The Assassin's Seven Principles of Manipulation

Chapter 317: Chapter 312 — Laugh

”HAAAAAA! YOU FUCKING BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU CALL ME TRASH?!”

Blinding golden light erupted from Malach’s body, the sheer force causing the ground beneath him to tremble.

”I’ll show you... I’ll fucking show you who’s trash!”

He shot towards Zephyrion, his fists tearing through the air in a furious torrent of punches.

Unfortunately for Malach, neither he nor anyone else watching truly understood what the current Zephyrion had become.

He was at Mark Seven.

His bones had been reforged to steel.

His blood element optimized his blood flow, pushing his physical power even further.

Air made his body lighter and faster.

Fire gave his speed and strength an explosive force.

Frost made every movement sharper and more precise.

Metal reinforced his body, granting it immense durability.

Zephyrion was at Mark Seven. However, he was not a Mark Seven this world had ever seen before.

He weaved through Malach’s torrent of attacks in sharp, tight bursts of movement, slipping between the punches as though they were moving far too slowly.

Then he erased the distance.

His fist buried itself into Malach’s midsection, folding his body around the blow. Another shot upward beneath his chin, snapping his head back as shattered teeth, blood, and spittle sprayed through the air.

Before Malach could even recover, Zephyrion pivoted and swept a kick into the side of his head, sending him crashing headfirst into the ground.

It all happened so fast that none of the cadets even managed to follow the movements. One moment, Malach was unleashing a torrent of punches at Zephyrion. The next, he was buried headfirst in the ground, barely moving.

”N-no... fuck this... I-I need to get away... that bastard’s a m-monster...”

Malach shakily pulled his head out of the crater and began crawling away, desperately trying to put as much distance between himself and Zephyrion as possible.

Every trace of fury had disappeared from his face. All that remained was blood, spittle and desperation.

The fortress had gone utterly silent, the northern cadets staring at their Prime’s pathetic state with dark, complicated expressions.

Malach had always carried himself with pride and grace. Only moments ago, many of them had practically worshiped him like a god. Yet now, that same god was crawling away from another cadet like a frightened animal.

Many of their gazes slowly shifted towards Zephyrion, their throats bobbing as they swallowed. They had all heard the stories.

But who knew the Lightning Prince was this monstrous?

”Look at you now, Malach.”

Zephyrion reached down, wrapped a hand around Malach’s throat, and effortlessly lifted him off the ground.

The northern Prime immediately began struggling, both hands clawing at Zephyrion’s wrist, but his grip might as well have been iron.

”Beaten, humiliated, and now crawling away like a dog.” Zephyrion regarded him coldly. ”And the entire empire is watching. Your father too, I imagine.”

Malach’s eyes trembled. Almost instinctively, his gaze darted towards the sky, as though he could somehow feel Severin’s eyes on him.

”I’ve heard the Sarakhel pride themselves on their minds. So either that reputation is greatly exaggerated... or the apple fell very far from the tree.”

Several cadets’ expressions instantly changed. That wasn’t merely an insult aimed at Malach anymore. Zephyrion had just taken a direct jab at the Sarakhel line.

And everyone knew the entire empire was practically watching. Which meant the Sarakhel were watching too, including that monster of a man at their head.

”Your father must be disappointed, though. Very disappointed. His son had a House Commander helping him cheat, and somehow, you still managed to lose.”

Several northern cadets’ eyes widened. The southerners reacted no differently. Help from the House Commander? That had to be a lie.

Right?

But Malach’s reaction immediately gave him away.

”Y-you...” His eyes widened, his struggles momentarily forgotten. ”You knew about that?”

”Of course.”

Malach stared at him, his eyes trembling.

”T-then why...? Why the fuck did you still go through with this?

”Because you can teach a goat every trick you know, Malach. At the end of the day, it’s still a goat.” His smiled. ”Did you really think cheating would make you capable of beating me?”

He was being pompous and arrogant, Zephyrion knew. But it was necessary.

The entire empire was watching right now, and there was no better opportunity to sell himself than this. After today, the major powers would have their eyes firmly fixed on him. They would fight to take him as an apprentice, and when that happened, Zephyrion would be the one with the luxury of choosing between them.

Aside from that, though, this was also the perfect opportunity to expose the Sarakhel’s involvement.

From the very beginning, he’d had no intention of letting that slide.

”Y-you’re fucking insane... you knew everything, and you still... you still let it...”

Zephyrion tightened his grip around Malach’s throat, cutting off the rest of his words. He had already achieved what he wanted.

The cadets were staring at him with a mixture of fear and awe, and after everything that had just been revealed, the Sarakhel would inevitably face backlash for what Malach had done.

Now, though, there was one last thing on his list.

”One last thing. You were the one who tortured my ward and shaved his head, weren’t you?”

Zephyrion’s gaze shifted towards Malach’s long, flowing hair, a cold smile slowly spreading across his face.

”Hm. I wonder if baldness runs in the Sarakhel family.”

What followed was brutal by every measure.

In front of everyone, Zephyrion tortured Malach.

His agonized screams rang throughout the fortress, causing several cadets, even some of the southerners, to visibly flinch.

Kaelion, Draven, Kaelith, Lucien, and the others watching from the southern wall had all gone silent, their expressions growing increasingly dark.

This was the first time many of them had seen this side of Zephyrion. And it was far more brutal than any of them had expected.

Eventually, though, Malach’s piercing screams faded.

By the time Zephyrion was finished, the northern Prime lay completely broken on the ground, his eyes unfocused and his body trembling uncontrollably. Blood covered him from head to toe, while every strand of hair on his body had been removed.

Even his eyebrows.

Zephyrion stood over him coldly. Every eye in the fortress was fixed on him, the atmosphere dark and tense enough that no one dared approach.

Of them all, only Lumi moved, walking over to Zephyrion and holding out a towel for him to clean the blood from his hands.

”Thank you.”

Lumi smiled brightly as Zephyrion accepted it. Almost at that exact moment, a voice rang throughout the entire plains.

”The southern Prime, Zephyrion Calderalth, has defeated the northern Prime, Malach Sanct Sarakhel, and has subsequently taken control of the northern fortress. All northern cadets, along with their fortress, now belong to him.”

Silence swallowed the entire fortress.

...

Within High General Rathen’s office, the three Cs—Kastor, Garrick, and Garaxe—along with Severin Sanct Sarakhel, Cassian Aur Eryndor, Torvak Kharadun, and Rathen himself, sat in a deep, oppressive silence, their gazes fixed on the screen as the announcement of Zephyrion’s victory rang out.

In the silence that followed, the atmosphere in the room seemed to grow noticeably heavier.

Then Garrick suddenly burst into a deep, rumbling laughter.