The Assassination War (1)

Ull could not be present on every front.

Just as there was no way to allocate one Freugne per household, he was but one individual.

However, his mission was solely to repel the initial assault.

It sufficed that the relentless momentum soaring skyward, poised to immediately advance on Antrim in their frenzy, had been halted.

“The Demons will soon descend upon the capital! They’ll rape the men and slaughter all women!”

“Aaaahhhh!!”

“Please remain calm!”

“How can we remain calm now?! In just a few weeks, the Demons will occupy our very homes.”

“No, that’s not it. Our valiant warriors have finally stemmed their advance, reports indicate.”

“Not another fake news report?”

“Remarkably, it is true. Just minutes ago, my brother in the military relayed the dispatch – the Demons have retreated for the first time!”

Those intending to flee the kingdom as refugees momentarily set down their burdens, harboring cautious hopes.

The roads previously clogged by human barricades now bustled with trucks ferrying troops instead.

And this news swiftly reached Londinium after a brief interval.

“Extra! Extra! Fresh off the presses – our forces dispatched to Belfast have triumphed!”

“Huh? I heard they’d been losing nonstop until now.”

“The vanguard they sent initially did. But the reinforcements rallying behind them turned the tide!”

“Seriously?”

“Here son, get yourself a copy.”

The citizens, utterly inured to propaganda about merely appearing to retreat while actually winning, or strategic withdrawals to regroup, regarded these claims with skepticism initially – the media’s chronically dubious credibility offered little reason to trust such pronouncements.

However, upon waiting briefly, victory reports began trickling in from various fronts.

While no specialized assassination squads targeted enemy commanders on every battlefield, roving alternatives still existed.

-Rumble, thud!-

-Rat-tat-tat-tat!-

“Surely not some madman brazenly driving an expensive car around here? Then that must be…”

“Hey, I’ve seen that before! We used something similar for farming back home.”

“The Glasgow troops employed those in their hometowns?!”

“No, not exactly the same! But with a mounted gun, and reinforced armor plating added?”

General Andrei had spared no expense deploying the tanks procured from Ceres Martop.

What was the point of reserving them at this juncture? They wouldn’t be anything more than scrap heaps anyway. It wasn’t as if they were meant for agricultural tilling.

Of course, his typical self might have preserved some as hidden assets to maintain authority, but any potential rivals had already been stripped of rank and sent home.

Andrei well understood why he wasn’t among them.

“A tad later than expected.”

“We’ve arrived to bolster the Demons’ pitiful agricultural output!!”

“Just steamroll them accordingly!”

From their perspective, the Demons’ reactions upon witnessing such outlandish machinery ranged between two extremes:

Either brazenly charging head-on fueled by their carefully cultivated bravado until becoming pincushions,

Or momentarily freezing before slinking away, taking cues from comrades abruptly ascending skyward.

Naturally, the inherent physiological disparity still ensured their inevitable retreat in some areas.

And in those zones, Freugne’s assiduously nurtured hero candidates finally shed their trainee status for actual combat deployment.

“Aaahh, humans are falling from the sky!! Humans descending from above!!”

“What nonsense… No, it’s real?!”

Airdropping into the Demonic encampments, no less.

Edan had proposed several highly experimental strategies.

Aerial warfare remained unheard of for both humans and Demons, still in their fledgling stages of flight.

Yet the concept of airborne special forces parachuting from lofty altitudes was intimately familiar to Edan, if unfamiliar to most others.

Ultimately, aircraft had been mere hobbyists’ curiosities or rich folk’s extravagances, at least until Edan entered university.

But knowing the answer called the future, not utilizing it seemed foolish.

Around the time he began investing in munitions firms, Edan had sponsored aircraft manufacturing to some extent. And the time had come to reap those fruits.

“We’ll be shot down at this altitude. Gain more height! Higher!”

“Hiiieekk…!”

“Haaah, whooosh, whewww…”

Complementing their rudimentary technology by forcibly generating lift through wind mages’ exertions,

They could still employ tactics like simultaneously airdropping hero candidates en masse to assault the Demons from multiple vectors.

The frontlines still remained expansive. Inevitably, some human forces suffered defeats.

Yet they had stemmed it.

That seemingly unstoppable onslaught mirroring the previous war had halted.

Now the onus shifted to the Dark Lord.

As Londinium and Antrim resounded with relieved sighs and cheers,

A Demonic contingent silently slipped past the kingdom’s border patrols after dispatching a few.

“You recall your mission?”

“Yes.”

“Our targets are but two – the wizard Edan, and his daughter.”

“However, you must not engage them directly for now.”

And the Dark Lord had not been entirely oblivious either.

---

At Edan’s Londinium residence, Sithe, residing in the living quarters for close protection duty, endured days rife with guilt.

Having graduated and thoroughly absorbed combat magic tutorials from a military consultant, she had attained every human’s ultimate aspiration – the life of an idle freeloader.

Yet she felt disconcerted.

‘Is this indulgence truly permissible?’

Other operatives scurried about relaying missives or had departed for distant lands to engage in combat, yet idling in Londinium had become her daily routine.

Outwardly, Sithe’s position was merely ‘temporarily residing at her benefactor’s abode while subsisting on his charity before entering society proper, having been sponsored at his orphanage.’

Although the reality involved standing by as a contingency against potential Demonic strikes, Londinium’s Demons had all been apprehended and imprisoned alongside Freugne, while Belfast was too far for incursions after Ull and Carno had thoroughly purged the area.

Sithe had been taught that assisting with chores exemplified proper guest etiquette during such circumstances.

Strictly speaking, Edan was her benefactor among this household’s members, while Freugne was ostensibly her direct superior.

She was merely an invited guest, yet their daily hustles prompted her to take implicit initiative.

“Sithe, something smells delectable?”

“Ah, well, I prepared dinner tonight!”

“Dinner? Oh, I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Yes, yes! I frequently made meals for the other children back at the orphanage, so I’m quite practiced… Hehehe…”

Coincidentally, Edan’s residence prohibited unauthorized entry – glimpsing national secrets or Freugne’s private diaries would have courted catastrophe.

Hence Edan had been wary of hiring household staff, leaving meal preparations to Freugne who enjoyed greater schedule flexibility than his Martop commutes.

Sithe had assumed those duties, affording Freugne more time for pivotal tasks while handling laundry and cleaning herself.

Despite her sole vocational experience involving the Dark Queen’s organization, Sithe prided herself on acute perceptiveness.

“How is it?”

“Oh, delicious.”

Beaming a smile deserving of a wagging tail, had she possessed one, Sithe expectantly turned towards Freugne, anticipating effusive praise.

“…Tasty.”

“Well…!”

At that moment, Sithe’s internal emergency switch activated upon meeting Freugne’s expression – lips curved upward, yet eyes devoid of mirth.

A classic ‘something displeases me, but directly voicing it would be awkwardly inconvenient’ look.

Was the seasoning off? Unlikely, her culinary skills were reasonably proficient.

An unfavorable dish, perhaps? No, she had prepared a typical, innocuous menu.

Within two seconds, Sithe realized Freugne was furtively glancing towards Edan.

‘Surely she isn’t… jealous?’

To Freugne, wives preparing meals was common sense. Only natural, was it not?

To overstep those bounds… did it imply impudent intentions? Even unintentionally, could the innocent Edan be swayed by such wiles?

Lacking external corrections, Freugne’s mindset had solidified accordingly.

Ultimately, aside from briefly revisiting the kitchen a few times, Sithe resigned herself to resuming her previous indolent existence.

Technically, she had devoted that spare time to diligently reviewing offensive spells, so it wasn’t entirely unproductive. Yet it remained an overwhelmingly sedentary daily routine.

Sithe resolved to cease such needless discretion.

Aside from fleeing each dinner to avoid diabetic comas from the saccharine ambience, it was a perfect life.

“Auntie, my cooking is still the tastiest, right?”

“Er, yeah. I suppose so.”

“Heh.”

Yes. As long as he seems content… that’s enough…