I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 415 Assassin Mission
The deafening cheers did not subside after the royal float passed; instead, they surged like an even stronger wave after the tide receded, sweeping across the entire city of Woltradnoy with even greater fervor.

The air was filled with the sweet aroma of toasted bread, the slightly salty smell of sweat, the fragrance of flowers, and the ever-present, faint scent of machine oil mixed with steam from the creations of the Mechanicus.

In this joyful, almost suffocating ocean, Home Alone flows silently like an inconspicuous drop of water.

He wore rough linen clothes that were no different from those of the farmers, workers, and ordinary citizens around him. They were washed until they were faded, and he even deliberately smeared a few specks of mud and oil on them.

His hair was disheveled, covering his forehead, and his face wore an expression that was a mixture of novelty and a little tired—an expression all too common on the faces of outsiders attending such a grand festival for the first time.

He even held a half-eaten, slightly cold roasted corn cob in his hand, taking a bite every now and then, completely blending into the background.

Only those eyes, hidden beneath disheveled hair and deliberately lowered eyelids, calmly surveyed everything around them.

His steps seemed casual, pushed and shoved by the crowded flow of people, yet he always managed to skillfully avoid the most intense pressure points, like a fish swimming upstream in a turbulent stream, maintaining a subtle autonomy.

Just now, when King Chris passed by, everyone was cheering and jumping for joy, but the kid continued to move around, looking for someone.

The young man remembered that he was there to work.

Harvest Festival, coronation ceremony, royal wedding... three joyous occasions, the whole country rejoices.

Behind this immense joy lies the moment when the kingdom's power is displayed to the fullest extent, while its defensive forces are dispersed and numbed by the celebratory atmosphere.

Intelligence from the court revealed that undercurrents had never ceased to surge, and the remnants of the old aristocracy, stripped of their privileges and wealth, harbored deep resentment towards Chris's reforms.

Extreme pious believers in the traditional church that has been forcibly transformed and marginalized, as well as spies and saboteurs lurking in the shadows from Omdur or other neighboring countries.

They all longed to deliver a resounding slap to Chris and his new order in this moment of great attention, even if it was just a splash of blood.

Just hours before the celebration began, the court issued an emergency call to all available resources, offering generous rewards and temporary upgrades to privileges.

The kid accepted the assignment almost instantly and became a temporary worker in the courtroom.

Thus, this chaotic and noisy celebration was the perfect hunting ground for a professional like him (in my opinion).

His list of targets wasn't long, but each one was as dangerous as a venomous snake.

Inside the cuff of the little devil's sleeve, the cold metallic touch against his forearm made him feel at ease. The thought of how this thing would come in handy later made him smile.

This is a treasure that Home Alone has been collecting for a long time, and today it finally comes in handy... a single-shot pocket crossbow with an extremely compact structure, made of fine steel and bronze.

It was cleverly sewn into the lining of the linen sleeves; the crossbow bolts were only the length of a little finger and coated with a potent poison. The trigger was connected to a finger cot on the wrist by a strong fishing line.

It is silent and highly stealthy when activated. Its only drawback is its extremely short range, requiring close-range engagement and having a very low margin for error. But that's exactly what the kid loves most about it; he enjoys the thrill.

What if the challenge fails?
Serve cold.

As long as the target is dead, that's all that matters. He can even strangle someone with his bare hands.

While the kid was wandering around, he quickly found his first target.

Ten meters ahead of him, a man dressed in a decent woolen coat and wearing a bowler hat was crowding in front of a stall selling cheap jewelry, haggling with the stall owner, looking like a shrewd citizen.

But the young master's gaze was fixed on the inconspicuous brass ring with subtle spiral patterns on the other person's left little finger... According to the court's intelligence, it was the mark of a low-level informant in the Minisian Naval Intelligence Bureau.

While the man was haggling, his gaze kept inadvertently sweeping over a nearby makeshift shed piled high with celebratory fireworks.

Home Alone is slowly approaching, hiding itself, waiting for its chance.

Soon, his opportunity arrived.

A group of performers dressed as giant ears of wheat on stilts swayed past, causing the crowd to burst into laughter and gasps, scrambling to make way and creating a brief moment of chaos and pushing.

The little guy seemed to be suddenly bumped from behind, stumbled and fell towards the "citizen," knocking him back two steps.

"Ouch... I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!"

The kid immediately apologized in a pretentious, heavily accented Mandarin, and frantically tried to help the other person up.

At the very moment of physical contact, his wrist pressed inward at an extremely small angle, and the mechanism under his cuff made a soft "click" sound.

In the stillness of the night, this click would be like a thunderclap from a clear sky, incredibly jarring. But on this festive and bustling street, the sound was no more than the buzzing of a mosquito, and no one paid it any attention.

The "citizen" froze abruptly, his pupils dilated instantly, and a short, muffled "uh" escaped his throat, drowned out by the clamor of the crowd.

The bargaining expression on his face hadn't even completely faded before it froze into extreme shock and pain. A barely perceptible numbness instantly spread from the ribs where the crossbow bolt had pierced him.

The little guy had already steadied himself in a panic, but he continued to apologize incessantly, acting like a drama queen.

"I'm so sorry, brother, there were just too many people..."

As he spoke, he casually shoved the half-eaten roasted corn into the other person's stiff hand, and was quickly pushed aside by the crowd.

The citizen, like a broken log, slid softly against the stall and fell to the ground, his top hat rolling to the side.

Those around were stunned for a moment, then someone exclaimed, "Someone has fainted!"

"Is it heatstroke?"

"Call the doctor quickly!"

The minor disturbance quickly attracted the attention of nearby soldiers maintaining order.

The little devil disappeared into the throng of people without looking back, like a drop of water merging into the ocean.

He licked his lips, which were a little chapped from excitement, and continued to nibble on the small piece of free honey bread he had just taken, as if he had just bumped into an ordinary unlucky guy.

He continued wandering around, looking for his second target. The kid wasn't going it alone; not long after he left, someone at the street intersection waved at him and then made a gesture towards the old town.

He was guiding the kid to take charge, letting the latter know the general direction of his second mission objective.

In a relatively quiet alley near the edge of the old town, an old woman in a tattered priest's robe, with fanatical eyes, was praying softly to a vine pattern on the corner of the wall that had been smeared down to its indistinct outline. Her face was filled with an almost distorted piety and resentment.

Within her wide sleeves, a rough, cylindrical object wrapped in cloth could be vaguely seen.

This is a devout avenger who cares nothing for his own life.

According to intelligence provided by informants at the court, the fanatic planned to ignite the flamingo on his body when the procession was at its most intense, using the flames and his own life to create panic and chaos as an indictment of Chris's blasphemy.

There aren't many people still active in the alley now; most residents have gone out to participate in the chores, but the sound of children playing can be heard deep inside the alley.

The young man, like a lost country boy looking for a shortcut, cautiously entered the alley. After looking around pretending to be thoughtful, he approached the old woman with a bewildered expression.

"Old woman..."

He spoke in that harmless tone.

"Excuse me, how do I get to Harvest Square?"

There are too many people, I'm confused..."

The old woman's prayers were interrupted, and a flash of annoyance and wariness crossed her eyes. But when she saw that the other person was just a poorly dressed country boy, her wariness eased slightly.

"Go that way, don't bother me!"

She pointed in a direction impatiently, but her hand instinctively tightened around something in her sleeve.

Just as she raised her hand to point the way, the little devil seemed to trip over an uneven stone slab, his body suddenly lunging forward, his right hand seemingly instinctively reaching for the old woman's arm to maintain his balance.

"damn it!"

The old woman instinctively tried to pull her hand away.

But it was too late. The instant their bodies made contact, the kid's left forearm, at an extremely concealed angle, precisely pressed against the wrist of the hand holding the "Holy Flame Bottle" through the other's wide sleeve.

It was that barely audible clicking sound again.

The old woman's body trembled violently, her cloudy eyes filled with disbelief and extreme pain.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out; only a strange "hoarse" sound came from her throat.

The dangerous cylinder slipped from his sleeve and, with the little devil as cover, gently nudged it with his toe, sending it silently rolling into a corner piled with garbage and debris.

"Grandma? What...what's wrong?"

The little homebody, looking terrified, supported her limp body, his voice carrying just the right amount of fear.

"Don't scare me... Someone help! This old lady seems to be having a relapse!"

His shouts attracted the attention of passersby at the alley entrance.

When someone ran over to help, the little devil "fearfully" let go of the hand and, like a startled rabbit, quickly squeezed out of the alley and rejoined the noisy crowd outside.

He patted his chest, seemingly still shaken, then quickly regained his somewhat bewildered country boy demeanor, his gaze already fixed on the next coordinate on the list.

In the distance, an even louder boom of cannons seemed to come from the direction of the royal palace, and golden confetti fell like snowflakes, pushing the celebratory atmosphere to its climax.

But in those shadowy corners covered by cheers and smiles, the cold hunt continues.

The cold glint of the blade flashed only in that briefest, most chaotic moment, like the fleeting, unnoticed shadow of death beneath celebratory fireworks.

The figure of the little devil appeared and disappeared in the crowd, like a real ghost, reaping the discordant notes that tried to ruin this grand "performance".

He licked the honey off his lips, his eyes calm and unwavering, searching for the next person who "needed help."

The young master's face remained calm and expressionless, but secretly, he was on the verge of climaxing.

This is the essence of "killing one man in ten steps, leaving no trace for a thousand miles"!
(End of this chapter)