Chapter 49

The Impossible Assassination Plan

“Do you two… already know each other?”

At Lady Randolph’s question, Isaac and Carlson exchanged glances.

In an awkward moment, Carlson spoke first.

“…He’s a young noble from the southern family. Well… he came to Winterband for a Grand Tour… to observe and gain experience. I, uh… have been assigned as his escort.”

Carlson, uncharacteristically, stumbled through the words as if making up an excuse on the spot.

“Something like that. I heard he’s quite skilled.”

Isaac had no idea what Carlson was talking about, but he nodded along anyway.
Fortunately, it seemed to work.

“Ah, I see. So that’s how it is. No wonder I thought he looked like a noble from a prestigious house. If Carlson is his escort, then that’s reassuring. He said he feels safe trusting Carlson’s back, after all.”

Lady Randolph smiled brightly as always.

“Let’s move to a corner table. We should talk about the journey ahead.”

“Yes. Ma’am, if it’s alright, please bring us ale at the table.”

At Isaac’s words, Carlson nodded.

At the corner table, Lady Randolph brought two full mugs of ale.
Isaac and Carlson exchanged a few words, then paused.

“Carlson, how’s the meal?”

“Ah, yes. As you can see, I’m in no condition for appetite.”

“And you, young lord from the southern house? Not hungry?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be heading to the lodging soon anyway.”

“Oh? Then I won’t disturb you further.”

As Lady Randolph stepped away, Isaac lowered his voice.

“So, the investigation?”

Isaac had ordered Carlson to look into a new gang that had appeared in the sewers of Bern City.
The most important information was their combat strength.

“They’re called Weissman. Among them, five swordsmen are especially famous. In the slums, everyone knows of Weissman’s blades.”

“In just a few months, they rose that far?”

Isaac rolled a horn mug in his hand.
The foam in the ale was already fading.

“They didn’t seem like a simple gang. It looked like the city guards are backing them.”

“Why do you think that?”

“There was a brawl yesterday in the middle of the square between Weissman and the Red Teeth.”

“Red Teeth?”

“One of the four major gangs. But it was a one-sided slaughter by Weissman. Their swordsmen clearly know how to use mana. One of them even used aura. The guards only showed up when Red Teeth was nearly annihilated. Then they arrested only the Red Teeth leader.”

“Only the leader? Why?”

“They displayed his body in the square. Beheaded. There wasn’t even a formal execution.”

Carlson relayed the information he had gathered while staying at Lady Randolph’s inn.
Everything matched what Isaac had read in his ancestral records.

The Inspector Marquis Dietrich spent his time visiting high-end inns and brothels in Bern City.
During that time, he met with the city’s mayor.
And wherever those two met, Weissman’s swordsmen were always lurking nearby.

“What about the swordsmen?”

“There’s an arena in the sewer system. Weissman controls it as well. After spending two days there, I must’ve caught the attention of one of their swordsmen. He told me about a brothel in the slums and invited me. Said I might become Weissman’s sixth blade.”

“So that’s why you smell like the sewers.”

Carlson’s clothes were stained in multiple places with grime.

“Surprisingly, I did wash. But no matter how much I scrubbed in the river, the smell didn’t fully go away.”

“Sounds rough.”

“What will you do?”

Carlson looked at Isaac.

He had come to understand Isaac at least somewhat.
Not like other noble heirs.
He had something like foresight that ordinary people couldn’t see.

The fact that Isaac personally sought him out meant it was time to move.

“Deliver this to Marquis Dietrich.”

Isaac handed him a crumpled piece of parchment.

“May I read it?”

“Go ahead.”

Carlson unfolded it.

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

“…What exactly do you intend to do with something like this? Won’t this just provoke the Marquis further?”

“If I just send it, he’ll gain another reason to pressure my father. He might escalate things under the banner of honor.”

“That’s likely.”

“But what if you bring one of those swordsmen to the mansion for interrogation? And then the mayor is suddenly assassinated?”

Isaac’s voice grew quieter and quieter, until his final words were almost a whisper.
Yet those words struck Carlson the hardest.

“You plan to kill me? The mayor is always surrounded by swordsmen who can use aura. There are at least ten guards as well. Killing them isn’t hard, but assassinating the mayor without being detected is impossible—even for me.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

Isaac nodded calmly.

“If I get caught or hunted after assassinating him… is there any way you can save me?”

Carlson’s goal was revenge.
He helped Isaac only because he believed Isaac could assist that revenge.
His trust was closer to a merchant’s contract than a knight’s loyalty.

So he would not take unnecessary risks.

Isaac knew that.

“Unlikely. You’d have to leave Goethe territory. Or my father would try everything to capture you. He might chase you to the ends of the kingdom. That’s how Goethe order is maintained.”

“I’d rather fight a dozen hell wolves alone than do this. I can’t.”

Carlson frowned.

Even he, usually calm, could not hide his agitation when his revenge was obstructed.

“Who said you have to?”

“Pardon?”

“I’ll do the assassination. By tomorrow before sunset.”

“What…?”

“When the city goes into chaos, you’ll know without me telling you. At that time, deliver the note to the Marquis and bring the swordsman to the mansion. I need information from him.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“If you send a note with your name on it, they’ll immediately suspect you.”

“They won’t. A clever man like the Marquis will suspect a third party instead.”

“What?”

“You know my reputation. If the mayor is also assassinated, his suspicion will turn into certainty. Until he confirms this new third force, he won’t act rashly.”

“That buys time.”

“Exactly. In the meantime, we can contact Weissman, pressure them, or extract the Marquis’s weaknesses.”

“Wait—just how far are you planning to go?”

Carlson raised both hands in disbelief.

“Are you drunk or just being reckless? Using your reputation to create confusion is one thing, but this is impossible. Even I couldn’t pull off such an assassination. Or are you just relying on your status even if you get caught?”

Isaac had acted recklessly before, yes.
But only when there was no other choice.

Now, however, he looked completely different.

Not reckless—simply walking toward death.

Carlson’s reason for staying with him was trust.
Foresight, reliability, and usefulness for revenge.

But this?

This could get both of them killed.

“Carlson, I am more clear-headed than ever.”

Isaac met his gaze without hesitation.
No wavering in his eyes.

“If I succeed, you act. If I get captured or exposed, you don’t follow my orders. Just consider it bad luck and leave.”

“…Are you serious?”

Isaac drained his ale.

“I’ve never been anything but serious.”

He placed a silver coin on the table and stood up, leaving the inn.

* * *

“In chess, strategy is only 1%. The remaining 99% is tactics. I didn’t understand that. I was intoxicated by ideal strategy.”

Jonas, from Isaac’s past life, once said those words.

Goethe, having declared itself a city-state, achieved victories—but also suffered just as many defeats.

Those words came from experience of loss.

War revealed that lack of tactics meant failure.

Strategy may set the goal, but tactics execute it.

And execution often appears cruel, cold, or far from ideal.

The assassination of Mayor Baris of Bern City was no different.

Three pillars of disaster in Bern:

Inspector Marquis Dietrich
Mayor Baris
Weissman

Among them, Dietrich and Weissman could be useful to Goethe depending on how they were used.
Baris, however, was a parasite.

If he could be removed cleanly, it would disrupt their entire plan and save countless future lives.

In a shabby inn far worse than Lady Randolph’s, Isaac and Bill sat across from each other at a table, hoods up.

“So, assassination. Poison is the easiest. But Baris has a personal chef, so that’s difficult. The most certain method is to slit his throat—but the swordsmen make that impossible. Then crossbows—ah, you can’t use one, and you don’t have an archer either. That’s unfortunate.”

Bill rambled through possibilities.

Isaac thought absently:

‘This ale is terrible.’

Compared to Lady Randolph’s inn, this tasted like punishment.
No aroma, no richness—just foul bitterness.

This inn on Bern’s outskirts was close to both the council building and Baris’s estate.
Its greatest advantage was that it served as a hideout for the Neers organization.

Bill had been ordered to monitor Baris’s movements.

Day and night, he observed everything.

Baris was heavily guarded—always surrounded by at least ten guards, even during brothels, meals, or travel.

“Then how about burning the building down and killing him when he runs out?”

“Do you think his guards would just stand there?”

“Fair point… Young lord, may I ask something?”

“Go ahead.”

Bill finally asked:

“Are you insane?”

“You’re not the first to say that today.”

Carlson had said the same thing.

“Then maybe target Weissman first. Wouldn’t that make things easier?”