So it is done

Marcus, upon reaching the hotel where he was staying, not under his own name, of course the first thing the professional assassin did was go to his room. All done as nonchalantly as possible, in no way giving away the fact that he was to blame for the failed assassination attempt on King Osmond, which had not yet been announced on television, yet.

But while Marcus was still trying to maintain a facade of professional detachment, more out of habit than remembering exactly why he needed such behavior. And even though the scratch on his body had already healed completely thanks to his regeneration and aura, Marcus Black's mind was certainly no place for calm at all. No, Marcus Black practically breathed out anger and hatred.

"Maybe I should strangle the little cunt later." Marcus thought aloud. While he was not some crazed maniac who craved to kill children, or even particularly enjoy the sight of blood, the opposite was also true. Marcus was not the romanticized image of an assassin, beholden to some kind of code of honor. No, he simply killed for those who paid more, nothing more nothing less, a simple paid killer. Man, woman, child, the elderly, it made no difference to him.

It wouldn't even be the first time he killed a kid!

In fact, it would be the third. First time he killed a kid, it was a minor heir to a big business who got in the way of some powerful deputy. He remembered it quite clearly, since he had pinned the crime on some random Hunters with, um, specific tastes in sexual partners… Was definitely something memorable.

Anyway, killing children was not anything taboo for Marcus, so the thought of taking his anger out on the little brat later, strangling her after he'd dealt with Jonathan. The thought of it echoed a pleasant anticipation in his soul. But, it certainly wasn't enough to fully appease the anger raging in Marcus's soul, and certainly could in no way obliterate the objective reality before Marcus's eyes.

His attempt to gather information had failed miserably, all before he could even gain an iota of information.

It was… for Marcus it was a unique phenomenon, his tactics had never failed before! Even animal instincts, when confronted by an insentient, flying and invisible observer who had no plans to attack, would not trigger. He knows that well, since he had done the same thing to even Faunus before. So why did it happen now!?

And so Marcus, faced for the first time in a long time with something that went completely against his plan, was… Puzzled.

Once upon a time, when he had just begun his journey as a professional assassin, taking quite insignificant orders, in terms of payment relative to his current rates, Marcus had been serious about preparing for his assassination attempts. He made plans after plans, studied his targets extensively, even looked for escape routes, in case his assassination was noticed or if his attempt failed, But now?

For seven years now, Marcus Black has been killing ordinary, unprepared people. Although he had done so in his early days, trying his best to maintain his previous level of professionality, in case one of the guards of the next target turned out to be a Hunter or something, he had slipped. Marcus Black has not used such rudimentary things as 'strict planning' and 'contingency plans' for five years now. Gradually, his mind and expertise simply converged on the fact that he no longer needed such things. That he had simply been lucky enough to draw lucky cards from the deck of fate, and that he simply could not be beaten.

In other words, the decline of Remnant's most famous assassin's skills had begun long ago. It was just at this very moment that the coincidences that had long been waiting to happen lined up in a single chain that led Marcus to fail.

And Marcus' main problem wasn't that he'd been driven away from his target, or that someone had managed to hurt Marcus despite his prowess, or even that the target was now certain to know that Marcus was around. In fact, the main problem for Marcus was that he,

didn't know what he was supposed to do now.

I mean, sure, something brief and trivial like 'should wash up and change his clothes' was self-evident, but Marcus Black didn't have any idea as to what he should do now.

How would Osmond react to his failure? Do they even have an idea on what had actually happened? Would they be able to identify Marcus from the single drop of blood left on the knife? Would Osmond now hire a personal guard of several Hunters for himself?

The answers to these questions could make Marcus' life difficult, regardless of exactly what those answers were, and even whether Marcus would know the difference or not. Any possibility would make Marcus' life very difficult. And Marcus? Marcus didn't know exactly how to deal with that.

What… What did he do back then when he encountered a complication like this?

Marcus strained his memory, something considerably washed out over the years with his alcoholic libations, trying to remember exactly what contingencies he had planned in the past. However, the problem was also that, even if he somehow remembered his past plans, Marcus's targets at the time, when he was still making complex plans with many variables included, concerned people of a much lower social status than Osmond.

In a surprising twist of fate, the Marcus Black of the past, whose main targets were petty gang leaders, was a better assassin than the more powerful Marcus of the present, when tycoons and Kings were his targets.

In other words, Marcus could recall, albeit with difficulty, the plans he had made in case his attack on a shopkeeper failed. But, those plans meant almost nothing in case his target was not some random shopkeeper, but the King of a state.

It was only at this moment that s realization broke through Marcus' alcohol and anger-filled mind. It was the rare bit of insight granted only through clarity brought by his overworked mind. It was that perhaps… Perhaps the task of killing the King of Glenn was not at all as easy and profitable as he had thought it would be.

After buying new clothes, as Marcus hadn't taken a change of clothes from his ship, and he clearly wasn't ready to go to the wastelands to search for them. It had taken some time for Marcus, as he had to shower beforehand, a monumental task, trying to wash the smell of alcohol and sweat off his body. But still, after only an hour, Marcus was finally able to step out of the shower room of the cheap motel where he was staying, smelling marginally much better than before.

He had even managed to calm down a little and was almost ready to try and deal with the situation he found himself in. But before he started, barely having had time to wipe his body and pull on the new white T-shirt he had bought, how ironic that he had used clothes that Osmond had popularized, he heard a knock on the door.

Marcus hesitated for a moment, but decided there's nothing to it, moved swiftly to the door to open it and look at whoever had decided to bother him at the moment. Perhaps only the most pathetic remnants of his professional skills as an assassin caused Marcus to stop at the very last moment before grasping the doorknob.

The door to Marcus's room was, of course, locked, but Marcus luckily, had nothing incriminating on him, only his fake ID, that he always has on him, and some spare lien in his pockets.

Yeah, Marcus Black didn't even carry a gun or any other weapon with him either. After all, if he just needed to sneak into his target's room while they slept and wring their neck, he has no need for any weapons. He had reasoned that it would be much more stealthy to have nothing on hand that would arouse suspicion. Truthfully, he was just too lazy to keep it at hand at all times, after all he was still a Hunter of sorts, so having a weapon on him was nothing suspicious.

Not that he had a reason to change that bad habit anytime soon.

After all, while his fighting technique had degraded considerably in the time he had not used it, Marcus' physical strength and Aura still exists, if barely. Still, no unarmed, untrained civilian would be able to put up a fight against him. Thanks to his Aura, Marcus, even if he had lost his hand-to-hand combat skills, still possessed enough strength to crush an ordinary man's head with one hand simply by squeezing it hard enough.

However, setting aside any reason why Marcus shouldn't have feared a random check on his room, the pathetic remnants of his professional instincts not yet drowned in the alcohol, made him freeze before he opened the door.

Of course, logically speaking, there was no way for his target, Osmond, to find Marcus so easily and so fast. And even if he had already somehow managed to figure out both Marcus' location and name, there's still the safety net of the fake name he was using. If that also failed, then they wouldn't knock on Marcus' room, but would have kicked the door down and simply opened fire to kill.

However, speaking just as logically, Marcus's presence could not have been noticed by any random girl near his target, so logic was already out of town so to speak. So, trusting his gut feeling, Marcus used all his semblance at full bore to escape, realizing too late that it had left him naked once again.

Marcus did not have time to react, however, as he heard the rustle of a key being inserted, and then the sound of his front door being opened.

In other words, Marcus only had time to take a step back, watching as an unassuming faunus dressed in inconspicuous gray clothes appeared a moment later through the open door. The Faunus took a quick glance around the room before taking a step inside.

Marcus stood still, using his levitation to slowly move aside, trying not to collide with the wolf faunus that had just entered, still carefully glancing around the inside of Marcus' room.

A moment later, however, apparently satisfied that Marcus's room was empty, the gray- clothed Faunus started to leave before he suddenly paused. The Faunus' eyes were concentrated on the clothes that had fallen to the ground just before the door. Marcus suddenly felt a sense of danger coming from the normal-looking Faunus. Marcus could of course escape right now from this situation, but all his money and fake documents were still in his clothes, which meant he couldn't leave so easily, but…

Drip!

In the silence of the room, the sound of the drop of moisture crashing to the floor sounded like the rumble of a gunshot, making Marcus wince before turning his gaze to the source of the sound… Which was directly beneath his floating form.

Marcus Black, having made the fundamentally correct decision to wash off the smell of sweat and alcohol off his body, just by chance didn't have time to wipe his body well enough. All before someone, a RATS operative, had knocked on his room.

It was a series of incredibly bad luck that had just put Marcus' life directly in the crosshair. Marcus had no idea who the Faunus that had entered his room was, but he still had a bad feeling about him. And now, he's exposed, literally and figuratively.

A drop of the most ordinary water from Marcus Black's wet hair had fallen off his head, obeying all the laws of physics, the moment it passed Marcus' semblance. It then crashed to the floor, attracting the attention of the operative and Marcus.

Marcus looked up, coincidentally meeting the eyes of the operative, who had just noticed the strange phenomenon of a drop of water appearing out of nowhere. A phenomenon that all RATS agents were made familiar with not hours ago.

There was a second delay, an opening where the operative looked up, trying to determine whether the drop of water had fallen off of a leaking ceiling. Marcus realized that he had to act now.

He could either rush to escape or he could try to deal with the unknown Faunus in his room.

The right solution, even if the Faunus was no one dangerous, would probably be to flee using his semblance or rather all of them at once. Marcus Black could have walked through the wall and, once outside, retreated urgently to the nearest back alley.

However, if Marcus Black had only made the right decisions, he wouldn't have ended up in Glenn at all.

The operative opposite Jonathan nodded once more, despite his interlocutor's inability to see his figure, before answering. "Yes, that's right, ma'am."

Then, after a moment, closing the receiver, the operative, a middle-aged and unremarkable-looking man in a gray overcoat, glanced at Jonathan before glancing at Cinder who was sitting next to Jonathan, and then at Neo.

It was his personal opinion that the presence of children, even if they could be potential assassination targets, was unnecessary during the discussion he was about to have with the King. But, as a RATS operative was supposed to do, he was well aware that his personal opinion only existed as nothing more than his personal opinion. If he voiced it in the presence of outsiders, especially to the King, his personal opinion would become a public opinion. And, unlike personal opinions, a RATS operative could lose not only his full pension but also his quiet life for having a public opinion. Both in the variation of quiet and life.

And so, the operative knows when he should express his opinion, and when he should shove that opinion where the sun doesn't shine. And now was clearly the time for the second option.

That is why, instead of making any comment, the operative simply relayed the information he had received seriously. "Your Majesty, the suspect was indeed staying in the Auburn Motel."

Jonathan only nodded slowly at the news, knowing full well that the information conveyed to him was incomplete. And he was right.

"Two operatives were killed while attempting to capture the target," The words of the man opposite caused Jonathan to cover his eyes and slowly suck in air. In the blink of an eye, little Cinder was already right beside Jonathan, patting his shoulder in support, looking worriedly at the dejected King. For a second, Jonathan froze at the contact before gathering himself. The operative couldn't help but feel bad for delivering bad news to the King.

Certainly, the man was a military hero and had been in Glenn even when that had happened, faced the monsters of the dark all by his lonesome… But he was still, however you look at it, just a young lad. And, judging by the rumor circulating in the Kingdom, he was the kind of person who, when bumping his elbow on an inanimate object, would start apologizing to it.

Not in a hurry to offend his own King, the operative gave Jonathan a few seconds to settle the new information in his head before continuing. "Unfortunately, our operatives were not able to lay any tracking signal on him or even injure the assassin, but an examination of the room he was in revealed some fake documents and even a small amount of lien."

"I see," Jonathan could only exhale at the news before once again closing his eyes, thinking for a second.

The operative didn't know what exactly the King of Glenn sitting across from him was thinking. But he wasn't paid to know that, either. No, even more than that, he was paid extra, not to know what the big shots of the Kingdom were thinking.

"What… what else did you find?" Jonathan questioned.

"In addition to the above, two sets of clothes, one freshly purchased while the other is in… well it looked as if it was worn by a drunken hobo. We suspect that the assassin had used the latter as a disguise of sorts. At the moment, the motel owner is currently being questioned, but it will probably take a few more hours before any actionable information is found. Other than that, we had found nothing more." The operative concluded.

"I see," Jonathan nodded. "In that case… I need to visit it. Tell the others that I will be there soon and that no one should move anything… actually, better to leave the room entirely."

Of course, the operative had his own view on the viability for a head of state, a physically crippled head of state at that, to leave the place where he was supposed to be safely hidden. Besides, he had orders from his most immediate superior, Aisa, to keep Jonathan here, and Jonathan was not the operative's direct superior. But then again, he is their King, his wish is indeed his command. "Excuse me, Your Majesty, but I will need to consult with General Aisa about this decision."

"Yes, that is alright…" Jonathan sighed, then cast a glance first at Neo, then a longer one at Cinder, before raising his gaze to the operative once more. The operative didn't really know what to make of Jonathan's action, though again, he's paid not to know. "I understand."

"In that case, one minute please," The operative nodded, before pulling out his huge phone, which only made Jonathan gloomier.

So, Jonathan, two more points… Tell me, Jonathan, how many more points do you need to win?

If a civilian staying in the motel where Marcus was hiding, were to look out his window into the street now, all that they would be able to see was a police cordon of police cars. Along with that, men in police uniforms were chasing off passing by gawkers away from the cordon. Maybe, they'll even spot one or two unremarkable men and Faunus in civilian clothing scurrying here and there outside that cordon, and nothing else.

All of this, the cordon, the police presence, the unremarkable civilians, were done to make Jonathan's job a lot easier and safer. His previous uses of teleportation, right in the middle of the city, Jonathan could admit, were unwise. Which is why Aisa, knowing her King's proclivities, decided to take him along with his entourage to their temporary residence by car, along with sending her trusted subordinates with him. The people surrounding Jonathan right now were a kind of 'elite operatives' of sorts. People whom Aisa had trusted as people trustworthy enough for Jonathan to be able to reveal a few more abilities from his arsenal, like teleportation, to them.

After all, each of them also possessed a teleportation suit designed by Jonathan himself, so teleportation was not really a secret to them. Furthermore, they were all selected only secondarily because of their outstanding skills, instead primarily because of their ability to follow orders and not ask any questions. Yes, there were more capable specialists in Glenn and among even the rest of the RATS, but there was no one equal to them in the agency with their ability to carry out orders without questions.

So, when Jonathan appeared out of thin air right in front of the operatives' eyes, with no teleportation suit on and even with his entourage at the same time, they asked no questions. Though each of them knew that their suit was supposed to be only capable of transporting only one person, its wearer, and though each of them had no idea why Cinder is here, none of them even batted an eye.

Jonathan himself was even surprised that none of the operatives seems to be bothered by his presence. So, when he started giving orders, he was not quite sure if these seemingly statue-like professionals would follow it. " First, we need to check the entire building, door to door, in case the attacker is still in this building. After which I will need to be inside the room with Cinder and… no one will disturb us."

Although Jonathan's words didn't even seem to reach the ears of the surrounding operatives, they just nodded without changing their expression. "Yes, sir."

In a blink of an eye, the four operatives surrounding Jonathan almost literally disappeared, dashing off to carry out their tasks, leaving him alone with Cinder with Neo nowhere in sight.

Thankfully, not because she had just decided to run off into the crime scene, Neo was left in the temporary safe house and, frankly, Jonathan wanted to leave Cinder there as well. But Cinder had counter-argued that she was the one who had noticed the presence of the invisible watcher last time and therefore absolutely had to be present just in case.

An argument that Jonathan accepted, along with some other reasoning to help the decision along, like the possibility of helping in the ritual. But, that didn't mean that he had agreed to it easily. Too bad that any long deliberation on the matter would not work out for Jonathan, Cinder is simply that headstrong.

After only a few seconds stewing in his indecision, one of the four operatives had returned. "Your Majesty, we have fully evacuated the building. There shouldn't be anyone in the building left."

To be on the safe side, Jonathan reached into his clothes, then pulled out a small, thick case.

How long has it been… Two years since I've used one?

Jonathan opened the case and took out his spectacles, before putting them on, using the simple work of Ars Vis and Ars Vitae, he looked around. "In that case, Cinder and I will now go to the room where the suspect had stayed…"

Huh, suspect? As if anyone has any doubts about his guilt.

"I will ask you to wait in the corridor, outside the room. Under no circumstances are we to be disturbed." Jonathan replied to the operative, to which he only nodded in assent. "Yes, sir."

After this, Jonathan and Cinder, wary even in spite of Jonathan's words, slowly moved towards the room of the hapless assassin and killer.

Now that he's killed two people, Jonathan… What do you think will happen when we catch him?

We haven't caught him yet.

Come on, Jonathan. Even if he's a retired hunter, or even an active one, right now you've been given, oh, let me list out. His clothes and his, albeit fake, document, finding him, at worst, is now only a matter of hours.

And yet we haven't caught him yet.

Hm, Jonathan…

Jonathan eventually found himself in front of the entrance to the room, flanked by Cinder and the four operatives.

Do you not want to catch him?

Jonathan nearly stumbled as he crossed the threshold, and only Cinder's grasp on him prevented him from falling to the ground, although the nearest operative had also reached out his arms to catch him. As soon as they found that Jonathan was fine, the operatives started marching out of the room.

What… What kind of nonsense is that?! Of course, I want to catch him, he has almost killed me and has killed two people of my kingdom?!

Hmm, I can't help but doubt that, Jonathan… I don't think you want to catch him.

Why won't I?!

Perhaps… because, Jonathan, you know what's coming next?

Closing the door behind him, cutting himself and Cinder off from the rest of the world, Jonathan easily found the dirty clothes still lying on the floor with a few drops of water and… an already dried puddle of blood. The blood of an operative of his kingdom who had given his life trying to catch a hired assassin, quite possibly sent after Jonathan.

It's a good thing the body was removed, isn't it? Otherwise, it would have started to conjure up some unpleasant associations, hmm? A Hotel, a corpse, and a dead police officer…

Jonathan gritted his teeth.

Jonathan, what do you think will happen to the assassin who tried to attack a high ranking official, a beloved hero and King of a nation? Who then went on and killed two Secret Service officers in the line of duty? What will be the verdict of the court?

The death penalty. Unequivocally.

In a world where negative emotions were a major existential hazard, imprisonment was somehow still practiced, but only in some very rare cases.

If a person was given a sentence of one or two years, for all the harshness of their time in prison they could be rehabilitated in society at the end, and it would not cause them irreparable mental injury. If the sentence was relatively short, like a few years, an imaginable term in which the convict knows that in just two or three years their life would return to normal. Only in such cases was imprisonment an acceptable method of punishment.

Though sometimes, even for more severe cases, imprisonment was still used from time to time, but only if the other method would only bring qualitatively more harm. For example, a man of great standing with a great image and a family that loved him was caught while committing a severe crime, like murder. His execution would have caused a negative reaction from the public or even his extended family. So, the court had to assess the risks and possibilities correctly, then impose a punishment that would not cause both a surge of negativity and that would actually serve as punishment for the misdeeds of the citizen. Of course, that person wouldn't get off scot-free, they should kiss any future upward mobility goodbye, and the kind of attention from the authorities that is uncomfortable to say the least.

However, speaking on average, the actual maximum prison sentence ranged from seven to ten years. In other words, this was the maximum at which the government considered it possible to somehow rehabilitate the convicted person without causing him further irreparable mental injury.

If, however, the sentence exceeded these limits, unless the convicted person was a unique individual who was simply too necessary to the state - the death penalty would most likely await him.

Killing a member of the Secret Services in the line of duty could, by a stretch, fit into a sentence of ten years. In a case where two people were murdered, also immediately after an attempt on the King's life? Given the fact that, it's also unlikely that these murders were committed by a first-time offender…

And you just don't want that, do you? After all, if he goes to trial, it would feel like you had something to do with his murder, wouldn't it? Much better if he just dies in an accidental shoot-out somewhere, you can mourn the deaths of the operatives, then shrug your shoulders, 'Oh, too bad I couldn't save them'. And that would be the end of it, wouldn't it?

Jonathan wanted to answer that it wasn't the case at all.

Jonathan, you can fool the world by making up new and newer rules as you go along, but that's not how my magic works. I can't do it, so let him get shot by someone in an alleyway, and I'll pretend like I had no part in it. Jonathan, you can't kill a man who's already killed two people.

Yes, I can!

Jonathan replied angrily to himself, before he realized what he had done.

You can, but for some reason you don't. Jonathan, I'm not fooled by such tricks. We have one mind for two. And now you have the perfect opportunity to kill your target.

Jonathan froze, looking at Cinder, silently awaiting his actions.

On the floor lay his clothes, and there are men standing out there in the corridor, each armed with an automatic rifle. It just takes a little magic, you know. 'The bullet hits the body by passing through the clothes', so simple, isn't it? So, just shoot his clothes right now. We can then just find his bullet-riddled body somewhere in the street, and that's the end of the investigation. Isn't that the plan, Jonathan?

It was a great plan, a beautiful and simple plan to rid Jonathan of this annoying problem, one that had already cost him two lives. In such an action. With one simple order, Jonathan would have done the justice that was already awaiting his attacker. After all, he's dead either way… and yet…

You don't want to, hmm? All right, Jonathan. If you want to keep your hands clean till the end, go ahead, order Cinder to do it. I don't think Cinder would…

"NO!"

Cinder flinched, accompanied by a loud knock on the door. It seems that he had spoken his denial out loud. "Your Majesty?!"

"It's okay!" Jonathan replied sharply, then looked at Cinder, who was looking at him in bewilderment.

Well, then maybe the operatives in the corridor? They don't ask questions, you tell them to shoot the shirt, they shoot the shirt. You tell them it's magic, they'll find some tambourine and cut their hands bloody if you order it. It's only a matter of two words.

Jonathan froze in indecision, looking at Cinder, whereupon he slowly shifted his gaze to the T-shirt still lying on the floor. There was nothing special about the very ordinary if slightly wet and dusty T-shirt, but looking at just such an ordinary object, for some reason, Jonathan felt his heart begin to beat harder.

Or do you want to let him go, Jonathan? Surely those two dead operatives will thank you for your gentleness. Their families. Their friends. Everyone will understand your reluctance to take on the hard choices, surely, Jonathan.

Or will they?

Jonathan felt a lump forming in his throat.

Jonathan, I called you undecided earlier, now is your chance to make up your mind. Right now.

Jonathan felt his hand holding the cane slowly begin to tremble.

Come on, Jonathan… It doesn't matter what you choose in the end, he's a dead man walking. All that matters is what you choose in the end.

What are we going to do, Jonathan? Stay white and clean? Or do we bring justice?

Jonathan closed his eyes.