Chapter 68: Secret Meeting

Reinhard stood in front of the mirror and adjusted his collar. Today, he had abandoned his usual flashy clothes for a clean black suit that fit tightly around his body, polished black boots, and black sunglasses.

He looked at himself for several seconds before giving a satisfied nod. "Much better. I look like a man who knows secrets, and I have no idea where the light switch is."

He picked up his coat and left, leaving the free tote bag behind on the chair. The first sacrifice of the night.

The mansion was already crowded when Reinhard arrived. People moved through the entrance in small groups, and the more he looked, the clearer it became that they weren’t all from the same organization.

Some wore expensive suits with weapons hidden beneath them, while others were openly dressed for combat. Reinhard spotted long swords, pistols, spears, rifles, and heavy gauntlets among the crowd.

They’re expecting trouble.

Reinhard almost found that rude. He had brought trouble in a hundred separate crates and a very detailed plan.

He walked toward the entrance without concern, and nobody stopped him. With so many people coming and going, one more well-dressed man didn’t attract much attention.

Confidence is ninety percent of infiltration, and the other ten percent is sunglasses.

He slowed as he passed the first group.

Two men in dark leather armor stood near the outer wall. One had a shotgun resting against his shoulder while the other checked the edge of a short blade.

"Any word from inside?" the first man asked.

"Nothing," the second replied.

"Who the hell is running late?"

"Does it matter?"

The first man shrugged. "As long as Big Boss gets what he wants, I don’t give a damn."

"Same." The second man spat to one side. "Gerald’s getting restless, though."

"Who’s Gerald?"

"The shotgun."

"You named your shotgun Gerald?"

"He’s the only one who listens to me."

"That’s because he’s a shotgun."

"That’s why he’s the best."

Reinhard kept walking. Gerald. Of course his name is Gerald.

Collectors.

Their attitude gave them away immediately. They weren’t soldiers, and they weren’t particularly disciplined either. They were criminals with better equipment and a more organized target.

Another Collector passed by while talking to his partner. "Keep the eastern entrance clear. If anyone tries to leave, break their legs first and ask questions later."

"That’s your answer to everything."

"It works."

"What if they don’t have legs?"

"Everybody has legs."

"What if it’s a guy with wooden legs?"

"Then break the wood."

"And then what?"

"Then we ask questions."

"To the wood?"

"To the guy!"

Reinhard kept his face perfectly still behind his sunglasses. Very sophisticated. I bet they hold strategy meetings every morning to decide which end of Gerald points at the enemy.

He continued toward the mansion.

Near the entrance, another group stood together, and these people were different. They wore black clothing, moved almost unnaturally quietly, and spoke so softly that Reinhard had to concentrate to hear them.

"Anything?" one asked.

"Nothing," another replied.

"Inside?"

"Quiet."

"The meeting?"

"Still going."

One of them glanced toward the hallway. "Purple Light arrived."

The other gave a small nod. "Good."

Silent Night.

Even their conversations were different. They were short and efficient, with no wasted words or unnecessary explanations.

They talk like they’re being charged per syllable.

One assassin passed another and quietly asked, "Big Boss?"

"Inside."

"Head butler?"

"Inside."

"Baal?"

"Several."

"Understood."

They separated without another word.

Reinhard watched them disappear around the corner. These people make the Collectors look like they’re hosting a family reunion.

He continued deeper into the property.

A few corridors later, he encountered another group. The difference was immediate. The men wore formal dark uniforms with the insignia of House Baal, and while their weapons were visible, every piece of equipment was carefully maintained.

One guard stood with his hands behind his back while another checked the hallway.

"The eastern wing is secure," one said.

"Western?"

"Four guards. No unusual movement."

"Any unauthorized personnel?"

"None confirmed."

The first guard nodded. "Maintain the current rotation."

"Yes."

A younger guard glanced toward the mansion’s interior. "Do we know how long the meeting will last?"

"No."

"Should we increase security around the central hall?"

"Already done."

"Understood."

Reinhard kept walking. Professional. I almost feel bad about trespassing.

The difference was obvious. The Collectors watched people, Silent Night watched shadows, and House Baal watched the entire building.

Three groups had arrived with three completely different attitudes, yet all of them had gathered in the same mansion.

That is either very bad news or a remarkably expensive dinner party.

Reinhard found a secluded section of the outer corridor and activated Veil. His presence disappeared at once, allowing him to slip into the mansion unnoticed.

A Collector nearly brushed against his shoulder without noticing. Two Baal guards crossed directly in front of him while discussing their security arrangement, and a Silent Night assassin stood less than five meters away without even turning his head.

Reinhard moved deeper into the building. He wasn’t simply trying to reach the meeting room; he was mapping the mansion as he went.

Three guards were posted near the western staircase, two more were stationed on the second floor, and an unused storage room offered a convenient hiding place. He also found an emergency exit, a large dining hall, and a corridor connecting the eastern and western wings.

He memorized everything before beginning to listen more carefully.

Two Collectors stood near a doorway.

"Think anyone noticed the meeting?" one asked.

"Who would? Half the people here don’t even know who’s supposed to be inside."

"I heard Big Boss specifically ordered everyone to keep the woman alive."

"Yeah. Rufus made that clear too."

"What happens if she refuses?"

"That’s above our pay grade."

The first man laughed. "Since when did you care about pay grades?"

"I don’t. I care about getting paid."

"Fair enough."

Reinhard walked past them, his expression remaining neutral.

So Rufus gave the same order.

That mattered. Keeping Emily alive wasn’t only Big Boss’s preference. Rufus had given the same instruction, which meant whoever was behind this meeting wanted her alive for a specific reason.

Still not enough. I need to hear the meeting itself.

Farther ahead, he heard two Silent Night assassins speaking in their usual quiet voices.

"Anything strange?"

"Nothing obvious."

"Purple Light?"

"Inside."

"Big Boss?"

"Inside."

"The rest of Baal’s delegation?"

"Still waiting."

The second assassin paused before looking down the corridor. "Something feels wrong."

The first assassin turned slightly. "What?"

"I don’t know."

A brief silence followed.

"Then ignore it."

"Understood."

They continued walking, and Reinhard watched them disappear around the corner.

Wonderful. The one group with working instincts is also the one that makes no noise.

Their instincts were good enough to sense that something was wrong without detecting him, which made them considerably more dangerous than the Collectors.

Reinhard moved deeper into the mansion, but his Veil was beginning to weaken. He checked the time and saw that almost two minutes had passed.

Already?

The ability was powerful, but it wasn’t free. Two minutes was roughly the limit, and repeated activations would slowly drain his mana, so he needed to use it intelligently.

He changed direction and slipped into a small storage room. Once the door closed, he released Veil and checked his mana.

The drain was noticeable.

Good ability. Terrible fuel economy. It’s like owning a sports car with a gas tank the size of a thimble.

He waited for his mana to settle before activating Veil again.

This time, he already knew where he wanted to go.

The security grew heavier as he approached the center of the mansion, and he passed several Baal guards.

"Central hall remains restricted," one said.

"No one enters without authorization," another replied.

"What about the people already inside?"

"They have clearance."

"Understood."

Reinhard continued past them. I almost feel bad about trespassing.

He found another corridor and stopped.

There it was.

A large meeting room with several powerful mana signatures gathered inside.

Reinhard didn’t enter. Instead, he created a Space Tear in front of himself, and the spatial distortion appeared without a sound.

Normally, using Space Tear would create a detectable surge of mana, but Veil concealed it, and nobody inside reacted.

Perfect.

He wrapped another layer of Veil around the opening itself before looking through.

The meeting room appeared on the other side, with several people gathered around a large table.

It’s like watching a very dangerous cooking show. I feel like a food critic reviewing a restaurant that wants to kill me.

His gaze settled on the first unusual figure.

The man had extremely pale skin and yellow eyes without pupils. His dark blue hair faded into light-blue tips, and several lanterns floated around him.

Reinhard recognized him immediately.

Purple Light. The Thursday Night. The Purple Funeral.

So that’s him.

He shifted his gaze to the next person.

The man was enormous, with a heavily muscled body covered in tattoos and blue-black armor covering his torso and legs. He carried no weapon, but two enormous gauntlets covered his hands.

He looks like he was built for one purpose: getting close enough to punch someone.

Purple Light glanced toward him. "Big Boss, you don’t need to look so serious. Nobody is attacking you."

Big Boss grunted. "You talk too much."

Purple Light smiled. "And you don’t talk enough."

Reinhard’s eyes narrowed.

Big Boss.

The name brought back a memory of the alleyway and the men he had overheard there.

He looked at the massive man again.

So you’re the one.

His gaze shifted toward the final important figure.

An elderly man stood quietly near the table. Unlike the others, he wasn’t dressed for combat. He wore a perfectly maintained butler’s suit, his posture straight and composed.

Reinhard stared at him for several seconds before remembering the Collector van and the conversation he had overheard.

The head butler who had contacted them.

Rufus.

Reinhard smiled faintly.

Found you.

He remained hidden and listened.

Purple Light leaned back in his chair. "Are we waiting for anyone else?"

Rufus calmly replied, "No. Everyone who was invited has arrived."

Everyone who was invited. Rude. I would’ve brought a dish.

Big Boss crossed his arms. "Then let’s stop wasting time."

A Baal representative farther down the table spoke in a measured tone. "We still need to confirm whether the target will cooperate."

Purple Light’s yellow eyes shifted toward him. "And if she doesn’t?"

The Baal man remained calm. "Then we proceed with the alternative."

Reinhard’s expression changed slightly.

The alternative. Nothing good has ever come after those words in a mansion.

He didn’t need to hear more yet.

He had identified the important people: Purple Light, Big Boss, and Rufus. He had also confirmed that the mansion contained the Collectors, Silent Night, and House Baal.

That was enough for now.

Reinhard stepped away from the Space Tear, and the opening disappeared without a trace.

He moved back through the hallway with Veil still concealing him. He wasn’t going to attack them in the meeting room.

Not yet.

He found another secluded room and released Veil before checking his mana again.

I really need to watch this.

After waiting for his mana to recover, he opened his Inventory.

The relics he had bought earlier began appearing one after another.

A small relic bomb slid beneath a table, a talisman went beside a corridor, and another device disappeared behind a wall.

Aggressive landscaping, phase one.

Some relics were designed to explode, others restricted movement, and some disrupted mana while others created barriers or activated when someone crossed a certain point.

He didn’t use everything because he didn’t need to. The mansion was large enough for him to prepare several different routes.

Reinhard continued through the building, memorizing exits, blind spots, staircases, and rooms while quietly setting up his preparations. Every few minutes, he checked his mana before activating Veil again.

Slowly, the mansion became a battlefield without anyone inside realizing it.

Eventually, Reinhard returned to a secluded hallway and looked toward the meeting room. He could still hear voices through the wall, and the meeting had begun.

Good.

He would listen and learn exactly what they wanted while continuing his preparations.

By the time they realized he was here, the mansion would no longer be their battlefield.

It would be his.