Timeless Assassin - Chapter 232

Chapter 232: The Price
“Tell me… how far are you truly willing to go to save your son?”

Dupravel froze, the words echoing louder than the thunder above, louder than the ache in his chest or the weight of the storm pressing down on his shoulders.

It wasn’t that he lacked conviction—he had already offered his soul. But in that moment, he realized something deeper, something colder: Mauriss hadn’t even begun bargaining yet. And if his soul wasn’t enough, then what possibly could the devil be after?

“…Anything,” Dupravel said at last, his voice strained and low.

“I’ll do anything you need me to.”

He assured, as Mauriss chuckled softly, his godly eyes gleaming with delight.

“Your love for your child is almost touching,” Mauriss said, pacing with a slow, predatory grace.

“It makes me wonder—was your pursuit of the Urn of Death really about power… or were you foolish enough to think it could bring your wife back to life?”

Dupravel’s entire body stiffened.

That knowledge wasn’t public. He had never told anyone about the true reason behind him searching for the Urn Of Death. And yet, Mauriss saw straight through him.

“Hahahaha…. You’re an emotional fool Dupravel…. Foolish and Easy to manipulate.

Your talent as a fighter is a waste because of the poor brain on your shoulders—”

Mauriss laughed again as he mocked Dupravel with the satisfaction of someone who delighted in peeling back facades.

“No matter. It doesn’t bother me that you’re a fool. So let’s get to the real terms of this exchange,” he said, his tone sharpening.

“You already know that there is only one pair of weapons capable of scarring a god. The daggers of the Timeless Assassin. But those now lie sealed in Kaelith’s personal soul space. Untouchable until the Eternal Sovereign dies—which he won’t.”

Mauriss stepped closer, the sky dimming above him as if it too bowed to his presence.

“So instead… you will forge me a new pair. One made from the same Origin Metal, and dipped in the same source of Chaos.”

Dupravel blinked slowly, his lips parting as if to protest, but no words followed.

Origin Metal?

It was practically extinct. Even if one were to disassemble entire solar systems, and process every grain within it for presence of the Origin Metal, the trace amount of it gathered wouldn’t amount to more than a shaving of dust.

Enough to study under a microscope, perhaps—but not forge weapons.

As it was simply impossible to gather enough to make another pair.

However, hypothetically, even if he were to somehow gather enough of it…. no blacksmith alive knew how to mold it, as even when exposed to temperatures of the hottest stars, the metal still remained unreactive.

And still, even if he somehow found a method to mold it and a blacksmith talented enough to make a weapon from it— it would still not be enough, as unless that weapon was dipped in a pool of pure chaos energy, it would not become the god killing weapon it was supposed to be.

“My Lord…. It’s impossible to recreate the Timeless Assassin’s dagger, I’m sure you’re aware of the complications involved.

The known method behind its production is vague, and the final step of having to enter a galactic blackhole with it and finding a pool of pure Chaos Energy to dip it in, is not even a step that Gods can complete.

Nobody can survive that trip, and those who have tried to do it, have never returned alive—” Dupravel protested, as his complaints only made Mauriss smile wider.

“The difficulty of the task is precisely why I’m asking you to do it, Dupravel—” Mauriss replied, his tone silky smooth.

“Because nothing short of the impossible is worth my time.”

Dupravel looked away, jaw clenched, despair flickering across his face. The mission Mauriss described wasn’t a quest—it was a death sentence.

And yet… he couldn’t refuse.

“It’s clearly not impossible… After all, the Timeless Assassin managed to do it— and that too when he was just a Monarch,” Mauriss said, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he conjured a glowing scroll, letting it drift slowly through the air until it hovered before Dupravel like a falling ember.

“I’ll help you get started,” he said. “This scroll contains the location of a spatial tear, beyond which lies a realm untouched by time.”

He paused.

“As a four-dimensional being, I cannot enter. But you, with your weak and primitive constitution, should be able to survive the crossing.”

“Inside… if you can somehow find it, there should be a block of Origin Metal Ore stored away.

Should you find it, and choose not to continue with the quest anymore, I’ll accept it as a partial payment for a seperate favor.

Or pay you with a treasure of equal value.

However, you can also continue trying to refine it and dip it in Pure Chaos Energy, and if you succeed in all the steps, I’ll accept it as enough payment to take on Soron for you–” Mauriss said, as Dupravel took the scroll in silence.

In his heart, he knew this task could take years. Decades, even. A fool’s errand with no promise of return.

But still… for the sake of Darnell, he bowed deeply before the Devil and accepted his impossible fate.

It wasn’t wise to curse the devil to his face and hence Dupravel held his tongue until he exited Granoda, as it wasn’t until he returned on Planet Twin Fang that he truly began to hurl the curses buried in his heart.

“MAURISS THAT LOATHSOME, BASTARD-FACED, GRINNING PIECE OF COSMIC FILTH—!”

Dupravel’s roar echoed across the Black Serpent Guild’s private hangar as he stormed out of the teleportation gate, his cloak tattered and soaked, his breath ragged from barely surviving the trip back from Granoda.

Antonio, who had been waiting anxiously, raised an eyebrow.

“…So, it went well?”

Dupravel didn’t even respond.

He hurled the scroll across the room like a cursed object, watching it spin midair before embedding itself neatly into the metal wall with a glow.

“That devil didn’t just reject my soul—he gave me a suicide mission,” Dupravel snarled, pacing like a madman.

Antonio moved to retrieve the scroll, examining the faint glyphs etched along its edges.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing the shimmer.

“The location of a spatial tear,” Dupravel muttered. “One Mauriss claims leads to a realm untouched by time. Apparently there’s some Origin Metal Ore to be found there… if I can find it that is.”

Antonio paused.

“You’re… actually going?”

Dupravel didn’t answer right away.

He simply turned to the nearest hangar bay, where the Black Serpent’s best exploration ships waited.

“I am.” He said while typing commands on a data slate, as he sent instructions to the crew to prepare a ship for an extended exploration mission.

“But… you might not come back. Not even Gods enter time-frozen realms.” Antonio warned, however, Dupravel only shot him back a look that told him everything he needed to know.

“My son is trapped on Ixtal, Antonio. In the hands of the Evil Cult. And if the only way to get him out is by crafting a weapon that can threaten gods…”

“…then I’ll become the madman who does it.”

For a long moment, silence ruled the chamber. Only the hum of the activation systems could be heard.

Then Antonio sighed and gave a small nod, the kind that said he’d already started preparing for this.

“I’ll ready the backup crew.”

“No,” Dupravel said quietly. “I’m going alone.”

Antonio froze. “But—”

“If even one of them slows me down in that realm, we all die. I’ll scout the first passage myself, and if I return, we can plan the next steps. If I don’t…”

He turned, gaze steeled like the edge of a poisoned blade.

“…Take over the guild. And send my son a message explaining that I tried my best to save him.”

Antonio didn’t argue. He knew there was no point, as the preparations for Dupravel’s departure began at once.