Chapter 141: Assassination

The melodious sound of the zither rippled like a spring of clear water, each note falling like shattered jade and fine pearls. The music alone was enough to intoxicate one's soul.

In a wide armchair draped with a thick, pure white, and soft bear hide, a tall, handsome young man with an androgynous air leaned back. Resting one foot on the bear's head and propping his cheek with a hand braced on the armrest, he half-closed his eyes and quietly gazed at the person playing the zither in the room.

Not far away from him, behind a curtain resembling a light gauze edged with a faint golden trim, the threads stringing bead after bead together were remarkably made of pure gold!

Behind the curtain, a delicate and graceful figure sat before a harp. Ten slender, tapered fingers slowly plucked the strings, and as the strings trembled, the exquisitely flawless music leaped forth like magic.

The woman sat in profile to the curtain, her long hair cascading down, resting smoothly against her side and back—and that hair was a rare, faint shade of purple! Coupled with her long black gauze dress, this single profile already exuded a peculiar, striking beauty.

The side of her face featured a slightly pointed chin, yet the contour of her cheek was full and rounded, with a straight bridge of the nose and skin like jade. Such a face should have been utterly bewitching and capable of turning worlds upside down, save for the faint trace of aloofness resting between her brows. Upon closer inspection, the outer corners of her eyes tilted up slightly, lending her face a hint of a wild, untamed flavor.

Even more astonishing was that, viewed in profile, this already breathtakingly beautiful face possessed eyes whose irises were a pale purple, with only the pupils revealing a tiny speck of black.

Beneath the black gauze was a slender physique, narrow shoulders, a full bosom in profile, and a waist that could be grasped with a single span. Even more alluring beneath the sheer fabric were the contours of her full, straight legs and her snow-white bare feet resting upon a soft clump of fox fur.

Somewhat entranced by the music, the tall young man suddenly stood up unconsciously. His tall frame was upright yet devoid of any clumsiness as he strode toward the curtain and slowly reached out to push it aside.

The woman playing the harp inside showed no reaction, simply continuing to play the zither with an increasingly spellbinding intensity. A flicker of infatuation crossed the tall young man's eyes, and a wave of eager passion gradually arose upon his somewhat androgynous face... Finally, step by step, he drew closer. Extending a hand, he seemed as though he wanted to touch the woman playing the harp...

Just as his fingertips were about to brush against her cheek...

"Clang!"

The final note of the music stopped abruptly!

As if a spell had been broken, the young man instantly gave a start, and clarity returned to his expression. Looking at his outstretched hand, which was on the verge of touching her face, he could not help but open his mouth and offer an awkward, self-conscious smile.

"The last time."

Without raising her head, the woman merely gazed coldly at the zither strings, her voice as icy as cold jade: "Your Highness, this is the very last time. If there is ever a next time, I guarantee that your hand will no longer be attached to your wrist."

When she spoke these words, the content was full of grim menace, yet her tone remained detached, as if she were not delivering a ruthless warning, but rather expressing an air of casual indifference.

The smile on the young man's face grew somewhat more awkward. He withdrew his hand and clasped it behind his back: "The harp... Ah, I have missed the sound of your harp for a very long time. The way you play... is truly so much like her."

The woman finally turned her head, facing the man directly. Yet once she turned her face, what proved astonishing was that this delicate face, which should have been capable of toppling nations, was only half there!

The other half of her cheek was covered by an iron mask, which ran down the bridge of her nose from between her brows, firmly concealing half her face and leaving only her eyes exposed!

Beneath this half-mask, such a beautiful face appeared immensely bizarre.

This woman was, of course, Veya.

"Your Highness Kokoran, I care nothing for what you say. But my words... I would ask Your Highness to remember them well."

Veya's gaze remained completely unruffled as she gently released the zither strings and folded her hands into her sleeves.

Kokoran smiled, the embarrassment completely vanishing from his face as he assumed a relaxed demeanor: "Miss Veya... surely, this is not the way to treat an ally."

"I care nothing for that," Veya said coldly. "You are merely my target for protection; as long as you do not die within a hundred days, that is enough. As for anything else, whether your limbs are severed or not, I care not at all."

Kokoran laughed aloud, turned, and strode back to his chair. Leaning against it, he looked at Veya with a hint of displeasure: "I have always wondered—that teacher of yours, are all his disciples such eccentric monsters as you? I heard that the crown prince of your empire who fancies men is also your teacher's pupil, is he not?"

Veya slowly walked over and sat down in a quiet kneel on a felt mat not far in front of Kokoran. Lowering her eyelids, she said coldly, "To correct you... I am not a person of the Byzantine Empire, so please refrain from using phrases like 'your empire'."

Kokoran raised an eyebrow: "Oh? Then which country are you from? A Landisian? Or from the Free Territories?"

Veya's expression remained detached: "Must a person necessarily belong to a country?"

Kokoran was momentarily stunned, then shook his head: "Very well, I shall not ask."

Then he furrowed his brow again: "That teacher of yours... ah, why did he send someone like you? Although you women are born beautiful, your temperament is far too dull. Facing you might be pleasing to the eye at first, but after a long time, the aura about you could freeze a person solid."

"Being frozen solid is far better than being stabbed to death."

Veya closed her eyes.

Kokoran was rendered speechless.

For he could not refute this woman.

In truth, over the past three days, had it not been for the protection of the woman before him, he would have come dangerously close to dying at least three times!

The first time, as he was mounting his horse, he had been dissuaded by this woman. Later, he discovered that a finger-length sharp needle had been concealed beneath the saddle! It was hidden right under the leather, practically invisible unless closely inspected, but the moment anyone mounted, it would have pierced deep into his thigh. Upon subsequent inspection, that needle was coated with a bizarre and lethal poison; according to the witch doctor in his retinue, that venom was potent enough to fell an entire dragon!

The second time, the woman had inspected his bedchamber and pointed to a vase of flowers, asking: "Who arranged this?" It was a rather uncommon variety of fresh flower, though its fragrance was said to be crisp and clear, favored by many noblewomen of Odin. However, because these flowers were rare, they were also quite expensive. Since a servant had arranged them, Kokoran had paid no mind to such a trivial matter. Yet Veya's grave, life-or-death attitude made Kokoran realize something was amiss.

Later, Veya explained: Kokoran had a habit of drinking a certain kind of wine every day, to which a spice was added for preservation. This habit was known to many.

And as it happened, the flowers placed in his room were the problem!

Viewed in isolation, these flowers possessed no flaws whatsoever, nor did they carry any poison. However, the moment the fragrance of the spice in the wine Kokoran drank neutralized with the scent of these flowers, it would produce a bizarre toxin! This poison showed no signs in the short term, slowly eroding a person's body—first causing lethargy, then physical weakness and fatigue—until, once it reached a certain threshold, the victim would suddenly fall violently ill and finally vomit blood and die!

Veya also noted that such a poisoning method must be the work of an expert well-versed in alchemy and pharmacology.

Kokoran was initially half-skeptical, but upon investigation, he finally discovered that the personal maid responsible for arranging his room was indeed a spy sent by another Odin prince hostile to him!

The third time occurred just last night. A dancer whom Kokoran had recently recruited was performing for him when, halfway through the dance, Veya suddenly leaped forward, drew a dagger from her waist, and slashed across the beautiful dancer's throat on the spot!

Kokoran had been terrified at the time, while Veya returned to her seat without a word and quietly picked up a silk handkerchief to wipe the blood from her short sword.

When Kokoran demanded an explanation, Veya simply replied with a single sentence: "That woman's fingernails."

Afterward, Kokoran had someone conduct a thorough inspection, only to discover that the index fingernail on the dancer's left hand had been deliberately pared down to be razor-thin, as sharp as a blade, and a peculiar poison was smeared beneath the nail! The moment those thin nails broke someone's skin—even just grazing the outermost layer—the poison would seep in.

This was a slow-acting poison that remained completely undetectable for ten days; by the fifteenth day, the venom would have spread throughout the entire body, leaving the victim utterly beyond salvation! Following that, the skin would begin to itch, and by the fifteenth day, the entire body would fester and rot until death!

Upon learning this, even someone as deeply scheming as Kokoran could not help but turn pale.

That dancer had originally been scheduled to attend to his bedchamber that very night! Had it not been for Veya, as they undressed and lay bare together in the heat of passion amidst mounting emotions, a casual scratch from a fingernail upon his body would have gone entirely unnoticed by him! By then, he surely would have been doomed!

Having experienced these three incidents, Kokoran finally yielded completely to this icy beauty.

Initially, he had been somewhat dismissive of the mysterious ally in Byzantium sending someone to protect him. Possessing martial prowess himself, he considered his skills to be among the top tier; how could he fear any assassination?

Yet after these three occurrences, he was utterly convinced.

Afterward, Kokoran could not resist asking Veya: "Just how many methods of assassination do you know?"

Veya thought for a moment: "Over the past three hundred years on the continent, I have studied every known assassination case. Summarized, there are a total of one hundred and fourteen completely different methods."

"Then how many do you know?"

"One hundred and fourteen."

Kokoran let out a long sigh: "To be able to train a disciple like you, the First Wise Man of Byzantium, Kavishir himself... one can only imagine what kind of astonishing person he truly is."

***

Kavishir sat there with a tranquil expression, his wise, gentle, and clear eyes quietly gazing into the distance.

This was a long street, and Kavishir was seated by the second-floor window of a street-side restaurant.

And the spot where his gaze rested was right down at the end of the street, where Byron was strolling past with a leisurely air.

Kavishir seemed to sigh softly, murmuring to himself: "Meeting him so soon... is it truly appropriate or not after all..."