zephyrion allowed a large, broad shouldered man of imposing build to enter. The man immediately dropped to his knees in reverence.

"Young lord."

Unlike the assassin, he was a Calderalth warrior, and to him, Zephyrion’s status as heir was nothing short of absolute.

"Thank you for your assistance, Borun."

"It is my duty, young lord."

As he stood, Borun’s eyes widened in shock at the man sprawled across the training room floor like a corpse.

"Is he...?"

"He’s exhausted himself. Let him rest."