Calculation

The humanoid form of the special bishop glided toward Lester like a specter.

Silent as a ghost.

Just as before, when the figure wore a smooth, pure white mask.

Its movements were unhesitating, devoid of drag.

Utterly soundless, without the slightest omen.

“Bishop.”

A raspy, low voice arose—like sandpaper scraping.

The volume controlled to perfection.

Just enough to reach Lester’s ears.

It was the Rhine Holy Church’s pinnacle of humanoid assassination weaponry—the [Hand of Silence].

“…How did it go?”

Bishop Lester didn’t even glance at the shadow behind him.

He maintained his prior posture.

Gazing faintly at the elven Hero—Mira—lying on the stone slab within the room.

His query came as he asked.

Even the compassionate sorrow on his face remained unchanged.

His words flat and unruffled.

As if casually inquiring after the weather.

The [Hand of Silence]’s voice held no inflection:

“The mission failed.

The assassination was unsuccessful.”

“Why?”

Lester’s follow-up was as curt as ever.

No trace of emotional fluctuation.

“…In the instant of striking, the Demon Lord of Evernight seemed to sense my presence—or… danger.”

The [Hand of Silence]’s voice paused for an infinitesimal moment.

“But it felt as though something had alerted her.

The killing blow missed.

Though I pursued for a time, she evaded as if aware of my limited window.

“My judgment: continued entanglement posed excessive risk.

Thus, I withdrew.”

His report was exceedingly concise.

No recounting of perilous details.

No embellishment of the Demon Lord’s might.

No excuses for himself.

Mission failure was the outcome.

The reasons merely his professional, objective analysis—

No justifications.

No fear.

Not even frustration at the task’s incompletion.

As if he were merely a tool.

One that had failed its preset directive.

And nothing more.

Afterward, the [Hand of Silence] stood in place, awaiting.

He awaited the superior’s customary torrent of fury.

Awaited the reprimand and punishment for mission failure.

Awaited the verdict of “useless.”

But none of it came.

Bishop Lester paused for a moment.

Then he nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly.

His voice sounded devoid of sorrow or joy, anger or ire.

“…A pity.”

The bishop’s words rang out.

Still in that tone of utter neutrality.

Calm as if appraising a shattered commonplace vase.

“Though, this hardly counts as a surprise—

After all, that was a Demon Lord.”

He turned his head slightly.

His gaze seemed to sweep the shadow behind him for the first time, truly.

Yet that look pierced past the [Hand of Silence].

Aimed at some distant point beyond.

“If the assassination had succeeded with certainty, then we humans would have long banished this darkness shrouding the continent.

Bathed the world in eternal Holy Light.

Wouldn’t we?”

The bishop harbored no annoyance.

Not even the sort to curse the other as worthless, like lesser men might.

For Lester knew full well: the [Hand of Silence] was the mightiest assassin they could muster.

To demand greater prowess in assassination would require a Hero in opposition—or a Demon Lord, even an Emperor of Demons.

Only then might success be possible.

To blame failure on a top-tier weapon that had given its all was foolish and pointless.

Thus, Bishop Lester did not rage.

He accepted the mission’s failure with exceptional calm—

But this only deepened his conviction: humanity must eliminate the Demon Lord of Evernight.

“Await the next opportunity—

Remember: if another chance arises to assassinate the Demon Lord of Evernight, no matter the cost, the target must be eliminated.”

“As you command.”

The [Hand of Silence] replied.

Then, like mist dispersing at dawn, his form melted away once more.

Silently, tracelessly.

Vanishing utterly into the corridor’s deep shadows.

As if he had never manifested.

Bishop Lester’s gaze returned to the purification chamber.

To the elven Hero within, little more than a walking corpse.

His face’s expression of pity remained impeccable.

Yet beneath that pity roiled calculations icier, deeper than even the [Hand of Silence]’s chill.

Mira: the elven race’s once-in-a-century prodigy mage.

Indispensable core of the fledgling Hero squad.

And now, her wretched state was like a exquisite porcelain shattered beyond repair—

This immense tragedy, in Bishop Lester’s eyes, was a once-in-a-millennium opportunity.

“The elven race has stood aloof from the front lines, apart from the fray, for far too long.

It’s time to draw the elves back into the war against the Demon Clan.”

Lester gazed at the elven Hero.

Murmuring to himself.

For ages, humanity had stood at the forefront of the order camp’s stand against the Demon Clan.

Bearing far too much, too many burdens for the other races.

Especially the Rhine Holy Church, at its peak.

Whenever war and conflict erupted, the Rhine’s faithful charged at the vanguard.

But this state of affairs was overdue for change—

No sacrifice was ever a given.

Humanity had paid dearly, countlessly.

The others could no longer sit idly upon the walls.

For years, the Human Kingdom—especially the Rhine Holy Church, with its unyielding faith and sacred mission to “guard order”—had manned the foremost line against the Demon Clan—

Each surging tide of demons, each descent of a Demon Emperor: the ones charging ahead, suffering the most grievous casualties, were always humanity’s armies and the Church’s knight orders.

Countless towns reduced to ash.

Countless lives withered in the dark.

Countless fortunes turned to void…

Humanity, with flesh and sacrifice, had erected a barrier that seemed impregnable—for the other races.

Especially the Rhine Holy Church: its devout believers viewed sacrifice as the glorious path to Holy Light.

The elven kingdom, keeping a delicate distance from the human-demon wars under the guise of “nurturing peace,”

It was time for them to bleed as well.

“Elves, you’ve sung songs of peace in the Moonlight Forest for too long.

Enjoyed tranquility for far too long—

It’s time you remembered the terror of darkness.

Remembered your duty to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with humanity!”

Mira’s tragedy—a promising elven Hero crippled in the cruelest fashion by the Demon Lord—

This would be the boulder hurled into the elven kingdom’s serene lake!

It would ignite the elves’ sky-scraping fury and vengeful flames.

The elven banshees could no longer suppress the war hawks’ voices with any excuse.

The elven Elder Council would be forced to reevaluate the covenant with humanity.

That ancient, potent elven magic.

Those war trees hidden in the forest depths, and secret archers…

All would be propelled by vengeful fire to the front lines against the Demon Clan!

The Demon Lord’s abilities had exceeded expectations.

But regardless, the Heroes’ rage was kindled.

And Mira’s tragedy would undoubtedly become the most resounding clarion for the elven camp’s entry into the war against the Demon Clan.

As for that failed assassination…

Merely an inconsequential step in the long game of chess.

Though the crusade army’s惨败 had indeed surpassed Bishop Lester’s expectations,

In the short term, it also revealed that the Evernight Territory’s internal state was far from ideal—hence why the crusade had found no clear target to assault.

From another angle: the forces originally arrayed to guard against the Demon Lord of Evernight’s domain could now be redeployed.

Bolstering defenses and might in other directions.

In the interim, relying on adventurer bands should suffice to maintain pressure.

“Hah…

All for the sake of our kin.”

“All for our Lord, in accordance with His supreme will.”

“Amen.”

After a cascade of calculations and schemes, Bishop Lester exhaled a faint breath of turbid air.

He lifted his gaze to the sky—not truly clear, even somewhat murky.

And murmured to himself.