Isabella's sobbing grew louder, her grief almost unbearable to witness. Unable to stand it any longer, Orion pulled her to her feet, his hands firm but not unkind.
Despite her tears, Isabella's beauty remained unblemished. Decades as his mistress had not dulled her allure; if anything, her sorrow only added to her tragic charm. For nearly forty years, she had been his companion, a de facto wife in all but name. Seeing her so broken stirred something in Orion's heart, but he quickly reined it in. His judgment remained cold and calculating.
"Now, calm yourself," he said firmly. "I'm aware you sent assassins to Crassus Barony. That's enough. Stop this now. Remember, you still have three sons left. And don't forget, I have other children besides yours."
Isabella's tear-streaked face shot up in shock at the subtle but unmistakable warning in his tone. While Orion wasn't inherently cruel, he was not a man who tolerated anyone crossing the line.
Yes, she needed to tread carefully. After losing one child already, she couldn't risk alienating Orion further. Besides, she wasn't the only mistress in his life.
Slowly, Isabella composed herself and walked toward the velvet sofa in the reception room. Even in sorrow, her movements were graceful, her beauty undiminished. When she seemed sufficiently calm, Orion kissed her pale, soft forehead and left the room.
The moment he was gone, however, Isabella's demeanor changed completely. The grief-stricken expression vanished, replaced by one of pure venom. She tossed her handkerchief aside and summoned her maid.
"Rosa! Fetch my contact with the assassins, immediately!"
Rosa, who knew her mistress's temperament well, approached her with trembling hands.
"Madam… do you really plan to continue this? Judging by the bishop's reaction, wouldn't it be better to stop here?"
Isabella scoffed, her fiery gaze silencing the maid's protests.
"Hmph! Do you think you know him better than I do? Don't worry. I know his limits. Judging by his response, the previous assassins failed. That was practically permission to try again. This will be the last time, though. If they fail again, I'll bury the grudge in my heart."
Her voice trembled as she spoke the final words, her resolve faltering briefly. No, this time would be different. She would hire the best assassin—someone unrivaled in their craft—and finally exact her revenge.
Isabella steadied herself, ready to meet the contact from the assassin's guild.
Meanwhile, back at the Crassus camp, the baron and Michael worked swiftly to tend to the injured and reorganize their group. Under the direction of Treasurer Lawrence and Sir Ronald, the servants and guards moved with precision and efficiency.
Michael approached Carl, who sat on a tree stump with Hope nearby.
"Grandfather, wouldn't it be safer for you to stay inside the carriage? Being out here seems dangerous," Michael said with concern.
He hesitated, glancing at his grandfather, who towered over him at over 190 centimeters with a broad, muscular frame. It felt absurd to think he could protect Carl; if anything, he seemed more like someone who should be asking for Carl's protection.
Noticing his grandson's unease, Carl smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry about me. I feel more at ease keeping watch out here, especially with the possibility of more trouble ahead. Besides, Miaomiao is guarding the interior of the carriage."
Michael knew better than to argue. Carl's overwhelming strength was a source of comfort to the group, and having him stand guard outside provided an extra layer of security.
Even Dominic and Baron Kensington seemed to sense this, gradually inching closer to the carriage for added protection.
Leonardo, meanwhile, worked on repairing the carriage's damaged floor. The surviving assassins, still under his hypnosis, assisted him with surprising competence. Whether it was due to past experience as carpenters or Leonardo's exceptional hypnotic control, their movements were remarkably coordinated.
"Bring the spare planks over here," Leonardo instructed.
One of the assassins immediately complied, handing him a wooden board. Leonardo fitted the plank into place, reinforcing it with magic before securing it tightly.
His heart burned with determination.
Leonardo's hands trembled slightly as he watched the carriage's repaired frame. His mistake had nearly endangered his master's life. He swore silently that no carriage under his care would suffer such damage again.
His eyes turned toward Paul, the stable master, who loitered nearby with a flustered expression. Paul had joined the journey intending to tend the horses and repair any damaged carriages, but Leonardo's commanding presence left him with no opportunity to contribute.
Paul glanced at Leonardo nervously, baffled by the squire's intense glare. "Uh… have these men worked as carpenters before?" he asked, his voice hesitant.
Without looking up, Leonardo snapped, "Silence, human. How dare you question me?"
Paul blinked in surprise. The squire appeared to be human, so why did he speak like that?
Michael interjected with a calm but firm tone. "Leonardo, be polite to our companions. They're valuable members of this party—my precious assets… no, my loyal people."
Paul gazed at Michael with admiration, though he couldn't shake the feeling something strange had been said. Surely, it was just a misunderstanding.
"Thank you, young master," Paul replied, bowing slightly.
Chastened by Michael's remark, Leonardo begrudgingly apologized. "My apologies. As a mage, I can use hypnosis to draw out individuals' latent abilities. I've simply stimulated their craftsmanship through magic."
To conceal his true nature as a fiend, Leonardo attributed his abilities to magic—a plausible explanation for most, given that few humans knew much about magic, let alone practiced it. Paul, like many others, lacked the knowledge to question him further.
The hypnotized assassins followed Leonardo's instructions with remarkable efficiency, and the carriage steadily regained its original shape. Before long, it was completely repaired. As Leonardo dusted off his hands and stood, the assassins returned to their vacant, dazed states.
Carl stepped forward and led the hypnotized assassins into the forest for judgment. Although he initially harbored a faint hope that they might be victims of circumstance—orphans sold into the guild or individuals forced into a life of crime—his interrogation revealed the truth. These men reveled in murder, rape, and theft, making them irredeemable scum.