Chapter 149. Rossi
A few seconds later,
a series of heavy footsteps ca from outside the door, accompanied by the familiar click of a lock opening.
The door was pushed open.
A strong wave of alcohol mixed with cigar smoke rolled into the room.
“That damned bastard! What ti is it already, and he still isn’t back?!”
Count Cassido Tarassa stord in cursing under his breath. He looked far plumper than the ancestor in the portrait. The flesh on both cheeks sagged loosely, and the bags under his eyes were swollen—he was the very image of a man ruined by indulgence.
In one hand he held a glass of red wine. With the other, he had an arm slung around a gaunt middle-aged man dressed in a long robe of foreign style.
The man wore two ticulously grood mustaches, and his eyes had a sharp, calculating look to them, though at the mont they also carried a very obvious trace of impatience.
Hidden under invisibility, Logaris narrowed his eyes. Through the lenses of his sunglasses, he coldly studied the middle-aged man that Cassido had brought in with an arm around his shoulders.
He had seen this man in Baron’s mories.
Rossi.
Of course, that was only an alias used for convenience while moving around.
According to the information dredged out of Baron’s now-muddled brain, the real identity of this “Mr. Rossi” was very likely that of a senior agent from the Tyrenian Naval Intelligence Bureau.
At this mont, the senior agent was holding a wineglass, wearing a flawless professional smile, and soothing the irritable count in Common Tongue so fluent that no trace of an accent could be detected.
“My lord count, perhaps your son rely ran into a little trouble down at the docks.” Rossi’s voice was calm, carrying a kind of persuasive power. “After all, there is a rather large amount of ‘cargo’ to be loaded tonight. Young Master Baron personally overseeing the work is, in itself, a sign of responsibility.”
“Responsibility my ass!”
Cassido dropped heavily onto the expensive leather sofa and slamd his wineglass onto the marble coffee table with a sharp crack.
“That useless pig can do nothing except eat and chase won! I sent him to watch those swine work, and now there’s still no sign of him!”
Rossi smiled and sat down opposite him, then pulled a silver cigarette case from his coat. “There’s no need for you to worry too much, my lord. Whiteport is, after all, your territory. Even if things are delayed by a few hours, as long as the ship puts out to sea, none of it will matter.”
“Exactly.”
At those words, an almost sickly pride appeared on Cassido’s face.
He seized his wineglass and swallowed a huge mouthful, drinking until his fat face turned red.
“In Whiteport, I’m the sky itself!”
He let out a drunken belch, waving an arm as his gaze turned hazy.
“Once this deal is done and I get that batch of arms they promised from over there... what are that so-called princess and that mage who only knows how to tinker with broken machines supposed to be? Do they really think a few new laws can keep in line?”
“That little blonde brat just got lucky and picked up a bargain.” Cassido curled his lip in disdain. “Once your armies press up against the border, I’d like to see how many days her few thousand mud-legged soldiers can hold out. And when that ti cos, the title of Grand Duke of the Northern Territory...”
“Will naturally belong to you, my lord.”
Rossi took the cue with perfect tact and raised his glass. “To the new order, and to the future... Duke Tarassa.”
“Hahahahaha! Well said! To the new order!”
Cassido burst into smug laughter and raised his glass to clink it.
At that exact mont,
a voice devoid of emotion—and carrying even a trace of mockery—suddenly ca from behind the back of the sofa.
“Since you’re all having such a good ti, you don’t mind adding to the party, do you?”
The voice sounded especially abrupt in the spacious study.
“Who’s there?!”
Cassido’s hand jerked in fright, and the expensive red wine splashed straight onto his costly velvet trousers, leaving behind a glaring stain of red.
The air behind the sofa twisted.
That man in sunglasses and a leather jacket appeared out of nowhere, holding that absurdly oversized magitech revolver in one hand and casually sighting along it at the chandelier overhead.
“You—”
Cassido had just started to shout, but the spy called Rossi reacted far faster than he did.
That was the difference in professional standards.
Within a tenth of a second of hearing the voice, Rossi did not even bother turning around to look. His left hand instantly crushed a blue crystal rune hidden inside his sleeve.
It was a high-tier Fixed-Point Translocation talisman.
The mont it shattered, it would teleport him straight to a rendezvous ship waiting offshore beyond Whiteport.
“Good reaction.”
Logaris looked at the spy, whose body was already beginning to glow with blue translocation light, and even gave an approving nod.
“Too bad. Spatial magic happens to be my specialty.”
The mont Logaris spoke, the entire space inside the study seed to flash-freeze, as though its normally flowing spatial currents had instantly solidified.
Spellcraft · Spatial Confinent.
The translocation light that had already flared to life around Rossi’s body flickered twice like a chicken being throttled, then went out with a sputter.
He remained frozen in the exact pose of crushing the crystal, his entire body locked rigid in place. The expression on his face shifted from cold composure to stark terror in an instant. He felt as though he had been sealed inside a giant block of amber—he could not even blink.
“Wh-what... what is this?!”
Cassido finally reacted.
He looked at the man who had suddenly appeared, then at the business partner beside him who looked as though he had been struck by a Petrification Spell. In an instant, the swagger of a local tyrant overwheld his fear.
“Who the hell are you?! Do you have any idea where this is?! This is the count’s manor! I’m a noble! How dare you break into a private residence?! Guards! Guards!!”
He bellowed at the top of his lungs, his voice loud enough to shake the ceiling.
And yet outside the door, there was only dead silence.
The private soldiers who had been patrolling the corridor just monts ago were as unresponsive as if they had all gone deaf.
“Stop shouting. Save your throat.”
Logaris strolled over to the sofa, and with complete lack of ceremony picked up the bottle of red wine on the table to inspect the vintage before putting it back down with visible disgust.
“Fifth-tier soundproof barrier. Even if you staged a full opera in here, not a single note would get outside. And by the way, this wine’s a little sour. As expected—parvenus only drink what’s expensive, not what’s good.”
“Y-you... what do you want?!”
Looking at this man who was utterly unmoved by threats or bribes, Cassido finally began to panic. He backed away while trying to fumble for the ornantal sword at his waist.
“You want money? I have money! However much you want, I’ll give it to you! As long as you let us go, I can give you—”
“Why do you father and son use the exact sa lines?”
Logaris shook his head, a little speechless. “Couldn’t you co up with anything new? Maybe recite a couple of poems while begging for rcy or sothing?”
“Father and son?” Cassido froze. “You’ve seen Baron? Where is he?”
“He’s downstairs, sleeping with all his workers.” Logaris bared his teeth in a grin. “Don’t worry. He’s sleeping very soundly. Odds are, he won’t be waking up for quite a few years.”
A chill shot straight from the soles of Cassido’s feet to the top of his head.
And at that mont, from the dark corner of the study, another voice rang out.
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