Tyrant? No, I am the Villain
Chapter 41: Terror and Order

Chapter 41: Terror and Order

Almor, a trained killer for hire, moved like a phantom inside the gambling house. His target tonight was a wealthy merchant with deep pockets and even deeper enemies.

Another merchant had paid for the hit and Almor had been stalking his prey for a week now he was observing, waiting, sharpening his blade and resolve.

Tonight was the perfect opportunity as he saw the merchant inside, drowning in luxury and lust, tossing thousands of gold coins with reckless abandon.

Women fawned over him, dealers praised his luck just to make sure he continued to play till the inevitable defeat while the gamblers whispered about his streak. Eventually, the merchant rose after suffering from some defeats but still standing there unfazed, a woman was clinging to his arm, he smirked while bragging about how he would enjoy his night to his competitors.

Almor followed from the shadows, two poisoned daggers tucked inside his coat. The poison was a special blend, capable of liquefying internal organs with a single scratch.

His style was built on subtlety with small wounds, silent deaths. The only counter to such venom was magic or aura which were luxuries rarely possessed in a city drowned in crime.

But he was not alone in watching. As the merchant stepped into the cool night air, several guards emerged from nearby corners, flanking him instantly.

"You think I wouldn’t know?" The merchant sneered, groping the woman beside him, who let out a mock moan of delight. "Die, pest." He gestured to the guards and walked away, laughing, with the woman in his grasp.

Almor’s expression remained calm. He drew his daggers, prepared for a swift dance of death since such things were normal in his profession where he had to face numerous opponents after being caught.

The guards rushed him with brass-knuckled fists. Almor evaded their strikes like wind weaving through a forest. Every dodge was paired with a retaliatory slice which was just barely a scratch but enough since his blade had poison and the toxins were working fast.

Their punches grew slower, their breathing ragged. Confusion filled their eyes as blood trickled from their noses, then gushed from their mouths.

Some collapsed, others stumbled, vomiting non-stop as their insides melted into slurry. Their eyes burst last, an agonizing final scream caught in their throats before they dropped lifelessly to the ground.

A brutal end to his opponents and targets, it was a trademark of his own which made everyone know who did it.

Almor sprinted ahead. The merchant was headed for a familiar location, one Almor had surveilled multiple times since he was stalking the merchant for a while. A luxury inn, operated under the Zorthar family’s iron grip. The perfect place for such scum to hide and have fun.

He burst through the doors, speaking to the receptionist with a fake air of calm. "A friend of mine checked in. Wealthy man, fourth floor?"

The clerk remained unfazed and nodded. "Fourth floor. Room twenty-two."

Almor climbed the stairs with haste, concealed blades ready. He didn’t knock but he kicked the door open and stormed in only to stop cold in his tracks.

The merchant and the woman were already dead. Their naked corpses lay sprawled on the bed, heads detached and blood soaking the silk sheets.

"What in the world?" He was interrupted as he saw a glint and he barely dodged a thin, razor sharp blade aimed at his neck. The air itself screamed from the speed of the thrust.

He turned, only to see a figure cloaked in dark mist. A bloodhound but Almor didn’t know who or what it was. He had never seen such a thing. He slashed with his poisoned daggers, expecting blood.

But the cloak absorbed the strikes like water, leaving no wounds. "No way..." He muttered.

Almor realising he can’t do anything decided to dash toward the balcony, leaped over the railing and crashed down onto a parked carriage below.

He barely survived as he rolled over falling onto the floor while his shoulder snapping with a sickening crack. Gritting his teeth, he limped down the alley, desperate to escape.

He slowly limped forward trying to escape the assailant or whatever attacked him but the same blade returned, piercing across his throat cleanly as separating his head which fell off, his body twitched while falling down and then stilled.

The bloodhound vanished into the night after grabbing the head leaving only the headless cold corpse behind in the streets.

Elsewhere in the city, the bloodhounds continued their hunt.

A robber sat down for dinner in a dim home, his son beside him, eyes wide with innocence. The man gently caressed his boy’s hair. "Have you eaten?"

His wife stepped in from the kitchen, arms crossed. "How could he eat?" she said bitterly. "When the food his father brings is stolen from others?" She was disgusted with his profession as she stared sharply.

He stood up trying to comfort her, since he had no other choice but he froze because he saw the shadows move. He worked in the night, staying in the darkness, using it to his advantage to steal, so he knew the difference even if it’s tiny.

The man instinctively pushed his son toward his wife. "Take him and leave, now."

She was confused. "What do you-?" But she never finished because she saw her husband’s head falling from his shoulders, blood splattering across the floor. His body crumpled seconds later.

She screamed, falling to her knees, her arms around her son, sobbing as tears mixed with the blood around her. Then she saw it, those glowing red eyes in the corner. "A demon."

"Please..." She whispered but mercy wasn’t coming because her husband continued to steal while remaining a part of this family which made her an accomplice in front of the bloodhound.

The blade claimed her head, then turned toward the child who was barely 5 but the bloodhound didn’t flinch as the son’s head joined his parents soon after.

Their bodies were left as they fell but the robber’s head was taken, carried away.

Pikes lined every corner, each topped with a decapitated head. Nailed onto each forehead was a paper scroll, containing the criminal’s name and their list of crimes. On the bottom of every sheet was the seal of Baron Estefan Angeras.

That seal was there to ensure there would be no ambiguity in these executions as it was supposed to be public and purposeful.

"Bringing order through fear and death." Estefan murmured as he sipped his coffee, staring out over the city bathed in midnight fog.

Thunder rolled in the distance, hidden behind a blanket of clouds. "It works... because the people here were born in terror." He smiled faintly, voice calm.

[To be Continued]