Chapter 315: Blood Is Hard to Wash Out

The little boy with tousled brown hair was already clutching his ears with both hands, as if this was nothing new.

Azriel frowned.

Without knocking, he stepped forward and instantly pushed the door open.

The room was surprisingly clean. Nice, actually.

A simple office. Behind the desk sat two people.

Old people.

A woman with freckles.

A man with freckles.

Seriously.

What was it with this village and their obsession with producing freckled old folks? Was there a guild? A secret society?

On the other side, in front of Azriel, Instructor Ranni sat stiffly on a chair. Beside her, a frightened little girl named Lia clutched Ranni’s robe so tightly it looked like she might tear it.

’Wait a minute...’

Azriel’s gaze locked onto the freckled old man.

The man’s eyes widened the moment he recognized Azriel. He shot up from his chair and pointed a trembling finger.

"You! You’re that brat from earlier!"

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, cold as steel.

"Who gave you permission to call me a brat?"

The director—Azriel presumed that’s who he was—flinched. But Azriel wasn’t done.

"No, wait. Who even gave you permission to speak to me? To look at me? To point your finger at me?"

And then, suddenly, Azriel smiled.

"Why aren’t you on your knees like earlier? Mistaking me for someone here to arrest you. Remember? How you begged me, swearing you hadn’t stolen anything?"

The director’s face flushed crimson, a storm of anger and embarrassment.

The woman—who Azriel assumed was his wife, though honestly it might’ve just been the freckles; maybe they were siblings—spoke up furiously.

"What is the meaning of this?! Barging in like that! Don’t you have any manners? And Pedro—what are you doing bringing him here and hiding behind the door like a coward?"

Azriel turned to see the little boy, Pedro, nervously peeking from the other side of the door.

The moment his name was called, he flinched. With trembling legs, he shuffled in and immediately hid behind Azriel’s leg like it was the safest fortress in the world.

Azriel sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

’What the hell am I doing?’

He glanced at Ranni. She looked just as confused as he felt.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked.

"Plans changed. We have to move now. I’ve been made."

Ranni’s frown deepened.

"You’ve been what? What does that even mean?"

"The Plague. He was here—in this village. I confronted him. Our clash was... let’s just say, epic enough that plenty saw it. And without a doubt, Mirius Gibbler will soon hear about some foreigner standing against their strongest doctor. Forced him, an Expert to flee, in fact. Apparently, that ’doctor’ visits regularly. And if that’s not enough, the village chief—whose name I’ve heard from about a dozen mouths—seems just as strong as me, you, or the Plague. Soon he’ll be after us too. We’re on the clock now, and the element of surprise—if it isn’t already gone—will vanish any moment."

Ranni’s face grew serious. She didn’t need him to spell it out.

If their element of surprise was gone, Mirius Gibbler would be cautious, alert. And taking him down would be far harder—risking the lives of the entire village, along with the cadets being held hostage.

At least, that was Ranni’s thought process.

The director and the freckled matron, however, clearly didn’t share her concern. The woman barked furiously at Azriel:

"What do you want? If you want to speak to us, you’ll wait outside while we deal with this whore!"

Azriel had to give her credit. Courage—or maybe stupidity—that she could spit fire like that right after he casually dropped words like Plague, village chief, and expert forced to flee. Maybe she just had selective hearing.

The best part? So did Azriel!

"So," he said smoothly, turning to Ranni, "shall we get going, Instructor?"

Ranni’s expression darkened. She opened her mouth—only for a book to come flying at Azriel’s head.

"Don’t you dare ignore me!" the matron shrieked.

Azriel caught the book with one hand, almost absentmindedly. For a long moment, he just stared at it.

He was baffled. No, truly.

Mortified.

Baffled again.

And mortified once more.

He looked up at the matron, his expression the perfect blend of disbelief and horror.

"...Did you just throw a book at me?"

The matron stood glaring at Azriel, her face twisted in fury.

Azriel’s expression, however, grew cold as he let the book fall to the floor with a dull thud.

In the next instant, Atropos’ Elegy shimmered into existence in his hand, and the Annoying Feather materialized above his left shoulder.

The Desert Eagle gleamed as he raised it and aimed squarely at the matron. At the same time, the feather streaked forward like a missile, halting just inches from the director’s eye, freezing him in sheer terror.

"Your Highness!"

Ranni’s scream cut through the room.

The matron screamed too.

The director was too stunned to find his voice.

The two children added their shrill cries to the chorus.

Ranni rushed forward, planting herself firmly between Azriel and the freckled elders.

"Move out of the way, Instructor," Azriel ordered coolly.

"Move out of the way?!" Ranni’s voice snapped with disbelief.

"What do you think you’re doing, aiming a gun at two elderly people? Stand down, cadet!"

"Cadet or prince?" Azriel’s eyes narrowed.

"You really need to choose, Instructor."

With her left hand, Ranni gingerly pressed against Atropos’ Elegy, as though afraid even the touch might trigger disaster.

"Don’t do it, Your Highness," she pleaded.

"You’re not that kind of person."

Azriel furrowed his brows.

"Be that as it may... killing these two would speed things up, wouldn’t it?"

"Yes," Ranni admitted, her voice tense.

"But the easiest option doesn’t make it the right one. Let me handle this. I’ll strike a deal with them. Then we’ll move against Mirius and save the cadets."

At that, Azriel’s expression darkened.

"Handle it? I just told you we’re on a clock. And you’re willing to gamble the cadets’ lives because you want to play child services? Move aside. Let me finish this, and we’ll be done with it."

Ranni’s jaw tightened. She glanced at Azriel, then at Lia, who clung desperately to her robe. Her teeth sank into her lip. He wasn’t wrong—but if she let him do it, she’d be abandoning these children to live in the inhumane misery they were trapped in now.

And then, to her surprise, Azriel exhaled heavily.

"...Very well."

In a flicker, Atropos’ Elegy vanished. The Annoying Feather dissipated into nothingness.

The director and matron sagged with audible relief, like balloons losing air.

Azriel’s gaze, unreadable, lingered on Ranni.

"You handle this. I’ll deal with the rumors—and buy us more time."

Ranni blinked, cautiously hopeful.

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

He offered a faint, empty smile.

"Don’t worry. I won’t be fighting or killing anyone—if that’s what you’re worried about. I have... my ways."

His eyes slid past her, settling coldly on the two trembling elders.

"You’d do best to cooperate with her. If you don’t..." His voice dropped, low and smooth as a blade being drawn.

"...I’ll ignore her will and handle it myself. Which I abhor, since my hands... tend to get painted with blood. And blood is a stubborn thing to wash out."

The couple nodded so fast their heads nearly rattled off.

Satisfied, Azriel turned toward the door. Then he paused—Pedro stood there, staring at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Azriel sighed and crouched down. From his storage ring, he drew a solid gold bar. The elders’ eyes nearly popped out of their heads, drool practically pooling at their chins.

He pressed the bar into the boy’s small hands.

"Take this. Keep it. And if you ever sell it, do so for no less than ten platinums. I trust you’re smart enough to manage that."

Pedro clutched it to his chest as though holding the sun itself. He nodded fervently.

"Good."

Azriel rose. His gaze swept the room one final time—lingering briefly on Lia, who immediately ducked behind Ranni the moment their eyes met.

He strode to the door. Hand on the handle, he paused once more.

"You’re a good instructor, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"...Never mind. Be done quickly."

And with that, Azriel stepped out, closing the door behind him.

On the other side of the door, Azriel leaned his head back against the wood.

Slowly, a smile began to creep across his face. He raised his right hand, covering it as though it were some forbidden secret, and let out a shuddering breath.

’I did good, didn’t I...?’

Now...

he had all the excuses in the world, didn’t he?

...To cause chaos.