The closer they got to the golden altar, the more Hadjar felt that Nero needed his support now more than he ever had in any of their battles. The Prince stumbled and Hadjar, keeping a calm expression on his face, stopped his friend from falling. Nero came to his senses in time, regained his balance, and reached the altar.
The priest, who was dressed as richly as the King himself, nodded to Hadjar and handed him a simple leather strap. The best man’s duty was to tie the hands of the newlyweds together.
Then everyone gasped. All the guests turned toward the main entrance in unison. There, along with the modestly dressed Princess, stood Serra. She looked so beautiful that, for a fraction of a second, Hadjar wanted to switch places with his friend.
When Serra reached the altar, Nero seemed to let out a sigh of relief and his smile lit up the room.
Then came the ceremony. Hadjar, due to his lack of knowledge, made a slight mistake when tying them together with the leather strap, causing his friends to smile even as the priest frowned in displeasure.
Then there was the feast. Hadjar had never seen so much food and wine in his entire life. Laughter and toasts filled the banquet hall. The guests had fun. Serra and Elaine continued to play with Azrea. The kitten didn’t care — she was too busy licking the remnants of the meat she’d eaten from her paws. Hadjar and Nero drank and smoked. The people around them were annoyed with the latter.
At least a few thousand people sat at the huge table. Bards sang and played on the stage. They sang the same song about Commander Nero and the Mad General over and over. Serra had asked them to play it repeatedly, smugly looking at the gloomy King. A freak show performed next. Hadjar stubbornly looked away from them. He even thought he’d seen several familiar faces among them.
The hall abruptly plunged into darkness and the first screams rang out. It reeked of blood. Human blood.
Hadjar looked with sorrow and regret at his shocked friend who was hugging his scared wife. Hadjar’s revenge had begun in earnest and now he had only one way forward: through mountains of bodies and rivers of blood, straight to the throat of the King and his ultimate desire — regicide.
Chapter 230
The screaming began. Like a tidal wave, it crashed against the cool calm of Nero and Hadjar and, after doing so, washed across the guests, who panicked and fled, hiding under the tables, grabbing the tablecloths and wrapping themselves up in them. The falling dishes rang. Among the flashes of multi-colored energy and sparks of steel, their ringing sounded almost like a melody. An ode to terror.
The King kept issuing orders. Behind him was the Governor, along with six legionaries. Hadjar hadn’t seen these soldiers before. They were clearly more powerful than the four assassins had been.
Sometimes, a figure would appear from the darkness, desperately trying to end the King’s life. However, the many darts, crossbow bolts, daggers, and even a few suicide runs, failed to so much as touch the edges of Primus’ clothes. Everyone and everything that tried to get to the King was immediately stopped by the blades of the six legionaries.
They stood in front of the Governor and the King like stone statues. They had emerged as if from thin air, armed with very unusual swords — notched, curved, flexible, and wide-bladed. Each of them had two pairs of scabbards on their belt. Judging by the way they moved, they were from the same school. What’s more, Hadjar could’ve sworn he’d seen something like this before...
The latest assassin tried to evade them, but her head rolled across the floor anyway. Then the body collapsed, a fountain of blood gushing from its neck.
Hadjar realized then why their Technique seemed so familiar. It was the same one that Primus had used to execute the Duke of Boreas. This only strengthened Hadjar’s suspicions about what had happened fifteen years ago.
After making sure that Nero and Serra were safe, Hadjar leapt off the table. His movements were faster than a falcon’s. His gaze was as merciless as the pits of hell. His sword was like a spring storm hitting a calm, unprepared bay.
Hadjar easily bypassed the defenses of the six swordsmen. Not because they were sluggish or weak, but because they hadn’t expected his attack. Neither the King nor the Governor had had enough time to perceive what had happened.
Blood flew.
Hadjar’s plan was going great so far...
Primus looked startled and put his hand to his cheek, which had been struck by Hadjar, cutting it open. The King looked at the back of the person in front of him with a dumbfounded expression. The disgraced General, who was still alive only thanks to his friendship with the Prince, was holding the weight of a huge axe back with his blade.
One of the assassins had managed to slip past everyone unnoticed, gone around the hall in a wide arc, and had then struck from where he’d been least expected — from behind the King and the Governor.
For a long time to come, the best investigators of the Kingdom would wonder how he had managed it. No one would ever know that it had been Hadjar who’d let this assassin into the room the day before and hidden him in a secret niche that no one except him and a younger Elaine would’ve known about.
“Your majesty, are you alright?” Hadjar asked without turning around. He looked into the assassin’s eyes, and the man looked back resolutely. Both of them understood what would happen next. Both of them were ready for it.
“Kill him,” Primus growled, waving his arm imperiously and sending a wave of energy out.
Immediately, Hadjar turned his wrist and moved slightly. His sword sailed like a blade of grass carried by the wind and, slipping past the shaft of the axe, cut the fake assassin’s
