Timeless Assassin

(Planet Vorthak, The Twelfth Elder's POV)

The Twelfth Elder was not amused at all when Mu Fan called him again and informed him about all the demands that Leo had made in order to complete this mission.

"There's an ongoing war damnit… I don't have spare manpower to be completing pet retrieval missions for the boy!"

He complained, the demand already leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

On one hand, he respected Leo for having the clarity to distrust the Cult and for putting forward conditions that safeguarded his own interests.

However, on the other hand, it annoyed him to no end that the super soldier he had groomed also came with a mind of his own—when what he really wanted was a mindless weapon that danced to orders without question.

"I had scheduled an emergency meeting with the First Elder today... I'm sure he won't be pleased when I inform him about this development," Noir muttered to himself, as he could already smell the lecture coming from a mile away.

'You must always control your assets. You must behave as their counselor and guide them in the right direction, even when they think you're wrong.'

He could already hear the First Elder's voice in his head, scolding him with that same old doctrine.

The man was going to be pissed when he heard about Leo's demands.

Noir just knew it.

—------------

(That same afternoon, Planet Tithia)

Later that afternoon, as the Twelfth Elder sat across from the First and began detailing Leo's success in locating a way into the Black Serpents Vault—along with the outrageous list of demands that followed—he watched the expression on the First Elder's face shift, transforming from delight to cautious scrutiny in a matter of minutes.

"The boy is a true talent, there's no denying it. He does have the talent to become the next Dragon. But his temperament is an issue.

You must understand, Lord Twelfth, that the only reason I'm backing Skyshard over Aegon Veyr to become Dragon is because I find Veyr's attitude to be utterly lacking in malleability.

Otherwise he too possesses sufficient talent to qualify.

You must learn to control your boy, because while he will get away with his little stunt this time…..

If he keeps up this attitude, then he will lose the support of the council even if he is named the next Dragon," The first elder instructed as Noir nodded with his head down.

"Once he is within the folds of the Cult, I expect him to mature and wisen up in our ways.

For now what's important is that we retrieve the scroll and help him become the next Dragon…..

Then, as far as we have his reverse scale, his family under our thumb.

We can always find a way to make him fall in line—" Noir said, as the first elder nodded in agreement.

"Go on… you have my permission to use men for my corps to complete the demands the boy has put forward, but make sure that a repeat of this scenario never happens again—" The first said at the end as he concluded the meeting.

—-----------------

(Same time, Planet Juxta, Vice Cult Leader Charles)

The sky had burned for four days straight.

Four days of relentless bombardment.

Four days of watching metal birds crash and burn before they ever touched soil.

Four days of decoy ships, empty pods, and disposable soldiers hurled at the mana shield like firewood into a furnace.

Vice-Cult Leader Charles stood atop the northern watchtower, arms folded, cigarette between his fingers, as he stared at the horizon—where another swarm of ships had begun their descent, yet again.

"They're still at it," he muttered, voice low and sharp, as the rumble of distant detonations echoed in the wind.

"Four fucking days… and not a single ship higher than a glider class deployed by those bastards… you got to respect how deep their pockets run, because at this point I'm pretty sure we have destroyed more righteous glider ships in a week than the cult has owned in its entire history," He noted, as he laughed a self depreciating chuckle.

The planet's mana shield flared again in the sky—an electric flash of divine mana peeling through another glider class, as the craft popped mid-air, its fragments vaporizing instantly.

"Seventy-six," Charles said aloud, counting the explosions. "Seventy-seven. Seventy-eight. Seventy-nine…"

He stopped at eighty-two. This wave had lasted under four minutes.

"Sir! Battle report sir!" A voice came from beneath him, as Lieutenant Fred climbed up the tower, panting and coated in sweat.

"Sir, we've just received word from Sector E—two more striker pods made it through the outer curvature but burned in the upper atmosphere before touchdown."

Charles didn't even look at him. He just took another drag from his cigarette.

"No survivors, then?"

Fred shook his head. "None."

A long silence followed, broken only by the low drone of defensive engines humming far below.

Charles exhaled smoke through his nose. "Lieutenant, how many ships have they sent in total since the war began?"

Fred hesitated. "Over sixty thousand, sir."

Charles snorted. "And how many have breached the shield?"

Fred's lips thinned. "Zero."

Charles turned, his black coat flaring behind him like a banner of war, his boots thudding heavily against the stone floor as he walked away from the ledge.

"Cheeky bastards aren't they? Fred. They're bleeding us dry," he muttered.

"The mana cost to keep that shield running is astronomical. Even if we're vaporizing them like paper drones, every single pulse drains our reserves."

"They know we can't keep our advanced defenses active forever. Eventually, we'll be forced to shut them down—whether due to resource depletion or for maintenance.

And when that day comes, they'll unleash their destroyer-class ships and heavier artillery, the ones that can actually pose a threat.

They're not attacking to break us now.

They're bleeding us.

It's death by erosion."

Fred nodded grimly. "So what do we do, sir?"

Charles paused at the tower's edge, looking back toward the battlefield of the sky.

"We don't blink. That's what we do," he said. "We let them waste their pilots, their ships, their resources. Let them drain themselves chasing fireworks."

Then, softer, almost to himself, "Because the day we turn off the taps on the defense system… that's the day when hellfire rains on Juxta."

Fred stood silent beside him, watching the sky light up once again as yet another wave of attacks began.

"And Fred…"

"Yes, sir?"

"Inform the Council Of Elders that I want an emergency airdrop of high grade mana cores from Planet Noxus. If the righteous faction keeps up this intensity for another week, I'll need a backup battery to keep the sky from breaking." Charles informed, as Fred saluted him before running off.

*Flick*

Charles flicked his spent cigarette over the edge of the tower and pulled another from his coat, before lighting it slowly as he continued to count the explosions in the sky.

'101…102….103….'

The explosions continued to ring in the sky, as he watched the broken bits fall down towards the planet's surface with steely calm eyes.

"Come on then, righteous bastards," he growled under his breath. "Let's see how long you can keep this little light show going….."

"Surely, even you can't keep losing thousands of ships everyday? Can you?"