A dull sound echoed through the air.
Jovian’s body shuddered. Blood streamed from his eyes, ears, and nose as he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. He was dead. After fighting to his last breath, he had chosen the only honorable way out.
The scene had left even the assassins, who were no strangers to bloodshed, momentarily stunned. Taking one’s own life so decisively wasn’t something just anyone could do. Even the lowest of creatures had the instinct to cling to life, let alone a human being.
“This guy… He’s ruthless,” Ronan muttered, and his face darkened.
Warrick had given strict orders to capture Jovian alive, but now he was dead.
Now, Ronan had no way to deliver. If he had known it would come to this, he would have personally intervened to kill Jovian first.
“What now, boss?” one of the assassins asked.
“Clean up the scene,” Ronan ordered. “I’ll take the body back myself.” With that, he hoisted Jovian’s body onto his shoulder, tossed it into the vehicle, and drove off.
Warrick and Huxley were enjoying a casual tea session inside a luxurious private estate while waiting for the mission’s update.
“Mr. Prescott, it’s been a while, and there’s still no word from your men. Don’t tell me that they’ve failed,” Huxley inquired.
“Impossible,” Warrick replied firmly. “My assassins are the best of the best. There’s even a grandmaster martial artist among them. Taking down two nobodies should’ve been effortless.”
He rarely deployed these elite assassins. But when he did, the mission was always a guaranteed success. There had never been an exception.
“If you say so, then I won’t worry.” Huxley looked relieved.
If Jovian had escaped, it would’ve spelled trouble for both of them.
“Don’t worry about my men. Jovian will be captured. The real question is, can you erase all traces of this?” Warrick shot back.
“Mr. Prescott, the entire enforcement team in West Lucozia’s capital is under my command. I’ve already given the order. Nothing from tonight will ever be leaked. By sunrise, Jovian will have vanished without a trace,” Huxley assured him, smirking.
“Good.” Warrick nodded approvingly. “I’ll handle the interrogation. You clean up the mess. We each do our part.”
“To a successful partnership.” Huxley raised his teacup in a toast before draining it.
As the two men settled back into their conversation, someone knocked on the door.
“Enter,” Warrick called.
The door swung open. Ronan stepped in first, followed by two subordinates carrying a stretcher. A body lay on it, draped in a white sheet.
“Well? Did you bring him in?” Warrick asked coolly.
“Sir Prescott, the target took his own life. All we could bring back is his body,” Ronan replied succinctly.
“What? He’s dead?” Warrick jumped to his feet. “You useless fools! I specifically ordered you to bring him in alive. And now you’ve brought me his body?” His voice boomed through the room.
Ronan immediately dropped to his knees. ” I’ve failed my mission. I accept any punishment.”
“Useless fool! I should kill you where you stand.” Warrick unsheathed his blade in one swift motion.
Before he could strike, Huxley raised a hand to stop him. “Calm down, Mr. Prescott. No one expected Jovian to kill himself. What’s done is done. Punishing them won’t change anything. We should focus on cleaning this up.”
Warrick scowled but reluctantly slid his sword back into its sheath. “Fine. You live. But you won’t get off easy. You’ll receive 80 lashes. Now get out of my sight.”
“Thank you for your mercy, Sir Prescott,” Ronan said quickly, bowing low.
80 lashes meant two weeks of being bedridden, but at least he’d keep his head.
“Hold it,” Warrick called just as they were about to leave. “Did you leave any loose ends? Any witnesses?”
“No survivors,” Ronan replied. “Our men are already cleaning up the scene.”
“Make sure it’s spotless. Not a single trace left behind,” Warrick ordered coldly. “If I find even a whisper of this leaking, you’ll pay with your heads.”
“Got it, Sir Prescott!” Ronan gave a crisp response before turning to leave.
Silence settled over the room, broken only by the steady drip of blood soaking through the stretcher’s sheet.
Warrick stepped forward and yanked the cloth away.
Jovian’s face stared back at him, twisted in death. Blood caked his features, and his lifeless eyes were frozen in defiance.
“You were so arrogant before. Why so quiet now?” Warrick sneered. “This is what happens when you cross me.”
With a sudden motion, he drew his blade and severed Jovian’s head from his body. Then, with a kick, he sent it flying across the room like a ball.
Behind him, Huxley frowned slightly, but he quickly composed himself.
Jovian’s suicide had thrown a wrench into their plans. Not only had they failed to extract any useful information, but they’d also created a mess that needed to be cleaned up.
Still, there was no turning back now. As long as they covered their tracks, they could avoid any fallout. The game was far from over.
