Chapter 325: To Turn the Hand and Make Rain

The shadow of a bird fell from the sky, crossed layer upon layer of wards and interdictions, and finally landed... upon a precious long table of ancient wood.

Robin lifted his head and looked toward the other end of the table, where the one carefully savoring the red wine in his glass was... White Tiger.

White Tiger was impeccably dressed, lightly swirling his glass, expression intoxicated. Judging from the label on the table, this was an oak-aged red from the Royal Winery, priceless, with an annual yield of fewer than a hundred barrels.

It bore the name “Oak” because the barrels used to make this wine were said to be hewn only from oaks over a hundred years old, which lent it a unique fragrance.

“Chairman, you’re in fine spirits.”

Robin casually poured himself a glass, curled a wing around it, took an utterly uncherished sip, and said:

“I hear His Majesty has just issued a new tax act—another hard slice across our main arteries to let a wave of blood. Yet the Chairman remains so at ease at a time like this. That truly sets my mind at rest.”

“Of course. If one were to panic like those fools at such a time, what purpose would it serve, beyond making others laugh?”

White Tiger opened his eyes and smiled coldly:

“In any case, so long as our aim is achieved, what is lost will be taken back, and even... more.”

“...Makes sense.”

“How goes the work?”

“Though that lofty tone of yours is most unpleasant, at this moment I can only say...”

Robin set down the wineglass nearly as large as his bird-body and said:

“All is smooth. The prey is in the cage; the hunters are on stage. All that remains is to await the result.”

“I imagine it will be a good result.”

“The Chairman is confident as ever. However...”

A flash crossed Robin’s gaze:

“I have a bad feeling.”

“Oh?”

White Tiger arched a brow. “Why?”

“Because Plan A failed,” Robin said.

Before taking point on this operation, Robin had considered it nearly seamless—a dead-end with no solution «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» for that Muen Campbell.

An old-line Crowned-tier, and a surprise attack at that—yes, there was the Pink Bear, but he is not truly Crowned. How could he possibly hold it back?

And yet it still failed.

Because Muen Campbell, as if forewarned, had actually hidden a Crowned-tier in his convoy as well!

Damn it, what in the world had he been through to make him this guarded? According to the latest inquiry, in order to hire that Stargazer on short notice, he even sold off several of his old man’s estates!

Robin felt that if he had such a prodigal son, the first thing on returning home would be a killing backhand slap.

But.

It was precisely because of Muen Campbell’s abnormal vigilance that Plan A collapsed completely.

And the failure of a seamless plan couldn’t help but make Robin wonder: could another seamless plan... likewise fail?

“I see. It’s natural for you to think so.”

White Tiger’s eyes remained tranquil.

“But I think there’s no need whatsoever for that line of thought.”

“Oh? Why.”

“Because you are all paying too much attention to Muen Campbell himself.”

“Himself?”

“Precisely. The assassination attempt, and the reports from the Academy, all indicate Muen Campbell has undergone earthshaking changes of late.

It’s even possible that foolish face of his in the past was merely a disguise, and only now—when his engagement to Princess Celicia draws near and no one will threaten him—does the little lion begin to bare his fangs.

We were all deceived by him. He is far more capable than we imagined.

However...”

White Tiger’s tone turned; a curl of scorn tugged at his lips:

“Did he truly survive Plan A thanks to his excellence?”

“Wasn’t it?” Robin frowned. “If not for his vigilance, we would have long since—”

“Of course not!”

White Tiger cut him off:

“What of excellence? What of vigilance? Were those what truly let him slip the noose? They were not!

He has lived to now because he is the high-born son of a duke, because he can afford to hire a Crowned-tier to guard him, because of the halo on him!

Heh—excellent? Genius? Forbearance? Without a foothold, those are useless. Otherwise, what do you think...”

White Tiger stared into Robin’s eyes and sneered:

“How many self-styled geniuses have I snuffed out over the years?”

“...”

A chill ran through Robin. Only now did he seem to glimpse—deep in the eyes of the man before him, whose true identity he still did not know, yet who had single-handedly forged the behemoth that was the Inner Council—the darkness lurking at the bottom.

“Do you understand? That is the meaning of Plan B’s existence. When the halo is stripped away, when one is alone and trapped in a desperate place with no support—then even if our little duke’s son is more excellent, more gifted—ten times more than we imagine!

But... what of it?”

White Tiger slammed a paw onto the table, as if casually crushing an ant.

A worm with its halo shed is still a worm, however stiff it stands.

“Of course, if Mr. Robin is still uneasy, you may substitute yourself into Muen Campbell’s situation. Hm... according to prior intel, let us place his strength at a Third Rank Warrior... no, let’s be generous and call it Third Rank peak.

Mr. Robin, use that clever brain and think carefully—does Muen Campbell have any chance of surviving?” White Tiger asked with a playful look.

“A chance of surviving...”

Robin fell into thought.

Though formulated by White Tiger, the operation was handled entirely by him; he had incomparably detailed intelligence on every figure involved.

And the ones now pursuing Muen Campbell...

Barton the Corpse-Cutter, who murdered his own father and has at least several hundred lives on his hands—his strange technique would make even a Fifth Rank powerhouse wary.

The Hyena from some secret laboratory, dubbed a monster among monsters—its bodily toughness and recovery could let it survive a charge from an entire unit of heavy cuirassiers.

The Fular Sisters, traitors of the Origin Tower... to enter the Origin Tower at all is proof of excellence.

And... that Father Sion whom the Life Church has hunted for years, yet who remains spry and alive.

These were terrifying existences that made even his own spine go cold—evildoers among evildoers, criminals among criminals, without a shred of bottom line, morality, or decorum. Their names alone were enough to stop a child’s night crying in some places.

If he himself were Muen Campbell—if he himself had Third Rank peak strength... no, bolder—even as a Fourth Rank Warrior, and even adding whatever tools and items he might carry...

There would still be no way!

Even if he hauled a magi-cannon along, there would still be no way!

This was a difference in tier, not something solvable by mere excellence and external aids.

Unless Muen Campbell converted to an Evil God’s faith on the spot and received power directly from the Evil God—otherwise there was not even the slightest possibility!

But to obtain power of that degree—the price paid... would likely be more terrifying than death.

And Muen Campbell would be insane to throw away his bright future to go worship an Evil God?

As for the little girl reported to have been teleported with him—supposedly a devotee who specialized in Holy Light, with no capability for frontal combat—what could she do?

“Do you understand?”

White Tiger raised his glass and chuckled:

“Perhaps there is no absolutely perfect plan in this world. But for that Muen Campbell, the moment he was teleported into the Forest of Deathbane, it meant his life had begun its countdown.”

“I see. I was overthinking.”

Robin likewise raised his glass and smiled:

“Then let us await good news.”

“Await good news.”

The glasses clinked—clear and pleasing, like the music that plays at victory.