[White Wolf] Basil and the Ormar Grand Princess Yumir had, in their secret talks, already reached a preliminary understanding.
As for the little scuffle on the tavern's second floor, it hadn't caught the eye of either of these two heavyweights.
But no one had expected that the poison bomb inside Ryan's body would suddenly detonate.
Though this level of toxin posed little threat to top-tier experts like them who had unlocked five gene chains, the explosion still triggered a chain reaction.
...
Outside, the several elite members of the Ormar Royal Retainer Corps who had been lying in ambush, waiting for the signal, immediately noticed the strange explosion that had just occurred at the "Hyacinth Tavern."
According to their intelligence, only the Grand Princess and Basil were supposed to be in there for their secret talks...
They couldn't help but assume something must have gone wrong to cause such a bizarre explosion.
Even though they hadn't yet seen the signal to move, they decided to act at once.
In the next instant, several of the hidden experts let their auras erupt and surged forward at full speed.
To a werewolf — a magical demihuman race with an uncannily acute sense of danger — the sudden burst of power was like the sun bursting out of a night sky, stinging his eyes with pain.
...
With so many top-tier auras suddenly appearing, could the situation possibly be misread?
[White Wolf] Basil decided he'd be a fool to keep gambling on luck.
So he chose to strike first.
The werewolf's senses let him detect the disturbance outside before Yumir did. In the instant Yumir was completely unguarded, he suddenly transformed into his wolf form and struck first, ambushing the Ormar Grand Princess.
That was how the tavern ended up half-collapsed in the exaggerated wreckage Ryan had witnessed.
...
"So this is what a top expert who's unlocked the fifth stage of the gene chain in this world looks like... how terrifying..."
Staring at the ruins before him, Ryan's eyelid twitched hard.
That single blow alone carried more power than a shoulder-fired rocket launcher back in his previous life.
Naturally, Ryan hadn't expected that, of all places, in the very tavern where Pisces had plotted to murder him, he would run into the ceiling of the thief world — the leader of the "White Wolf Bandit Gang," [White Wolf] Basil himself.
Even more coincidentally, it seemed he'd somehow gotten swept up into some enormous incident...
Sure enough — his luck after crossing over was as terrible as ever.
Ryan wore a face of utter despair, silently grumbling to himself.
Thinking back carefully — weren't that man and woman the suspicious pair who'd been sitting in the corner of the tavern earlier?
But he also grew curious — if the mighty silver giant wolf was Basil, then who was the injured woman?
Anyone who could take that blow and survive had to be a top-tier expert as well.
Ryan didn't have to guess for long.
The woman's identity was soon revealed.
...
In the blink of an eye after the explosion, several whooshes of cutting wind sounded, and shadows flickered.
Blinking again, Ryan saw several more figures had appeared on the street near the tavern.
A knight clad head to toe in heavy armor wielding a greatsword, an old man in a black robe carrying a staff, a hooded man concealing his face, and a "tall, rich, handsome" young man surrounded by several guards.
It wasn't that Ryan recognized the young man — it was that his attire was so eye-catchingly extravagant it wasn't hard to guess his status was extraordinarily noble.
The young man had a head of dashing golden hair, blue eyes, sharp brows, and — strangely — a half-face gas mask forged of pure gold covering his face. He wore finely crafted high leather boots and a black noble's dress coat, its double row of pure-gold buttons carved with the golden gryphon crest...
Only someone with the right to wear the imperial Sprugrin family's exclusive emblem on his buttons could have his identity guessed without much difficulty.
"Someone from the Ormar royal family?"
Seeing the golden-haired man's attire, Ryan guessed at the newcomer's identity, then frowned.
If he'd run into these people anywhere else, he wouldn't have found it strange.
But these people had come all the way to the bandits' "black market auction"?
Walking straight into the tiger's den?
Even if the people standing before him all looked like heavyweights, that didn't mean they could barge into a bandit stronghold and act so recklessly!
...
Clearly, [White Wolf] Basil thought the same.
Being schemed against on his own turf — could this silver wolf's fiery temper possibly let that slide?
"Helmos, so even you old fossil came out here? I figured you'd rot away in the Ormar imperial capital..."
Basil, spotting the old man with the staff, felt a flash of gravity cross his wolf eyes.
After all, this man — [Yama] Helmos Zakaria, one of the "Ten Legendary Demon Hunters" alongside himself — was the foremost expert in the field of elemental sorcery.
"Basil, it's been ten years since we last met. Seems your temper hasn't changed a bit... You werewolves really do have an enviable gift for long life."
Magic surged all through Helmos's body — from a distance, his black robe seemed to burn like the raging black flames of hell, radiating a scorching sense of destruction even from far away.
Basil sneered coldly, asking in a low voice, "What, ten years ago we never settled our score — you want to try again today?"
Hearing this, the court's Grand Magus shook his head and replied calmly, "His Highness the First Prince has come to put down the bandit menace. As his teacher, of course I'd offer up these old bones to lend what little strength I have."
"Oh?"
As if he'd heard something amusing, Basil scoffed.
Only then did he glance at the young man in the gold gas mask, deliberately saying in an exaggerated tone, "Oh, would you look at who it is? Ormar's own First Prince Quentin Sprugrin has personally graced us with his presence — should I feel honored?"
In the face of absolute strength, the boy's noble status didn't earn him so much as a second glance from Basil.
Hearing the contempt in his tone, the First Prince said nothing. His arrogant gaze seemed to suggest that even exchanging words with such a lowly bandit was beneath him.
The atmosphere turned briefly awkward.
Then the black-robed man beside Quentin stepped forward and said with an easy smile, "Lord Basil, there's no need to stall for time. Even if your subordinates arrive, they won't be able to save you."
"Oho?"
Seeing his intentions read so plainly, Basil sneered, entirely unbothered.
Instead, his silver wolf face broke into a mocking expression as he swept his gaze over the group. "You lot really think you've got me cornered? Do you truly think my 'White Wolf Gang' and its hundreds of thousands of brothers are just for show?"
It wasn't arrogance — it was simply the truth.
Even if the several people before him were all top-tier retainers of the Ormar court, killing him outright wasn't something they could manage anytime soon.
And if it came to a real fight, would the brothers of his "White Wolf Gang" just stand by and watch?
Did they really think these hundred thousand-plus vicious bandits were made of clay?
"Well... Lord Basil, the reason we've been chatting so much is, I think, because our thinking aligns. We too have been waiting for your subordinates to arrive and reinforce you..."
The black-robed man shrugged noncommittally, making no attempt to hide his meaning.
Then, in the most breezy, unbothered tone imaginable, he delivered the most domineering line of all.
"After all, today's plan was always to... wipe every last one of you out!"
What?!
Hearing this, Basil's pupils suddenly contracted, sensing that something was off.
He glanced left and right — surely the Ormar royal legions hadn't surrounded them with a full army? No, that couldn't be right... they'd chosen this open stretch of land by Storm Lake specifically; even a large legion couldn't pull off an encirclement here.
Where was this man getting his confidence to talk so big?
He fixed his silver eyes on the black-robed man who'd just made such a bold claim and asked warily, "Who are you?"
The black-robed man's hood still concealed half his face; only the faint upward curl of his mouth was visible, carrying a hint of sinister charm. "This humble one is Clemens F. Metternich — merely a minor aide under His Highness Prince Quentin, not worth mentioning..."