“Holy crap! When gods fight, it’s the mortals who get vaporized!”

Ewan was currently huddled in a corner, doing his best impression of a small, helpless, and utterly pathetic animal.

He glanced down at the deep, angry gash on the floor, just a few centimeters from his family jewels, and couldn’t help but shudder violently. He had to get out of there, and fast. Otherwise, he wouldn’t even know what had killed him.

Taking advantage of the fierce battle raging in the center of the room, Ewan hugged the wall and began to inch his way toward the door. Fortunately for him, the assassin’s target was not him, and she had no time to spare for a weakling cowering in the corner. He quickly reached the doorknob. All he had to do was turn it, and he could make his grand escape.

“Huh?”

Ewan twisted the handle with all his might. It didn’t budge.

“Huh? Huh? Huh?!“

The color drained from his face, leaving it a deathly shade of white.

Of course. The assassin had come prepared. No wonder she’d had the audacity to attempt the assassination of the third princess of the empire in the middle of a heavily guarded ducal estate!

“But this is completely insane! This part was never in the original novel!”

Ewan clutched his head in anguish, slowly sinking back into a squat as his brain spun furiously. But no matter how he wracked his memory, digging through every last detail of the plot he knew, he could only come to one, crystal-clear conclusion:

This scene was definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not in the original book!

“Why would an assassin suddenly show up? Where did I mess up the timeline this badly?”

“This is the ducal estate, for crying out loud! How could an assassin infiltrate so easily without triggering a single alarm?”

“Could it be…”

Recalling the assassin’s earlier words about being hired overnight, a terrible thought, one that made him sick to his stomach, began to form.

“Was it because of my order? Did I give these assassins the opportunity they needed?”

In the original story, the sick maid, Noelle, had never been given a chance to rest. The original Ewan had certainly never ordered the hiring of new staff! But in the current timeline, because of his one, single, tiny act of kindness, everything had changed. The staff hired overnight had become the one fatal flaw in the estate’s otherwise impenetrable security.

“But the timing is just too perfect! It’s absurd!” He was sure the head maid, understanding the security risks, had acted immediately, precisely to prevent anyone with ill intentions from having time to react. And yet, an assassin had still slipped through the cracks.

“Is someone watching this mansion twenty-four-seven?”

He racked his brain but could only come up with this one, terrifying conclusion. But no amount of speculation mattered now. The reality was that he was still standing on the brink of a fatal ending, and it was all his own damn fault.

“For now, my only move is to stay put and pray that Celicia can win this. A weakling like me can’t do a thing.”

Wait a minute. A new, dark thought wormed its way into his brain. For me, is Celicia winning… really the best outcome?

The assassin’s target is clearly only Celicia!

Ewan’s eyes suddenly widened. In this desperate, hopeless situation, he had unexpectedly stumbled upon a dark, twisted sliver of hope.

That’s right.

If Celicia died here… then what happened between them…

No one would ever know, would they?

…

While Ewan was lost in his moral crisis, the tide of the battle suddenly turned.

The assassin once again displayed her blinding speed, becoming a living shadow as she dodged the forest of ice spikes Celicia had conjured. The spikes had covered every possible landing spot, a deadly trap for any normal combatant. But when she reappeared, it was as if she had shed the very concept of weight, floating down from the air with impossible grace. Her toes landed on the very tips of the ice spikes, which should have pierced her through, yet she stood there, poised and elegant, a dancer on a stage of blades.

“Some kind of short-burst movement technique,” Celicia analyzed, her gaze darkening. “And… gravity magic.” The more she understood her opponent’s abilities, the more serious her expression became. “There was no sign of activation. Is it an enchanted item?”

“As expected of Princess Celicia.” A strange, violet light flashed in the assassin’s right eye. “You saw through my little tricks at a glance.”

“Or perhaps you underestimated me,” Celicia sneered, her eyes narrowing. “Did you truly think I was such a soft target that you could attack me head-on?”

“On the contrary, we have given Your Highness the utmost respect.” The assassin’s gaze discreetly swept over Celicia’s lower body, a cryptic, knowing smile playing on her lips. “And despite having a clear advantage, Your Highness has not pressed the attack. Doesn’t that prove our timing is perfect? After all”—her smile widened—”Your Highness is also a woman. And for any woman, after experiencing that for the first time, especially with such… intensity… it is bound to affect one’s stamina. Or other… abilities.”

“You—!” For the first time, Celicia was so enraged she truly lost her composure. “Are you asking me to rip that filthy, disgusting mouth of yours from your skull?”

“Hehe, as an assassin, I really shouldn’t be so talkative. But…” The maid’s smile vanished, her eyes turning as cold and hard as iron. “Sometimes, an assassin also needs to stall for time, doesn’t she?”

As she finished speaking, a piercing hum vibrated through the air. The entire room began to tremble violently, as if caught in a magnitude-eight earthquake. Golden runes flared to life on the walls, floor, and ceiling, squirming as if being squeezed out from within the very stone, bathing them all in a sacred, oppressive light.

“Hurry! I can’t hold it for long!” a weak voice cried out, somehow penetrating the soundproofed room.

“Don’t worry,” the assassin said calmly. “This will be quick.”

She suddenly raised her left hand. In it was a vial filled with a viscous crimson liquid.

“Prayer.“

The world fell silent, leaving only the sound of the assassin’s solemn, ritualistic voice.

A look of pure horror flashed in Celicia’s eyes. She furiously conjured another volley of ice spikes and lunged at the maid, but her magic was suppressed by the golden runes, her movements sluggish.

“With the heart's blood of one hundred children, we offer this sacrifice to the God of Molten Worlds, the Lord of the Crimson Sun, the great King of Withering.“

The assassin crushed the vial. The blood from the hearts of a hundred children flowed out, defying gravity, coiling and twisting like a living serpent in the air.

“We request.“

“Grant us.“

“The power to suppress the blizzard.“

Crack. Crackle.

A vortex, like a swirling black hole, slowly tore open the fabric of reality. An indescribable, terrifying aura, ancient and malevolent, emanated from it, making it hard to breathe. A withered, skeletal hand suddenly reached out from the void, its five long fingers spread open as if demanding payment.

The assassin respectfully offered the floating blood.

The hand withdrew, taking the blood with it. A sickening, yet gleeful, slurping sound echoed from within the vortex, a sound that made the blood run cold.

A moment later, the withered hand reappeared.

This time, it was wreathed in an eerie, crimson flame.