The First Murder

The room shocked him.
In the empty center—a black-clad man bound to a chair.

Held by golden, intricate runes glowing mysteriously.

The man was clearly conscious—seeing Black enter—he grew extremely excited.

But couldn’t move—only his mouth could barely function.

“That person wasn’t me! I was framed! How could I know the Council’s high-level password?!”

Ah.

Black understood.

This was Yellow Dragon.

He mistook Black for members of the Dragonblood Council.
Of course—only Council members knew this secret place.

Black ignored Yellow Dragon—circled him—staring at the runes for a long time.

High-tier binding magic, huh? No wonder it could restrain a Level 60 Assassin.

After prolonged observation—Black reached a conclusion.

The Council leader didn’t punish Yellow Dragon as severely as expected.

Black’s original plan? Kill him while he was severely wounded.

But now—he was fine, just tied up.

Understandable.

For the Council—the Dragonfang Blade theft was already suspicious.

When others accused Yellow Dragon—he’d naturally argue: “Someone impersonated me! I’d never steal the blade!”

But—who else could know so many passwords—pass all checkpoints—except Council members themselves?

Yet another doubt arose: Was Yellow Dragon even qualified to know the secret password “Praise the Dragon Race”?

Black pondered—roughly grasping the leader’s thoughts.

The leader was clear-headed—knew the theft wasn’t simple.

Now—critical moment—Yellow Dragon was their third strongest force: Level 60 High-Tier Assassin.
Losing him would sharply reduce their combat power.

Considering all this—before clearing Yellow Dragon’s suspicion—just tie him up.

Smarter than seriously injuring or killing him.

Unfortunately—they calculated everything—except that suspects often return to the crime scene.

“I swear—I didn’t steal the Dragonfang Blade! I’m absolutely loyal to the Council!”

Yellow Dragon shouted desperately!

He did nothing—just went to hand over the blade—then got accused of stealing it!

And Red Dragon, Blue Dragon, Purple Dragon, Green Dragon—all insisted it was him!

He was speechless with injustice!

Fortunately—after much debate—Leader Black Dragon deemed the case suspicious—only tied him up.
Said once investigated—he’d clear his name.

But no one had come to see him in ages.

So seeing Black—he was so excited, mistaking him for the Council.

“Did you finish investigating? I’m innocent, right? Let me go!”

Hearing this—Black’s eyes lit up—a plan formed.

“I’m Purple Dragon—ordered by the Leader to clear your name.”

He pulled out the Dragonfang Blade—revealing it before Yellow Dragon.

“!!!”

“The Dragonfang Blade! You found it?!”

Yellow Dragon first dumbfounded, then ecstatic!

“I told you—it wasn’t me! The truth is out!”
“Let me go!”

Excited—he didn’t suspect the identity at all.

Behind the mask—Black’s lips curved slightly.

“Of course.”
“I’ll remove the sealing magic for you. Please relax—lower your defensive spirit energy.”

Black’s words were flawless.

The Purple Dragon he impersonated was a Sorcerer—High-Tier Sorcerer.
Removing high-tier binding magic? Naturally done by a High-Tier Sorcerer.

Yellow Dragon doubted nothing—exhaled deeply—muscles gradually relaxing.
Defensive spirit energy receded like tide.

Seeing this—Black slowly approached—Dragonfang Blade gleaming coldly in dim light.

“Then trouble you… I knew the Leader was perceptive.”

He closed his eyes—relieved—muttering resentfully:
“After I get out—I’ll settle scores with Red Dragon!”

To Yellow Dragon—the Dragonfang Blade was Red Dragon’s carelessness—not carefully verifying—giving it away.
Now—he took the blame.

But before he finished speaking—

Thud!

A muscle-tearing sound suddenly echoed—loud in the silent room.

Blood gushed—splattering Black’s face.

Yellow Dragon’s eyes snapped wide open—pupils contracting—expression turning hideous from relaxation.

He couldn’t believe it—looked down at his heart.

There—the Council’s treasure, the Dragonfang Blade—deeply stabbed into his heart.

Ancient runes on the blade lit up—green poison instantly flowing through the blade into his body.

Poison took effect—skin turned black—coughing black blood nonstop.

“You?!”

He painfully looked up—glaring at the figure before him—the black mask inches away—realizing something.

The Purple Dragon in his memory always wore a white mask—never black.

In his excitement—he didn’t notice!

But—if not Purple Dragon—who was it?

Only Council members knew this room’s location.

Suddenly!

Yellow Dragon’s breathing turned rapid—a terrifying guess surged in his mind.

Who knew the room’s location—and carried the Dragonfang Blade?
One other person.

“You’re not Purple Dragon! You’re the one who stole the Dragonfang Blade!”
“Correct.”

Black whispered in his ear—wrist twisting—blade rotating half-circle in the heart.
“Pity—no reward.”

“Gah… gah… Who are you?!”

Yellow Dragon tried to shout—only spat blood foam.

Glared at Black—eyes full of unwillingness.

Level 60 High-Tier Assassin—dying so unfairly—he felt incredibly unwilling!

“Just like you—I’m a villain too.”

Black said calmly.

Then yanked the knife—spraying a burst of blood.

Yellow Dragon collapsed with the chair—twitched twice—still.

Those gradually dulling eyes still stared at the ceiling—dying with regrets.

“Huff… huff...”

After stabbing several more times—confirming death—Black finally relaxed.

Unknowingly—cold sweat covered him.

Just now—he only pretended calm—heart terrified.

After all—this was his first real murder.

The feeling of a blade piercing flesh—far beyond pressing a skill button in games.

Luckily—everything went smoothly.

Before the 6-star weapon Dragonfang Blade—even a Level 60 High-Tier Assassin—once defensive energy dropped—was just a few stabs.

Especially since he was bound.

Otherwise—in normal times—even if given multiple Dragonfang Blades—Black would never dare fight a High-Tier Assassin.

“This man truly deserved to die.”

Black shook blood off the blade—no pity for the pitiful corpse.

In game prologue—Yellow Dragon was an undeniable murderer.

During the Jörmungandr battle—Dragonblood Council emerged—assassinating Royal Fleet members—killing many.

Yellow Dragon killed the most—even servants defenseless.

So—killing him—Black had zero psychological burden.

This place isn’t safe.

After cleaning the Dragonfang Blade—Black immediately left.

Speed—as fast as possible.

Though he guessed other Council members wouldn’t be here tonight—anything could happen.

However—what Black never expected? He actually hit that “anything”!

As he groped forward in the dark corridor—sound ahead.

!

Black’s brows furrowed—mind sensing disaster!

Before he could hide—a black figure appeared before him.

Same black cloak—mask—almost identical to Black.

Clearly—a Dragonblood Council member!

Black’s heart plunged—cold sweat seeping from his forehead.

If his identity was exposed—he was finished.

Just as he desperately thought of a way out—the other spoke first.

“Are you Purple Dragon? Came early today.”

Hearing this—Black paused—then understood.

Seems they had an appointment tonight—mistook him for Purple Dragon.

Saves me excuses.

Knowing more talk, more mistakes—Black didn’t speak—just nodded.

“Let’s go. Black Dragon ordered us—interrogate Yellow Dragon tonight—must clarify the Dragonfang Blade disappearance.”

The man didn’t wait for response—walked ahead.

Now troublesome.

Black muttered—now mistaken for Purple Dragon—can’t escape.

Fine—improvise.

So he nervously followed behind—walking back to the room.

Black didn’t want to think—how the man would react finding Yellow Dragon’s corpse.

Would he directly suspect him?
Then—trouble.

“Have you located the Hodir’s ammunition depot these days?”

The casual question made Black slightly panicked.

Didn’t know how to answer.

But this question reminded him of something.

At the prologue’s final battle—the Hodir’s ammunition depot exploded—causing massive damage.

Though controllable—ammunition shortage disabled cannons and similar weapons.

Culprit? Dragonblood Council.

But how they infiltrated the heavily guarded depot? Black didn’t know—game lore just skimmed over.

“Not yet.”

To avoid exposure—Black kept it brief—voice as low as possible.

But after answering—the other suddenly stopped.

Turned—silently staring at him.

Did I reveal a flaw?

Black’s heart pounded—ready to flee at the slightest sign.

Whether he could escape—was another matter.

“Are you really Purple Dragon? You used to be talkative—why so quiet today?”

Damn—was Purple Dragon a chatterbox?

Just as Black thought he was doomed—the other muttered:

“But true—Black Dragon scolded you recently for talking too much. Learning from mistakes is good.”

Phew… phew…

Black’s tense nerves relaxed.

But next second—the black-clad man seemed to recall something—expression sharpening—suddenly shouted:

“Wait!”

Black jolted—quietly stepped back.