An Extra’s POV
chapter-347

"Will you be alright by yourself? Is there any way I can assist?"

Asher wasn't asking these questions because he doubted the abilities of the man before him.

Rather, it was just a sign of courtesy. As someone who was placed in charge of the Mansion and the Blanc resources in the absence of his father, Asher had to act the part.

He had to represent his father well and show as much hospitality and goodwill to their guest.

"Hm. I think I'll be fine on my own." Ater smiled with a gleam in his eyes.

Asher gulped and nodded, instantly believing it.

The way the man's all-black black suit completely complemented the rest of his clothing already gave the impression that he could handle himself.

Ater's red hair flowed like blood, and his red eyes seemed much darker and deadlier than Ralyks'. Despite all of these qualities, however, he had a bright smile on his handsome face.

He was too good-looking, having a form of roguish charm that made him irresistible. Yet, Asher felt like if he got too close, he would be swatted like an insect and meet his end.

These mixed signals caused the man to keep his distance while speaking to Ater.

"Now that I think of it, though, it would be nice to have a spectator." Ater narrowed his gaze on the trembling one.

"What do you think?"

Something within Asher told him to reject the subtle invitation, but he also knew he couldn't run away from his responsibility as the host.

He was meant to help out as much as he could.

"I-I would gladly spectate your battle!" Asher realized how lame his declaration was as soon as he said it, but he stuck to it anyway.

"Oh? You're volunteering yourself? That's so nice of you."

'Eh? He didn't mean me?'

The confusion on Asher's face was filled with shock when Ater suddenly appeared in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

A devilish smile played on his face, causing Asher to shudder.

He was beginning to have doubts about his response, and an inner voice screamed at him to back away.

But wasn't it too late?

He had already given his word.

"Don't worry, you won't be in any danger. Thank you for offering yourself." Ater tapped his shoulder and gave a softer, well-meaning smile.

"I accept your offer."

Asher gulped after hearing those words.

There was no concept of the Devil in the world of H'Trae, but if there was, then Ater seemed like the proper representation of such.

—An entity of untold malevolence.

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"It looks like we're all set."

The one who spoke was a man in a dark purple robe.

He seemed like a priest, having a long staff on his hand, with bangles dangling from the top of them.

A skull of some kind of creature was affixed on the top of the straight staff, and while most of his body was covered in the robe, his aged, pale skin partly showed from his hands and face.

Of the Nine Heads of Destruction, only seven were left, and of those seven, two were in the Dark Gathering as the surviving members of the Deadly Three.

That meant only five Heads were involved in the current mission.

Of the five, Fernand and Phobio—the strongest of them—decided to go to the Black Market with their allocation of soldiers while the rest stormed the Capital.

It was a basic strategy, one which this particular robed man had tried to protest against.

However, they would have none of it.

'Perhaps I am being a bit too cautious.' The man thought to himself, looking at his fellows.

Before him were two women—though one could hardly be called one due to her age.

Saying they were a woman and a girl would be more appropriate.

He was chosen as the leader of their own attack squad by unanimous vote, with the both of them saying stuff like;

"Claudius, you're the most suited to lead us!"

Or

"Claudius, we need your sound judgment!"

This old man—Claudius Fern Frierant—knew they were just trying to butter him up.

In actuality, they just wanted to leave all the work to him so they could slack off on the mission.

'Tch! How annoying…'

Everyone always assumed he was the 'responsible' and 'wise' one because of his status as an old man, but he really wasn't very old at all.

He was just in his early thirties.

The only reason he looked like this was because of an overuse of his Exclusive Skill.

He didn't regret any of his actions, though.

It was only thanks to all he had done that he was able to come this far—both in power and status.

'No one cares about the last prince from the fallen Kingdom that was destroyed by the Dragons all those years ago.'

What mattered in this world was power.

And Claudius Fern Frierant had gotten said power.

'Fools would think of ascending to higher ranks, but I need none of that.'

He had learned his lesson from watching the actions of his father and how his Kingdom fell into ruin.

Instead, all he wanted was to live a comfortable life.

Enough food and water to properly enjoy life, and enough money to get whatever he desired.

So far, he seemed to have achieved all of that.

Of course, the price he paid for it was the need to do the dirty work of the Mercenary Gang—such as on this particular night.

'Many innocents will die, and their blood will be on my hands…'

Even though he felt bad about it, Claudius didn't bother apologizing in advance.

That would be hypocritical.

'I have to do what I have to do to get what I want.'

Such was the nature of this world.

After the Dragons came and burned down his Kingdom, turning his world to ash, he had an epiphany.

—Living is not for the weak.

The strong takes whatever they want, and that is the natural order of things.

That was why he ended up burning through his life essence— looking like an old man as a result.

It was so he could live.

'I just have to complete this mission and be done with it. I'll enjoy my fine wine in my luxurious home and eat the finest of meals.'

That would help sate his conscience.

Then, he could tell himself that his actions tonight were worth it.

"Jawl is with the rest of our troops. We're ready to depart at your command."

One of the ladies, Feyu, was the one who uttered those words.

She wasn't particularly attractive, but Claudius desired her. Unfortunately, she would never even look at him for even a second.

Not while he had such a hideous face.

Her speciality was Elemental Magic, though only at the basic level.

She was still quite skilled.

"When are we leaving?" The second female spoke.

This one had the height of a ten-year old, but she was actually twelve.

Rumors had it that she was Fenrir's daughter, and due to her immense talent, she was added to the ranks of the Mercenary Gang.

Regardless of her status or whether the rumors were true, the fact remained that the girl named Shuri had climbed the ladder of the Gang on her own.

Without any aid, she was able to become a member of the Nine Heads of Destruction.

Out of all the members, she had the most potential.

"Huu…" Claudius heaved a sigh and looked at Feyu and Shuri with narrowed eyes.

He steeled his heart and prepared himself for yet another massacre.

"We're leaving now."

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