Chapter 21: The Shadow Beneath

“Looks like you're in trouble.”

The maid suddenly felt cold.

A cold that pierced the marrow of her bones.

She stiffly raised her head and looked forward.

Celicia stood there, cradling Muen’s unconscious body, her form wrapped in howling wind and snow.

And her killing intent—

It burst from her like a broken dam, flooding the room.

“Need me to solve that problem for you?”

Celicia raised her hand, her gaze cold as forged iron.

“I’ll solve you, the problem.”

The maid’s eyes widened in shock.

Without the fire of the Withering King, the horrifying frost surged through her flesh in an instant.

Pure white ice began to creep outward from the dagger, spreading across her body. In just a few breaths, it had already frozen her entire arm.

“Damn it...”

Her face twisted into a snarl.

She understood now—

Muen Campbell’s reckless, self-sacrificing interference had caused her mission to fail.

That flame’s sudden disappearance still nagged at her, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

She had to get out. Now.

Gritting her teeth, she used her ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) one still-functioning hand—

And crushed her frozen right arm.

At the same moment, a small sphere, about the size of an egg, fell from her foot and exploded on contact.

A white fog—thick enough to obscure sight and dampen senses—flooded the room in an instant.

Celicia narrowed her eyes, the blizzard around her raging with fury. The frost dispersed the fog in seconds.

But the maid was already gone.

“Ran, did she...”

Celicia looked toward the shattered window. A trace of amusement flickered in her eyes.

“No.

She’s not getting away.”

“Did she forget whose territory this is?”

****

“Damn you, Muen Campbell!”

The maid—no, Number Eight—staggered through the shadowed corners of the estate, clutching the bleeding stump of her arm.

“I was so close...”

“If I’d known—

I should’ve killed him first, even if he wasn’t the target!”

Her heart burned with frustration.

A near-perfect operation—

Ruined by some spineless side character throwing himself into the fray.

Anyone would be furious.

But...

It wasn’t over yet.

She glanced downward, watching the blood drip to the floor, feeling the fire of pain raging through her mutilated body.

And despite it all—

She felt... relief?

Yes.

Relief.

“Ever since Number Nine died...

Have I started fearing death too?”

She gave a self-deprecating smile.

But she quickly crushed that emotion.

Now was not the time for weakness.

She had to keep moving.

****

“I think I just heard something about doing what to my precious son?”

Number Eight froze.

She had to freeze.

Because someone was standing in front of her now.

A man. Towering. Radiating an aura like a lion surveying his domain.

“The Lion King... Lorne Campbell?”

Her face turned ghostly pale.

“Oh? I didn’t expect our uninvited guest would know the name of a humble nobody like me.”

Lorne Campbell reeked of alcohol. He had just returned from the "battlefield" where greedy hyenas prowled—

Still holding an elegant wine glass.

But not even the noble’s attire could hide the bloodthirsty pressure that clung to him.

This was the aura of someone who had walked through oceans of blood and mountains of corpses.

“But I don’t recall the Campbell family sending you an invitation.

So tell me—why did you come uninvited?”

He was still smiling.

But his gaze was frigid.

The gaze of a man staring at a corpse.

“Especially the part about what you planned to do...

to my precious son.”

“I’ll be listening—

Very. Closely.”

****

Elsewhere in the Campbell estate, another maid uniform flitted through the shadows, running at top speed.

It was Number Six—the other assassin—who’d sensed something was wrong and fled early.

“So that’s the Lion King?

Terrifying.

Good thing I picked the other direction.”

She glanced at the source of that monstrous aura in the distance.

A shiver of lingering dread passed through her.

“Sorry, Eight.

You’ll have to play bait for now.

I can’t afford to die yet.”

“May the great Withering King grant your soul safe return to the Red Soil.”

She whispered a brief prayer in her heart, then forced herself to keep running—despite the emptiness gnawing inside her.

She had to escape the Campbell estate.

****

“Strange...

For a professional assassin, shouldn’t you be committing suicide by now?”

Number Six’s pupils shrank.

She stopped mid-step—

Then twisted her body like a fish darting through water, narrowly avoiding a slashing gust of cold aimed straight at her head.

“Who’s there?!”

Ignoring the burning pain left by the attack across her cheek, she locked eyes on the shadow ahead.

“Who?

Just a simple, unremarkable maid.”

A girl stepped out from the darkness, dressed in the same black-and-white uniform.

A flash of lightning from outside briefly lit her composed profile—

Anne.

“A maid?”

Number Six, still wearing her maid outfit, gave a mocking grin.

“Never seen a maid this scary.”

She raised a hand to her face, touched her bleeding cheek, then brought the fingertip to her lips.

The sharp tang of iron filled her mouth.

That attack—

Even with her reflexes, it had nearly taken her head clean off.

The other woman...

Was no amateur.

And yet—

She felt nothing from her.

No aura. No presence.

Like a regular person.

“You haven’t seen a lot of things in this world,” Anne replied softly, “Just like I’ve never seen assassins this useless.”

“I leaked some very important intel, and this is who they send?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

A chill crept up Number Six’s spine.

“What am I talking about?”

Anne’s serene eyes widened, her face contorting just slightly—

The cracks beginning to show.

“You mean you don’t even realize how pathetic you are?”

“You’re just a maid! What does this have to do with—”

“Yes, yes. A maid. Of course I’m a maid.

But you...

You’re so... disappointing.”

Anne suddenly wrapped her arms around herself, her expression twisting into one of visible pain.

She bowed her head, groaning like she was enduring some unbearable torment.

“It was so close... so close.

That bitch Celicia, always clinging to Young Master Muen—

She could’ve finally been erased from this world.”

Number Six stared, frozen in horror, as Anne’s composed facade crumbled.

Her breathing grew ragged.

And then—

She grinned.

A vicious, eerie smile.

Twisted and inhuman.

“But you failed?”

“Fine. But then you even went and hurt him?”

“How could you?

How could you hurt him?!

In this world—

The only one allowed to hurt him—

Is me!!”

BOOM!

Thunder split the air, drowning out her scream.

“Ah... no. That won’t do.”

Anne placed her hands on her face and slowly dragged them downward.

Bit by bit, the twisted expression faded—

And her usual elegance returned.

“As Master Muen’s personal maid...

How could I be so rude?”

She lowered her hands, folded them politely over her abdomen, and bowed to Number Six—

Who was now shaking uncontrollably.

“Now then.

Allow me to see you off, honored guest.”

Behind Anne—

A swarm of delicate, near-invisible blades rose into the air.

Like dragonfly wings, they hovered silently—

Each one gleaming with deadly cold light.

Their tips aimed straight at Number Six.