Lord of Caldera - Chapter 279

Chapter 279: Chapter 279

Toby shot him a dubious look.

“Entertaining? That’s one way to put it. What if his schemes involve poison or worse?”

Sylas’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Then he’ll learn the hard way that I’m not so easily undone. For now, let’s enjoy the show.”

Rey arched a brow.

“You seem remarkably unconcerned, my lord. Do you have a plan?”

“I always have a plan,” Sylas replied cryptically, settling into a chair.

“And if the baron’s play is as clumsy as I suspect, he’ll end up exposing more than he intends.”

Meanwhile, John moved with practiced stealth through the halls of the baron’s estate, his target clear in mind. As he approached the guest quarters, he paused, his sharp ears picking up the faint sound of conversation.

Peeking through a small gap in the doorway, he caught sight of the group inside.

Sylas sat with his back to the door, his posture relaxed. The others were scattered throughout the room, their expressions varying from amused to wary.

John’s gaze lingered on Toby, the steward, who stood nearest to the window.

“So, he’s the one,” John thought, studying his target. “This should be simple enough.”

Unbeknownst to him, Sylas’s smirk deepened. Without turning his head, he spoke, his voice carrying just enough to be heard by those in the room—and the shadow outside the door.

“I hope our ‘friend’ outside is comfortable. It must be tiresome, skulking about in the dark.”

John froze, his breath catching in his throat.

“Did he just…?”

Before he could react, Max’s blade was in his hand, its edge gleaming menacingly as he turned toward the door.

“You might as well come in,” Max said, his tone cold and even. “We’re not fond of uninvited guests lurking about.”

The door creaked open, and John stepped inside, his expression carefully neutral.

“Well,” Sylas drawled, leaning back in his chair. “It seems our esteemed baron has sent us a gift. How thoughtful.”

John’s mind raced as he tried to devise a way out of the situation. But the glint in Sylas’s eyes told him escape wasn’t an option.

“Shall we discuss your purpose here?” Sylas asked, his tone pleasant but laced with unmistakable menace.

John’s heart pounded like a drum, his breath caught in his throat as realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. The man standing before him wasn’t just some lucky combatant—he was a true Black Moon assassin, one of the fabled killers who bore a number, a mark of their elite training.

“Y-you… how…?” John’s voice cracked as he struggled to speak, the pressure on his throat making every word a battle.

Max’s lips curled into a cold smirk, his gaze heavy with disdain.

“You didn’t think the real Black Moon would leave its survivors roaming unchecked, did you? And yet here you are, claiming to know our techniques when you don’t even have the basics down.”

John’s mind reeled. The tales his mentor had shared about the Black Moon painted them as an organization of unparalleled precision and brutality. His mentor had escaped, yes, but only as a low-ranking, unnumbered recruit—essentially expendable.

“I-I didn’t know! I swear!” John gasped, his hands clawing at Max’s iron grip. “I was just… following orders!”

Max tilted his head, feigning consideration, before delivering a sharp slap to John’s face, sending him sprawling onto the ground. The would-be assassin coughed and wheezed as Max towered over him.

“Following orders, huh?” Max muttered, kicking away the fallen dagger with casual ease. “Then tell me—who gave the order? And don’t waste my time lying. I’ll know.”

John scrambled backward, his face pale and glistening with sweat. His mind raced for an answer that might save him, but there was no way out. He blurted the truth in a panicked rush.

“It was the baron! Baron Harald ordered me to kill the steward! That’s all, I swear!”

Max squatted down, staring John in the eye with a look of mock pity.

“You poor fool,” Max said softly. “Did you think this would end well for you? That no one would notice a bumbling idiot trying to play at being an assassin?”

John whimpered, his confidence utterly shattered. The power dynamic between them was crystal clear: one was a predator, the other mere prey.

“P-please!” John begged, clasping his hands together. “Let me go! I’ll disappear! You’ll never see me again!”

Max chuckled darkly.

“Disappear, huh? That’s an amusing suggestion. But I think my lord would prefer something… different.”

Minutes later, Max dragged John—now tightly bound—into the guest quarters where Sylas, Toby, and Rey awaited. John squirmed and whimpered, his earlier bravado reduced to a pitiful shadow of itself.

“Caught him sneaking around,” Max announced, tossing the bound assassin to the floor with a thud. “Claimed he was sent by our oh-so-gracious host.”

Sylas leaned back in his chair, a calm yet menacing smile spreading across his face.

“Is that so?” Sylas asked, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. He turned to John. “Tell me, little mouse, did the baron truly think you could kill one of my people and escape unscathed?”

John trembled, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to form words.

“P-please, my lord,” he stammered. “I had no choice! The baron threatened to kill me if I refused!”

Sylas regarded him with a detached curiosity, as though he were examining an insect pinned beneath a magnifying glass.

“Hmm,” Sylas mused. “So, the baron wanted to weaken me by targeting my steward. Predictable, but clumsy.”

Rey snorted from her seat, closing the ledger she had been studying.

“Clumsy is putting it lightly,” she remarked. “Sending this amateur was practically an insult.”

Toby crossed his arms, his expression grim.

“What do we do with him, my lord?” he asked.

Sylas’s smile grew sharper, his eyes narrowing as he addressed John.

“You’ll deliver a message for me, little mouse. Return to the baron and tell him this: ‘Your schemes are as feeble as your resolve. Try again, and you’ll find yourself regretting the day you crossed paths with me.'”

John blinked, confusion etched across his face.

“Y-you’re letting me go?” he stammered, hope creeping into his voice.

Max barked a laugh.

“Not exactly. You’ll deliver the message… but you won’t be in any shape to deliver much else.”