Chapter 5: Assassination (Part 2)

Gilson II's residence had a highly advanced security system. Ordinary citizens couldn't get past it, so anyone hoping to fling dung at him or club him from behind was pretty much out of luck. More capable sorts, such as professional killers with specialized equipment and skills, could get inside, but they still faced another line of defense in the guards at Count Gilson's estate.

In the Empire, private guards serving the royal family could receive the title of “knight,” enjoying considerable status and salaries on a par with those of civil servants. Guards serving the nobility had it rough, though. The main problem was that they held no official posts. At best, they counted as mercenaries, and they were often called henchmen, lackeys, and the like for helping their masters do evil.

Naturally, few people wanted that sort of job, so nobles generally pulled a few strings with the local troops under HL's direct command to get men to guard their homes. The elder Gilson had done the same, except that he was a scoundrel whose reputation stank far and wide. When a certain company commander heard that Count Gilson was asking for men, he dispatched a motley bunch without another word. They were the sort who were “no pleasure to keep, yet a pity to discard”—soldiers who weren't quite up to standard. Keeping them in the ranks hurt both military discipline and overall fighting strength, and there was always the fear that a few rotten apples would spoil the barrel. Yet without a serious offense, they couldn't simply be sent packing. Well, here was the answer. The count needed men, so off you go.

Then, on a hunting trip several years ago, the elder Gilson disappeared along with this bunch of third-rate military louts...

Gilson II had learned from his father's example. As the saying went, commit enough evil deeds and you'd bring about your own destruction. After all the vile things he'd done, claiming he wasn't afraid would have been an outright lie. If some highly skilled killer came calling one day, he couldn't afford to have no one there to stop them.

So, through a long chain of connections, Gilson II found an organization called Silver Shadow. Its exact membership was unknown, but it numbered at least a thousand. No one knew who its leader was, either. All outsiders knew was that, if you paid enough, it could provide reliable, powerful killers to kill people for you—or keep other people from killing you.

The guards in Gilson II's household were members of Silver Shadow, three in all. They drew astronomical salaries, lived in the estate's guest rooms, and provided protection twenty-four hours a day.

Although he was a nobleman, Gilson II knew nothing about the world of ability users. If he'd known even a little, he would have counted himself lucky. His money was well spent. All three were true Normal-rank fighters. Even if three cyborg squads attacked the estate, they could repel them with ease.

Silver Shadow could be described as an organization with no principles whatsoever. It took no side. Whoever hired it, as long as the money was good enough, its killers would dare to kill anyone.

There was also an organization in this world with very firm principles. It, too, took no side. Whoever hired it, as long as the target deserved to die, its assassins would dare to kill anyone, whatever the fee—even a mere tenth of a yuan.

Gambling Snake was a member of that organization, an assassin who held a very high position in Qianming. In fact, he ran all the casinos secretly controlled by Qianming in Double Eagle Commandery.

Tonight's assignment was no ordinary job. Gambling Snake was to assassinate Gilson II, the most powerful young nobleman in Double Eagle Commandery. He called the governor his brother, his wealth rivaled a nation's, and he was practically the sovereign of this little kingdom. But to Gambling Snake, Gilson II was a festering sore eating into Double Eagle Commandery's bones, one that had to be cut out at once.

A moonless night for murder, a windy day for arson. Gambling Snake came in from high above, parachuting down to land precisely on the roof of the count's mansion. His specially made black parachute could be quickly retracted after landing to conceal his movements, though the servants patrolling the grounds weren't in the habit of looking up anyway. Of course, with no moon in the pitch-black sky, looking wouldn't have done them any good.

Gambling Snake slid down the slope of the roof, hooked his feet over the edge, and let his body hang upside down. With a wrist blade, he easily pried open a window lock, then flipped himself into the room. The entire maneuver was swift and utterly silent.

The count's mansion had three floors, each with a different ceiling height. To accommodate all the artwork meant to make its owner look cultured—enormous oil paintings and sculptures by famous artists—as well as fixtures like large chandeliers, every floor had an absurdly high ceiling. The three-story building was about as tall as an ordinary six-story apartment block.

The corridor lights were off. This wasn't because the count was so stingy that he kept them off at night to save money. It was a rule Gilson II had laid down for his own safety. Put simply, rooms and corridors facing the outside of the building were to have as few lights on as possible, with the curtains drawn. He had no wish to be sent to the next world in his own home by a sniper's bullet fired from several kilometers away.

The Snake in Gambling Snake's codename came from his style of assassination. Hidden in darkness, utterly silent, he could kill with a single strike.

But something he hadn't anticipated had already happened. Getting inside had indeed proved fairly easy, but the window he'd forced open had a sensor. The estate's security system covered far more than the perimeter. It extended throughout the house and sent a silent alert when triggered.

Before long, Gilson II received a call from a security guard while in his study. He pressed the answer button on his desk. At the other end, the guard spoke into a radio. “My lord, we've just received an alarm from the north corridor on the third floor.”

Gilson II knew the security system was extremely sensitive and gave frequent false alarms. Sometimes even a bird landing on a windowsill would set it off, so he replied impatiently, “Check it out before reporting this sort of thing. If there's nothing wrong, don't bother me again.”

The voice immediately replied, “My lord, I'm in that corridor now. I can see a window...” He broke off abruptly.

“Huh? What? What about the window?” Gilson II demanded, his irritation rising.

At that moment, a black figure stood in the darkness of the north corridor, a gun pressed against the back of the guard's head.

As though some cold-blooded animal had learned to speak, the figure said in a low, icy voice, “Tell him someone has come to visit.”

From what the guard had just said, Gambling Snake had learned that some sort of alarm system was in place and realized his movements had probably been detected. He therefore changed his approach, turning the situation to his advantage.

Acting as his mouthpiece, the guard repeated into the radio, “There... there's someone here. He says he's come to see you.”

Gilson II could hear that something was wrong. His tone changed as he asked cautiously, “Who's there?”

The guard's final words came through the computer. “The man who will take your life.”

Then a strange sound came from the other end, followed a second later by the radio hitting the floor. All five men in the study understood that someone had died. This was no joke.

Veins bulging on his forehead, Gilson II opened another line. “Listen, whoever you are, take my wife and son to the safe room immediately. And hurry up and get those three freeloaders out here!”