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TWL Chapter 474: Glass, Blood, and Silence
🕑 Added 2025-07-01 20:45:57 +0000 UTC“Your Majesty, didn’t you order us to keep innovating the use of these bombs? Sabrina always focused solely on magic and never truly underst
“Your Majesty, didn’t you order us to keep innovating the use of these bombs? Sabrina always focused solely on magic and never truly understood alchemy—but after a long period of study, I’ve finally made a breakthrough!”
The mage held up his modified Northern Wind like a precious treasure, bringing it close to the bound elf.
“Typical Northern Wind bombs merely release a freezing mist upon detonation, slowing anyone caught in the blast,” the mage said proudly. “But their scattered, diluted effect doesn’t even have the power to properly coagulate blood!”
“I, however, concentrated the bomb’s internal components—refined them to a near-liquid state. Now it can freeze blood, flesh, and bone in an instant—solid, then shattered!”
He straightened with smug confidence. “And what’s more, aside from the frozen part, the rest of the subject remains completely unharmed. Fully conscious. They get to watch—watch as their body freezes, goes numb, and shatters before their very eyes. And before their brain even registers the pain, it’s already too late.”
Henselt’s tone was ice-cold. “So… no blood? No screams? No suffering?”
The king’s dry response made the mage panic and shake his head repeatedly. “No, no, Your Majesty! My new Northern Wind brings a whole new kind of fear—one that transcends mere pain. A pure, refined torture. You’ll love it, I assure you…”
“And that’s not all—” the mage lifted the jar toward the king. It wasn’t shaped like a bomb at all—more like an oversized perfume bottle.
“My new Northern Wind is far more controllable. It doesn’t rely on crude ‘explosions’—no, it sprays its frost. Elegant. Precise,” he explained with full confidence. “This, along with the liquefied freezing agent, marks a true breakthrough. Once you try it yourself, Your Majesty, I guarantee you’ll be—”
The mage droned on and on, eager to win the king’s attention and favor.
He lifted a hand and cast a spell, jolting the unconscious elf back to life in spasms. Then, with a wave, he summoned his assistant and gestured for him to begin the demonstration.
He failed to notice that, as every eye in the room was focused on the scene unfolding inside, a shadow had silently slipped in from the window.
[Whmm—whsst—crack!]
The soft sound of a crossbow string snapping echoed first.
An instant later, a bolt pierced the window, shattering the modified Northern Wind in the assistant’s hands with unerring precision.
It all happened too quickly.
In the blink of an eye, the very weapon the mage had boasted about—'highly concentrated', capable of 'instantly freezing flesh and bone'—detonated with ferocious intensity.
The assistant holding the Northern Wind, and the elf beside him, were frozen solid in an instant. Then came the guards standing nearby.
The freezing force surged outward without pause. The operating table, books, chandelier, ceiling, and windowsill—within the span of a single breath, all were claimed by the frost.
But the mage beside Henselt reacted with impressive speed—after all, his eyes had been fixed on the bomb the entire time.
In truth, he hadn’t been nearly as confident as he’d pretended to be. He had been on edge from the start, alert to any potential mishap with the bomb.
So, the instant he heard the glass shatter, he threw up a protective barrier—quick, solid, and wide—shielding Henselt and the nearby guards behind him.
They had narrowly escaped death.
The Northern Wind’s freezing mist continued to pour out for five full breaths, transforming the entire study into a frozen wasteland before it finally ceased. From a purely academic standpoint, the mage’s research deserved recognition.
When the barrier finally dropped and the mage, breathless, dispelled the spell, he didn’t wait for anyone else to react. He immediately shouted, “An assassin! Outside the window! There’s an assassin!”
Henselt gave him a cold glance, then tilted his head toward the few remaining guards.
[Srring—srring—srring.]
Blades were drawn.
The four surviving guards exchanged glances, quickly forming a loose formation as they crept cautiously toward the window.
They’d all seen the bolt earlier—they knew the direction of the attacker. Whoever it was had somehow infiltrated the royal palace at night—an incredible feat. Still, maybe they’d miscalculated the power of the Northern Wind and had already been caught in its blast.
The window sill had frozen over and cracked, now brittle like a wafer. The icy steel of the guards’ swords probed the even colder darkness beyond.
The enemy seemed to be hiding there—lurking like a serpent—just waiting…
For one perfect opening.
[BOOM!]
Suddenly, the study’s roof gave way. The frozen ceiling collapsed, hailing down like icy shrapnel upon everyone inside.
And then Letho dropped.
The moment his massive frame touched the ground, he launched himself forward with explosive force—faster than gravity. In a blur, he slammed into the group of guards from behind.
He didn’t draw his sword.
Instead, with only a flash of steel from a dagger, he struck—lightning-fast, serpent-like—piercing two spines with pinpoint accuracy. With two dull thuds, half the guards were already down.
The third guard finally reacted, roaring as he raised his sword.
The slender dagger clashed with the steel blade—five times its size—but in that moment, the guard didn’t feel like he was facing a dagger.
It felt like an axe.
His wrist bent back unnaturally under the force. His own sword was crushed against his throat, and before he could resist, the assassin’s sheer strength dragged the blade across his neck—
[CRACK.]
Steel and flesh snapped in unison.
Only one guard remained.
Letho met the man’s wide, terrified eyes. But he didn’t raise the dagger. Instead, he reached out with his left hand, seized the man’s neck, and hoisted him effortlessly like a chick—swinging him behind just in time to shield himself.
[BOOM!]
The mage hurled a fireball with every ounce of magical force he could muster.
But this spell wasn’t meant to burn—it ripped, tore, detonated. The heat burst violently inside the unlucky guard’s body. He became a living bomb—his flesh and bones exploding outward in all directions.
Letho, shielded behind him, emerged completely unharmed.
…
The mage stared at the assassin who now had his full attention locked on him. He took a deep breath.
That build—immense strength, frightening speed.
There were less than ten steps between them. And he had just one spell left.
But he was a sorcerer.
The man in front of him? Just an assassin.
One spell would be enough.
The mage swiftly conjured another fireball, while Letho crouched low, like a tiger tearing through a storm of blood, launching into a full charge.
His dagger was held level, and with each thunderous step, the frozen floor beneath him cracked and split. The fractures raced up the walls, causing the entire room to tremble.
It was as if the frozen study couldn’t bear the weight of his advance—and began to collapse under it.
The mage sneered, watching Letho barrel toward him with nothing but a dagger.
What? Did he plan to slice the fireball in half?
With a roar, the fireball surged forward, flames writhing and twisting.
But it wasn’t met with a dagger—it was met with an empty left hand.
Aard Sign - Piercing Cold.
Ice surged forth to meet fire.
“Not an assassin!” the mage shrieked, “You’re a witch—!”
He never finished the word.
The dagger didn’t split the fireball—it split his throat.
Letho yanked the blade free, flicking the blood off with a flick of his wrist.
Then he turned.
King Henselt was already sprawled in panic near the main doors, scrambling in vain. The frozen doorknob had snapped off in his hands. He slapped at the ice-covered doors, but they wouldn’t budge. On the other side, the muffled sounds of shouting guards grew louder, all blocked from entering.
Letho exhaled, steadying his breath. He glanced down at the floor—it was dangerously brittle now. One more forceful step could collapse it.
So he slowed his pace.
Step by step, softly, he crept toward Henselt.
“Wait—wait!” Henselt cried, his voice breaking. “Who sent you? I’ll pay double—no, ten times! Was it him? Was it Lanni—”
[Splurt.]
Letho grabbed Henselt by the hair with his left hand and, with one swift motion, slit his throat. A second slice, and something round and wet was dangling from his hand.
He weighed it for a moment, then blinked in surprise.
In the past, assassins from the School of the Viper would always bring back something to prove the job was done—usually a severed head. It had become muscle memory at this point.
But now…
Letho gave a faint sneer and tossed Henselt’s remains aside. He paused, listening to the panicked shouting of the guards beyond the doors. Then he rolled his neck.
With a grunt, he lowered his shoulders and slammed forward—BOOM!—shattering the cracked, frozen wall.
He landed lightly on the rooftop of the neighboring building.
A few agile leaps later, he vanished into the night.
