piratefiction Chapter 183: You Just Activated (3)
Chapter 183: You Just Activated (3)
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
-Clang!!
A group of black-clad men who shattered the suite window all at once and appeared.
There were twelve of them. Judging by how neither the Tsar nor his four guards noticed their approach until they broke in, they were men who had mastered stealth to the extreme.
The force behind the assassination of the late Tsar Alexander II had, without fail, sent assassins to London as well.
“Fearless, aren’t you.”
However, the Tsar’s response to it was swift.
After recognizing that the situation before him was a terrorist attack, the first action he took was to draw up the Romanov Family’s inherited unique Essence.
Orthodox tradition says.
That on Epiphany, commemorating Jesus’s baptism, all waters in Russia gain holy power.
The Consecrated Ice Spirit Qi trained through enlightenment gained by contemplating this carried an intense Extreme Yin nature in itself, but its true face lay elsewhere.
Its efficacy, Immersion Essence, was that it fused in an instant upon contact with Water Qi among the Five Elements’ energies.
And once dissolved into moisture in the air, the Consecrated Ice Spirit Qi cooled it instantly, following the Kung-Fuist’s intent.
-Pacheut!
The four guards, including Pavlov the former military surgeon, sprang out before the Tsar and raised a thick Defense Essence.
At the same time, a domain ruled by the Kung-Fu principles of ice arts spread to every place the emperor’s gaze could reach.
Unlike the fantasy people commonly held about the Romanov Family’s ice arts, Epiphany Ice Dive was not a Kung-Fu that recreated Siberian cold through Essence’s power.
The Consecrated Ice Spirit Qi the Tsar scattered forward combined with water droplets in the air, pulling their temperature below the freezing point.
What was formed was supercooled fog that maintained extreme low temperatures while remaining liquid or gas, without becoming solid.
And the moment the terrorists charging at Alexander III collided with the fog’s fine particles.
“Hermitage Emerald.”
An icing phenomenon occurred.
-Crackle!!
The supercooled water particles froze with the impact.
Every single black-clad attacker had their movements sealed by a thick wall of ice and became super shy.
An ice wall dyed by Consecrated Ice Spirit Qi into a refined emerald hue that evoked Saint Petersburg’s Winter Palace.
It was the scene created by Hermitage Emerald, the defensive trick boasted by the Romanov Family’s household ice art, Epiphany Ice Dive.
“With a mere ten, you thought to take my neck. Foolish.”
Moisture combined with the Romanovs’ unique Essence expanded and hardened upon freezing to a degree incomparable with ordinary ice.
As the impacted supercooled fog froze in a chain and transformed like jade, the terrorists’ limbs were crushed by explosively expanding moisture and bent at impossible angles.
Hermitage Emerald’s cruelty didn’t end there.
The moment their intent wavered from frostbite and fractures, the Consecrated Ice Spirit Qi seeped into their bodies and completed fusion with bodily fluids.
The human body was seventy percent water.
That meant the moment the Tsar moved his intent, the black-clad men’s bodies would be torn to shreds by ice born from within.
“If you confess who is behind this, I won’t take your lives.”
The Tsar stopped Pavlov, who was about to carve the enemies into pieces with the ice, and asked in a voice filled with the utmost mercy.
Of course, he had not the slightest intention of sparing the terrorists, but first he needed to extract who was behind them.
However, the assassin’s answer, with his entire body trapped in ice and only his head poking out, was far from what Alexander III expected.
“This life was devoted long ago to striking the enemies of the people. A true Russian man does not beg for life.”
When the black-clad man with his mask torn opened his mouth wide, the translucent glass bead inside emitted a faint light.
-Kwajik!
When he crushed the bead with his molars, the body trapped in the Tsar’s technique began to dye red in an instant.
It was a Kung-Fu the Tsar knew well.
It was a heterodox art that turned one’s own body into something like a thunder bomb and aimed for a suicide attack.
The flames that swallowed the late Tsar’s life had been raised by that very loathsome evil trick.
“Evade, Your Majesty!”
Just as the four guards were about to break the floor with advancing steps and evacuate Alexander III, a single Direct Message pierced their heads.
/
-Tatatat!!
The next moment, a projectile flew in at a speed the eye couldn’t catch, pierced the ice wall, and lodged into the assassin’s entire body as he was unleashing the evil trick.
The hidden weapon fired in that hair-trigger moment was a Fountain Judge Pen with a sharp nib.
Right after, a clear, distinct voice, like that of a crane, rang from outside the window.
“Not permitted.”
It was the exact same voice as the Direct Message heard just before the projectile flew.
The next moment, a pure white ink tattoo surfaced on the terrorist’s body visible beyond the transparent ice.
A strange dye that colored everything, bare skin and clothing alike.
At the bizarre sight, as if ink lurking in the veins had responded to the voice and risen onto the skin, the five Russians couldn’t lower their guard.
“Why is the trick… Kugh!”
The assassin, his strike stopped by an unknown power, stared blankly into empty air for a while, then spat blood and fainted.
/
With another Direct Message, a tall, slender long-haired man opened the suite door and entered.
“…Who are you?”
/
The Kung-Fuist, his long hair neatly tied with a ribbon, took out a royal seal from his coat and answered the Tsar with a posture not a hair out of place.
“So you’re the Queen’s dog. You may speak.”
/
At the man’s words as his monocle glinted, the Tsar immediately unfolded the newspaper his guard was holding.
On today’s morning paper front page, an article stating that the Tsar was visiting London was printed with persuasive grounds.
-Kkugit!
-Paseuseu.
When the enraged Tsar crushed the newspaper in his grip, the paper froze in an instant and underwent freeze-drying.
The new visitor watched the newspaper turn to powder and scatter, then raised his head and met the Tsar’s eyes again.
/
The Tsar did not hesitate.
The key to this London visit was to minimize risk and gain great profit.
Therefore, there was no need to deal one by one with assassins charging in ready for a suicide attack.
That man had already produced the royal seal and proved his identity.
If the ignorant Brits intended to serve him to the end, there was no reason to refuse.
“Lead the way.”
After calculating quickly, Alexander III took his guards and followed behind the man.
In the hotel corridor, dozens of the monocled man’s subordinates were waiting.
They formed up as if escorting the Tsar and advanced, neutralizing every Russian assassin waiting on each floor of the hotel.
An unexpected variable had intruded, yet the Tsar’s mind was calm.
It was true that the Homeless Clan’s article had tangled things, but he had gained unexpected help, so there was no problem.
Besides, this long-haired man worked for Queen Victoria.
If Sherlock Holmes achieved his goal in time, the Vermilion Phoenix’s egg would safely return to him without any need to wait at the appointed place, Claridge’s Hotel.
Holding that certainty, the Tsar got into the carriage prepared by the British royal palace’s underling.
A seat with curtains installed to perfectly block outside eyes.
From time to time, the Tsar opened the shade and carved London’s scenery into his eyes.
A city that might burn away once today passed.
If only this were not Britain’s capital competing with Russia for supremacy under heaven, if only he were not Russia’s ruler, it was a splendid place that made one want to stay a long time.
/<…It seems you like London.>
“It’s a problem. I might’ve grown attached. By tomorrow, I’ll miss these streets.”
The Tsar murmured that, but the man riding with him showed no particular reaction.
To Alexander III, this was entirely natural.
If the man had learned nothing about the Vermilion Phoenix, the Tsar’s words would have sounded like an emperor leaving the city tomorrow would miss London’s prosperity.
If the man knew the contents of the Fabergé egg and the Vermilion Phoenix’s ecology, he would have realized the Tsar’s words hinted at London’s ruin, but since he showed no agitation, the former seemed more likely.
‘So in the end, they learned nothing.’
The Tsar could not hide his disappointment in the British.
Humans were beings who swam within the great river of history set by an absolute one above the clouds.
The current of history sometimes flowed in a direction favorable to someone, and sometimes in a direction unfavorable to someone.
If you did not grasp the direction the river flowed and use it, you could gain nothing.
If luck did not follow you, if wisdom was lacking, you would ultimately submit before the great flow that crossed all under heaven.
The Vermilion Phoenix, avatar of fire, was God’s whim made into a living shape, and the turning point that shaped fate itself.
The late Tsar and he had noticed its existence early and found a way to tame it, but the British, settled in prosperity, and failed to recognize the signs of coming ruin in time.
As a result, London would be ravaged by a living catastrophe, and Saint Petersburg would open a new future.
This was the sequence heaven had set.
Heaven, earth, and man were surely harmonizing to grant Russia tremendous glory.
A Tsar, as one who inherited the throne by the Heavenly Father’s will, must follow that will.
Certain he could win an overwhelming victory against Britain, which would wane beginning with London’s collapse, Alexander III looked through the carriage window at the great city that would become the sacrifice for his ambition.
Thus, the carriage bearing the emperor raced through the city for a long while.
15 minutes.
30 minutes.
1 hour.
2 hours.
.
Only then did the Tsar realize something was wrong.
For the past thirty minutes, the view outside had not changed, as if they were circling the same place.
“…Didn’t you say you would escort me somewhere safe?”
/
“Hah.”
-Kwaang!
The Tsar broke the carriage door and jumped out, then walked onto the main road with his guards.
Rage surged at the long-haired man who tried to bind his feet with some paltry trick, but there was no time to deal with him now.
But.
No matter how they wandered, they could not leave the same block.
“…Damn it. We’re trapped.”
The Zuckerburg Family’s Eight Trigrams Formation had firmly bound the Tsar’s feet.