Your Majesty, I’m Not that Man - Chapter 8: Escape and Pursuit (1)

Charles, one of the gang members involved in the attack, was running for his life. He had no idea what had just happened. A magic scroll? Who would use such an expensive item in a robbery like this?! Something felt suspicious, but he had no time to think about it—he needed to get away.

The other members of his crew, whom he thought had been fleeing with him, had vanished long ago. Now it felt as if he was the only one being chased.

“Stop right there!”

“He went that way!”

Charles weaved through the alleys, dodging the relentless pursuit of the guards. He felt a strange sense of déjà vu, recalling his childhood when he used to run away from his father’s scoldings for avoiding work at the family shop. Though he was much larger now, the alleys were still familiar territory.

“If things go wrong, meet at the hideout.”

Charles remembered the gang leader’s instructions and sprinted toward the rendezvous point. That was the only place he felt might offer some safety.

The leader had always seemed to have a plan. Unlike Charles, who lived day-to-day without much thought, the leader always seemed to be calculating. He had a knack for finding money and opportunities, often involving women, and Charles believed this time would be no different.

“He’s probably already there, waiting for me.”

After finally shaking off the guards, Charles made his way to the hideout, eager to figure out what had gone wrong and hear what the next steps would be. The situation had spiraled out of control far more than he had anticipated.

“A magic scroll… Who would’ve thought they had something that valuable?”

Magic scrolls were not only rare but also prohibitively expensive. Rumor had it that one of those scrolls could cost as much as a commoner’s house.

Furthermore, scrolls containing offensive magic were heavily restricted by the state. Purchasing one required special permits and qualifications, making it almost impossible for someone like him to acquire legally.

Charles, glancing over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t being followed, ducked into an alley. He climbed over a wall, scaled a chimney, and carefully leaped across rooftops before finally reaching the hideout.

“Am I the last one here?”

Stepping inside, Charles was greeted by eerie silence. He had expected to find the others waiting for him.

“Did they ditch me and run?”

The thought made his stomach churn with unease. Desperate for answers, Charles hurriedly entered the hideout.

The building had originally been constructed as a storage facility, with only a couple of small windows high up near the roofline. Even during the day, the interior remained dimly lit, and at first, the scene inside didn’t quite register with him.

“What the…?”

The first thing that struck Charles was the overwhelming stench of blood. Inside the building, dozens of men in masks lay dead. Judging by their build and attire, these were the same men who had been part of Charles’ crew. His friends were among the bodies scattered around the room, as if they had turned on each other in a brutal fight.

“This… this can’t be…”

Charles, reeling from the gruesome sight, wandered through the room. Among the dead, he spotted their leader, Bailey, lying in a pool of blood. His body had been savagely mutilated but still clung to the faintest shred of life.

“Bailey!”

Charles stumbled over corpses to reach him, desperate to help. He tried to lift Bailey, but a large sword had been plunged into his chest, pinning him to the ground.

“What… what happened?! What the hell happened here?!”

Charles demanded, his voice shaking with fear. But Bailey could only cough up blood, his lips trembling as he struggled to speak.

Charles had no way of knowing that Bailey had been left alive as a cruel message, his lungs deliberately punctured by the assassins. Nor did he realize that the blood Bailey coughed up had already stained Charles’ clothes, leaving dark red splotches all over him.

“Ba… bast… ards…”

Bailey’s face twisted in agony as he tried to form words. His trembling hand reached out weakly before his body convulsed, and his life finally slipped away.

Charles froze as the weight of the moment hit him. Bailey was dead. His leader, the one who always had a plan, was gone.

He stumbled backward, his entire body trembling uncontrollably. Charles had seen death countless times before, but those deaths had always been at his own hands or orchestrated by his gang. Watching his comrades, especially Bailey, slaughtered like this was a first.

“Damn it…! Why the hell is this happening?!”

BANG! BANG!

The locked front door shook violently as someone pounded on it from the outside. Charles spun toward the sound, his heart pounding in terror.

“We know you’re in there! Surrender immediately, or we’ll break the door down!”

Charles scrambled to his feet, slipping on the blood-slicked floor. He glanced down, finally noticing the crimson smears covering his clothes. He was drenched in blood, a sight that made his stomach churn.

He had to escape. But where? The only person who could have given him directions was Bailey, and he was now a lifeless corpse.

Panic gripped Charles as he fumbled for a weapon. His eyes landed on the sword embedded in Bailey’s chest. Without thinking, he yanked it free, the blade making a sickening sound as it slid out of the body.

By pulling out the sword, Charles had unwittingly made himself look like the prime suspect in the massacre. But in his panicked state, such thoughts never crossed his mind.

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Charles, having unwittingly fallen into the perfect trap, was now surrounded. The assassin who had shadowed him wasted no time informing the guards. A simple tip—“A man covered in blood just ran into that building”—was enough to unleash chaos.

Soon, the streets were swarming with guards, and the sounds of shouting and clanging steel filled the air. From inside the hideout, Charles’s desperate cries echoed, interspersed with the curses of those closing in on him. The assassin smirked, knowing his part was done, and seamlessly disappeared into the shadows, heading off to regroup with his team.

The mission had taken an unexpected turn, and time was running out.

The disappearance of the Emperor’s concubine from Madame Pompadour’s boutique was now at the center of a rapidly escalating situation. The hidden tunnel beneath the boutique, leading to a secretive club, was no great mystery to those who operated in the shadows. It was a well-known escape route for the criminal underworld—a dirty little secret shared among smugglers, thieves, and assassins.

At first, the assassins thought their plan had been completely derailed. But one of them remembered the tunnel’s existence just in time. If Lady Levinia Wendell had used it to flee to the nearby club, she wouldn’t have gotten far. Even if the original plan to stage a robbery had fallen apart, capturing or killing her in isolation was still achievable.

Their leader, sharp-eyed and calculating, quickly assessed the situation.

“Find her,” he commanded in a low, venomous tone. “If she’s alone, take her somewhere quiet and finish the job.”

Failure was not an option. The group had been hired to kill Lady Levinia Wendell, and their employers would not accept excuses. Even amidst the spiraling chaos, one thing was clear: Levinia had to die.

The assassins fanned out, their movements precise and silent. Their prey had a head start, but the chase was far from over. This was no longer just about completing a contract. Their very survival depended on ensuring Levinia never lived to see another day.

＊ ＊ ＊

The coachman’s prediction was spot on. As a loud explosion echoed, the guards began restricting the movement of people and started closing the gates. The coachman turned the carriage around as the massive eastern gate began to shut.

“The explosion was pretty loud, but I doubt the sound would’ve reached the southern gate!” he said cheerfully, unwilling to give up the promise of eight gold coins. Levinia’s gentle appearance, which seemed completely unrelated to such incidents, likely played a part in his optimism.

“I hope so…”

“Don’t worry about it!”

Though Levinia preferred not to use it in such a situation, she had a last resort: a teleportation spell scroll. It could cover a fairly long distance, enough to get her out of the capital.

‘I was saving this scroll for crossing the border… If I use it now, I’ll have to visit another city to buy more,’ she thought. While combat spell scrolls were difficult to come by, teleportation scrolls were relatively easier to obtain—relatively. Of course, they still came with a hefty price tag.

The two-seater carriage rattled along the road toward the southern gate. By the time they arrived, word had already spread, and a line had formed with people trying to leave the capital. Clicking his tongue, the coachman maneuvered the carriage into the queue.

‘This isn’t good…’

A few knights on horseback, accompanied by guards, were inspecting the people in line. The knights, one by one, checked each person’s face. Watching their meticulous process, Levinia frowned.

Though the guards were part of the capital’s security force, the knights bore the insignia of the Wendell ducal family.

‘Robert! So, in the end, you tattled to Father!’

Not content with merely inspecting people inside the city, they were now checking everyone trying to leave. Levinia fiddled with the scroll hidden in her coat, waiting for a chance to slip away while they were distracted inspecting another carriage.

“Oh dear, it looks like it’s going to take quite a while to get out of here. Still, I’ll make sure to get you to Ashton. Even if it’s a bit delayed, let’s say… for five gold coins instead of eight…”

The coachman rambled on but suddenly noticed there was no response from the carriage. He tapped on the small window connecting the driver’s seat to the passenger cabin, but there was no reply. Growing suspicious, he nervously opened the small window to check inside.

“What the…?”

He had thought he could at least get five gold coins if eight was out of the question. The passenger, who had seemed like an innocent noble willing to pay without complaint, had vanished. It appeared she was more suspicious than naïve.

“Well, I’ll be damned… If I’d known this would happen, I should’ve charged more.”

Still, earning five gold coins without much effort wasn’t a total loss, he thought, trying to console himself.

＊ ＊ ＊

A sudden departure of the two-seater carriage from the queue caught the attention of one of the guards. Stopping the carriage and questioning the coachman, the guard listened as the coachman explained about the brown-haired woman who had vanished from the carriage. Hearing this, the guard called over one of the knights of the Wendell ducal family.

“Did the woman happen to look like this?”

The knight pulled out a small portrait, and the coachman’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Yes, that’s her… That’s exactly her! Wait, is she a wanted criminal or something?”

“Wanted criminal? How dare you! She’s someone of great importance, sought by an esteemed person! Mind your words!”

“Someone of great importance,” he said. The coachman began to wonder if the young lady was some innocent woman trying to escape from a cruel noble. She wasn’t a criminal, yet knights had been dispatched to forcibly bring her back—it certainly seemed like that kind of situation.

“Where did she run off to?”

Earlier, while glancing around, the coachman had noticed a woman resembling Levinia running off in the opposite direction. Feeling sorry for her and recalling the five gold coins he had already received, he deliberately pointed them in the wrong direction. After all, if she wasn’t a criminal, helping her a little wouldn’t hurt, would it?

As expected, the haughty knight dashed off in the direction the coachman had indicated without so much as a word of thanks. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, the coachman turned to the guard to ask if he was allowed to leave.

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