He adjusted his collar, looking in the full-length mirror with some satisfaction as he straightened his tie.
"Welcome to Regensburg, guests," the pre-recorded message blared tirelessly through the mechanical loudspeaker at the station, offering a disingenuous greeting to the newly arrived.
He scoffed. Damn false god worshippers.
Sarlas watched the man walk past him, his instincts screaming to slaughter en masse on the spot.
But reason reminded him that it was not yet time. He was here on Church orders to kill the last scion of a certain family.
"That old thing has been hunted down; only their granddaughter remains. Go, find her, hunt her, bring her head back, and offer it to our great god!"
Remembering the Archbishop’s command, Sarlas, acting as the agent, could only endure—for after this was done, he vowed to hunt down more false god worshippers and sacrifice their souls to our Lord.
Right, he had heard that there would be others joining him in this mission... What a joke. Sarlas, God’s own Hunter, needed help?
With this thought, he pulled up his collar and headed toward the exit. Just as he was preparing to leave the station, he suddenly felt the urge to urinate.
Hadn’t he just taken care of that on the train? Sarlas thought it strange, but glancing at the water bottle he’d just emptied, the middle-aged man ultimately turned towards the station’s restroom.
As he was about to reach it, he noticed a half-human cleaner pushing a cart out of it, just having removed the "out of order" sign from the door.
With that thought in mind, Sarlas brushed past the Half-human and entered the bathroom. After relieving himself at the urinal, he washed his hands at the sink and wiped his face. As he raised his head, he saw the smile of the Half-human behind him... No! Not Half-human!
This was Sarlas’s last thought, for in the next second, a short sword slid into his back like a knife through butter, severing his spine and forcing him to kneel in front of the sink.
In excruciating pain, his hair was grabbed by a Hunter with square ears. His head was jerked back by an external force, and then a dagger was plunged in from one side and sliced open.
"In hell, remember to send my Lord’s regards to your piece of shit false god, and may he forgive your incompetence."
That was the last sound Sarlas heard.
His Transcendent power sealed, Sarlas could feel himself dying, but the blade in his back had punctured his lungs, making even breathing a torment.
Meanwhile, the Hunter behind watched the black corrupted blood gush into the basin until the wound could bleed no more.
Pulling out the dagger, this Hunter moved towards the exit, and as he opened the door, the body slumped over the basin burst into holy flames, consumed by the fire.
There are two more targets," the comrade outside handed over a report.
"Where are they?" The Hunter sheathed his blade and took the report.
"We’re in charge of one of them, an Infiltrator who has provided these two with false identities to enter The Capital," the Hunter’s assistant followed his superior.
"Zhao Jincheng?" The Hunter frowned.
"Yeah, like you, surnamed Zhao," the assistant said with a laugh.
The Hunter snorted in response.
"Mr. Jincheng, haven’t you finished for the day?" a colleague asked, to which the belly-fat man smiled: "I’ve still got a few ID forms to complete; there’s been a flood of newcomers recently."
"That’s true, lots of kids coming in for the competition these days. Take care then, I’m off," said the young archivist cheerily, pushing the door open to leave.
The middle-aged man left behind twitched the muscles at the corner of his mouth—he had to be here because two assassins from the Church would be entering The Capital today. He had to collect and destroy the proofs of identity he had provided them. How they would leave the city was not his concern.
He was a Deep Diver, tasked with protecting his cover at all costs.
Pulling out his pocket watch, he checked the time: 2147 at night. That Sarlas fellow should be here by now, and the other assassin should be arriving soon too.
Just as he thought this, the hall’s door opened and a tall figure entered.
"Sir, what are you here for?" the middle-aged man asked the newcomer, uttering the prearranged password—universal for his profession, but with varied responses expected from each client.
The tall man did not respond but instead produced a library card.
The middle-aged man’s mouth twitched, finding the man before him quite unorthodox, but considering that what he brought out was indeed part of the earlier agreed-upon password, he went along with it: "This is a library card, and you’ve come to the Bureau of Civil Affairs by mistake."
The tall man shook his head.
"...Then give it to me; I’ll forward it for you." With that, the middle-aged man reached out to take the library card while silently cursing a hundred times over—the bastard who briefed him had not mentioned the incoming person would be mute!
A document was thrust into his hand.
The tall man turned and pushed the door to leave, while the middle-aged man tossed the paper into the nearby brazier.
After waiting for everything to burn, he stood up, tidied the papers and pens, packed up his belongings, locked the drawer, turned off the hall’s lights, walked to the doorway, turned off the front lights, then exited the hall, closed the door, locked it, and left.