Chapter 487: A Face From The Past
Once the two plays ended, the Dragon’s chariot rolled forward once again, its golden wheels creaking softly over the cobbled stone, as Veyr smiled and clapped heartily for the performers, his approval evident in the way he nodded toward the crowd, acknowledging their efforts with the charisma expected of someone holding the post of the Cult’s Messiah.
Valterri, however, did not share in the applause.
His eyes flicked across the market square, past the thinning performers and the slowly parting crowd, as he scanned each rooftop and shaded alley as though they concealed ghosts.
The tension that had curled in his chest before the plays had only grown tighter now that it was over, and though the road ahead appeared calm, something about the silence felt dangerous to him, like the hush before a storm no one had been told to expect.
*BOOM*
*CRACKLE*
*WHIZZ*
It happened all of a sudden.
The first explosion came from the left, from a small back alley nestled behind a row of spice stalls, and before Valterri could turn his head, a second blast split the air from the opposite end of the street.
Firecrackers seemed to be bursting in all directions, not in orchestrated arcs of beauty, but in erratic bursts that flew into shop windows, ricocheted off rooftops, and spun wildly into the sky, where they burst with ear-rattling shrieks.
The entire street flinched. Civilians gasped. Children shrieked.
“What the—?” one of the guards near Valterri muttered, already rushing toward the alley.
“Were these supposed to go off now?” another questioned, pulling out a baton as a group of local policemen darted past the chariot to contain the chaos.
“These pyromancers,” an elderly man in the crowd spat, pulling his grandchild behind him, “they have one job! One job!”
“I hope it doesn’t inconvenience the Dragon,” whispered another, craning his neck for a glimpse of Veyr’s reaction, who seemed calm and unbothered by the chaos.
*BOOM*
*WHIZZ*
Because of the explosions, the crowd began to shift uneasily, their instincts drawing them closer together in tight huddled lines that placed them as far away from danger as possible.
The noise alone was enough to split the concentration of the guards, but it was the suddenness of it all that seemed to take everyone by surprise.
It was all too erratic. Too close.
*Roll*
*Stumble*
*Fall*
Somewhere near the front, just ahead of the chariot’s path, a cluster of citizens suddenly fell—toppling past the flimsy ropes that separated the crowd from the main road, their limbs flailing as two men and an elderly woman collapsed into the procession’s lane.
*SCREECH*
The chariot ground to a screeching halt, the wheels jolting Veyr slightly forward on his seat.
“I—I’m sorry, My Lord!” one man cried, clutching his broken arm as he scrambled to his feet. “Someone pushed me… I didn’t mean to fall, I swear…”
Guards rushed to pull the civilians back, helping them off the road, but their attention was all drawn to the wrong place.
Every head turned toward the injured man. Every hand moved to lift the fallen. Every voice shouted commands to restore order.
Except Valterri’s.
Valterri stood frozen, his instincts screaming louder than the fireworks, louder than the crowd, louder than the guards yelling over each other.
‘Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.’
He scanned the buildings again, his eyes darting rapidly, searching for anything…. any glint, any flash, any movement that could explain this heavy pulse of dread thudding in his chest.
And then he saw it.
Just for a fraction of a second, in the corner of a reflection on a windowpane above the alchemy shop, he caught it.
A shimmer of motion. A blade glinting unnaturally as it tore through the air, aimed not at the sky, not at the civilians, but directly at the Dragon’s neck.
And then everything slowed.
His body moved before his mind could fully grasp it.
“GET DOWN, MY LORD!” he roared, lunging sideways.
As his arm cut across Veyr’s throat just as the blade arrived.
*SLASH*
A searing, molten pain shot up through his forearm as the poisoned dagger sank clean into his palm, its sharp edge ripping through flesh and bone with ease.
*Splurt*
*Drip*
Blood spurted instantly, warm and thick, splashing onto Veyr’s robes.
But the blade did not reach its target.
Veyr gasped, his eyes wide, but untouched, as he drew his own concealed blade beneath his ceremonial robes.
*Buckle*
Valterri fell to one knee, hand still wrapped around the embedded dagger, pain tearing through him like wildfire, but all he could think was—
‘The threat is not yet over.’
His vision blurred as the poison started its work, but even through the agony, he kept his arm raised, shielding the Dragon with what strength he had left, while the twelfth elder’s guards screamed and scrambled around him, finally understanding what had just taken place.
A highly skilled assassin loomed around them, and he was aiming for the Dragon’s life.
————–
Dupravel’s face turned to one of genuine surprise when Valterri managed to block his dagger.
He had thrown the dagger with perfect form.
From the arc to the weight to the timing, every part of the throw had been honed through decades of lethal practice.…. And yet, it hadn’t landed.
‘That face…. I have seen that man before—’
Dupravel thought, as in Valterri he saw a reflection of James, the shield of the previous Dragon Noah, and a man he had once killed with his own two hands.
His brow furrowed ever so slightly as his sharp eyes tracked the scene below, noting the trail of blood splattered across the Dragon’s ceremonial garb, and the hunched figure of James, clutching his palm around the blade that should have hit its mark.
The man’s unusual reflexes were not something Dupravel had foreseen, but it wasn’t enough to rattle him.
He was a Monarch afterall at his peak strength, and even if a couple things unfolded beyond his expectations, he still had the confidence to see the mission through and end the Dragon’s life.