The Fallen Square’s Bloody Debut

The assault on the Duke’s mansion had fully commenced, with the howls of magic and the battle cries of knights echoing incessantly.

Magical wards and Soundproofing Barriers on the main gate sealed off the interior, preventing any news from escaping for a time. This created a perfect space and ample time for the sorcerers’ slaughter.

However, the plan did not unfold as smoothly as the sorcerers had anticipated. The moment the first sorcerer’s disguise was exposed, the entire ducal estate was plunged into full alert.

Despite this, the mansion’s internal defenses were considerably weak, largely comprised of servants without supernatural abilities who struggled to distinguish friend from foe.

Chris organized the remaining personnel, retreating to the third floor to defend and attempting to send a signal to alert the guards outside.

“Where are Audrey and the others?! Where did they go?”

“Young Master Chris, they cannot be found anywhere in the mansion.”

Despite his intense anxiety, he could not abandon the defensive line he had just established. If they were to fall into disarray now, total annihilation would surely follow.

‘We just have to hold out. I hope the outside forces realize what’s happening here soon…’

He drew a sharp sword from the collection room. With every passing second, blood dripped onto the plush carpet, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Brother, I won’t ask you to cower at the back, but protect yourself.”

Daniel solemnly accepted the longsword Chris offered him, forcefully suppressing the urge for his arm to tremble, and replied:

“In the name of Cavendish.”

****

In stark contrast to the blood-soaked, tense scene on the third floor, Rhine on the first floor was casually chatting with two slacking sorcerers.

Someone: –Aren’t you going to fight on the third floor?

A: –It’s just an assassination mission, why risk our lives? I was only forced to come along to make up numbers. Whether there’s one more or one less of us won’t make a difference.

B: –The Venerable One isn’t giving us a commission for this. This mission is private, and the Council doesn’t even know about it. Killing more people won’t get us a cut.

Someone: –Indeed. How many have you killed?

A: –How many could there be? I just dealt with this servant halfway home. You should’ve seen his face; I clearly remember him wailing and begging, saying he just wanted to go home after two years of not being able to. He’d finally managed to bring some money back to his family this time, and he even thought I was a robber, offering me all his money just to spare his life.

Someone: –What did you do with him?

A: –What else? I killed him, of course. He had six gold Kollers in his bag. If I’d known the Cavendish servants were so rich, I could have made a fortune on the side.

B: –Hmph, you only took out that many? I got way more. I slaughtered his entire family of seven, old and young alike. I just love watching them, utterly defenseless, faces contorted in terror, letting me hold the power of life and death, letting me do as I please. It’s just a mission, after all; no one can blame me for a few extra deaths. And let me tell you, his wife was quite beautiful. She hadn’t been dead long enough to…

Someone: –You can shut up. Nobody wants to hear about your ‘glorious deeds.’

A: –Wait, where did you come from? I haven’t seen you before—

Rhine, using [Illusionary Body], abruptly seized both sorcerers by their throats.

“Dead men speak.”

The moment the words left his lips, faint blue triangular runes suddenly emerged from his palm, and both sorcerers’ heads flew off.

“I also enjoy holding the power of life and death, but being conservative against you beasts is still too much.”

“I hate listening to trash talk. Pay attention in your next life.”

He glanced back at the trail of blood extending from another corridor, realizing he had already cut down eight of them.

Sighing, he took Sorcerer A’s wand, disdainfully flicked it, and then entered a nearby washroom. He rinsed it under water for half a minute, then meticulously wiped it several times with a handkerchief.

The importance of a wand to a sorcerer was self-evident; for low-level sorcerers, it was essentially an indispensable tool for casting spells.

Its functions included, but were not limited to, aiding in spellcasting, constructing spell formations, and targeting. Essentially, a sorcerer with a wand and one without operated on two entirely different levels of combat power.

One reason Rhine was not so reliant on a wand was his exceptional magical proficiency; even without its aid, his speed and precision in constructing spell formations were beyond doubt.

Another reason was that after reaching the Sixth Ring, sorcerers’ inspiration gravitated towards the ‘source’ of magic, leading to a qualitative leap in their soul strength. Under constant refinement, their souls could even become nearly equivalent to a suitable wand.

Of course, while a wand wasn’t strictly necessary for Rhine, it would still be a welcome enhancement.

Given that its previous owner had just been choked to death by him, the soul imprint engraved upon the wand had vanished, leaving it masterless and usable by anyone.

On a side note, ‘Wand Girl’ erotic publications were currently popular in the Eastern Continent, a trend that would profoundly shock Rhine’s conservative sensibilities years later.

‘Oak casing, saber-toothed beast bone core… such materials are uncommon in Norman territory. This seems like the Council’s work; they apparently aren’t bothering with much disguise.’

‘Let me guess who’s orchestrating this operation from the Council… The Elementalists? They lean towards research; such an action couldn’t possibly come from them. The Animists? They’re quite radical, but even they wouldn’t dare provoke the Norman Empire, at most just engaging in academic debates. The most suspicious culprits I can think of are those reclusive old geezers, living for a century or two, their decaying minds plotting who knows what.’

Unable to deduce a precise answer for the moment, he exited the washroom, looking left and right as if no one else was present, the clamorous sounds of battle still echoing from upstairs.

‘Who would have thought that while I was just recently contemplating how to blow up the Duke’s mansion, someone would beat me to it? Well, it doesn’t matter to me anyway; I’m an outsider after all.’

‘A bloodbath at Cavendish? I used to have some interest in that, considering they rushed my tower without distinguishing right from wrong. But now it seems there’s another mastermind behind this; what a brilliant scheme of ‘borrowing a knife to kill someone’.’

‘When this old man finds out which son of a b*tch orchestrated this mess, I swear the first thing I’ll do upon returning to the Eastern Continent is blow up their tower, rip out their beard, pluck all their hair, and publicly make them wash their head upside down in a toilet. Whoever tries to stop me, I’ll chop them; whoever blocks me, I’ll kill them.’

‘—Lest they forget there’s a sorcerer named Green in this world, a man known as ‘The Fallen Square’.’

Rhine, feeling quite pleased now that his ‘rehabilitation’ was mostly complete, had found his mastery of magic and overall strength diminished after ten years of no serious combat in his tower.

Otherwise, in his prime, Ferren would never have been able to cleave him to death with a single sword, though the Divine Retribution Knight was a formidable opponent even then.

But now, with his touch gradually returning, he couldn’t help but recall the days more than twenty years ago when he was just an unknown junior sorcerer.

Rhine’s path to growth was unconventional, even bordering on eccentric. His initial fame didn’t stem from shining brightly in a debate, from a highly regarded academic paper, or from groundbreaking achievements in a magical field.

Instead, it was simply because he had cut down enough people, his slain opponents piling into mountains.

Consequently, those who feared him bestowed upon him numerous malicious nicknames, such as “Head-Exploding Maniac,” “Obsessive-Compulsive Killer,” “The Most Evil Sorcerer in History,” and “Dangerous Individual Who Must Be Sent to the Sorcerer’s Prison.”

Rhine himself was indifferent to these chaotic nicknames; a lone wolf often cared little for gossip. Yet, amidst the myriad titles, he still found one he quite liked, one that suited his aesthetic.

Thus, the world called him—

〖Green, The Fallen Square〗