Atonement, About it’s Cruelty - Chapter 1

He expected it to work.

The identity of the informant was not just reliable but remarkable, and the military strength was not just sufficient but overwhelming.

Yet.

“You thought it would work?”

It wasn’t a question expecting an answer, for the asker’s boot was mercilessly pressing down on his neck.

Against the backdrop of the dark sky, he saw the man’s face.

A man who could sever a leg and an arm without a change in his breathing, a man who, instead of leading to death, was leading others to it.

Beneath his tousled black hair, his eyes were chillingly icy.

“Indeed.”

He smirked and took out a cigarette and put it between his lips. His face was alarmingly handsome, almost inhuman.

Oscar Reinhardt.

Enveloped in cigarette smoke, he laughed.

“If you knew it would end like this, would you have come? Right?”

Kuh, kuh…

Even as he watched the agonizing struggles of a dying man, Oscar merely continued to smoke. Behind him, a blood-scented wilderness stretched out.

A group of men silently moved the bodies of assassins, while birds of prey circled overhead, drawn by the smell of blood.

“We’ve captured two alive, and confirmed the rest are dead.”

Oscar stepped off the neck of the lifeless body. He wiped his boot on the dead man’s clothes, cleaning off the blood, and then spoke.

“Bury the dead, and make the captives talk.”

“Understood. What about the rest of the schedule?”

Leaning on one leg in a slanted posture, Oscar took a few puffs of his cigarette, then carelessly tossed it to the ground and pulled off his black gloves. He turned to the man beside him, pulling up the corner of his mouth.

“We must keep our promises, Simon.”

And with a step, he muttered.

“Of course, that fool would have wished I died here.”

As he crossed the corpse-laden wilderness, men in black suits who had been doing their tasks approached. They quickly lined up along the path leading to the carriage, bowing politely as they matched their pace with their master’s steps.

Oscar climbed into the carriage, wiping his hands and face with a wet cloth as if nothing had happened.

A few drops of blood had splattered onto his cuffs, but he felt neither the need to change his clothes nor any reason to do so. He tossed the blood-stained cloth into a corner while his gaze shifted out the window.

He was thoroughly sick of the sprawled death outside. There were only two ways to free himself from those pathetic and irritating corpses.

Either by cutting the throat of King Leopold of Luxen or by dying himself.

However, he had no intention of dying at all, nor any desire to suffer a loss. Sacrificing limbs to take a neck was of no interest to him.

Oscar lit another cigarette, drawing in the acrid smoke that seemed to slightly clear the stench of blood. His piercing eyes, occasionally obscured by the pale smoke, were as hard and cold as the face of a glacier.

What he wanted was not just any victory. He wanted an overwhelming victory.

A victory so perfect and absolute that not a drop of his blood was shed.

* * *

In Felpe, near the Daub River, stood a grand stone mansion known to all.

A century ago, the king had gifted it to his favored mistress, whom he buttered up like a flower. Over the years, the mansion changed hands, sometimes serving as a theater, other times as a summer villa for a noble family.

In the fiftieth year after the mistress’s death, the mansion reclaimed its original name.

Amant Rose.

While Herod had the Tube Rose, Felpe boasted Amant Rose.

In Felpe, where prostitution was legal, Amant Rose Mansion was the pinnacle.

Unlike the ordinary brothels in back alleys, Amant Rose was a different world.

Most of its clients were royalty or nobility from the Norfolk continent, making the price of one night at Amant Rose equivalent to two months’ living expenses for an average Felpe middle-class.

Thus, on days when well-known figures visited, the nightly revenue of Amant Rose Mansion far exceeded the monthly turnover of a typical business.

And today was that day.

“They’re finally here!”

The gatekeeper, peering past the main gate like a sentinel, said.

At his announcement, Cathrin, the owner of Amant Rose Mansion, hastily extinguished the cigarette she had been smoking in a chain. Her hand trembled slightly as she snuffed it out.

“What is the Grand Duke doing?”

The man who approached shook his head.

“It’s a mess already. The door is locked and won’t open. The Grand Duke’s secretary is pleading for us to buy some time.”

“…..”

She had been in this business for decades and sensed that something was going awry.

The person scheduled to visit Amant Rose Mansion today was a figure so notable in East Norfolk that no one could claim not to know his status.

While Grand Duke Baden, a half-brother to the King of Felpe and the president of the Felpe Bank, was indeed a notable figure, he was no match for Marquis Reinhardt of the Kingdom of Luxen.

The unease began when Grand Duke Baden arrived earlier than scheduled, bringing uninvited guests with him. He played billiards with these guests, drinking alcohol priced between fifty million to one hundred million kerte per bottle as if it were water.

Furthermore, as the appointed time approached, instead of preparing to greet his expected guest, he simply heightened the party’s intensity and enjoyed himself.

It was undeniably rude, and not a minor one at that. The only way his behavior would not be considered rude would be if Marquis Reinhardt, the man he was supposed to meet, did not show up.

But now, that very person had reportedly just arrived.

Swallowing dryly, Cathrin turned to look at the woman standing beside her.