Chương 204: The Silent Advance

The great palace square of Seiron began to transform slowly into a silently and frighteningly seething human cauldron. This immense square, designed in past eras of prosperity to accommodate more than fifty thousand people, paved with solid gray granite stones, was filling to capacity under the pressure of threats from armed guards. The people had not come voluntarily to celebrate, they had been herded from their homes and their beds like livestock.

Citizens had been compelled to attend by strict orders and decrees hung on every door, threatening the seizure of property and immediate arrest for any who failed to appear for the "swearing of allegiance to the new Lord." The velvet class and merchants who drove the city's economy came trailing the dust of disappointment and fear. They knew that their absence would mean the end of their interests, and perhaps the end of their lives at the hands of Sylvester's killers.

The atmosphere was overcast, and the sky shared their grief with heavy gray clouds blocking the sunlight. The celebratory music blared from silver brass horns carried by musicians atop the palace walls, playing stirring melodies glorifying the Williams family, but it was hollow music, lifeless and without a pulse, nothing but artificial metallic noise aimed at swallowing the frightened whispers and concealing the suffocating tension that was nearly tangible.

The new purple and gold flags flapped violently beneath the light rain, like the sails of a ship on the verge of sinking in a sea of blood. In the midst of this turbulent human sea, composed of bodies trembling from cold and terror, there was a hidden current moving with intelligence and calm against the direction of the crowds. The Williams family's old knights, the Loyal Guard expelled by Sylvester, were infiltrating among the people like living ghosts.

Under the command of the seasoned warrior Okon, who had stripped off his gleaming armor and replaced it with a rough peasant's cloak reeking of mud and tobacco, the men were moving in small, carefully calculated groups that aroused no suspicion.

They wore tattered civilian clothes, the coal-stained garb of mine workers, the frayed cloaks of beggars, but beneath those rough garments, stiffened fingers gripped with strength, steadiness, and fury the handles of the gleaming Crystal Swords they had reclaimed from Sylvester's warehouses the previous night. Okon moved, his sharp eyes carrying the experience of decades of war, sweeping the square with superior military precision.

He distributed his men at strategic tactical positions: a close-packed group near the main platform where the tyrant would stand, a disguised squad at the emergency exits to cut off any escape route for the palace guard, and a well-trained unit encircling Sylvester's official guard positions. No words were needed, silent glances, slight nods of the head, and finger movements barely visible were entirely sufficient for coordination. They were a single body awaiting the signal from the mastermind.

But Okon knew, and so did Dex, that the true danger threatening this plan and the lives of these thousands lay not in the guards standing on the ground with their gleaming helmets, but lurked above, far from the usual field of vision. Atop the high-tiled rooftops surrounding the square, and on the palace's hidden balconies overlooking the crowds like lethal watchtowers, Sylvester had deployed the elite of the Shadow Organization's mercenaries.

They were professional snipers who knew no mercy, carrying long-range magical bows crafted from flexible black Yew wood, and seasoned assassins monitoring the crowds through magnifying magical scopes in search of any suspicious movement, hidden weapon, or incipient rebellion. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. They were Sylvester's unblinking eyes, tasked with silently eliminating any dissenter with a single quiet shot before he opened his mouth.

One stray arrow in this dense crowd could cause a deadly stampede that would kill hundreds by trampling. Meanwhile, in one of the narrow, dark, rain-soaked back alleys reeking of mold, Dex Williams was moving with a speed, lightness, and silence that defied the laws of gravity and physics. He was not walking on the ground, he was dancing between the shadows.

He leaped from atop an old wooden crate to the edge of a protruding stone window sill, then launched with fluid agility to grip the edge of the first roof of the building adjacent to the palace.

He raised his head slowly over the rooftop's edge and saw the first target: a sniper wearing a fully black leather suit and a mask concealing his features, resting on his knee, watching the square with intense attention, his magical scope integrated into his bow aimed directly at the crowd's center where Okon was positioned. Dex did not draw his Crystal Sword, the sound of unsheathing a blade might expose his position.

Instead, he approached from behind like a true ghost, his steps producing not even a whisper on the wet tiles. When he was directly behind the sniper, Dex extended his index finger with extreme slowness and touched the bowstring, taut and ready to fire. With a single touch and a focused, contained pulse of blue phoenix flames, the sturdy magical bowstring dissolved instantly and snapped with a very faint plucking sound resembling the breaking of a fine thread.

The sniper spun in sudden terror, his eyes widening behind the mask, but before he could absorb what had happened or open his mouth to scream, Dex's leather-gloved left hand clamped over his face with iron force, while his short dagger, coated in fast-acting poison, pierced the sniper's heart from behind with surgical precision, passing between the ribs and tearing the ventricle in a single second. The sniper's body shuddered, then went still.

"One," Dex whispered in a voice as cold as northern ice, and let the heavy body slide quietly into the shadow patch behind the chimney, making no sound. Dex moved immediately to the next roof, using a narrow wooden bridge connecting the two buildings. There, the situation was more complex: two assassins standing together, exchanging words in lowered voices while monitoring the square's side entrances. Ordinary infiltration would not succeed here.

Dex closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and directed the mana in his body toward his legs. He deployed the advanced magical technique [Phantom Step Flash]. Dex vanished from his position in a faint blue haze, and appeared suddenly between the two men as though materializing from nothingness. Before the assassins grasped what was happening, or their minds translated this sudden presence, his blue flames had formed around both his hands, fashioning two sharp blades of pure flame.

In a circular, synchronized, lightning-swift motion, Dex executed a double strike. The blue fire blades pierced both men's throats simultaneously. The blood evaporated before it could bleed, and their vocal cords burned entirely, preventing any cry of pain from escaping, converting them into a muffled, choked rattle. Both men dropped, swallowed by the roof's shadows.

"Three." Dex continued this lethal dance. He was clearing the path for his knights and citizens below, bearing on his shoulders the sin of direct killing to prevent a mass massacre. He moved from roof to roof, from balcony to balcony. He melted iron locks with his flames like wax, snapped necks with calculated and precise movements, burned evidence and dropped bodies into blind corners. He was the silent angel of death, the guardian who kills to protect his people.

By the time the great magical horns began announcing the approaching start of the main ceremonies, Dex had neutralized twelve professional snipers and observers. The rooftops, with all their strategic angles, now belonged entirely to him. Not a single malicious eye remained watching the crowds from above. Dex finally reached his ultimate destination: the highest point in the historic clock tower directly opposite the ducal palace.

He stood there, on the edge of the abyss, looking down over the entire square like a predatory falcon surveying his kingdom. The winds lashed at his dark cloak making it billow violently, while his two blue eyes, gleaming behind his frightening metal mask, watched the main platform below: still empty, awaiting its false ruler.

"The stage is ready, Sylvester..." Dex whispered to himself, his voice dissolving in the wind. He tightened his grip on his sword, and felt the phoenix flames in his chest yearning for release.

"Come up, come up and meet the fate you have forged with your own hands."