The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 485: The Principle

The wind on the rooftop was fierce.

The river breeze blowing from the old Rhein River always carried a faint fishy stench.

Like blood, dissolved into it.

"What do you an by this, Wood."

Rat King did not turn around, because he could clearly feel that sharp weapon already pressed tightly against the vital spot on his back.

If he so much as twitched, this backstab from Wood would, without rcy, pierce his heart.

"Do you need to say it twice, my dear Sam?"

Still dressed in his night robe, Wood held the dagger, expression mocking:

"I’m the mole you’re looking for."

"..."

A vein throbbed on Rat King’s forehead. For a brief instant, roaring flas burst in the depths of his narrow eyes, only to be ruthlessly suppressed by him.

"The reason I asked... is because I don’t understand."

Rat King took a deep breath, his voice hoarse:

"Wood, you were one of the first to follow , and also one of the people I trusted most. Otherwise I wouldn’t have handed over several of my most profitable establishnts for you to manage... so why did you betray ? Was I not good enough to you?"

"No, Sam, you were very good to . All these years, it’s thanks to your support that I’ve gotten this far."

Wood’s voice was low, his expression sincere.

He truly seed to be recalling those years of following Rat King Sam, fighting through life and death in the Lower District.

Rembering the people they killed, the fires they set, the loot they split—despite having long since made up his mind, he could not help feeling heavy-hearted at this mont.

"What a pity... I don’t want to kill you, but I have to."

Wood bent his tall fra down, leaned close to Rat King’s ear, and whispered:

"Because what you gave isn’t enough to satisfy . I want more, Sam. More."

"And they’ll give you what you want?"

"Yes. As long as you’re dead, Sam. As long as you’re dead... I’ll be the new Rat King. This was personally promised to by Mr. Old Ghost. As soone who lived through that era, you should know very well—Old Ghost never goes back on his word. He may be a tyrant, but he’s also a bona fide ruler."

Wood’s hand clamped down harder on Rat King’s shoulder. Right now he looked like a hunting black bear, greed and ferocity flickering in his eyes.

"The Rat King’s position is worth far more than a few asly bars and brothels. Without your laughable rules, I can expand my turf and grow my forces utterly without restraint. You know, Sam, because of your childish restrictions, I haven’t tasted the tender flavor of anyone under thirteen for a whole month. Those old won’s stench almost makes go limp."

"Ridiculous."

Rat King’s face didn’t move:

"And stupid."

"Ridiculous? Hahaha... as a traitor, my actions truly are ridiculous. But stupid..."

The dagger slowly pressed in, nearly piercing Rat King’s skin:

"Sam, don’t tell you still fantasize about so chance to turn the tables. If that’s what you’re thinking, then I’ll graciously allow you to turn around and have a look."

"..."

Rat King said nothing more. He simply turned his head in silence.

First, there was Wood’s nauseating face.

Then, behind him, in the shadows of the building, he saw many figures brimming with killing intent, already encircling the rooftop completely.

They were the n Wood had gone to contact earlier. But unfortunately, these people were not Rat King’s subordinates.

And those in the Rat Society who still remained truly loyal to him most likely would not be showing up here.

There was nowhere to run.

"Take a good look, Sam. I’ve gathered all my n into this building. And what do you have? Nothing. You have nothing, and you’re even injured."

Wood sneered:

"Ha, the Rat King who once ran rampant across the Lower District actually ended up so pathetic. Incredible. If I hadn’t seen you already this weak, I wouldn’t have had the guts to tear off the mask so soon. Too bad... the Lower District has always been a place where the weak are prey to the strong. That’s a principle you personally taught , Sam—no, Lord Rat King."

"Farewell."

With a twisted desire to drag down the lofty figure who had once towered above him, Wood tightened his grip on the dagger and thrust it toward Sam’s vital point.

His eyes were wide, an abnormal excitent flooding his brain. He seed to already see himself seated upon the Rat King’s throne, power and money fully in his grasp.

Even then, Wood did not relax in the slightest. The muscles of his arms bulged, surging battle-qi coursing through every limb and bone.

He was, in fact, a rather formidable martial artist.

And this seemingly simple strike was his all-out blow, rciless and precise, imbued with a refined martial technique.

Given what he knew of Rat King, Wood was certain—against ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) such an attack, Rat King absolutely could not...

Clang—

The crisp clash of tal rang out.

Wood’s expression froze.

He was dazed for a long mont before stiffly lowering his head.

In his hand, the expensive magi-dagger personally bestowed by Old Ghost had easily pierced Rat King’s clothing.

But only the clothing.

As the river wind gusted, the fabric shifted, and through the gap Wood saw a cold gleam of tal.

Faint magic patterns traced along the tal’s surface. It looked like it cost far more than the magi-dagger in his hand—by more than just a little.

"Wood, let teach you one last principle."

Rat King gazed calmly at the stunned Wood. Even though he was far from Wood’s size, at this mont, he seed to be looking down from above.

"Until you’ve watched the enemy take their final breath with your own eyes, it can never be called a true victory."

"What a pity... this principle is one you’ll have to learn with your life."

...

...

On the street, a horse neighed sharply.

A tall steed suddenly spooked, rearing high on its front legs, then bolted sideways toward a nearby wall, ignoring its master’s attempts to rein it in.

In an instant, the horse snapped its own neck. Blood splattered in all directions.

The massive carcass blocked the intersection.

Curious onlookers clustered around, watching the scene with morbid interest while impatiently waiting for soone to co clear the road.

But for so reason, the city guard—who, under the lash of that newly appointed Lower District governor, had lately been moving with decent efficiency—was nowhere to be seen this ti.

And while everyone’s attention remained fixed on the bizarre death of the horse, no one noticed that the carriage it had been pulling began silently gliding deeper into the alley without any animal to draw it.

Deeper.

Into an even quieter depth.

In broad daylight, the street was completely empty.

It was as if so invisible force had driven away everyone who should have been there.

Only silence remained.

The carriage finally stopped.

"Who’s there?"

Directly ahead of it, the guards blocking the bar’s front entrance noticed the silently approaching carriage, barked out a shout, and ca to investigate at once.

They moved in groups of three, well trained, weapons of decent quality in hand—clearly different from the average riffraff gangsters haunting the Lower District.

Facing this eerie carriage, they did not dare relax. Advancing with constant vigilance ant that no matter what surprise or ambush ca, they would have room to respond.

At last, they reached the carriage.

The three exchanged glances. One of them stepped forward and, with utmost care, used his longsword to lift the curtain.

And then...

They saw, inside the carriage, that pitch-black, fathomless shape, its surface gleaming with razor-cold light—

The muzzle of a new-model military magi-cannon.