One Stone, Three Birds (4)
Zeke gritted his teeth.
‘Those Lost Hope bastards! Using black magic to turn humans into killing machines!’
The enemies charged at them, fearless and relentless, like a horde of zombies.
The assassins were outnumbered, facing at least five enemies each.
Swish!
Splash!
Every swing of an assassin's blade brought down an enemy.
Initially, they aimed for limbs, but with the enemies' disregard for their own bodies, the assassins shifted their focus to vital points.
“Oh, this… This isn't bad.”
Since being thrown into this world, this was the first time Zeke had watched someone else's swordsmanship with bated breath.
Observing the Assassination Captain wield his sword, Zeke's initial assessment was ‘ordinary.’
Indeed, the speed, technique, power, posture, agility—all the elements that constituted swordsmanship—were simple, unremarkable.
Yet, that very lack of flair felt strangely refined.
‘Have my standards fallen this low?’
Compared to Zeke, the Leader's average skill level was undeniably subpar.
‘Still, he’s not making any stupid mistakes, and he's doing what needs to be done.’
The mere fact that the Leader adhered to the basics earned him significant points in Zeke's book.
As expected of someone whose trade was assassination, he seemed to have developed an efficient, no-nonsense style.
That clean, practical swordsmanship made him stand out like a crane among chickens—no, a celestial maiden—amidst those clumsy fools.
He was not only aware of his own position but also of the overall situation, intervening strategically to support his comrades.
‘But this complicates things.’
The presence of even a single rare character could tip the scales of any battle.
And who enjoys being on the receiving end of a one-sided beatdown? They’d just rage quit and smash their keyboards.
If the Assassination Squad emerged victorious with minimal casualties, Eustia’s attention wouldn’t solely be on the wretched Lost Hope; it would inevitably fall upon Zeke, too.
He’d created this situation for a swift resolution, but it might backfire and create more trouble.
Of course, the assassins wouldn't escape unscathed. Fighting a bunch of crazed lunatics who disregarded pain and injury was more troublesome than it seemed.
Even now, Zeke could see his men sustaining injuries with every three enemies they cut down.
‘Looks like a balance patch is in order.’
Zeke, a former hero, made a rather ruthless decision.
Orders from above or not, these people had come to kill him. There was no need for mercy.
If he hadn’t set this up, their blades would be aimed at him.
Since they aimed for his life, they should be prepared to forfeit their own. No harm, no foul.
Mutual destruction.
Both Lost Hope and the Assassination Squad would meet their end here, leaving only a handful of survivors.
‘Hmm, now who could be… useful?’
As Zeke surveyed the blood-soaked battlefield, his gaze fell upon the leader of Lost Hope's underlings—a thug with a distinctive overbite.
'Oh, so the boss has some brains after all. He managed to avoid the berserker mode, huh?'
A faint smile touched Zeke's lips.
It would have been easier to manipulate one of the countless mindless grunts scattered around.
However, Zeke opted for the more challenging route, aiming for a more dramatic spectacle.
‘Let's see… how to naturally make contact with him…’
Just then, the thug was nearly stabbed by one of his own men.
Under the influence of the same magic, they perceived each other as allies, preventing them from attacking one another.
Ironically, this made the leader, who retained his senses, a target for his own men.
Then, Zeke noticed the dagger clutched in the thug's hand.
'Is that… a dagger engraved with a magic formula?'
Zeke narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the dagger’s structure.
A crude weapon with a circuit etched onto its surface, coated with a layer of pulverized magic stones.
'A location tracker.'
It allowed the owner to track the dagger's whereabouts, no matter where it was.
This meant that if Zeke could decipher the formula, he could establish a connection with the dagger.
His eyes scanned the formula, quickly deciphering its secrets.
Zeke retrieved a magic stone from his pocket and replicated the inscription. The stone pulsed with light, and an invisible pathway opened between it and the dagger.
'Connection established. Hmm, if I push it a little further… I could even transmit my thoughts, though it'll be single-use. It'll render the location tracking useless after a few times, but still…'
Zeke almost chuckled.
He’d just stumbled upon a brilliant way to elevate this little play.
He’d planned to wrap this up quickly, but adding a little depth to the scenario wouldn't hurt.
After all, every evil mastermind needed a capable lieutenant who stood out from the mindless horde, right?
Through the dagger clutched in the thug's hand, Zeke transmitted his thoughts.
- “Ahem, these guys are no match for me. This is getting troublesome. You there, the one with a working brain. Don't you desire to become my true subordinate, the Black Mage's right hand?”
The thug, startled, glanced around, his face etched with confusion.
Meanwhile, the blade in his comrade’s hand inched closer.
Zeke drew upon his encounters with the Lost Hope, carefully selecting his words.
- “Swear your allegiance to me now, and I shall grant you eternal life, unending pleasure, and power beyond your wildest dreams.”
However, the thug, seemingly a cautious sort, didn't immediately pledge his loyalty.
The blade trembled closer, the tip about to pierce his flesh.
- “Or would you rather face a dog's death and be buried in the dirt? Not a bad option either. Though your corpse will serve me well. Ha. Ha. Ha.”
Realizing that death was the only other outcome, the thug slowly nodded.
Zeke’s lips curled into a smirk.
- “Good. For Lost Hope. I shall bestow a name upon you. From this day forth, you shall be known as Teeth.”
It was a name he’d come up with on the spot, but it seemed oddly fitting.
Teeth was as good a name as any for this thug.
- “Heed my will, and power shall be yours.”
Deep within himself, Zeke unlocked a tiny portion of a long-sealed chest.
Dark emotions and sensations from his days in the world of dark fantasy threatened to consume him, black and heavy.
Zeke gritted his teeth, resisting the pull.
‘I need to transfer it, now!’
He seized that darkness and channeled it through the established link, shoving it into Teeth.
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
‘Holy shit. I almost got consumed myself.’
Thankfully, he’d managed to pass it on just in time.
He allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk.
Zeke’s past was now imprinted upon Teeth.
"AAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!!"
*
The moment Lodren agreed to the Black Mage’s proposal, he was struck by a wave of regret.
An excruciating pain ripped through his skull, as if his brain were on fire.
The world twisted and warped before his eyes.
He couldn’t see his own face, but he imagined it was contorted in agony.
Tears of pain streamed down his cheeks.
"AAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!!"
Lodren screamed.
Time seemed to both stretch and shatter, a fleeting instant that felt like an eternity.
In that moment, he glimpsed a world beyond comprehension.
He understood.
He knew.
He realized that once you had seen this, you could never again exist in the same world as those who hadn't.
His mind was flooded with a chilling, exhilarating madness.
‘Oh…’
This overwhelming power, this raw, unadulterated evil…
Lodren wanted nothing more than to prostrate himself and kiss the feet of this being.
‘This… is black magic… This… is Lost Hope…’
A tremor of excitement ran through him. He saw the world through new eyes.
A world where everything was broken, ruled by demons.
A desolate land echoing with screams, where death was an ordinary event.
His heart pounded in his chest.
It was strange, but he felt a thrill at the thought of death.
Yes, this world was wrong.
This childish, peaceful charade was not a real world.
Blood should flow like rivers, and humans should kill each other without hesitation.
A world where strength reigned supreme, where power was the only measure of worth.
Yes, that was the world that should be.
The blade pointed at him now seemed utterly insignificant.
What had he been doing, wasting his life in these petty squabbles?
‘Rule the underworld…? What did such things even matter?’
His past life, filled with ambition and striving, now felt meaningless.
He was overcome with a sense of relief.
He could serve this being now.
He had finally awakened from the dream.
'Thank goodness.'
He swallowed hard.
‘Yes, I am reborn. As Teeth of Lost Hope.’
His lips stretched into a wide, manic grin, a chilling laugh escaping his throat.
“Hehehehehe…”
Lodren released his grip on the blade that had been about to pierce him.
*Thud.*
A sharp pain flared in his shoulder as the dagger found its mark.
But instead of agony, he felt intensely alive.
He grabbed his attacker’s neck in a vice-like grip and squeezed.
The man’s face turned a sickly shade of blue.
*Crack.*
The sound of bone snapping filled the air.
The man went limp, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!”
Lodren rose to his feet, a crazed glint in his eyes.
He pulled the dagger from his shoulder and turned on his former comrade.
The back of the man’s head was right there, ripe for the taking.
Lodren plunged the dagger into his flesh.
*Thud! Thud! Thud!*
*Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!*
Crimson blood spurted from the wounds.
He stabbed again and again, dozens of times, until the light faded from his victim's eyes.
But Lodren didn't stop there.
*Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!*
He continued to stab until the body lay still, a mangled, bloody mess.
His face was splattered with blood, but he didn't care.
He licked the blood from his lips, a crazed grin splitting his face.
Then, he turned his gaze to his next target.
*Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!*
A ruthless demon, born of dark fantasy, had been unleashed upon this world.
Zeke watched in astonishment.
“That damn bastard! He actually accepted the Black Mage's power!”
He turned his head towards the Assassination Captain.
"Lost… Hope’s… Leader… He's… transformed… Assassination… Captain… He’s… dangerous…"
Of course, Zeke remained motionless, not a single muscle twitching.
He added, a twinge of guilt pricking his conscience,
"Ugh… Can’t… move… Damn it…"
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