Chapter 18

Their modestly planned private party was promptly canceled.

The carefully prepared dishes never even made it to the table, losing their warmth in the pots where they sat.

It was because someone hadn’t shown up.

The three who remained at the now-empty table were silent, all for the same reason.

The first to break the long, heavy silence was Edith, who had just barely managed to compose herself.

“What’s the current situation?”

“So far, the only confirmed detail is that the ‘King’ has fallen. A citywide curfew was issued immediately after. Perel is stuck at a shop because of it. She went back to buy something she forgot on the way and got caught there.”

“Haa.”

She hadn’t meant to sigh, but it escaped her before she could stop it.

Just one move away from checkmate, and the whole board had been overturned.

The King—Herman Miller—had been assassinated under mysterious circumstances.

“Who in the world could have done this?”

Sasha’s uncertain question was answered by Karon.

“Well, there are too many suspects to name. It won’t be easy to narrow it down.”

Just as he said, Herman Miller’s death wasn’t particularly shocking.

He was a high-ranking elder in Hasmal, respected and revered by many—but just as equally hated.

There were those who had been demoted because of him, political enemies, families of victims from the camps.

There were plenty of people who wanted him dead besides Edith’s group.

However—

“Just wanting someone dead and actually going through with it are entirely different things. Especially when the target is that powerful. Just attempting it could cost your life. Resentment alone isn’t enough to justify the risk.”

Karon nodded in agreement at Edith’s words.

“That’s true.”

“And the assassin was a professional. Even we, who’ve been closely tracking the King, didn’t notice a thing. Whoever it was planned the assassination without a trace and succeeded in getting past the heavy security to kill him.”

The more she spoke, the darker Edith’s expression became.

It would be convenient if the enemy of their enemy was a friend—but that wasn’t always the case.

And now, in an already chaotic situation, a completely unknown player had entered the field.

She was already getting a headache.

“What do we do now…?”

“How about choosing a different target?”

Sasha suggested, but Edith silently shook her head.

“Glyssen wanted the ‘King’. Replacing him would mean finding someone with equal standing in Hasmal. Picking a new target, gathering intel, planning, and executing—it would all take far too long.”

“But we don’t have any other options, do we?”

Edith’s eyes dropped, heavy with a sigh.

They had lost their target.

If the goal had been simple elimination, someone else doing the job should have been welcome.

But that wasn’t the case this time.

What Glyssen demanded as a condition for negotiation was a justification—a public reason to oppose Hasmal while maintaining their neutral stance.

That was why Edith’s group had excluded any covert assassination from their plan.

They needed spectacle, something dramatic to expose Hasmal’s crimes and boost the resistance’s influence.

Most importantly, rescuing Loris and the others from the concentration camp required Glyssen’s support.

Edith was lost in silent thought for a long moment, but thankfully, not too long.

The path they walked had never had an exit to begin with.

“There is a way.”

“Huh?”

“What is it…?”

Two pairs of anxious, expectant eyes turned to her.

Edith met their gazes and said slowly,

“No one knows who brought down the King.”

“Right.”

“And they probably never will. In assassinations like this, the culprit often remains hidden forever.”

“True…”

A flicker of realization passed over Karon’s face.

“Whatever the truth is…”

Edith’s lips pressed into a tight line before she opened her mouth again.

“The King… will have fallen by the hands of the Bishop and the Queen.”

A sigh—whose it was, they couldn’t tell—broke the tense silence.

She had spoken in metaphor, but none of them missed the meaning.

She was suggesting they take credit for the assassination they hadn’t committed.

As Karon and Sasha stared at her in stunned silence, Edith continued.

“As soon as the curfew is lifted, assess the situation. We need as much information as possible. Especially…”

“…information on the assassin.”

Someone who certainly existed—but whose identity had to remain unknown.

***

Herman Miller’s death wasn’t shocking only to Edith’s group.

Even those on the opposite side hadn’t seen it coming.

“Well damn. Whoever did it’s got a pair.”

Markus muttered after reviewing the incident report.

“They didn’t even wait till midnight—struck in the early evening. Broke into the commissioner’s mansion, where there were over a hundred guards.”

Unlike the slightly excited Markus, both Rachel and Zechart remained silent.

Zechart being unbothered was nothing new, but Rachel’s quietness was out of character.

Trying to draw attention, Markus raised his voice slightly.

“The problem is no one saw a damn thing. The assassin vanished into thin air. Everyone on duty at the residence is being hauled in and interrogated. The Stifts are tearing the place apart.”

When no one responded, Markus slapped the files down onto the desk with a loud thud.

“Man, you two are real buzzkills.”

“What is?”

Zechart finally replied, prompting Markus to shoot him an annoyed look.

“I’m saying, this whole mess has the entire ‘organization’ on edge. Didn’t you hear the directive? All missions are on hold for now.”

The ‘organization’—a shadowy group under Hasmal—was so secretive that even its members didn’t know the identity of their superior, simply referred to as ‘X’.

Even the purpose behind their assignments was often unclear.

The organization specialized in assassination, infiltration, and evidence disposal, but they weren’t officially military.

On paper, they didn’t exist at all.

Because of that, they avoided exposure at all costs, especially during times of political upheaval like this.

“As someone in the same line of work, you should at least feel something about a hit this bold. You’re really no fun. And what about you?”

Markus turned to Rachel, who had been unusually quiet.

Indeed, something was off.

She even looked somewhat anxious.

Zechart turned his head.

Rachel, who had been staring at him, quickly dropped her gaze as their eyes met.

The white glow of the gaslight shimmered above her red hair.

He stared at it for a moment, then called out to her.

“Why?”

Her reply came with a slight tremble.

“Markus asked if something was wrong.”

“Do I have to answer?”

Her response, sharp as sandpaper, came immediately.

Zechart gave a faint laugh, recognizing it as a mirror of the words he had once said to her.

The one who seemed most surprised was Markus.

Rachel might snap at him, sure, but it was rare—if ever—that she turned her claws toward Zechart.

“What, did you eat something bad?”

Rachel, about to say something, bit her lip and turned her head with a resigned expression.

“…I’m just tired.”

“Hey, where are you going—hey!”

Leaving Markus’s shout behind, Rachel walked out of the hideout.

She closed the front door and leaned against the wall beside it.

She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a drag. The smoke drifted out, clouding the air.

That was when she sensed someone near.

A shadow taller than her swiftly loomed over her.

Rachel raised her eyes.

Cool, black eyes—Zechart.

“…It’s you, isn’t it?”

There was no answer, but Rachel was certain.

That night, he killed someone.

But it wasn’t the target—Perel Monty.

When she asked him that night, he had clearly said no.

The anxiety still lingered, but she hadn’t pushed further.

Zechart hated being questioned.

Maybe there was a reason.

But to think he’d done something like this…

“Why did you do it? Say something, anything…”

Instead of replying, Zechart let out a languid smile and took the cigarette from her lips.

He slipped it between his own fingers and brought it to his mouth.

Rachel, dazed, watched as his refined lips drew in and released a slow stream of smoke.

“Isn’t it better not to ask? Like always.”

“Why?”

“Because not knowing makes it easier to cover for you.”

Zechart placed the cigarette back between Rachel’s lips.

The long ash crumbled to the ground with a soft thud.

Her dazed green eyes welled with resentment.

“I knew it.”

“….”

“I knew you wouldn’t say anything.”

His slow blink confirmed it. Of course—it made sense.

After all, that night, even with Herman Miller’s blood all over him, he’d let her into his home as if nothing had happened.

And right after that, he had the nerve to talk to her like nothing was wrong.

“…Bastard.”

Rachel muttered through clenched teeth.

What made her angrier than his gall was the fact that she couldn’t bring herself to deny him.

A large hand came down and ruffled her hair once.

Then, slowly, he turned and walked away.

Even after he was gone, Rachel remained there, unmoving.

The cigarette they had passed between their lips lay abandoned at her feet, nothing more than a lonely stub.