Captain – Chapter 282 – Welcome to the End, Child

The gunfire was not chaotic and jarring.

Because at the moment Flynn’s open palm suddenly clenched—caught in Tomb Bat’s peripheral vision—the soldiers in the front row almost simultaneously pulled their triggers. So only a single gunshot broke through the stormy night.

After firing, these soldiers lowered their firearms and retreated in an orderly manner. The next row of soldiers passed through the gaps they left, came forward, and took their original positions.

Then the gunfire sounded again.

Gunfire, rain, footsteps, and the soft rustle of robes.

Everything was so rhythmic, like the most brilliant orchestra in the St. Caloie Royal Theater performing a sonata.

But the conductor of this orchestra, the stern-faced Colonel Flynn, after clenching his fist to unveil the prelude of this musical performance, simply clasped his hands behind his back, becoming a mere spectator.

Compared to the harmonious gunfire on the hillside and the strange atmosphere where killing intent and tranquility intertwined, the scene in the paddy fields of the estate—some illuminated by fire, others pitch-black—appeared rather chaotic and lively. Following the flying lead bullets was like moving from an elegant hall to a grand masquerade ball.

Countless blood flowers blossomed, and innumerable assassins fell.

Bullets that missed splashed water and mud, obstructing the assassins’ vision, slowing their previously determined advance until it finally halted completely, unable to move forward an inch.

This was the cause of Tomb Bat’s astonishment and unease.

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At the most critical moment of the plan, these allies who should have stood firmly beside Robert, beside him, had abruptly switched sides.

Thus, this killing trap aimed at the imperial assassins and those two important figures instead became the grave for the assassins themselves.

Tomb Bat didn’t know why.

Although he controlled the organization’s information channels, because of his rushed journey these past days, this sudden downpour, and the immediate assassination operation, he had missed certain events.

What happened in that mansion near Loriton, what happened in the fortress of Colent, and many other things the Founder didn’t want him to know.

Therefore, this executioner—cunning as a rat and sinister as a bat—exposed himself in daylight and viewed this trap meant for him as a rare opportunity.

The moment the firearms flashed on the hillside, the servant knew the situation was lost.

Not just the assassination operation he had meticulously planned, but also that master’s ambition, pursuit, and those grand, magnificent blueprints—all like a collapsing tower, like bubbles vanishing in an instant, with no possibility of realization.

Because the change in the bullets’ trajectories meant the old Marshal had changed his stance. That most solid bulwark behind them had now become a terrifying, desperate dark curtain.

When the Imperial Emperor and the old Marshal stood together again, no one could change anything—not even Tomb Bat of the Black Raven Society, not even the powerful Robert Alexander.

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Realizing this, Tomb Bat suppressed his rapid breathing and racing heartbeat. Taking advantage of the soldiers’ fire toward the paddy fields, he slipped into the shadows of the locust tree and then silently disappeared from this grand play, just as he had done in the past when sensing danger.

But he didn’t know if he would have the same good fortune as before.

The gunfire continued, and the number of assassins rapidly decreased.

The moment they heard the gunfire, the moment they saw blood splashing from the enemy’s bodies, the imperial assassins instantly understood the situation. Under the soldiers’ suppressive fire, they began harvesting these “rats'” lives, pushing them back step by step.

After more than half a year, the military and imperial shadow forces—enemies due to that underground storm—finally joined hands again with a unified goal.

Before the state machinery, not only these “inferior products” as the Black Raven called them—fewer than three hundred people—but even if they were replaced by three hundred true assassins, they would still be powerless to reverse the situation.

These “rats'” defeat was certain, unable to create even the smallest ripple.

Tomb Bat didn’t know how long he had been running.

He only knew he had left that countryside, entered a dense forest, and twisted and turned within it until even he couldn’t tell directions.

But he dared not stop, because pairs of blood-colored eyes appeared in the darkness, watching him without emotion.

Rеαⅾ оn KаtRеαⅾіnɡCαfе

Those things following him like maggots clinging to bones should have been the Black Raven Society’s most familiar messengers—red-eyed black ravens. But now, with all the forces he commanded having vanished into smoke and without any orders issued to these creatures, they certainly weren’t there to deliver messages, but to…

Lock onto his whereabouts.

In that previous moment, though shocked speechless, his thoughts had continued racing. By now, even without concrete evidence, he had figured out many things.

That was the meaning of his existence, the purpose for which the organization had placed blades in his hands, and the reason why those people had turned a blind eye to his various actions. All of this, ultimately, was because of one person’s existence—that is…

The Founder.

She needed his existence, so he existed.

From the moment he was granted power until now when he lost everything, everything that happened in between was also orchestrated by her. The purpose was not for the present, even less for this moment, but for the future of the Auran Empire, for the reborn sun after the storm.

Thinking of this, Tomb Bat’s body grew colder. His breathing became heavier, echoing in his ears, drowning out all other sounds.

At this time, suddenly a question echoed in his ears, one Robert had once asked him:

“Aren’t you afraid of being held accountable by the Founder?”

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His answer then had been direct and contemptuous, but now it seemed to transform into a mocking laugh, echoing endlessly in his ears…

The rain grew heavier, and Tomb Bat returned to the real world. What made his skin crawl was that the ethereal laughter didn’t disappear but became even clearer.

Light appeared ahead, illuminating the servant’s pale face.

It was a carriage, the light coming from its window, and that mocking soft laughter also came from within.

The carriage door slowly opened, and a middle-aged man with deep chestnut hair and a beard stepped out.

His expression was gentle, corners of his mouth slightly upturned, bearing an inexplicable smile. Yet that harmless appearance instantly made Tomb Bat’s limbs turn to ice.

“L-L-Lord Black Raven.”

Hearing Tomb Bat’s groan-like whisper, Black Raven opened his arms toward him, as if wanting to embrace him, to give him some warmth… the last warmth in this world.

“Welcome to the end, child.”