Outside, the mercenaries who had been separated from their comrades were beginning to grow anxious. They had heard the sounds of battle and muffled screams from inside, but the locked door prevented them from interfering.
The mercenaries outside the hideout had heard the clashes and cries, yet they had no way of knowing what was happening beyond the heavy doors.
One of Arthur's summoned soldiers had sealed the entrance from the very beginning, isolating them from their comrades and leaving them in a state of confusion and unease.
One of them pounded on the door forcefully, while another shouted:"What's going on in there? Open the door!"
But no response came—only silence.
For a moment, everything was still. Then, Arthur gestured for his soldiers to eliminate the mercenaries outside.
As soon as the door swung open, the mercenaries rushed inside, weapons drawn, ready to face any threat. But they weren't prepared for what awaited them.
The room was dark, heavy with the scent of blood and gunpowder. Corpses lay scattered across the floor, and the sight made some of them freeze in place.
Before they could process the massacre before them, shadows moved—silent and deadly.
There was no warning. No chance to resist.
The well-trained soldiers struck with ruthless precision, their blades flashing under the dim torchlight. Choked gasps, dying breaths, the thud of collapsing bodies—all of it unfolded within mere seconds.
One mercenary, more cautious than the rest, managed to step back, his eyes widening in terror. He tried to speak, but the words never left his lips.
A silent arrow flew through the darkness, its fletching barely whispering through the air as it struck him in the forehead. His lifeless body crumpled to the bloodstained ground.
In the end, only the faint whispers of dying breaths remained.
Arthur stepped forward, his boots making no sound as he moved among the corpses. His gaze was cold, calculating. Everything was nearly over.
The hideout was eerily silent, filled only with the stench of gunpowder and blood. Arthur stood at the center of the room, his sharp eyes scanning the scene.
He raised his right hand in a silent command, and his soldiers halted instantly, awaiting his next order.
Muttering indifferently, he said, "It seems Plan B was a success."
Before selecting the "One-Eyed Wolf" group, he had already considered the possibility of negotiations failing.
These mercenaries were infamous for their betrayals—not just to their employers, but to one another as well.
That's why he had devised an entirely different backup plan—one that took advantage of the negotiation process itself. By presenting himself as an ally rather than a threat, he had lured them into believing that cooperation would bring them wealth and power.
If they led him into their hideout, it would only be a matter of time before the opportunity arose to eliminate them.
And when that moment came, he wasted no time, unleashing his summoned soldiers to slaughter them all and assume their identity.
"It seems I'm not the only one who planned to turn on others and seize the advantage in this little meeting... Of course, that's good for my kind and gentle heart—it means I won't have to feel guilty."
With this strategy, he could conceal his real forces under the guise of a hired mercenary band, allowing him to move freely without arousing suspicion.
And now that the time had come, there was no room for hesitation.
"Start!" Arthur whispered in a harsh voice.
Everyone moved immediately according to Plan B—Arthur now had to deceive his father, Viscount Werner, and make him believe that the mercenaries had destroyed each other due to internal betrayal, preventing him from uncovering the truth by sending spies or using other interrogation methods.
The arrangement of the scene was crucial—it had to appear as though the conflict had erupted among the mercenaries themselves, without any external interference.
"To deceive someone, you must consider all possibilities, even those that seem unlikely."
The soldiers moved like shadows, swift and precise, carefully lifting the scattered bodies and rearranging them into combat positions, as though they had fallen in a fierce battle between comrades-in-arms.
They worked in silence, with only the sound of their steady breathing and the rustling of armor and clothing as they moved.
The blood that covered the ground wasn't wiped away but was left to dry, a testament to the chaos.
The soldiers didn't just arrange the bodies—they used the mercenaries' own weapons to inflict crude wounds—wounds that looked as if they resulted from random rage, not organized combat. Knives, swords, and daggers were all used to create one narrative: betrayal from within.
Some bodies had to appear as if they had tried to flee, thrown onto the thresholds, while others were stacked on top of each other, as though they had fallen in the midst of a chaotic skirmish.
"Pay attention to the details!" one of the soldiers shouted as he placed a sword in the hand of one of the dead—a sword that had belonged to the mercenary leader."This will strengthen the story."
Another soldier fired a few random shots at the walls, leaving deep bullet marks in the wood and stone, making it look as though the battle had erupted suddenly, without warning.
The scene wasn't random—it was all meticulously calculated—from the placement of the bodies to the angles of the weapons and even the blood stains.
After minutes, the place seemed to have witnessed a real internal uprising—bodies scattered, blood staining the floor and walls, and weapons strewn about like autumn leaves.
But Arthur wasn't satisfied yet.
He took one last look around the room, then gave a final order in a low voice:"Make the scene more convincing."
The soldiers began tearing each other's clothes and adding scratches and superficial wounds to their bodies, to make it look as if they had barely survived this violent massacre.
Some smeared blood on their faces, while others made themselves appear exhausted and worn out. They knew that any small detail could be the difference between the success of the plan and its exposure.
When they were finished, Arthur looked at the scene before him. It resembled a painting crafted by a master of deception, a painting covered in blood and ash, yet concealing within it a deadly lie.
Arthur nodded, satisfied with their performance. Then, he turned to the corner of the hideout, where the boxes and cabinets were concealed.
"Open them," he commanded.The soldiers began opening the boxes, one after the other, discovering treasures of supplies: bags of flour, jars filled with oil, ammunition, and medicines. Then came the valuables: gold coins, jewels, and rare weapons."This will be useful," Arthur said as he picked up a gold coin from the ground.
"Carry everything, but carefully..."After loading the supplies and valuables onto the carts, Arthur took one last look at the scene. The place was now a completed stage for an internal betrayal, and the survivors were ready to spread the narrative.
"We're done," he said as he left the hideout, his soldiers following him.
After completing the task, Arthur, along with a small group of his surviving soldiers, set off toward the castle of Viscount Rosson, carrying the head of Marx in a heavy sack as irrefutable evidence of what had transpired.
On his way,When Arthur returned to the city, it was nighttime, and the castle loomed in the distance under the moonlight. Everything was going according to plan, but the most delicate part had yet to begin.
...At the castle gate, the guards were vigilant, but they quickly allowed him entry upon seeing his identity.
Arthur entered the castle with confident steps, surrounded by a few of his trained soldiers, one of whom carried Marx's head in a fabric sack, which had begun to soak in blood.
As they arrived, the guards at the castle gate looked at them with suspicion, but they didn't dare stop them.
As they entered the castle, the lights were still on, indicating that Viscount Rosson hadn't gone to sleep yet, but was either busy with his affairs or perhaps waiting for news about the mission.
The atmosphere inside the castle was calm, yet charged with tension, as the mercenary matter was a sensitive topic for the viscount, and the result Arthur would present would settle many issues.
Arthur entered the grand hall, where Viscount Rosson sat on his throne surrounded by his advisors. Upon reaching the reception hall, Arthur found the viscount sitting in his grand chair, draped in a luxurious cloak, surrounded by a group of advisors and guards.
His eyes were filled with anticipation, but he showed no clear reaction, instead gesturing for Arthur to approach.
Arthur stopped a few steps away, then gestured to one of his soldiers, who threw the sack in front of Viscount Rosson.
When it hit the ground, a faint sound was heard, followed by a heavy silence.
"What is this?" Viscount Rosson asked in a low voice, signaling one of his men to open the sack before him.
As Marx's head was revealed, confusion appeared on the faces of those present as they tried to recognize the head.
They quickly recalled the wanted poster that had been circulated earlier, and some faces filled with shock, while others were skeptical about what was happening. But Viscount Rosson remained silent for a moment, then looked directly at Arthur with a questioning gaze.
"Marx... the one-eyed wolf," Viscount Rosson muttered, then lifted his gaze toward Arthur and asked, "How did this happen?"
Arthur bowed slightly with humility and then answered calmly, "Father, it was an internal rebellion. I tried today to recruit mercenaries as you suggested, and I chose the Wolf Mercenaries as my first option. I went to negotiate with them, but it seems Marx was injured in the last mission. Some of the commanders took advantage of the situation and tried to take his place, and their gathering turned into a massacre. We arrived late, and all we saw were the survivors and the new leader."
Viscount Rosson was silent for a moment as he reflected on what Arthur had said, then looked at the assembly and asked, "But who will lead the mercenaries now?"
At that moment, Gabriel stepped forward.
He was a tall man with sharp features and bright eyes. He placed his hands behind his back and said confidently, "Lord Viscount Rosson, my name is Gabriel, and I am the current deputy leader of the mercenaries."
He then looked at Arthur and added, "Mr. Arthur is the one who brought us together after discussions with the former leader, and I am here to express our support and readiness to serve the Al-Vernar family in the northern campaign."
The Viscount Rosson looked at them, then said sharply, "So you're offering your services to me? Can I trust what you're saying? Your leader doesn't even have trust in the name of the Werner family and refused to come himself."
Arthur thought for a moment after hearing his father's words: "Father, trusting others is difficult for you. If someone claims to be the new mercenary leader and isn't injured or wounded after staging a coup against his commander, you'd surely distrust him and think he's either a fake or a trap set by one of your enemies. But if he shows he's truly gravely injured, you might exploit that to eliminate the rest of the mercenaries. Only by sending a fake deputy might you consider starting a serious discussion."
Arthur had thought carefully about his father's character from his memories before planning this initial offer, so he raised his hand to continue the performance, saying, "Father, I spoke with the new mercenary leader, and I believe we can seek a mutual interest. Not only to assist us in carrying out the kingdom's recruitment order for the northern campaign, but also because they wish to clear their past as mercenaries and find an exit for themselves in the future."
Gabriel added firmly, "We offer our support in the northern campaign. We can help you form a suitable army and provide contributions in the name of the Werner family. In return, we need your help to clean our tarnished past and secure a future as soldiers under the leadership of the Werner family if we can acquire land in the campaign."
Arthur looked at Viscount Rosson with a slight smile, as if coordinating between them without directly intervening.
The Viscount Rosson remained silent for a moment, thinking deeply about their offer. The northern campaign needed all possible support, and the mercenaries could be a strong asset in the upcoming battle.