The Porter Has No Interest in the Hero’s Party

Dust rose, and the assassin rolling on the ground let out a pain-filled scream. Even in the darkness, the red foam he spat out and his dilated pupils were clearly visible.

“Gukk!”

He screamed like a toad, buried his head in the ground, then began to run forward blindly, not knowing which direction he was heading. He was holding a dagger in his hand, and with blood streaming from his eyes, nose, and mouth, he looked like a zombie from a ghost story.

“Wha-what? What’s with him!”

Soldiers who poked their heads out of the barracks upon hearing the commotion either screamed or prepared to fight with weapons as the assassin ran straight toward the barracks. Hearing those sounds, the assassin suddenly stopped, then began to wildly swing his dagger at the air.

“Argh! Ah! Urgh!”

Watching the assassin making strange noises while vigorously swinging his dagger, Ashuria calmly said:

“I hit his head a bit too hard, so he’s malfunctioning. Don’t worry. Usually after a while like this, he’ll collapse on his own.”

“I, I won’t be caught…! Here! Aaaa!”

Who was the assassin fighting with? He moved his body while demonstrating fierce skills toward the empty air, but each time he did so, blood poured from his nose, and his face turned bright red as if about to burst. The assassin, who had been glaring and grimacing, stopped the movement of his dagger, bit his lips tightly, and froze in place.

The soldiers, seeing that he had stopped moving, were even more startled and raised their shoulders, and I put my hand on my sword hilt and swallowed.

“Kkeuk…!”

But our concerns were unfounded. He spewed a fountain of blood from his mouth and fell backward in the same posture, still clutching the dagger. Fallen on the ground, he convulsed while spewing dark red blood like a reversed sewer.

Ashuria took off her shoe with a cold face and placed her foot on his neck.

“He’s dead.”

She said so and put her shoe back on. I was dumbfounded by Ashuria’s behavior and asked a question.

“…Were you just checking his pulse?”

“If I bend my waist, blood might splatter on my upper clothes. It’s surprisingly efficient to learn.”

“…I see.”

I nodded and decided to move on to the next topic. Now was not the time to discuss Ashuria’s actions of disrespecting the enemy’s corpse. Before I could look around and think, Ashuria first shouted to the soldiers:

“We need to find more assassins. Everyone, grab your weapons and thoroughly search this area.”

The soldiers hesitated.

I looked at Ashuria’s expression and the corpse sprawled on the ground once, and caught on to her intention. A Black Society assassin couldn’t be this sloppy. This one was just a decoy to draw the soldiers’ attention, and the real one would have headed towards Randolph’s tent on the opposite side of the camp entrance.

There’s no reason for assassins to watch the diversion operation until the end. They would have already moved near Randolph’s tent, planning to infiltrate as soon as the commotion started. If we create a big commotion here, they will certainly take action.

And in Randolph’s tent right now were the hero and Lena.

I continued from Ashuria’s words and shouted even louder:

“An assassin is definitely here! Everyone must take up arms to search this area!”

When I raised my voice as well, the soldiers began to come forward one by one, gathering their weapons. They lit torches to illuminate the reed field and advanced, probing here and there with spears. Having confirmed that the soldiers were coming out, we hastily made our way to Randolph’s tent without any need for discussion.

Randolph was looking at the map with a serious face for the next operation. The tense atmosphere in the dark night made both the hero and Lena uncomfortable. The two were disguised as tent guards and staying in Randolph’s tent.

Randolph told them to be as comfortable as if it were their own home, but given that they were wearing soldier’s clothes in the commander’s tent, comfort was far removed from military discipline.

The hero, fiddling with his usual sword, looked around tensely, and Lena was stroking the tent with a relaxed expression. Seeing the hero so tense that even his breathing was stiff, she grinned and said:

“Hero. Why are you so tense?”

“…Because an assassin is coming.”

“Assassins are all cowards. If they’re not certain they can survive, they won’t even attempt the job. If they try to assassinate, there will definitely be some kind of signal.”

“Signal?”

“For example…”

As Lena took out a needle from her pocket and opened her mouth, the porter’s voice echoed from outside.

“An assassin is definitely here! Everyone must take up arms to search this area!”

Lena opened her eyes wide and smiled. The hero, who had been sitting tensely, jumped up. Randolph tilted his head at the commotion outside and looked at the tent entrance, and at that moment, the cloth directly behind Randolph’s back bulged out in a sharp form.

The moment the hero took a step forward, a needle flew from Lena’s hand. Randolph, startled by the hero who suddenly drew his sword and rushed forward, began to turn his body to the side, and as the tent tore, a man with sharp eyes appeared.

When his eyes met the hero’s, the assassin blinked with a confused expression, and a needle flying from a place not yet in his field of vision accurately pierced the assassin’s eye.

“Kkeuk…!”

The assassin, like a trained assassin suppressing his scream while clutching his eye, swung his dagger in the air to prevent the hero’s approach. He tried to roll his body backward to secure distance, but before he could escape, a golden energy concentrated on the hero’s sword flew in a spiral shape.

Bang!

The assassin who had barely blocked the sword energy with his dagger flew and crashed into the wall. The soldiers who had been noisily searching the surroundings fell silent, and the hero took a deep breath and lifted the tent flap. The assassin, despite coughing blood, stood up again and took a stance.

“What…! How is this possible? I clearly confirmed that you had left!”

“Black Society. Why did you betray the country and side with the demons?”

Lena, standing behind the hero, frowned and looked at the assassin. The assassin, making eye contact with Lena, grinned, winked at her, then revealed his neck.

A scorpion tattoo.

The scorpion tattoo on his neck seemed to wriggle as if alive. The assassin said:

“Why, you ask? Are you curious? Are you curious about why we betrayed? I want to ask you instead, Lena. Why don’t you stand with the demons like us? What has this country done for you? Weren’t you just a low-life rolling around in the slums? Do you think glory will come to you if you defeat the Demon King as part of the hero’s party?”

“I don’t need any glory that comes from siding with the Demon King.”

“Hahahahaha!”

Lena answered briefly. The assassin laughed even louder at her words. He laughed heartily as if Lena had said something ridiculous, wiped the blood flowing from his mouth, and said:

“Lena. Lena! We! Despite handling the kingdom’s dirty work like sewer rats, we never got to step into the light. What are we? What kind of people are we? No matter how good we are at killing people, in the end, we’re just murderers. Even if we take pride in this profession, can we hear anything other than being called crazy?”

The assassin spread both his hands wide. The two daggers in his hands were emitting a blue light. Randolph had already moved away and was standing next to the porter and Ashuria. Lena pulled out another needle and glared at the assassin.

“But the Demon King. The Demon King is different. He promised us honor. Unlike those hypocrites who use us only when needed and then discard us like worn-out shoes and despise us! We are masters of killing, and as great beings, we will remain by the Demon King’s side and be together forever. Come on, Lena! Join us! Right now, the hero…!”

The assassin’s words didn’t continue. It was because a needle that sprang from Lena’s hand precisely pierced the assassin’s forehead. The assassin, who had been cackling with a crazed look, was now pinned to the rock with that same expression, his limbs trembling. It was a phenomenon caused by his brain being shattered suddenly, losing control of his muscles.

Lena looked at the scorpion tattoo on his neck with a gloomy expression, then spat on the ground and said:

“I don’t need that.”

The hero looked at the assassin and spoke. The hero was still trembling slightly from the tension of the recent battle. Scanning the corpse, the hero said:

“We should have asked if there were more comrades.”

“When taking assassination requests, a team would have at most 3 people. The guy who came to persuade me, then this one here. The one drawing attention outside makes 3, so there shouldn’t be more.”

Lena said so and pulled out the needle. Blood poured out like a faucet, and Lena put the needle back at her waist. The porter gently patted her back as she turned around. Lena looked at the porter and smiled, saying:

“What’s wrong, Mister? Do I look sad?”

The porter didn’t say anything. Seeing this, Lena sobbed, kicked a stone on the ground, and said:

“…Are you stupid? At times like this, you’re supposed to lighten the mood with a joke.”

The melancholy of killing someone who was once a comrade.

Even with a straightforward death, long sorrow took its place, and Lena couldn’t pretend to be cheerful.