Chapter 88: Retaliation
Dawn broke over Sylvandar, casting a golden light across forty butchered corpses.
Nobody bothered to move them.
Leaving dead assassins scattered across the stones sent a much better message than sweeping them quietly away.
Stepping onto the balcony with a cup of tea, Kane looked down at his ruined courtyard.
’I conjecture the local property values just plummeted,’ Kane mused, taking a slow sip.
’Or maybe they skyrocketed. Politics is wonderfully weird.’
Lyssel and Caelindra already occupied the small iron patio table right next to him.
Neither woman seemed particularly bothered by the pungent smell of blood floating up from below.
They were busy doing what they did best, weaponizing the chaos.
"You left the trash out," Lyssel noted, not bothering to look up from her parchment.
"It builds character for the neighborhood," Kane offered, pulling up a chair.
"Besides, I wanted the local lords to get a really good look at what happens when someone tries to visit unannounced."
Caelindra dipped her quill.
"Three merchant houses already sent messengers this morning. Lord Varenthal dispatched a cart full of vintage wine, and Lady Aris sent two chests of silk. They are calling it a ’neighborly gesture of goodwill’."
"Aris hated me last week," Kane remarked.
"Last week you were just a gladiator," Lyssel countered smoothly.
"Today you are the monster that keeps other monsters away. It changes the social dynamic. Those cowards watched a foreign strike team infiltrate the capital, and they watched you dismantle that same team before the city guard even put their boots on. They realize the apex predator just moved in next door."
"Let them send tribute," Kane smiled, resting his foot on the railing.
"What’s the official narrative we are feeding the court?"
"Simple," Caelindra replied, adjusting her glasses.
"The Menual Empire just committed an overt act of war deep inside Elven borders. While the royal military slept comfortably, the Bloodfang warlord bravely protected the capital from foreign sabotage. It makes the queen look slow, while making you look entirely indispensable."
’These two are terrifying,’ Kane chuckled internally, admiring their efficiency.
’They can turn a bloody assassination attempt into a profitable marketing campaign before breakfast.’
"We need to discuss Chancellor Morvak," Lyssel pivoted, folding her hands neatly on the table.
"He sent those shadows. He expects them to return with your head."
"I was just thinking about that," Kane agreed, lowering his cup.
"Morvak needs a receipt. I want to send something visceral straight to his personal desk, but royal couriers search every package crossing the border."
Lyssel tilted her head, a wicked smile playing on her lips.
"My father’s shipyard contacts. The smugglers who handle the undocumented timber."
"Can they bypass the border checkpoints?" Kane asked.
"They move contraband into the Menual capital every single week," she promised.
"If we pay them enough, they can drop a package directly into Morvak’s private study."
Standing up, Kane gestured down toward the courtyard.
"Have Brak gather up all forty poisoned daggers. Tell him to wipe the blood off, but leave the poison intact. I want them bundled together."
"And?" Caelindra prompted, knowing there was more to the plan.
"And find a nice box," Kane instructed.
"One just big enough to hold the lead assassin’s severed head. Pack it with enough salt to keep it from rotting during the journey."
Lyssel let out a melodic laugh that felt entirely at odds with the gruesome conversation.
"You want to mail a severed head to the Chancellor of the Menual Empire."
"He operates on logic," Kane reasoned, pacing along the balcony.
"Men like him sit in clean rooms and move pieces around a map without ever smelling the blood. I conjecture that dropping a rotting head onto his paperwork will completely short-circuit his delicate sensibilities."
"What about a letter?" Caelindra asked, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment.
"Do you want to dictate a formal warning?"
"No," Kane shook his head.
"Formal warnings sound like polite negotiations. I just want a simple note tucked right between the dead man’s teeth."
’Make him think he is playing a game he doesn’t understand,’ Kane schemed.
"Write this," Kane commanded softly.
"Your math is wrong. Recalculate."
Caelindra raised an eyebrow but scribbled the words down perfectly.
[Diplomatic Action Initiated: Psychological Warfare]
[Target: Chancellor Morvak]
[Effect: Opponent rationale destabilization pending]
Down in the courtyard, Brak was already kicking corpses over, happily collecting the wicked little daggers.
The young warrior paused, looking up at the balcony with a wide, blood-smeared grin.
"Chief!" Brak yelled enthusiastically.
"Do we get to eat the fancy silk those nobles sent?"
"No, Brak," Kane sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"We wear the silk. We drink the wine."
"Seems like a waste of good meat," Brak mumbled, going back to looting the bodies.
Turning back to his operators, Kane found Lyssel watching him with a mixture of hunger and respect.
"The package will leave Sylvandar by noon," Lyssel promised, standing up to gather her notes.
"Morvak should receive it in three days. He’ll not sleep well for a very long time."
"That’s the general idea," Kane said.
Caelindra gathered her ledgers, preparing to coordinate the smugglers.
"The queen is going to summon you soon. She cannot ignore forty dead foreign operatives stacked in her city."
"I just did her dirty work for free. The least she can do is offer me a promotion."
Leaving the balcony, Kane headed back inside to wash the dried gore off his chest.
Surviving an assassination attempt was just another Tuesday, but turning it into a continent-spanning psychological weapon?
That felt like winning.
The next morning, the Knights of Elfheim rode through the quiet city streets.
They didn’t bother kicking the courtyard gates down or demanding anyone’s surrender, instead choosing to stand politely among the drying bloodstains while waiting for Kane to finish his tea.
Royal summons rarely came with such polite, well-armed escorts, which told Kane the elven queen desperately wanted a private conversation rather than a public execution.
Walking into the royal war room an hour later, Kane fully expected a noisy council of panicking politicians throwing blame around.
Finding the queen alone, leaning gracefully over the grand map table, changed his entire tactical calculation in a single heartbeat.
’She purposely sent the useless advisors away,’ Kane realized, instantly appreciating the quiet, charged intimacy of the vast room.
The map of the continent stretched between them, but her attention remained entirely fixed on him.
Wearing an emerald gown that hugged her curves rather dangerously, the ancient ruler did not look like a frightened woman facing a sudden diplomatic crisis.
