The Assassination War (5)

Sithe had not attended the meeting itself.

Not only did its contents bear little relevance to her domain, but she was inherently an adherent rather than an issuer of directives. If any instructions were required, she could simply approach Freugne afterwards to inquire about her role.

“What should I do meanwhile?”

“…Would you like to purchase some snacks from that shop over there?”

Inwardly cheering a hushed ‘Yahoo!’, Sithe pocketed some pocket money and loitered near the venue while rolling candies in her mouth.

Though appearing unoccupied, she was essentially on sentry duty.

Had any incidents been foreseen today, Freugne would have forewarned her – but extra precautions never hurt.

She paid scant heed to passersby, even the amorous couples loitering on nearby benches.

Yet maintaining such nonchalance proved untenable upon noticing individuals clearly converging towards the meeting hall itself.

A ‘No Unauthorized Entry’ sign already hung on the building’s facade.

But just in case they had arrived mistakenly, Sithe opted to greet them first.

“Hello there!”

Her cheerful salutation received no response.

“Might you be expected guests? Could I have your names, please?”

“……”

“This venue was rented by our factory for an internal function, so other visitors cannot enter… Perhaps you’ve arrived at the wrong place?”

That was the pretense, at least.

While outwardly portraying utmost innocence, Sithe was arguably second only to Freugne in intimately understanding Londinium’s darkest underbellies.

The orphanage descending into a child trafficking den, factories routinely interring accident victims in their backyards like replacing faulty components, parents peddling their offspring to occupy those very graves – Freugne had orchestrated every sordid atrocity, but Sithe had remained her steadfast accomplice.

Despite feigning naiveté, she vividly recollected it all, having once been among the sacrificial lambs subjected to such abhorrent spectacles.

Having survived those killing fields, how could she lack the instincts to read the situation?

“…Well, no response, I see.”

Attired to conceal their appearances with headdresses and thick overcoats obscuring any gear, their destination was the very venue housing those the Dark Lord yearned to exterminate.

Failing to decipher that message alone would have disqualified her from Freugne’s inner circle out of sheer incompetence.

“Um, might I inquire your purpose for visiting?”

“……”

At this juncture, law enforcement would have issued three warnings to disperse.

Sentries would have aimed their firearms, issuing warning shots – assaulting civilians risked severe consequences.

Yet life consisted of actual combat scenarios, and Sithe was neither soldier nor police officer.

Moreover, she possessed the resources to employ hazardous magic brazenly without repercussions, even in broad daylight.

“Perhaps you’re foreigners who became lost? If you require directions in Belfast, I can provide a map to guide you.”

Maintaining an outward calm while channeling mana, linking her fingertips behind her back.

“…It seems directions won’t be necessary after all.”

After a silent three, two, one countdown, she snapped her fingers, unleashing a fiery blast from thin air onto the wintry Londinium streets, bathing the vicinity in sweltering heat.

---

How long until the Earl of Norton’s disappearance was detected?

An ordinary Londinium laborer’s absence would scarcely raise eyebrows. Likely months before anyone accidentally discovered the remains and belatedly raised the alarm.

Yet for the executive of a mammoth investment firm, the situation differed.

His elevated stature ensured his absence would swiftly become apparent.

However, few subordinates possessed the audacity to immediately report a superior’s disappearance to authorities, rationalizing ‘urgent business’ as the likeliest excuse.

Even if such brazen subordinates existed, merely reporting a one-day absence would scarcely warrant police attention.

The earl had planned on leaving his residence for this very meeting, so a temporary absence seemed unremarkable.

“That too shall be exposed eventually.”

Certainly, cross-referencing his non-attendance would promptly yield answers.

Regardless, having secured even a day or two’s head start proved paramount.

“Why not assassinate the Prime Minister at this rate?”

“The Prime Minister is not the Dark Lord. Killing him would only prompt another’s ascension within days.”

“It might briefly sow chaos, but merely inflame their resistance further. That new Prime Minister would undoubtedly be another’s puppet anyway, rendering our efforts wasted.”

Simultaneously assaulting high-ranking organization officials also risked unacceptable failure probabilities.

While kidnappings remained theoretically feasible, apprehension during the process seemed inevitable at least once.

Even abducting the Earl of Norton alone had necessitated eliminating his bodyguards and any civilian witnesses, an escalating trail of fatalities.

“We may not receive another such opportunity. If the adversary proves competent, subsequent attempts will become exponentially arduous. Remember the comrades who perished enabling our presence here.”

“…Truthfully, their demises hardly concern me. But I concur we cannot afford to focus on future prospects.”

“Merely infiltrating Londinium had seemed a death sentence…”

The Demonic contingent exchanged hushed whispers amidst the dense shrubbery trailing behind the meeting venue.

By now, their comrades would be brazenly approaching the main entrance, deliberately drawing attention.

Why bother concealing their presence? The entire purpose centered on aggroing every potential threat towards that direction.

“We shall infiltrate from the rear meanwhile.”

“We’ve already neutralized any security presence here! Evidently they failed to anticipate our strike.”

“Precisely. If circumstances preclude targeting Edan or Freugne directly, slaying any human within suffices.”

In the distance, a thunderous boom resonated – the unmistakable sound of shattering floors.

After a collective deep breath, the Demons exchanged resolute nods before hastening their strides.

---

This organization had consistently operated on a foundation of trust from inception.

While members occasionally resorted to contracts or hostage exchanges due to mutual distrust, the fundamental tenet enabling this nameless syndicate’s perseverance stemmed not from legal bindings or personal vendettas, but simple, unvarnished trust.

‘Following the boss will yield financial gains.’

‘Obeying these instructions will secure my authority, sustained as long as I comply.’

‘Defying the organization’s directives has never benefited anyone, whereas obedience has invariably proven the optimal choice. So it shall remain henceforth.’

The belief that personal desires would be fulfilled.

The conviction that the organization’s decisions had been infallible, ensuring a similarly auspicious future through inertia.

Though lacking legal obligations, the organization’s sheer scale itself promptly dissuaded members from contemplating treachery over allegiance.

Moreover, the potential consequences of amateurish betrayal provided ample deterrence.

This ‘boss’ seemed to instantaneously discern whether one had been naughty or nice over the past year, unlike some senile Santa Claus.

Had they merely possessed knowledge of the past, the organization could never have attained such stature.

Some particularly astute individuals had vaguely deduced that the syndicate’s master could ‘glimpse the future.’

If their ability to foresee next year’s tears exceeded Santa’s purview, were they not his apotheosis?

However, this inversely implied that once such formidable trust was violated:

-Kuwoooong……-

“…Did anyone else hear that sound just now?”

“I didn’t. Probably just your stomach rumbling from skipping breakfast–”

-Kwaaaang!-

“No, that wasn’t it.”

“What’s happening outside? That sounded like an explosion…!”

“The Demons? Nah, no way they’d come here.”

Only then did the notion of the organization’s impending collapse become conceivable.

For a modestly scaled meeting, perhaps a coverup remained plausible. But those assembled represented the creme de la creme – genuine heavyweights straddling both Londinium’s light and shadows.

When all eyes converged on Superintendent Baldor, he shrugged bewilderedly, and the proceedings promptly derailed.

Naturally, the subsequent focal point became Edan.

If anyone possessed relevant foreknowledge, it would undoubtedly be him. His conduct thus far had seemingly glimpsed the future, implying this commotion aligned with his intentions.

As the intensifying explosions accelerated their pulses, their addled minds could only envision two possibilities:

‘Fear not, this is merely our newly developed weapon! Please lend your support for its widespread frontline deployment!’

‘My apologies, but you have all outlived your usefulness. You must now perish.’

Edan fell silent, fixing his gaze towards the entrance.

Frowning slightly, he drew what was unmistakably a firearm from his bosom.

The operatives awaiting his pronouncement collectively shrieked girlish screams of terror.