Chapter 48 : How to Deal with an Assassin (3)
Chapter 48: How to Deal with an Assassin (3)
“Ugh…”
Oho let out a groan and woke up from a terrible nightmare.
Nightmares were familiar to assassins.
How many in this line of work didn’t have them?
So usually, they didn’t even consider them nightmares—they were just another part of daily life.
But this was different.
A tormenting dream where he ran without rest to escape the back of an infinite serpent.
And every time he turned his head, the Red Bear mocked him, drinking.
When he finally escaped that surreal and incomprehensible fear, Oho realized it hadn’t been just a simple dream.
Hindir sat across from him, eyes gently closed in meditation, and behind him, a giant snake coiled upon the cliffside.
Realizing the reality belatedly, Oho struggled to understand what to make of this situation.
Should he launch a surprise attack on the man with closed eyes?
But then what?
“Even at a closer distance than this, your attack failed. Don’t hasten your death with pointless regrets.”
Hindir, reading his instinct for gauging distance, gave the warning first.
“……”
With his move seen through, the meaning of a surprise attack was lost.
So should he just wait here and be tortured?
“…Do you think I’ll talk?”
“I never asked you to talk, yet you’ve already opened your mouth.”
“……”
The childish wordplay unfitting for the situation stunned Oho for a moment.
“…Kill me.”
That was all he could muster, trying to preserve a shred of pride.
“Why not just kill yourself with that poison tucked in your mouth?”
“……”
“You won’t, will you? Your pride wouldn’t allow it. You’d rather survive and torment me by making me tremble every night in fear. Isn’t that right?”
Hindir, who had dealt with assassins more than anyone, knew well.
The biggest reason he had trained to stay alert for nights on end was precisely because of assassins.
“Answer the question I asked earlier. Among assassins, where do you rank?”
Oho didn’t answer.
He couldn’t grasp the intent behind the question, and even if he did…
“You seem like a lower rank.”
“…First class.”
Oho blurted out the answer without realizing it.
Hindir grinned upon hearing it.
“The lower the number, the weaker, right?”
“…There’s only special class above first.”
“For someone pretending to be tight-lipped, you sure have a lot of pride in your skills.”
Hindir, staring intently at Oho, turned his head away.
“There’s always been one mindset I’ve had when dealing with assassins.”
He spoke calmly.
“Instead of trying to catch a single bee flying toward me, it’s better to burn the hive. One by one, I burned countless hives. Eventually, no more bees came looking for me.”
To Oho, it sounded like the ravings of a madman.
No matter how he looked, Hindir didn’t seem old enough to have lived through all that, and if it were true, the rumors would have spread long ago.
“There’s even a saying that came from that. Assassins are drinking buddies of Charun warriors. You know what that means? When an assassin meets a Charun warrior at night, the only way to survive is to drink with him. Even the mighty Rascal put aside vengeance with a drink instead of fighting.”
“……”
Madman.
Continuing to spout incomprehensible nonsense—there was no way this man was normal.
And Rascal?
He was a mythical assassin, revered as the Assassin Emperor, a legendary figure from five hundred years ago.
Of course, none dared speak of the “Emperor of Assassins” aloud, which only made his name all the more sacred.
Now this barbarian was casually throwing that name around, and Oho’s fingers twitched repeatedly.
“If you’d tried to kill the one who acted as bait for me, you would have died on the spot. But you didn’t. That’s why you’re alive now and have a chance. Maybe you’re still more reasonable than the assassins of old.”
Oho unconsciously held his breath as he looked into Hindir’s eyes, glowing with icy madness in the dark.
“I’ll give you a chance. Bring me a written oath stating you won’t accept any more contracts related to Charun. If you do, I’ll let this incident slide.”
“…You’re insane.”
“You’re right. You’ve figured it out. Since you’ve messed with a madman, you’ll all have to pay the price.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I don’t care. I’ll still let you go. Go and spread the word about this lunatic far and wide. Mock me, scorn me, and make sure no assassin in the world doesn’t know my name.”
“……”
“After that, I’ll come find all of you. And I’ll show the world what it means to cross a Charun warrior. I’ll make sure even a single burning hive will be enough to make all the bees understand and fear. Got it?”
Crushed by the madness in Hindir’s gaze, Oho was overwhelmed.
“Charun Warrior Hindir. Great Warrior Hindir. Drinking buddy of the assassins. Remember that.”
With those final words, Hindir turned away and took a drink.
The knife-sharp wind slicing through Snow Dragon Valley let out a wailing sound, and it sounded just like Hindir’s laughter.
At that moment, Oho wondered if it wouldn’t be better to die right here.
Assassins were always ready to die—and Oho was no different.
But in front of Hindir, even death by his own hand seemed impossible.
Oho’s spirit had already been completely broken by Hindir, and all he wanted now was to escape this place, no matter what.
The next day, Hindir returned to Dragon‑Blessed Gate with Oho.
With a half-vacant expression, Oho reverted to a porter as the merchants left.
“Was it really okay to let him go like that? Without asking who’s behind him or where he belongs?”
Ubol asked, clicking his tongue.
“I’m curious too. What are you thinking?”
Bagman also looked puzzled.
Hindir led the two of them to the Warrior’s Restaurant.
There, they sat with Moritz, who was already eating, and began their conversation.
“He was properly trained. No point trying to dig for information—he’s not the kind to open his mouth.”
If he’d been a weakling, he would’ve spilled everything after fainting last night.
But Oho had held onto his pride even after collapsing, threatening with his life instead.
Even if deep down he didn’t want to die, the fact that he didn’t yield mattered.
“Torture might work.”
At Ubol’s suggestion, Hindir shook his head.
“As a warrior, that’s not something I can accept. If I intended to kill him, I should’ve done it right away.”
“There you go again with that warrior crap…”
“And if we deal with that guy, the next assassin will come. Then another, and another—assassins will keep coming without rest. I don’t believe we’ll be able to respond properly every time, especially as they get more meticulous and vicious with each attempt.”
“That’s true, but won’t it be the same if you let him go?”
“I told him to bring a written oath promising not to target this place.”
“…What?”
Everyone was shocked.
They knew Hindir sometimes acted unpredictably, but for the man who had just warned them about the danger of assassins to pull such a reckless stunt—it was astonishing.
“This guy’s crazy, isn’t he?”
Ubol let out a dry laugh.
Bagman’s face hardened as well, and as for Moritz… her thoughts were unreadable.
“I don’t expect him to actually do it.”
“Then what’s the point?”
Ubol asked.
“I just sent a message to the assassin group. And I have to act separately, before the plots targeting me—and this place—multiply. I intend to cut off the assassins' movements at the root.”
Everyone understood what that meant.
But they also thought it was absurd.
It was practically a declaration of war against every assassin organization.
Hindir turned to Bagman and asked:
“Bagman. Do you know anything about the assassin organizations?”
“No. Embarrassing as it is, I’ve never given assassins much thought.”
Even during the Snowy King’s reign, he hadn’t suffered much at the hands of assassins, so he shook his head.
There had been ambushes, but never by real assassins—just clumsy surprise attacks from thugs who happened to be decent with a blade.
“Assassins might seem like reckless mad dogs who’ll kill for money, but in truth, they’re some of the most cowardly people around. The moment their survival feels threatened, they become extremely passive—abandoning even their precious pride just to survive. The longer they’ve survived, the more pronounced that tendency becomes.”
“So you’re planning to use the ones who came here as an example?”
“That’s right.”
“But didn’t you release him without asking a single question?”
“Assassin groups are essentially sects. They receive the same education and training and are shaped into weapons.”
Hindir had observed the assassin’s swordsmanship the previous night, as well as his lightfoot technique in Snow Dragon Valley.
More than anything else, those were the most definitive clues.
“So I plan to investigate through the Parno family. They’re a family that’s done business across the continent—their intelligence network shouldn’t be too shabby. And in this land, there’s really no other alternative besides Parno.”
“…?”
Just as people began to feel slightly persuaded, their understanding reset to zero.
“Uh… you remember you killed the Parno Family Head and I killed the Lesser Branch Head, right? Did you fall off a cliff yesterday or something?”
Ubol asked, concerned.
“You think it might’ve been the Parno family who commissioned the hit, and now you want to talk to them?”
Bagman, also confused, asked.
“It wasn’t Parno.”
“It wasn’t? Did he say that?”
“No, but if I had to give a reason, I’d say it’s because it’s not very… noble.”
“Not noble?”
“The pride of nobles is beyond what common people can even imagine. We dealt a huge blow to their pride—they wouldn’t resort to assassins to finish us off. They’d want to do it with their own hands. Of course, there are those who use any means necessary, but at least not Parno.”
Even if Parno had become corrupt and fallen, Hindir had confirmed their innate arrogance was intact.
“And think about it. We took down the Family Head, said to be their strongest. If someone wanted to assassinate such a strong foe, would they really do it this sloppily?”
“Hmm… That’s true.”
Bagman nodded, somewhat convinced.
Hindir continued.
“Just because the Family Head died doesn’t mean the family is finished. If they still have pride, they’ll want revenge. And if that’s the case, they wouldn’t want me to die off meaninglessly or just disappear.”
“…So you’re going to walk into the wolf’s den yourself.”
At that moment, Bagman saw Hindir in a new light.
How could this insight and boldness belong to a nineteen-year-old?
He had always known Hindir was daring.
But he had assumed it was just confidence born from skill. It wasn’t.
This man was born to be the Great Warrior.
“If what you say is true, then yes—if we think about the future of Dragon‑Blessed Gate, the immediate threat is Parno. Even if we don’t directly fight them, now that we’ve crossed them, it’s a fact that life here will become increasingly difficult.”
Bagman continued.
“If war breaks out with Parno, I believe we can hold them off, even if it comes with sacrifices. But now that assassins with unknown backers have appeared, that possibility is in jeopardy.”
“Exactly. They’re unpleasant bastards, but assassins are an asymmetric force on the battlefield, just like mages. The situation has changed.”
“We suppress the war in advance and punish the interlopers.”
Bagman nodded quietly.
“And if things can’t be resolved peacefully with Parno?”
“That’s why I’m going myself. To see if they’re capable of negotiation, or if they’ll flip their lids and charge me on sight. If they fail to assess the situation and come at me, then the owner of the Great Snowfields will change.”
“Heh… You’re insane. And if you die?”
“Then that just means I wasn’t strong enough.”
“Pfft… Hahaha!”
Bagman couldn’t hold back his laughter at Hindir’s reply.
He felt it clearly.
He would never die.
“Yes, this is why I once knelt before you. This uncontrollable courage… Fine. I will trust in the Great Warrior and wait.”
At Bagman’s words, Ubol furrowed his brows in confusion.
“What the hell? What exactly convinced you?”
“Tsk. Ubol. You’re still far from becoming a warrior.”
“Shit, what the hell does that mean?”
Ubol turned to Moritz with a frustrated look, but she simply nodded lightly with a calm expression.
“Mmm. There are things only warriors understand.”
Even Duar quietly chimed in with a word, and for some reason, Ubol felt his irritation boiling up.