Chapter 49

An Impossible Assassination Plan

“You two… don’t know each other?”

At Mrs. Randolph’s question, Isaac and Carlson only exchanged glances.
Caught in an awkward moment, Carlson spoke first.

“…He’s a young noble from a southern family. Um… he’s on a grand tour… to Winterband…”

Carlson, unlike his usual self, stumbled through a clumsy excuse.

“Something like that. I heard his skills are quite good.”

Isaac had no idea what Carlson was talking about, but he went along with it for now.
Fortunately, it seemed convincing enough.

“Ah, I see. So that’s it. I thought you looked like a young master from a distinguished family. If Carlson is your escort, you’re in good hands. My husband always says you can trust him with your back.”

“…He came to broaden his horizons. I, uh… will be acting as his escort…”

Mrs. Randolph smiled brightly as usual.

“Let’s move to a corner table. You should discuss your journey ahead.”
“Yes. Ma’am, could you bring the ale to the table?”

Carlson nodded at Isaac’s words.

***

Mrs. Randolph brought two brimming mugs of ale to a secluded table.

After exchanging a few casual words, the two fell silent.

“Carlson, have you eaten?”
“Ah… no. As you can see, I’m a mess. I don’t have much appetite.”
“And you, young master from the south? Aren’t you hungry?”
“I’m fine. I’ll be heading back to my lodging soon anyway.”
“I see. Then I won’t disturb you any longer.”

As soon as she left, Isaac lowered his voice.

“So, the investigation?”

***

Isaac had instructed Carlson to look into the newly emerged gang in Bern’s sewer system.
The most important detail was their strength.

“They’re a new group called Weissman. Among them, five swordsmen are especially well known. Anyone in the slums has heard of Weissman’s blades.”

“They rose that fast… in just a few months?”

Isaac idly spun the horn mug in his hand.
The foam on the ale was slowly fading.

“They don’t seem like a simple gang. It looks like the guards are backing them.”

“What makes you think that?”
“Yesterday, there was a gang fight in the plaza between Weissman and the Red Teeth.”
“Red Teeth?”
“One of the original four major gangs. But it was a one-sided massacre. The swordsmen clearly knew how to use mana. One of them even used aura. The guards only showed up when Red Teeth was nearly wiped out. And then—they only arrested the boss.”
“Only the boss? Why?”
“They displayed him in the plaza. Beheaded. No formal execution.”

Carlson relayed everything he had gathered while staying at the inn.

It all matched what Isaac had seen in historical records.

Inspector Marquis Dietrich had been spending his time frequenting high-end inns and brothels in Bern.
During that time, he had met with the city’s mayor.

And whenever they met, Weissman’s swordsmen were always lurking nearby.

***

“What about the swordsmen themselves?”
“There’s an arena in the sewers. Weissman has taken it over. I spent two days there… playing along. Seems like I caught the attention of one of them. He told me to come to a brothel in the slums. Said Weissman might be getting a sixth swordsman.”

“That explains the smell. You reek like the sewers.”

Carlson’s clothes were stained in patches with filth.

“Believe it or not, I washed. But no matter how much I scrubbed in the river, the smell wouldn’t completely go away.”
“You’ve been through a lot.”
“So—what’s the plan?”

Carlson looked at Isaac.

He had come to understand a little about him.
Isaac was different from other noble brats.
He possessed something like foresight—something ordinary people couldn’t grasp.

If Isaac had come personally, it meant one thing:

It was time to act.

***

“Give this to Marquis Dietrich.”

Isaac handed him a crumpled piece of parchment.

“May I read it?”
“Go ahead.”

Carlson unfolded it.

[Bern is not your purse, parasite — Isaac von Goethe]

“…What exactly are you trying to do with this? Won’t this just provoke the marquis?”

Carlson couldn’t understand Isaac’s intent.

“If that note alone is sent, the marquis will gain another reason to pressure my father. He might escalate things under the pretense of honor.”
“That makes sense.”
“But—what if you lure one of those swordsmen to the estate and interrogate him? And then… the mayor is suddenly assassinated?”

Isaac’s voice grew quieter as he spoke, until the last words were nearly a whisper.

But to Carlson, that whisper sounded the loudest.

“Are you trying to get me killed? The mayor is always guarded by a swordsman who can use aura. Not to mention dozens of guards. Killing them isn’t the problem—but assassinating the mayor without being caught? Even I couldn’t do that.”

“Right. Of course.”

Isaac nodded easily.

“If I get caught or pursued after assassinating the mayor, do you have a way to save me?”

Carlson’s goal was revenge.
He helped Isaac only because he believed Isaac would help him achieve it.

His trust was like that of merchants—not knights.
He wouldn’t take unnecessary risks.

Isaac knew that.

“It would be difficult. You’d have to leave Goethe territory. My father would chase you down—maybe even to the ends of the kingdom. That’s the only way to maintain order.”
“I’d rather fight a dozen Hell Wolves alone. I won’t do this.”

Carlson frowned.

Usually composed, but when it came to anything that interfered with his revenge—he was different.

“Who said you had to?”

“…What?”

“I’ll do the assassination. Before sunset tomorrow.”

“What…?”

“Once it happens, the city will be in chaos. You’ll know without me telling you. That’s when you deliver the note to the marquis and bring a swordsman to the estate. We’ll extract information.”

“You’re not serious… are you?”
“Why not?”

“Are you out of your mind? If you send that note with your name on it, you’ll be the prime suspect!”

“They won’t suspect me. A clever man like the marquis will assume a third party is involved.”

“…What?”

“You know my reputation. If the mayor is assassinated, his suspicion will turn into certainty—but in the wrong direction. He’ll think there’s a hidden third force. Until he figures out their intentions, he won’t act rashly.”

Isaac’s lips curved slightly.

“We buy time. In that time, you approach Weissman. Threaten them or persuade them—whatever works. Find the marquis’s weakness.”

“Wait. Just how far are you planning to take this?”

Carlson raised both hands in disbelief.

“This isn’t just reckless—it’s suicidal. Using your reputation to create confusion with a note? Fine. But the plan itself is impossible. Even I can’t pull off that assassination—how can you? Or are you relying on your noble status to survive even if you’re caught?”

Isaac had done reckless things before—but only when he had no other choice.

This, however, was different.

This was walking straight into death.

Carlson stayed by Isaac’s side because of trust—
because he believed Isaac had foresight, kept his word, and would help him achieve revenge.

But this?

This could get them both killed.

***

“Carlson, my mind is clearer than ever right now.”

Isaac met his gaze directly.

Not a trace of hesitation in his eyes.

The same Isaac Carlson had come to know.

“That’s why I said—you act only after I succeed. If I’m captured or exposed, then ignore my orders. Just walk away.”

“…Are you serious?”

Instead of answering, Isaac drained the rest of his ale.

“I’ve never once been anything but serious. Use that to order more food or ale.”

Isaac placed a single silver coin on the table, stood up, and left the inn.

***

“There’s a saying that in chess, strategy accounts for only 1%. The remaining 99% is tactics. I didn’t understand that. I was intoxicated by ideal strategies.”

Those words, once spoken by Jonas in Isaac’s previous life, carried a hard-earned truth.

The Goethe family, after declaring itself a city-state, had achieved many victories—but also just as many defeats.
Jonas’s remark had been born from those losses.

A lack of experience in war inevitably revealed itself as a lack of tactics.

Plans had been made for ideal victories, but reality held far more variables than a chessboard.

Strategy is realized through tactics—
step-by-step actions taken to achieve a goal.

Those actions can sometimes seem far removed from ideals, even cold or cruel.

The assassination of Bern’s mayor, Varis, was one such case.

***

The three pillars behind Bern’s impending disaster:

Marquis Dietrich, the inspector.
The mayor of Bern.
Weissman.

Among them, the marquis and Weissman could still be useful to Goethe, depending on how they were handled.

But Varis—

He was nothing more than a parasite on the city.

If he could be removed cleanly, not only would their plans be disrupted, but much future bloodshed could be prevented.

***

In a shabby inn far inferior to Mrs. Randolph’s, deep in the night, Bill and Isaac sat at a table with their hoods pulled low.

“Ah, an assassination. Poison would be the safest method. But Varis has a personal chef, so that’s difficult. Right… the most certain way would be to slit his throat. But with skilled swordsmen around him, getting close would be impossible. Then perhaps a crossbow? What? You don’t know how to use one? No reliable archer either? Ah… what a shame.”

Bill threw out idea after idea regarding the assassination.

‘The ale here really is terrible.’

Isaac thought.

At Mrs. Randolph’s inn, he had downed mug after mug without issue.
Here, even a single sip felt like a chore.

The wooden mug wasn’t even properly cleaned.
Instead of fruit or malt, the ale smelled foul.

***

This inn, located on the outskirts of Bern, was not far from the city council building or Varis’s mansion.

Its greatest advantage was that it served as a hideout for the Niers organization, making operations convenient.

Bill had been ordered to stay here and monitor Varis.

Day and night, he observed everything—
the mayor’s schedule, and when his guard was at its weakest.

Because Weissman had shattered the Niers organization, Bill held deep resentment toward them.

Even if he hadn’t wanted the leadership position he now held, no one liked having what was theirs taken away.

Over the past three days, he had thoroughly investigated Varis.

And his conclusion was simple:

The bloated mayor never let his guard down.

Even when sleeping with his wife—or summoning prostitutes—guards were stationed everywhere.

Whether at the council building, his mansion, fine dining establishments, or brothels, he was always accompanied by more than ten guards.

Whether it was caution, arrogance, or guilt—
either way, approaching him was nearly impossible.

***

“Then how about this? Set fire to the building he’s in. When he runs out, we cut him down. Oh, the swordsmen won’t just sit still? True… Hmm. But, young master, may I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

Isaac didn’t even touch the ale, just idly spun the wooden mug.

“Are you insane?”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot today.”

Isaac let out a faint laugh. Carlson had said the same thing.

“Why not deal with Weissman first? Wouldn’t that make the assassination easier? They’re just a gang, after all.”

“Five of them can use mana, right? I won’t touch them until I fully understand their strength.”

“Then what will you do?”
“Nothing changes. We eliminate Varis.”
“…Ha.”

Bill sighed.

“Got a problem?”
“Of course not. Why would I?”

Under Isaac’s steady gaze, Bill shook his head.

For a moment, he recalled the magical contract he had signed in the Niers prison.

Since then, his life had been in Isaac’s hands.

“I’m just saying—it’s impossible to slit that pig’s throat without alerting the guards.”

“Then we make the impossible possible.”

***

Isaac stood and tossed a few copper coins to the innkeeper.

“Your ale is terrible.”

“Then get lost and don’t come back.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

Isaac left first.

Immediately, Bill grabbed the innkeeper by the collar.

“Improve your ale.”

“W-What?”

The innkeeper looked confused.

He was one of the survivors of the dismantled Niers organization.

“Why are you acting like this, boss? The only people who come here are those who barely escaped death anyway.”

“…You’ve got a point.”

Bill released him—
then suddenly grabbed him again.

“So, you got a problem with that?”
“N-No, it’s just—”
“Then do as you’re told. Unless you want to die.”

Bill shoved him aside roughly.

His behavior was almost instinctive.

Since his life had fallen into Isaac’s hands, he had become hypersensitive to anything that might displease him.

“Are you coming or not?”
“Coming!”

Hearing Isaac’s voice from outside, Bill immediately ran after him.

“Damn it… what’s gotten into him?”

The innkeeper muttered, fixing his crumpled collar.

***

Following Isaac outside, Bill asked:

“Is there actually a way?”

“I’m thinking.”

“At this hour? If the night watch catches us, it’ll be trouble.”
“…Maybe this way is better.”

Isaac barely listened, constantly glancing up at the sky as if searching for something.

“Varis is at his mansion right now. This is the opposite direction. Young master—where are you even—”

Bill’s complaint was cut short as Isaac suddenly stopped.

They stood before the largest church in Bern.

“This will do.”
“What, are you going to pray for divine punishment to strike Varis down?”

Bill scoffed.

“That depends on how you pray.”

Isaac stepped forward and knocked on the church’s large arched doors.