In the empty lord's castle, Antoine paced anxiously back and forth across the study.
On the desk lay a report from Sir Casla, the officer in charge of the harbor district, requesting authorization for the Inspection Squad to conduct a full-scale search of the entire city to capture the suspected Chaos cultists.
Beneath that document rested another letter—from the city's Church—stating that traces of Chaos worshippers had appeared within the city and asking permission for the Paladin Order to intervene in the investigation.
Antoine had heard rumors about the recent disappearances around the city. Most of them, however, took place in the slums, and whether those wretched commoners had gone missing or simply died made little difference to him. Such matters were beneath his concern.
But once the words Chaos cultists entered the picture, the entire situation became much trickier—especially with a witcher currently in the city.
Still, that damned Inspection Squad…
Others might not know, but Antoine knew perfectly well that those men had been the most notorious pirates in these seas only two years ago!
Were it not for the recent economic boom and the generous cut of maritime taxes that kept them well-fed, those bandits would never be so obedient. Though they were one of the key cards in his hand, allowing them into the city freely made Antoine uneasy. Who knew what kind of chaos they might stir up?
And now, the Church wanted to send in the Paladins for a citywide search as well!
Paladins or pirates—who should he let handle this mess?
Antoine's expression darkened; even the butter cakes he usually loved no longer tempted him. He snatched up the silver platter filled with those luxurious pastries and hurled it across the room.
"Useless! The city guard is a pack of useless fools! And now I've got trouble coming from both sides!"
Since ancient times, pure lawful good and pure chaotic evil were both the most troublesome forces to deal with—and poor Antoine the steward could find no peace with either. Just as he was lost in his miserable thoughts, a voice broke his silence.
"Ha, my lord, what troubles you so?"
A smooth, oily voice came from behind him.
Startled, the acting lord jolted so violently that the fat on his face trembled.
"Damn it! How many times have I told you—don't appear behind me like that!"
He spun around, pointing a carrot-like finger at the man half-hidden in the shadows.
"Never—ever—stand—in—my—shadow, Colin!"
The shadow assassin, Colin, shrugged indifferently and slipped soundlessly into the shadow near the doorway. A second later, he rapped on the door mockingly.
"Anyone home? May I come in?"
Antoine glared at him, but the assassin merely leaned lazily against the doorframe.
"Antoine, your courage is as small as a needle's tip," Colin said casually. "How many times must I tell you? I never harm my employers. We shadow assassins live and die by our reputation."
Antoine pulled out an embroidered handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"So, how's your task going? Have you dealt with that witcher and his apprentice yet? The cultists in the city are becoming bolder by the day—now's not the time to make trouble. If they're not here for me, just drive them out as soon as possible."
"My apologies, my lord," Colin said smoothly, tilting his head as if listening to the whispers of the darkness itself. "A shadow assassin never fails. The apprentice should already be dead. As for his master, by this time tomorrow he'll be joining him—I swear it on the honor of the Shadow Assassins. Now then, shall we discuss my payment?"
Antoine's expression soured as if he had just swallowed a cockroach.
"Should already be dead? Will be dead tomorrow? That's your answer? And you want payment now? I'm starting to think your organization's reputation is exaggerated, Colin. I'm beginning to doubt your professionalism."
"I knew it," Colin sighed. "Things never go as smoothly as one hopes."
He vanished into the air. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the study, and like a ghost, Colin's figure flickered from one shadow to the next—appearing where the light was absent and fading wherever it shone.
He moved window by window, drifting closer to Antoine's chair.
"I'm not giving you a single coin until both their heads are sitting right here on my desk!" Antoine bellowed, saliva flying several meters toward the assassin.
"I told you, they're as good as dead," Colin said lightly, appearing beside the desk, swinging his legs as he perched on its edge. "Everything is already in motion. But it seems we have… a small disagreement."
Antoine felt a faint, creeping unease. Something about the assassin's tone was off.
Cautiously, he inched backward, resting his left hand on a hidden switch beneath the chair—an emergency mechanism that would drop him into a secret passage and teleport him to safety within three seconds.
Unbothered, Colin continued, as though he hadn't noticed the motion.
"By the way," he said, tilting his head, "about what you just said—'your desk'—I have a small objection."
As he spoke, he held up his little finger, emphasizing just how small an objection it was.
Antoine frowned, confused by the assassin's words. But out of respect for the centuries-old reputation of the Shadow Assassins, he refrained from pressing the button—at least for now.
"What objection? This is my study, my desk! Get off it immediately! Do you have any idea how rare this is? It's carved from centuries-old dragonblood wood! Who could possibly have an objection?"
"I—I have an objection."
A clear, youthful voice came from the doorway.
(End of Chapter)
TN: Pretty short chap.