The sounds of combat echoed through the mansion's upper corridors as Elias and Elena made their way toward Count Iskarioth's chambers. Steel rang against steel, punctuated by grunts of effort and the occasional crash of overturned furniture.
Clang! Crash!
They burst through the ornate doors to find a scene of desperate struggle. Count Daven Iskarioth cowered behind his massive oak desk, his face pale with terror. Two royal guards stood between him and a pair of black-clad assailants, their swords flashing in the lamplight. As Elias and Elena entered, both guards fell—one clutching his throat—gurgle, the other collapsing with a blade between his ribs.
Thud!
The assassins turned toward the newcomers with fluid grace, their movements unnaturally quick and precise. Without hesitation, Elias and Elena launched themselves into the fray.
Elias found himself matched against an opponent of roughly equal skill—a revelation that both pleased and concerned him. Months of training had brought him far, but this enemy moved with the confidence of someone accustomed to killing. Their blades met in a shower of sparks, each testing the other's defenses with probing strikes. Clang! Clash!
"You're better than expected," his opponent said, voice muffled by a dark mask. "But not good enough."
The assassin pressed forward with a flurry of attacks that forced Elias to give ground.
It was time to unveil something new.
Drawing upon his memories of imperial combat techniques, Elias shifted his stance and channeled power into his blade.
"Imperial Storm Swordstyle," he whispered. "First Form—Storm Slash!"
His sword moved in a perfect arc, generating a burst of wind that howled through the chamber.
WHOOSH!
The technique did injure his opponent, the sudden gust tore at the assassin's clothing, partially stripping away the concealing clothes. But surprisingly there wasn't any wound.
What was revealed made Elias's eyes narrow with interest. Pale skin that seemed to shimmer in the lamplight. Features that were too sharp, too perfect to be entirely human.
(Is it strong defense or high regeneration?) Elias asked himself.
And when the assassin smiled, Elias caught a glimpse of fangs gleaming like ivory daggers.
Meanwhile, Elena was demonstrating why she had survived so long in the shadows of the royal court. Her opponent, equally skilled in stealth and assassination, found himself completely outmatched by her fluid combat style. Her daggers wove patterns of death through the air, forcing the second assassin into an increasingly desperate defense.
"My Lord," she called out, not taking her eyes off her enemy. "These aren't human."
"I noticed," Elias replied, deflecting another lightning-fast strike. "Half-bloods of some kind."
The assassins exchanged a quick glance, some unspoken communication passing between them. As one, they disengaged from combat and moved toward the chamber's tall windows.
"This isn't over," Elias's opponent said, their voice carrying an odd accent he couldn't quite place.
Before either Elias or Elena could react, both assassins had vanished through the windows into the night, moving with inhuman agility.
"Should we pursue?" Elena asked, already moving toward the windows.
"No," Elias said, turning toward the terrified Count. "We have what we came for."
Count Daven Iskarioth had pressed himself against the far wall, his expensive robes untidy and his carefully groomed beard trembling with fear. When he saw Elias approaching, he fell to his knees.
"Please," he babbled, "I'll pay anything! Name your price—gold, titles, lands—just don't let them kill me!"
"Information will suffice," Elias said calmly, producing a small vial of his blood. "Drink this."
"What is it?" the Count asked, eyeing the dark liquid with suspicion.
"Just drink it or I'll kill you."
Faced with that choice, the Count drained the vial without further protest. Almost immediately, his expression grew slack and compliant.
[Skill Absolute Dominion is in effect. ]
[Controlled unit : 1]
[ -> Name : Daven Iskarioth ]
[Status : Terrified Nobleman ]
[Time remaining : ???]
"Who were those assassins?" Elias asked. "What did they want?"
[An error occurred ]
"They... they came asking about the Prince's..." The Count's voice was dreamy, distant. "The experiments that the Prince..."
[An error occurred ]
Suddenly, his face contorted in agony. His hands flew to his chest as he collapsed, convulsing violently.
Gasp! Ugh!
Blood frothed from his mouth, and within moments, he was dead.
Elena knelt beside the body, her expression grim. "Parasite worm," she said after a brief examination. "It ate his heart the moment he tried to betray his master. Whoever's controlling him is very thorough. It's a commonly used tool in the underworld."
Elias chuckled darkly. "If they're that methodical, we won't find anything useful in his offices either." He paused, a calculating look entering his eyes. "But I haven't played my final card yet."
Elena raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"
"I've been storing my blood for months now," Elias said with quiet satisfaction. "I have stored enough to turn a lie into truth—even if only for a day."
The next morning, Meterra erupted into chaos.
Town criers stood at every major intersection, proclaiming the new edict in voices that carried across the bustling marketplaces:
"By order of Count Daven Iskarioth, all export taxes on raw materials and finished goods from Meterra are hereby increased by eighty percent, effective immediately!"
The reaction was instantaneous and explosive. Merchants who had been loading wagons stopped mid-task, their faces turning red with outrage. Artisans dropped their tools and stormed into the streets. The carefully orchestrated symphony of wartime commerce ground to a discordant halt.
"This is madness!" shouted a weapons merchant, waving a manifest at the nearest official. "These taxes will bankrupt us all!"
"Surely the Count has lost his mind," muttered a mine foreman to his companions. "This will cripple the entire war effort."
But when delegations of angry businessmen marched to the Count's mansion, they found the gates barred and the guards turned away. The Count, they were told, would not see any visitors.
[Skill Absolute Dominion is in effect.]
[Controlled units : 18]
His wife and eldest son, however, confirmed the validity of the new tax structure, their voices carrying an odd, mechanical quality that few thought to question.
[Name : Greta Iskarioth]
[Name : Donovan Iskarioth]
Word of the economic upheaval spread like wildfire. Merchant caravans carried the news along trade routes, while military couriers bore official reports to commanders in the field. Within days, the entire kingdom buzzed with speculation and concern.
On the eastern front, Prince Amenios Noctis Blackheart carved through Aurianite forces like a force of nature incarnate. His long jet-black hair flowed behind him as he moved, and his piercing red eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire. His massive blade cleaved through enemy ranks with devastating precision, each swing leaving a trail of fallen soldiers in its wake. The First Prince's presence on the battlefield was legendary—wherever his banner flew, enemy morale crumbled and allied spirits soared. His Obsidius Knights followed in his wake like black-armored angels of death, their formation unbreakable, their loyalty absolute.
He had just returned from obliterating yet another Aurianite supply camp, his black armor still stained with the blood of his enemies. His second-in-command, Sir Caspian, rode beside him with grim satisfaction.
"It's the third supply point we destroyed, Your Highness," Sir Caspian reported. "Their forward positions will be starving within a week. At this rate, the war won't last much longer."
Amenios nodded, wiping enemy blood from his blade. The sooner this war ended, the better—every day of prolonged conflict weakened the kingdom's position and gave his political rivals more opportunities to consolidate power. But his expression darkened when a dust-covered messenger rode up with urgent news from the capital.
"Meterra?" Amenios growled after hearing the report, his voice carrying mild irritation. "This is a matter for the Grand Strategist to handle, not a battlefield commander."
He dismissed the messenger with a wave, but the news gnawed at him. This disruption could drag out the war for months longer than necessary.
Princess Liora Nyx Blackheart received the same news while reviewing casualty reports from her Crimson Moon knights' latest engagement. Her long, red, spiky hair flared around her head like a lion's mane, and her golden eyes burned with determination. Her spear had claimed dozens of Aurianites' lives that day, but every prolonged battle meant more of her own soldiers wouldn't return home. She needed this war to end swiftly—each additional month of conflict gave her brothers more time to strengthen their positions in the succession struggle
Her second-in-command, Captain Amelia, entered her command tent with the dispatch from the capital.
"Has the Count gone completely mad?" Liora asked after reading the report, her golden eyes flashing with anger. "Does he want to make his wife a widow and his children orphans? The crown will not tolerate this disruption for long."
Captain Amelia nodded grimly. "This could extend the war by months, Your Highness. Our supply lines are already stretched thin."
"Indeed," Liora mused, her strategic mind already calculating the implications. "Let's see how our dear brother Lucian handles this crisis first. It is, after all, his responsibility as Grand Strategist."
In the capital, Prince Lucian Phantasm Blackheart stood alone in his private study, staring at a detailed map of the kingdom spread across his desk. The dispatch about Meterra lay beside it, the parchment crumpled from his grip.