Chapter 184: Assasination [1]
While the Mayor’s thunderous command echoed through the stone halls of the administrative palace, a very different assembly was taking place miles away, hidden deep beneath the city’s western estates.
Inside a subterranean, candlelit sanctuary concealed beneath a private mansion owned by Chief Strategist Ackher, the air was thick with tension and the sharp scent of burning incense.
Chief Strategist Ackher sat at the head of a massive mahogany table, his legs crossed nonchalantly.
He was a stern, middle-aged man with sharp, hawkish eyes and dark hair streaked with silver.
As a Peak-Enlightened stage Martial Master standing on the absolute threshold of breaking through into the Martial General realm, a heavy, formidable pressure naturally vibrated off his skin.
Seated around the table were four influential figures—all Martial Masters and high-ranking city councillors.
They were Ackher’s secret inner circle, the key political players backing his silent bid to overthrow the current administration.
Ackher cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence.
He had already received word of the catastrophic explosion in the commercial district, as well as the dark discovery of four murdered Martial Warriors buried right in his estate’s garden.
Knowing Mayor Henar’s paranoid, bloodthirsty nature, Ackher had wasted no time.
The moment he realized he was being framed, he had abandoned his official residence, retreating to this secret sanctuary to assemble his allies before Henar’s execution squads could mobilize.
He knew with absolute certainty what awaited him if he allowed himself to be chained and dragged into the Mayor’s dungeons.
"That paranoid swine has finally lost his mind," the councillor seated to Ackher’s left spat out, slamming his ringed fist onto the polished wood. "Planted corpses in your private compound?! To use such a cheap, pathetic stunt just to manufacture an excuse for your execution... Henar is growing desperate!"
"Indeed!" another councillor chimed in, his face flushed with righteous anger.
"He slaughters his own men, dumps them on the Chief Strategist’s property, and expects the city to swallow his lies! Henar has abused his authority for far too long.
He must be brought down!"
The remaining two councillors stayed silent, their sharp eyes locked onto Ackher, carefully observing the strategist’s every breath to gauge their next move.
Feeling their lingering anxiety, Chief Strategist Ackher drew in a deep, steadying breath.
He let out a cold, contemptuous snort, his hawkish eyes flashing with ruthless ambition.
"Do not fear, my brothers," Ackher declared, his voice smooth and steady. "I have no intention of surrendering to Henar’s pathetic abuse of power.
The moment I shatter my final barrier and evolve into a Martial General, I will march into his palace and crush his throat with my bare hands. Kaelos City will belong to us."
Hearing his supreme confidence, the four councillors let out collective sighs of relief, smiles breaking out across their faces.
They cheered softly, raising their wine goblets in absolute support.
Their loyalty was not merely born of admiration, but of sheer survival. In the ruthless political arena of Kaelos City, they had already crossed the line.
If Ackher won the upcoming struggle, they would inherit the entire city’s wealth.
But if he fell, Mayor Henar would ensure that every single one of them—and their entire bloodlines—were systematically exterminated.
Silence settled over the candlelit room once more as the gravity of their treason washed over them.
After a few tense seconds, the third councillor leaned forward, his brows furrowed in genuine concern. "Chief Strategist... time is running short. How long until you shatter the bottleneck and officially ascend to the Martial General stage? If Henar’s vanguard finds this place before—"
GARGLE!
The councillor’s words suddenly dissolved into a wet, horrific choking sound.
Every eye at the table snapped toward him.
The councillor’s face had turned a pale, sickly grey.
His hands flew to his throat, but bright crimson blood was already geysering uncontrollably between his fingers.
Without a sound of warning, a clean, razor-thin slit had opened across his windpipe, severing his carotid artery in a fraction of a second.
THUD!
The councillor’s body collapsed face-first onto the table, his blood spilling across the polished mahogany and soaking into the tactical maps of the city.
"WHAT?!"
"ASSASSIN!"
Ackher and the remaining three Martial Masters jolted from their seats in absolute terror, drawing their weapons as their mana cores flared to life in panic.
They backed away from the corpse, frantically scanning the stone walls and shadowy corners of the sealed, heavily guarded chamber.
"Who goes there?!" Ackher roared, his Peak-Martial Master pressure exploding throughout the room as his broadsword clear its sheath.
"Show your face, coward!"
The flickering candlelight suddenly dimmed, the shadows in the far corner of the room stretching and coiling like living serpents.
From the pitch-black darkness, a figure slowly materialized.
Draped in a short, elegant crimson gown embroidered with cloud patterns, a striking black-haired beauty stepped into the dim light.
Her emerald eyes shone with a cold, lethal brilliance, and a razor-sharp, blood-stained Phantom Veil dagger spun effortlessly around her slender fingers.
Alisa tilted her head, a stunning, wickedly mocking smile gracing her lips as her eyes locked onto the terrified strategist.
"Quite the ugly man you are... Chief Strategist Ackher."
"Who... who said that?!"
Chief Strategist Ackher spun on his heel, his face turning pale as his heart slammed violently against his ribs.
His Peak-Martial Master senses had been fully expanded, casting a wide net of spiritual awareness across every inch of the sealed subterranean chamber.
Yet, despite his formidable cultivation, he hadn’t detected a single ripple of mana, a whisper of wind, or the faintest tremor of footsteps before the voice echoed behind him.
From the deepest, pitch-black shadows near the corner of the room, a soft, intoxicatingly feminine giggle resonated through the silence.
"I did," the voice purred.
Ackher and the three surviving councillors blinked—a single, split-second flutter of their eyelids.
When their eyes snapped open, a breathtakingly beautiful young woman was already sitting casually atop the heavy mahogany table, directly over the cooling corpse of the councillor she had just slaughtered.
She had sleek, obsidian-black hair that tumbled over her shoulders like polished silk, framing a face of exquisite, predatory beauty.
She wore a short crimson gown that clung to her voluptuous curves, leaving her smooth, porcelain legs exposed as she crossed them nonchalantly.
In her slender right hand, a delicate, razor-sharp Phantom Veil dagger spun with terrifying, effortless speed, its blade still dripping with fresh, hot blood.
A lopsided, wicked smirk rested upon her lips as her brilliant emerald eyes slowly swept across the remaining men.