The Ultimate Weapon of Magic and Science

"Damn this godforsaken place."

A figure, his face mostly obscured by a deep hood that shadowed his brows, appeared remotely silhouetted in the morning light. This man, almost entirely shrouded in a black cloak, seemed entirely at odds with the forest - some invisible barrier keeping the two apart. His attire, his demeanor, all were at stark odds with the bright morning air of the forest, a grim harmonic discordance between daylight serenity and a figure suited for tasks best executed under the cover of night.

However, this dissonant ambiance was of little concern compared to the task at hand. Minor distractions like these could easily be brushed aside.

Musing upon the task, the figure's gloved hand absently slid to his midsection, a heavy sensation building in the pit of his stomach. He felt as if he were an overworked elderly man, counting the days until his retirement and the inevitable end that followed.

"Eliminate the target at all costs, erase anyone who has come into contact with the target."

The employer must be delirious, heads filled with the wealth buried beneath the earth. They hired top-notch assassins, not miracle workers that guaranteed a hundred percent success rate! Confronting that creature once again that saw the demise of an entire cadre of assassins within seconds? Even a child of three would know the score.

Annihilation - complete and utter annihilation. There is no other conceivable outcome.

No one could possibly believe these dispirited, weary assassins could mount a final, last-ditch effort to overcome a foe of such mysterious and formidable potency. The fallen comrades, swallowed by hungry beasts and resurrected to join the fray, would not be enough to shift the tides of a battle such as this. They would all just lay down again, once more.

If only he could rail against this defeatist agenda openly before his employer. Imagine if his eloquence were great enough, or his employer suddenly had a change of heart, perhaps the scenario might shift. But for now...

Cursing, horse's neighing, metallic clatter... It was as if the world itself was in tumult, all its noises gathered from every corner and thrust together in an escalating commotion behind the figure in the black cloak.

"Boss, the knights have finally awakened."

Behind the incessant clamor echoed the scornful sneer of his second-in-command, his sturdy physique lined with scars - a testament to countless battles. The man's rough, bushy beard gave the impression of an unkempt cluster of thickets. More akin to a bandit than an assassin, he spat in the direction of his "comrades" as though it better reflected his state of mind.

A reinforcement regiment of 500 horsemen, a combined investigative search team of the Count of Argentoratum's cavalry and the Church Knights, had joined up with the assassins the previous night.

"No obstacle they cannot shatter."

The Count's decisive words riddled the ends of his orders, not only revealing his confidence in these warriors but also the ominous threat veiled behind his sneer. The figure in the black cloak could not overlook this.

A regiment of 500 horsemen was indeed a formidable force not to be trifled with, absent of any refuge in the form of forts and the terrain itself proving disadvantageous - forest and mountain alike. If the target they were after came across this force on an open plain, it would be a nightmare made reality. The destructive power of their high-speed charge could obliterate the enemy, just as it promised.

However, there were factors unaccounted for.

This mixed regiment had received sealed orders from their respective masters, forcing them to march swiftly in order to intercept and assassinate the target. The knights, due to the forced urgency of the situation, had accumulated a significant amount of fatigue and resentment. Throughout the journey, frictions and disputes that had been festering over many years would flare up in bouts of verbal disputes. Yet under the strict control of the commanders, it never escalated into a full-blown mutiny. That said, had the knights been forced to continue without proper rest, it was questionable whether the two commanders could have maintained this "harmony." Only the omnipotent Mafa might know. Regardless, the morale of the reinforcements waiting on the edge of the forest was significantly drained, making it highly unlikely they could launch a full-scale attack against the target.

It also posed a significant problem having the assassins join the knights in battle. Even though they executed similar tasks, their methods greatly differed.

The difference between the publicity and discretion of their operations reflected not only on their attire but also on their strategies, equipment, and their patterns of thought. The knights, who preferred face-to-face combat and conventional warfare, were at odds with the assassins, who blended into the crowd and schemed in the shadows. Even if all the wise men in the Kingdom of Charlemagne were summoned, it would take years of time and effort to complete the initial stages of this task.

So far, no one had attempted such a fusion in reality. It was estimated that no one would be willing to meddle with two completely incompatible forces; two groups that despised each other, filled with insults and disdain. The right choice would be to avoid this volatile congregation.

Such is the current predicament - a crowd gathered solely to capitalize on sheer numbers, a group of individuals, each with their own agendas and propositions - a deplorable spectacle.

What about the current state of the target then?

Letting go of the heavy burden bearing down upon him, the foggy white left eye, void of any focus, closed under the shade of the hood. His mind conjured up a scenery different from what met his eyes, bringing forth a bird's-eye view of the forest's landscape.

With the power acquired from renouncing the faith of Mafa, this man spied on his opponent's movements.

Though the practice of transforming one's body to gain superhuman abilities was rare among assassins. Apart from the doctrine of the Mafa Holy Church forbidding suicide and mutilation of the body as a gift from the goddess, the high rate of failure, even resulting in death associated with the procedure, kept eager power seekers at bay, weighing the costs and benefits carefully.

The figure in the black cloak had willingly chosen this suspicious physical transformation for voluntary and professional reasons. Trading his left eye as a "sacrifice," the familiar eagle transmitted all that it saw to him, painting images within his mind's eye. Armed with this "Eagle Eye," he had successfully managed to guide the assassins around traps and guards, sinking daggers into the hearts of their prey one after the another, nigh infallible.

The focus of the Eagle Eye now was not the grand scope of the entire forest, but a single carriage bumping along a forest path, dominating his vision.

Of course, in such a secluded place, there's hardly anyone to maintain the roads. The only path is a dirt track, formed by the trampled footsteps of both man and beast. A rickety old carriage clattered along this rugged route, its wheels jolting and bouncing, yet somehow it maintained a consistent speed without falling apart. This was surely a testament to both the driver's exceptional skill and the carriage's hardy, stubborn durability.

A simple merchant's cart, an oddly unguarded target.

Any "insider" who stumbled across such a scene would surely laugh in derision, wouldn't they?

Including his past self, those who had yet to experience the actual situation's heavy setbacks would all be so carelessly relaxed.

After multiple real-life encounters, let alone relaxation, having a semblance of calm, felt as hard-earned as keeping a deadened expression.

Purposely assembling and orchestrating two assassination attempts to silence a target permanently, only to end up sending skilled subordinates to their ends. After paying the high cost of bloody tuition, they harvested a seed named [Fear], deeply planted in the hearts of the assassins, tormenting them day and night, those who were destined to face the young boy again.

"He's taking it rather easy."

The low exclamation, carrying a hint of relief, came from an aerial viewpoint, judging the speed of the carriage, which was more like a leisurely stroll than an actual journey. The few passengers did not have the least bit of combat readiness.They appeared to be merely chatting, and what they were talking about was unclear.

[Have they failed to notice our actions and therefore feel no tension?]

An optimistic and reassuring judgment was made, which slightly lessened the overstressed nerves. The opponent's sluggishness and underestimation silently increased the confidence of launching a surprise attack.

However... what is this quietly agitating sense of unease? The situation before them should be encouraging.

While pondering this indescribable unease, the carriage stopped as it approached the edge of the forest. The young coachman jumped onto the ground and casually removed the headband from his forehead. Upon this inconspicuous act, the one peering from above opened his mouth in surprise.

"Black... black hair?"

The leader's unexpected exclamation stirred a brief commotion among his slow-reacting subordinates. Unique occurrences always become conversation fodder among the inquisitive Wisdom Species, regardless of their origin or race. However, these people were not incessantly chattering peasants or townsmen, but swiftly returned to their stealth mode after a chaotic moment.

The leader, facing away from his competent subordinates, lapsed back into silence, frozen in front of the forest, like a statue shrouded in a dark cloak.

A statue, yes, but unlike a vacant imitation created by an artist, there was vibrant flesh and blood beneath the black cloak. The unceasing subtle trembling of the leader's limbs, unseen by others, was proof of that.

The black-haired boy in the center of the hawk-eyed view turned his face sideways, laughing straight into the peeping gaze.

Black hair;

Wheat-colored skin;

Pretty and distinct facial features;

Red eyes;

——The extremely [unusual] traits composed his countenance, which was now smiling at him.

——The eyes of innocence so pure that it forgets the brutality, just like a child torturing a bug.

——A dangerously ambiguous smile that blurred the boundaries of[malice] and [good will].

"This guy…"

The volume of his whisper fell short of matching his inner astonishment.

"He's... watching me!"

The black cloak failed to perform its function as a concealment, trembling from hood to hem.

"Boss…?"

The concern of his subordinates sounded distant, as if emanating from another country. The heavy slaver was hard to swallow, the cold sweats seeped through his clothes, and his eyes were unable to move at all.

The young boy, who occupied all of his field of vision, extended his middle finger, followed by his ring and little fingers, then immediately withdrew them.

"Including this time... three…"

His face was twitching uncontrollably, his teeth chattering from an open mouth that could not be shut. He was unable to compose a coherent word or receive the voices and movements around him from his subordinates. The icy void completely isolated the leader of the assassins from his surroundings.

Three fingers folded back inward, he held his fisted hand across the chest, thumb facing downward.

He couldn't understand the meaning of the gesture or the action. But a sticky chill pervaded his entire body, and the murderous intent overflowing from the smile transformed into a physical pressure, spreading like a flood, frightening the animals in the forest who then bolted from their homes.

"——It's coming——————————!!!!!!!!!!"

All energy gushed into the cry of struggle tearing through his throat, marking the prelude to the murderous dance. A bloody frenzy began at this instance.