Chapter 655: Assassination

"I doubt they will even make it here, let alone stand before us," the high priest clad in crimson robes beside Luther said with a mock laugh. "If they truly dare to show their faces, the outcome will be no different from last time."

"Indeed. With the anti-air magic array in place, they likely won't even set foot in the city!" the red-robed high priest chuckled. "Even if they managed to scale the ramparts, hahaha, even if they resorted to such a foolish tactic, they would find no way down. Those idiots would do nothing but snap their own legs and wait to be captured!"

Upon the northwestern battlements lay row after row of cold, lifeless sentries. Suddenly, as if an eagle's cry echoed through the heavens, several figures in white robes spread their arms and leapt boldly from the wall!

...

"Yes, the magical array here ensures that even ordinary soldiers can slaughter them with ease," the red-robed high priest continued, brimming with confidence. "To say nothing of our well-equipped knights, who are far beyond their ability to contend with! The moment they dare step into this city, they walk straight to their graves!"

Yet at that very moment, amid the bustling throngs of people, several individuals wearing white hoods—looking entirely distinct from the surrounding crowd—threaded their way through the populace.

They moved as if taking a leisurely stroll, flowing along with the human tide toward the front.

Approaching them from ahead were two temple knights clad in silver armor.

They chatted idly with one another, not harboring the slightest concern for their current duty: "I reckon they won't even dare to come!"

"Hahaha! Indeed, those wretched rats probably can't even breach the gates!"

"Lord Luther is just waiting for those fools to blindly come and seek their deaths! After all, that person is their 'brother'!"

"Hahahahaha... wait, what?" The laughter cut off abruptly. In that instant, they snapped their heads up, only to find a figure in a white robe and hood standing before them at some unknown moment. Two palms struck swiftly against their respective necks.

The surrounding crowd suddenly scattered in screaming panic, revealing the two temple knights with two bloody holes freshly torn into their throats.

"What just happened?!" Everyone scanned their surroundings in terror, but aside from the fleeing crowd, they discovered nothing. Amidst the chaos, a white-robed silhouette dissolved into the rushing tide of people and vanished.

...

Meanwhile, at the execution grounds, another man—stout, obese, and draped in heavy, broad armor—declared with grand theatricality, "To prevent any mishaps, our arrangements for Greyhawk City this time are even stricter than the last. You may rest easy, Lord Luther."

This speaker was naturally the ruler of the city, Count Seven: "A sentry every three paces, a guard every five. Even the rooftops are manned by our soldiers bearing magical muskets. They have absolutely nowhere to hide, no matter which direction they approach from."

After the suppression array was activated, a small number of magical items could still function within the city, and the magical muskets were among them.

And at that moment, upon those roofs of white walls and red tiles, a soldier holding a magical musket did indeed spot the white-hooded assassin weaving through the crowd.

Just as he prepared to pull the trigger, a sudden chill pierced his chest.

Without him realizing when, a silver throwing knife had embedded itself deep into his breast.

The soldier holding the magical musket collapsed to the ground, silently.

...

"If they are discovered, they won't even have a place to hide," the red-robed high priest pressed on. "For we have laid magical traps in every conceivable place of concealment."

Simultaneously, hidden upon those red-tiled roofs, Irina—clad in black assassin's garb—crouched low like a dark hawk and flitted across the eaves.

Occasionally she paused, as if scanning her surroundings. Had anyone shared her perspective, they would have seen everything blur the moment she stopped, save for the magical traps, which burned as brightly as lanterns in her vision.

...

Count Seven seemed intent on flaunting the city's military might: "Even if a few remnants manage to slip through the cracks and reach the perimeter of the gallows..."

He swept his gaze across the edges of the square: "There are still vast numbers of my personal guards keeping watch, inside and out."

It was a wide, circular plaza surrounded by various residential buildings. There were four entrances in total, and each was heavily guarded, inside and out, by soldiers clad in thick armor.

At this time, just beyond one of the plaza entrances, a white-clad assassin walked slowly toward the gate, blending in with the spectating crowd.

Scholars did not exist in this world, so such a scholarly robe naturally aroused the suspicion of the dozen heavily armored soldiers guarding the entrance.

These heavy infantrymen tightened their grips on their halberds, a cold, grim light glinting through the narrow slits of their visors.

As the white-robed assassin stepped into the execution grounds, he was instantly surrounded on all sides by the heavily armored guards.

Meanwhile, far away in the Kingdom of Stan and other nations, the captured assassins were all watching this scene unfold.

The two silver-haired elders of the Underground Council also kept their eyes glued to the display.

They turned their gazes away, as if unable to bear looking any longer, already anticipating the conclusion: that assassin would surely be cut down on the spot, his blood splattered across the stones!

"Damn you! You will all die horrible deaths!" the elder of the Underground Council cursed loudly, struggling with all his might before being struck to the ground by a staff.

"Quiet down, old man!"

"Though I know not what stroke of luck brought you here," Count Seven's voice boomed through the magical projection as he witnessed the scene, "your luck ends right now."

He swung his hand down fiercely: "Take him!"

In the sky above, a single eagle feather seemed to drift down.

It landed precisely in the palm of the white-clad assassin.

Before the heavily armored soldiers could make a single move, their steps began to falter. In their chests, glaring holes of blood had manifested out of nowhere.

The heavy infantrymen who had formed the ring collapsed one after another. One soldier seemed to struggle forward to strike, but with a gentle push from the assassin, he tumbled to the earth and stirred no more.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Count Seven stood up from his seat in sheer terror.

Looking up, Irina stood revealed on the rooftop behind him, emerging through the gunsmoke of the magical muskets. Beneath her hood, her fiery red hair whipped in the wind: "Thank you for the firearms."

Simultaneously, from within that shroud of smoke, several figures draped in assassins' robes materialized like phantoms.

Their robes possessed the refined elegance of a scholar, yet they resembled black hawks; the pointed brims of their hoods formed the likeness of an eagle's beak.

The hems of their robes fluttered in the breeze. Those proud, standing figures gazed down upon the crowd, exuding a completely distinct, solitary nobility.

"Are those... assassins?!" Not only the nobles at the gallows, but even the imprisoned assassins watching the magical projection stared blankly at the sight.