CHAPTER 16: CHAPTER16-NOCK HAS GONE MAD

"I truly underestimated you!"

Butler Brown’s brows knit tightly, his anger boiling over. The deaths of his two students ignited a fury within him unlike anything he had felt in years. They were not simply apprentices—they were his protégés, his disciples, the proof of his status within the Unicorn Trading Guild.

And yet they had been butchered like animals before his very eyes.

How dare these puppets! How dare the hidden master behind them! Did this shadowy puppeteer not understand the weight of his actions? Did he not fear offending the Unicorn Guild?

Very well. If that was the path chosen, then Butler Brown would show no mercy.

Gripping his longsword with both hands, he inhaled deeply. Though his Awakener gift lay in weapon manipulation, his family lineage had long cultivated swordsmanship, passing it down for generations. He had not abandoned tradition. Instead, he had fused it with his own ability, achieving a fearsome blend of steel and power.

This synthesis had elevated him above his peers, earning him the seat of Deacon within the Guild. And now, he would unleash its full might.

"Watch closely," he growled, his voice a low promise of death. "This is your execution."

With a snarl, Butler Brown shifted his stance, holding the blade crosswise. The air shuddered. His sword blurred, splitting into countless afterimages, each one trailing light.

Sword Technique: Sword’s Purgatory.

A roar of energy surged across the blade. Its steel flared red, its light dazzling, as though molten fire had been drawn into its core. With each slash, waves of sword aura cascaded outward, merging together into a sea of scarlet blades.

The energy built into a vision of hell itself—a purgatory wrought of endless swords, blazing crimson and screaming with lethal intent.

In the blink of an eye, that purgatory spread outward, swallowing half the castle.

Walls cracked and shattered beneath the onslaught. Furniture splintered. Statues were reduced to rubble. The devastation was indiscriminate, annihilating everything it touched.

Some unfortunate guards, too slow to flee, were caught within the storm. They were shredded instantly, reduced to pulp and fragments of flesh beneath the relentless waves of energy.

The Elemental Assassins, however, did not panic. They fell back in perfect unison, their movements cold and methodical. They did not meet the storm head-on. They knew better.

Even for them, Sword’s Purgatory was too great a force to withstand. Their strategy was patience. Avoid the edge of the inferno. Wait for the flame to burn itself out.

Butler Brown’s eyes gleamed with killing intent. He did not relent. His longsword flashed again and again, each stroke unleashing a tide of destruction. He would drive the shadows into the open, strip them bare, and cut them down without mercy.

Yet the assassins remained hidden.

Expert Rank he might be, but even his senses could not pierce their veil. That was their strength—the silence, the invisibility.

Unless one reached Hero Rank, unless one’s spirit itself had transformed, one could never fully unveil the Elemental Assassins.

Still, even they did not dare to clash with him directly.

Elite Rank and Expert Rank—between them yawned a gulf as vast as heaven and earth. The energy one could command, the laws one could bend, the sheer scale of their power—none of it compared.

Thus they waited. They lingered in the dark, biding their time.

Butler Brown’s rage carried him further. The more energy he poured forth, the more his movements slowed. The air around him grew thick with the suffocating density of sword aura. The ground trembled beneath the weight of it.

Yet no assassin emerged. No figure was forced into the open.

"Still hiding? Vermin in the sewers!" he spat, laughter dark and sharp.

With a roar, he swung downward. His sword erupted in a cataclysm of power. For an instant, the world itself seemed to dim, as though night had deepened within the castle walls. The wave of sword energy surged outward, covering the entire fortress in a dome of crimson death.

But then—movement.

Four assassins materialized at his back, their daggers flashing, their strikes aimed for his spine and throat.

"Damn it!" Butler Brown cursed, his instincts snapping taut. He twisted, slipping aside from the deadliest stroke. The dagger hissed past, grazing his robes.

But instead of retreating, the assassins pressed forward, their strikes relentless, precise, each one aimed to kill.

Nock and the few surviving guards could only stare, horror etched across their faces.

This was Butler Brown—their mighty patron, an Expert Rank Awakener, a force they had thought unstoppable. And yet here he was, driven back, harried by mere constructs, his power challenged, his pride shredded.

How many of these puppets existed? Four? Ten? Fifty?

Nock’s mind reeled. The emperor—Aurek—had created this army in secret. A man they had all dismissed as weak and incompetent had somehow hidden an arsenal that defied comprehension.

When had he done it? How had he concealed it from even Archbishop Austin?

Had everything from the beginning been an act?

Nock’s blood turned cold.

Butler Brown, too, felt the sting of disbelief. These were puppets, yes—but they fought with a persistence, a subtlety that overturned every law he knew. They were not mere machines of war. They were something more.

But then his eyes narrowed.

He had noticed something.

Each time they struck, a breeze stirred. Subtle, faint, but there.

The key.

If there were no wind, they would lose their veil.

Butler Brown’s lips curved into a grim smile. He knew what to do.

Channeling his energy, he wove a sword net around the chamber, sealing the space in strands of power. The air within was locked, stilled. Not a breath could pass.

"Inside!" he shouted. "Everyone, into the room behind me!"

Nock and the remaining survivors wasted no time. They scrambled through the doorway, fleeing into the sanctuary beyond.

Butler Brown’s confidence swelled. Let the shadows try their tricks now. Once the doors and windows were sealed, once the air was closed, there would be no breeze. No hiding. No escape.

Leaping back, he was the last to enter. His energy surged as he slammed the doors shut. Darkness enveloped the room, oppressive and deep.

But he was unafraid. At Expert Rank, his senses pierced the night like day. He stood calm, blade ready, his eyes scanning.

The assassins would appear now. They had no choice.

Or so he thought.

Pain lanced through his shoulder, sharp and sudden. He staggered, eyes wide, as a dagger protruded from his flesh.

"Damn it!" he bellowed, swinging wildly. But before he could retaliate, a second blade stabbed deep into his thigh.

Agony tore through him. His body faltered. Blood poured freely, staining his robes, spattering the floor.

And then he realized—the stench in the air was not just his own. It was thicker, heavier. The blood of others mingled with his.

A whisper slid into his ear, cold and merciless.

"Even without wind, you will never find us."

The words sank into him like ice, unraveling the last of his composure.

"No... no, it’s impossible!" His voice cracked into madness. "This cannot be! Aurek’s puppets cannot be this strong! What power have you hidden, emperor? What nightmare have you unleashed?!"

Before he could finish, his body convulsed. A blade pierced his chest with brutal precision, sliding straight into his heart.

Expert Rank or not, the heart remained the greatest vulnerability. Once pierced, there was no salvation.

His energy unraveled in a storm of sparks. His longsword clattered to the ground with a ringing chime, its light fading into nothingness.

"Butler Brown... dead?"

The words tore from Nock’s throat. He stood frozen, his body shuddering violently, his mind breaking under the weight of what he had seen.

"This is impossible," he whispered, his eyes rolling. "This isn’t real. I must be dreaming. Yes... yes, it must be a dream!"

His laughter cracked, rising into hysteria, his whole body convulsing with madness.

The mighty Minister of War, Nock, had finally lost his mind.