In the vast territory of Malteon, located south of the Kingdom of Ashtalon, two men sat in the underground of a massive mansion.
One of them was Carmine, the third son of Duke Komalon, the owner of this mansion.
The man standing before him wore a relaxed expression, despite facing Carmine, who was infamous as a tyrant and scoundrel.
“You’re the ‘Agent,’ right?”
Carmine asked, as if confirming.
The man with half-closed eyes smiled quietly, then, without a word, took out a quill from his pocket.
At first glance, the quill didn’t seem to possess any special power.
However, soon a hum was heard, and the tip of the quill revealed an aura blade.
With a light smile, the man raised his arm above his head, releasing the aura, and drew a line in the air.
Despite being drawn in empty space, a dark line clearly lingered where the quill had passed.
Carmine, watching this, soon realized that the line was seeping into the air, like ink bleeding through water.
At the moment the black ink in the air disappeared, a sharp splatter echoed—
There were nine corpses in total.
In a space that had been pristine just moments ago, the pungent scent of blood now filled the air, thanks to the man, who nonchalantly returned the quill to his chest pocket.
“It seems my answer should be clear now. What do you think?”
The man grinned mischievously.
Carmine, who had momentarily appeared dazed, suddenly smiled grimly.
“Indeed. A swordmaster with such a unique ability… as expected, you’re one of the ‘Agents.’ Your level is on another plane…!”
Though his subordinates had been slaughtered in a single strike, Carmine showed no concern, instead expressing admiration.
“Thank you for the compliment,” the Agent responded with a smile.
Satisfied, Carmine nodded.
‘As I thought, this is the right answer.’
They were assassins operating out of the United Kingdoms.
While their exact numbers were unknown, Carmine was certain that each member of the Agents possessed enough skill to be considered at the level of a swordmaster.
Their service fees were exorbitant, and they were selective in accepting contracts, but once a job was taken, it had never failed.
“Now, let’s get straight to the point,” said the Agent.
Without hesitation, Carmine responded, “I want you to kill a noble.”
“Count Palatio of the Asteria Kingdom.”
At this, the Agent paused briefly, deep in thought, before replying, “I’m afraid that particular contract will be a bit difficult.”
A blunt refusal.
But Carmine had anticipated this response to some extent, so he continued.
“Is it an issue with the payment?”
“Indeed. As you’re well aware, our fees are quite high. Moreover, there would be additional costs involved with Count Palatio.”
“So, you’re saying that if I pay the fee, you’ll be able to kill Count Palatio?”
“We’ve never failed any contract we accepted—whether it was to take the head of a noble,”
“Or even the head of royalty, for that matter.”
The Agent’s overwhelming confidence was apparent in his words.
Carmine then responded, “I will pay.”
“I’m afraid the fee we charge will be quite burdensome for you.”
“True, if it’s only money, that might be tough. But—”
Carmine, with a confident smile, pulled something from his chest and presented it.
“How about this?”
What Carmine held was a black cube.
A cube so dark it seemed capable of absorbing even light itself, resembling the abyss.
Interest flickered in the Agent’s eyes as he observed it.
“Hmm, it’s not Abyssal Jade, but an Abyssal Core…?”
“Yes,” Carmine confirmed with a nod.
The Agent silently stared at the item for a moment.
Greed briefly flashed in his eyes, but after a moment of contemplation, he shook his head as if the answer was clear.
“Hmm, it’s certainly tempting, but even an Abyssal Core alone…”
The agent spoke as if genuinely disappointed.
“What if it were three Abyssal Cores?”
At Carmine’s following words, the agent fell silent.
With a faint chuckle, the agent said,
“I’ll complete the job as quickly as possible and return.”
With that, he vanished from the spot as if he had simply disappeared, leaving only the sharp scent of blood lingering in the air.
Left alone, Carmine finally smiled broadly.
Five months ago, after failing to exact revenge through Vilan, Carmine had tirelessly sought ways to exact his revenge, though he had repeatedly failed.
Rumors had spread that Deus Macallian, one of the master knights of Caliban, was deeply connected with Count Palatio.
And the more the revenge was delayed, the more Carmine’s hatred for Alon grew, almost like an obsession.
It was no longer a rational emotion but an irrational and intense loathing.
Because of that excessive hatred, he had consumed far more Abyssal Cores than necessary, leaving himself in a precarious position with his father.
Yet, despite that, Carmine was still smiling wickedly.
‘Did you really think you could ignore me and live comfortably? …That will never happen, not ever.’
His twisted inferiority complex and misery had turned into hatred, now directed toward Alon.
For some reason, a sentence that felt like it belonged in the title of a web novel from another world passed through his mind:
“I accidentally became the leader of a group formed by a shadowy alliance.”
[Do you have anything to say?]
Unaware of Alon’s complicated feelings, the moderator asked another question.
Alon, however, wanted to ask back,
What? Me? The leader of a group created by a shadowy alliance?
[Hmm, it seems you have nothing to add, so we will move on.]
Before Alon could voice his confusion, the moderator smoothly continued, leaving the words stuck in his throat.
Alon, desperately trying to understand the situation,
Shifted his gaze and looked toward Duke Altia.
Unlike the young days he remembered, Duke Altia now exuded the aura of a shadowy figure, nodding confidently.
Likewise, Lady Zenonia—no, now officially Countess Zenonia, who had held her succession ceremony after her father’s death a few months ago—was also smiling beside him.
‘…Is this some kind of prank?’
The thought crossed Alon’s mind, but he knew very well that this wasn’t just a prank.
As he continued to piece together the confusion,
He finally understood the situation.
He realized why the nobles had looked puzzled when he had sat down earlier.
And why the two men sitting across from him, who had clearly been through many battles, were watching him with intense wariness.
With this new understanding, Alon realized once again that he had truly become the leader of a shadow faction.
Feeling a sudden dizziness, Alon instinctively held his head and tightly closed his eyes.
About two hours later, the grand council meeting ended.
Although a lot of discussions had taken place, Alon couldn’t recall a single thing from the meeting.
For Alon, the reason he had somehow become the leader of the Kalpha faction was far more important than the nobles’ contradictory arguments.
For two hours, he struggled with this unsolvable riddle, and just as the meeting was coming to a close, a hypothesis dawned on him.
‘…Could it be that I’m just a puppet figurehead?’
It was the worst conclusion for him, but also highly plausible.
However, after the grand council meeting ended, Alon found himself, as if entranced, being led to the banquet celebrating the birth of the Kalpha faction.
And as the banquet began, and he had a three-way conversation with Countess Zenonia and Duke Altia, Alon quickly realized that his hypothesis was wrong.
“How about this? I think it’s perfect now.”
From Alon’s perspective, the situation was becoming more perplexing with every passing moment.
At the words of Lady Zenonia—no, now Countess Zenonia—Alon couldn’t easily bring himself to respond.
To be precise, he couldn’t respond.
He had no idea what Countess Zenonia meant or what she was trying to say.
“It seems like it’s been crafted just the way Count Palatio wanted.”
Alon felt as though he could throw dozens of question marks into the air after hearing Duke Altia’s remark, as if to ask, ‘Me? What are you talking about?’
Of course, he still managed to maintain a stoic expression on the outside.
Alon glanced between Duke Altia and Countess Zenonia.
Their eyes were filled with a small sense of expectation, as if they were waiting for him to speak.
Seeing their expressions, Alon began seriously wondering if he might have a split personality.
He wasn’t particularly close with either Duke Altia or Countess Zenonia.
In fact, he had only met Duke Altia a few years ago, and all they exchanged were a few words.
Even those few words weren’t anything pleasant, as it was a negative conversation about rejecting Loria’s plea for help at the time.
Likewise, Alon wasn’t particularly familiar with Countess Zenonia either.
They had only met twice before, and during their second meeting, Alon had even issued an order to expel her from his manor.
Realizing that he had been silent for too long, Alon finally opened his mouth to speak.
In truth, he wanted to ask what in the world was going on, but Alon was perceptive enough to read the situation.
It was «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» clear that these two believed he had intentionally formed this faction.
Asking ‘What is going on here?’ would likely only make things worse.
For now, Alon decided it was best to gather as much information as possible to figure out where their misunderstandings were coming from.
Once he had more details, he could work on resolving the issue.
“I’m just glad I was able to repay you for saving my life.”
As soon as Alon affirmed them, Duke Altia followed up with this statement.
Alon instinctively closed his eyes tightly.
‘What in the world is going on!?’
He screamed inwardly.

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