Chapter 110: The Assassin died

The Marquis froze. The faked tears on his face seemed to turn to ice in an instant. The court went deathly silent for a heartbeat before exploding into a frantic mumble of shock.

"Assassin?" the Judge stammered. "An assassin in the Duke’s estate?"

"Bring him in," Alaric commanded.

The side doors opened, and Sir Kaelen led a figure in heavy chains. The man was dressed in the blackened leather of a high-ranking killer, his bruised face and broken nose screaming of how much beating he had received before coming here. The Marquis felt his heart drop into his stomach as soon as he saw him. It was him. It was the Reaper.

How?

the Marquis’s mind screamed.

His reputation says he is supposed to be a ghost. No one catches him! So why is he here? How did he get caught?

The assassin was forced to his knees in the center of the hall. The Emperor finally leaned forward, his bored expression replaced by a sharp, hungry curiosity.

"An assassin," the Emperor murmured, his gaze shifting from the prisoner to the pale, shaking Marquis. "This is a very interesting turn of events, Brother. Tell us... who does this shadow belong to?"

Alaric stood up slowly, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the Marquis’s podium. "That is exactly what we are here to find out."

The atmosphere in the Great Hall shifted from judgmental murmurs to a suffocating, breathless tension. The Marquis felt the eyes of the entire court—and more importantly, the piercing gaze of the Emperor—boring into his back.

"An assassin?" the Head Judge repeated, leaning so far over his desk he nearly toppled his inkwell. "Your Grace, are you suggesting a targeted hit was attempted on the fourth son of Marquis Astrea under your roof?"

"I am suggesting," Alaric said, his voice cutting through the hall like a winter wind, "that while the Marquis was busy preparing his ’grief,’ he was also paying for a blade to ensure that grief became a reality."

"Preposterous!" Maxwell shouted, stepping forward and waving his good hand. "My father would never—this is a staged performance! You probably hired this man yourself to frame us!"

The Marquis quickly regained his footing, though his voice was a pitch higher than usual.

"Yes! A setup! You have the wealth and the power to hire any thug off the street and put him in black leather! Your Majesty, do not let him distract you with this... this theater!"

The Emperor raised a single hand, and they both fell silent instantly.

Aurelian looked down at the shackled man on the floor. "He doesn’t look like a common thug to me. He has the brand of the ’Rapier Reaper’ on his collar."

"It seems even you are well informed." The Duke said, and the Emperor lightly shrugged.

"There is nothing that goes on in my Empire that I am not aware of," he confidently declared. "Though I heard this one is quite a troublesome one, since he has never been caught. He is a very expensive shadow to hire, but you managed to catch him." That amused glint in his eyes flickered even more brightly. "I guess that’s what makes you amazing, Brother."

The Duke looked at him. All this was a joke to him, as long as it did not go against what he wanted personally. And this gave the Duke a pretty bad feeling that things were going too smoothly.

The Emperor would never let things go this smoothly. What was he planning?

Aurelian turned his eyes to the assassin. "Speak. I am notoriously impatient with those who waste my time. Who paid for your entry into the Duke’s estate? And who was your target?"

The assassin’s head remained low. His breath was shallow. He looked toward the Marquis for a split second—a look of pure, desperate calculation. He knew he was dead either way, but perhaps a confession could buy a quicker end...

"I was hired..." the assassin rasped, his voice sounding grave. "By—"

Thwip.

The swooshing sound was so faint it was almost swallowed by the ambient hum of the hall.

A tiny, silver needle, no longer than a finger, whistled through the air from the high, shadowed gallery where the musicians sat and buried itself into the assassin’s neck with surgical precision.

The man’s eyes suddenly bulged. He let out a wet, gurgling sound and clutched at his throat, his chains rattling violently against the marble. He slumped forward, his body twitching for three seconds before he went perfectly still, a dark purple hue creeping up his jawline.

The Duke stared at this situation with frost in his eye. He knew things were going too smoothly, so this was his plan.

"He... He’s dead!" a lady-in-waiting shrieked.

The knights of the Golden Guard Order immediately drew their swords, some to protect the Emperor from potential harm, and some looked up toward the gallery, but it was empty. The killer was gone in a flash.

The Marquis let out a long, slow breath. The terror in his eyes vanished, replaced by a glint of triumph. He didn’t know who had finished the job before he was pointed out by the assassin, but it was all in his favor.

He didn’t wait for the Judge to speak. He turned to the court, his arms spread wide.

"Did you see that?!" the Marquis cried out, his voice filled with fake outrage. "The Duke has killed his own witness! He knew the man would confess to being hired to frame me, so he had him silenced before the truth could come out! This is the ultimate proof of his guilt!"

Alaric stood over the dead body, his blue eyes still burning with a cold, terrifying fire. He looked up from the Marquis and looked at the Marquis, then slowly turned his gaze up to the Emperor.

"In the first place, how is it possible to break into the Duke’s Estate that is heavily guarded?" the Marquis continued, emboldened by the assassin’s sudden death. "What was it again?

The walls of the North cannot be breached by anyone

?" The Marquis scoffed, waving a hand toward the corpse. "Didn’t you just contradict yourself while trying to frame me with this

intruder

? You killed a man in cold blood just to tell a story!"