The Assassin's Seven Principles of Manipulation

Chapter 279: Chapter 274 — Arrival

High General Rathen was a man who had practically lived in war. A veteran whose enemies trembled at the mere mention of his name. A man regarded highly throughout the Ferran Empire, worshipped by many. However, this same man was currently bouncing his leg with an anxious look.

’How...? There shouldn’t have been any traces.’

As the head of the Ferran Academy, he was basically a hound in a den of lions. He had been placed here because he was considered a neutral party. However, lions would always be lions, forever trying to prove they held the power, especially the most vicious of them all, the Sarakhel.

For devils like them, there was nothing off limits when it came to getting what they wanted.

Which was why, for a man in his position, he had taken extra, extra precautions to hide away any weakness that might be used against him. Now, that weakness had been uncovered and was currently being used against him.

’Touch a single hair on her head... and I’ll bury every last one of you.’

Rathen’s killing intent rolled through the room, cold and oppressive. However, there was no changing the weariness etched across his face.

The Sarakhel were basically evil, conniving devils. He had no doubt they would carry out their threats if he refused to listen. At this point, he had already lost the moment they discovered his weakness. Now, he was at their mercy.

’I’m sorry, Zephyrion... I truly am. I’ll bear this sin if I must. But not her... I can’t lose her.’

It was painful. So painfully so.

Rathen had never met anyone with a mind quite like Zephyrion’s before. The desert test had only been the tip of the iceberg. During the past few months, Zephyrion had continually displayed wisdom and intelligence that far surpassed his peers, and even veteran generals Rathen knew. It had reached the point where it was unnerving, even to him. But to think he was about to suppress Zephyrion’s talent in such a way...

’Terrible... Very terrible.’

Should he lose in the first round, not only would he fail to become First Prime, his ranking would fall, and so would the quality of his apprenticeship afterward.

Rathen let out a weary sigh, feeling utterly helpless. A moment later, he growled.

”Sarakhel...”

Just as he was about to curse out their entire generations, he froze.

Something felt... off.

’It’s the air.’

It felt... still. As though a suffocating blanket had settled over the academy. There was no doubting what it was...

Aura.

Rathen was currently fuming, and naturally his aura had spilled throughout the office. However, there was no doubt this was by no means his. It was heavy, oppressive, making it difficult even for him to breathe. Whoever it belonged to was powerful.

Far more powerful than him.

”Who...?”

Rathen vanished from his office, appearing above the academy. Only now, outside, did he truly feel the full weight of the aura. It was as though an entire world rested upon his shoulders. Even remaining suspended in the sky demanded all his effort. And this aura, as overwhelming as it was, blanketed the academy in its entirety.

Rathen’s heart had already begun pounding. There were only a handful of people across the entire empire capable of exuding such a presence.

Slowly, he turned towards the sky... then froze.

Hovering silently above, cutting the silver moon into six rays of light, were three figures.

On the right stood a broad man with a neatly shaven beard, intense crimson eyes, and whitish armor. On the left was a man haggard by all rights, with an unkempt beard and hair, faded, tattered clothes, clear brown eyes as cold as winter, and an even colder expression.

Between them stood a tall, broad man with an expression carved from ice and chilling purple eyes, the very source of the overwhelming aura blanketing the academy.

Grand Marshal Garaxe Calderalth.

The Drunken Hound, Garrick Calderalth.

The Head of House Calderalth, a member of the exalted Ten Thrones...

Kastor Calderalth.

At the sight of the three, Rathen visibly shivered.

”The Three C-C...” he murmured.

The Three CC was short for the Three Calderalth Calamities. The three sons of Astoria Calderalth, the last Head of House Calderalth. Each son was a monster in his own right, a prodigy whose brilliance had only become more undeniable with age. Through countless wars and endless slaughter, the three brothers had become feared across the entire continent, earning the title of the Three Calderalth Calamities.

It went without saying the three of them alone made up more than half of House Calderalth’s fighting force.

And now, these same three figures were here, within the academy.

Rathen gritted his teeth.

’She told them.’

He had known there was a chance Ingrid would report the incident, but he had hoped she would not want the exercise canceled and would simply keep the matter under wraps.

But the fucking Three CC were here. He had clearly been wrong.

’Calm down... Think.’

Rathen’s mind began racing. However, at that moment, the three suddenly turned towards him.

It felt as though lightning had struck his body.

He stiffened, unable to move. Rathen had no idea how, but in the very next moment, the distance between them simply ceased to exist. As though it had always been so, he found himself hovering directly before the three brothers.

This close, with their cold eyes fixed upon him, Rathen found it difficult to breathe.

Rathen led the academy and was considered a neutral party. However, the head of a dynasty was akin to a king.

They were not nearly on the same level.

”L-Lord Calderalth... I-I pay my respects...”

Rathen tried to bow, only to discover he could not move even an inch. He swallowed instead, desperately trying to think of a way to escape this crisis.

’No... They can’t find out who’s behind this.’ he thought with a dark look.

The Ferran Empire was already in a terrible position with the other empires. Internal strife was the last thing they could afford. He had to ensure they never found out, no matter what.

The three brothers regarded Rathen in silence.

Somehow, of the three, it was Garrick’s silence that unnerved him the most. The Drunken Hound was not a man known for holding his tongue. The few times he had fallen silent, death and devastation had always followed.

The oppressive silence stretched on for a few more seconds before Kastor finally broke it.

”Explain yourself, Rathen.”

Rathen hurriedly searched for an excuse.

”Lord Calderalth. There’s n—”

Boom!

Garrick’s aura pierced the heavens, blasting the clouds apart and allowing the silver moon to bathe the entire academy in its ghostly radiance.

His fierce eyes locked onto Rathen’s, carrying with them countless unspoken words.

Rathen immediately understood. Lie, and there will be no second chance.

Rathen swallowed. Then, a moment later, he lowered his head in shame.

”I-I’m sorry. I-I’ve failed as the academy head. I’ll accept any punishment.”

The three brothers watched him in silence.

Rathen braced himself for the worst. Yet as the seconds passed, it became increasingly apparent that nothing was coming. Slowly, he raised his head, only to immediately frown.

The three brothers were no longer looking at him.

Instead, their gazes rested upon the empty space beside him, cold and utterly unamused.

’Someone else?’

Rathen had just begun to wonder what was going on when Kastor’s cold voice echoed.

”Come out.”

Rathen frowned, wondering who he was addressing. The next moment, the air rippled like the surface of a lake.

Rathen froze as space itself split apart, revealing two figures.

The one standing behind was broad and hard-faced, scars littering his hairless face. The hilt of a sword protruded from his heart, its blade somehow buried deep within him. The air around the man was heavy and cold, sending a shiver down Rathen’s spine.

”The Heartless Fiend...”

Rathen murmured, petrified. A warrior of immense power, one many believed would not be long from joining the Ten Thrones.

Valdris Sanct Sarakhel.

The younger brother of the current Head of House Sarakhel. Unlike many others, he had chosen the path of a warrior, joining the Heartbound Order of the Ferran Church. Now, he stood before them as its head.

However, Valdris, the Head of the Heartbound Order, was only known to answer to one man.

The Head of House Sarakhel. If he was here, then...

Rathen slowly turned towards the second figure.

He was leaner than Valdris, yet his crimson eyes felt like twin daggers capable of piercing through steel. Immaculately dressed, with neatly styled hair, his presence was almost nonexistent. Yet somehow, he seemed to command attention.

Seeing the man, a spike of rage shot through Rathen. But just as quickly, it was snuffed out by the sheer gravity of the situation.

So many people of such incredible stature had gathered here for one purpose. No matter how Rathen thought about it, it would be an utter miracle if they avoided war today.

In the oppressive silence, the man, the Head of House Sarakhel and Magister of Alloyn of the Ferran Church, Severin Sanct Sarakhel, smiled.