The Bookkeeper-Chapter 71: The Final Battle 5

The three of them—Raiden, Alora, and Soul—positioned themselves at the mansion’s entrance while the gray crest bearers advanced through the sea of assassins. Raiden clutched his necklace, double-checking that the key remained secure as he locked eyes with the approaching figures.

His hands felt oddly weighted, fists clenched tight as he glared at the assassins. They moved with cocky assurance, completely unbothered, their arrogant swagger broadcasting their inflated pride.

"Don’t you think we should spread out?" Alora asked with a raised eyebrow.

Raiden kept his gaze fixed on them, heart pounding as the thrill of taking them all on single-handedly sent tremors through his body.

"Yes, but not yet." He triggered Gaze Beyond, focusing on their crests. All bore the number six. "Gray crest bearers supposedly wield chaotic magic—if we split up now, they could easily overwhelm me while you’re too far to help."

He looked toward Alora. "They’re number six—all of them. I wouldn’t stand a chance if they coordinated."

Alora flashed a brilliant smile. "Words of the Bookkeeper," her saccharine grin widened while her eyes went sharp. "...so very thoughtful."

Raiden turned back toward their approaching foes, dismissing Alora’s sarcasm. The rush of excitement was slowly draining from his thoughts.

Despite facing powerful enemies, Raiden found their strategy surprisingly shallow for an organization of this caliber. They had successfully split the focus of all four kingdoms through the war, but still, were they so desperate for the books that they’d fallen back on such an obvious tactic?

Finally, he sighed as the assassins reached an optimal distance and stopped. Their stance reeked of arrogance, with two yellow crest bearers positioned behind them, gripping red banners that bore the word ’FIRMO.’

A devilish grin spread across Raiden’s face as he looked at Soul. "Take the clean-cut one. Do whatever it takes to kill him."

Soul nodded firmly and started walking left. The clean-cut assassin caught the signal and moved toward her, his predatory gaze fixed on her body as he advanced with disturbing eagerness. Soul’s expression twisted with revulsion.

Before Raiden could speak, Alora cut him off. "I’ll handle the pierced one." She shot him a wink. "And if you’re planning to die, at least keep the key safe."

Raiden scowled at her comment as she headed right. The assassin with excessive piercings followed suit, displaying more restraint than Soul’s opponent but carrying the same arrogant swagger.

Once they were gone, Raiden loosened his shoulders and advanced toward the banner-carrying enemy, his excitement to kill the man barely contained. But before he could get close, his foe flashed a confident smirk and snapped his fingers, instantly warping Raiden a meter back from where he’d been standing.

Confusion flooded through him—how had he been teleported back? Was this his enemy’s power? Before he could process it further, Alora’s scream cut through the air from his right.

She clutched her ears while shadow wolves materialized from her opponent’s body, the man’s mouth gaping as he unleashed an ear-splitting howl, sending the dark creatures charging at her.

Just then, a thunderous explosion boomed to his left, jerking his attention that way. Soul’s disgusting opponent had driven his hand into the earth, triggering a massive fireball that engulfed a 30-meter radius around him, keeping Soul at bay.

Soul remained frozen in place, her legs trembling as she stared at the explosion. The sight made Raiden’s throat tighten with worry, though irritation flickered through him as well.

He couldn’t afford to stand there watching the other fights—he needed to end this quickly and assist them. His twisted grin widened as he clenched his fists, but before he could advance, his enemy snapped his fingers again, instantly warping Raiden backward.

"I was hoping for a challenge—something that would push me to my limits. Instead, I get you?" Raiden’s opponent sneered as he walked closer, disgust written across his face.

"I mean, I didn’t expect you to match my strength, but you could at least put up a fight." The irritation in his voice was obvious, dripping with insufferable pride.

Raiden sighed, feeling the euphoria gradually fade from his system. His opponent was undoubtedly powerful, but next to fighters like Seth and his father, the man lacked true ruthlessness.

He needed to calm down and think clearly. He closed his eyes and looked up at the sky. Rain began pattering down—the explosions from Soul’s enemy had been intense enough to disturb the weather.

Rain struck his face as he steadied his thoughts. The assassins had clearly studied their capabilities beforehand—if they’d deployed these particular fighters, it meant they believed these three could actually defeat them.

But they still hadn’t seen everything—hadn’t witnessed just how dangerous he could become. He started to laugh.

"Oh, you’re laughing now?" The enemy chuckled along with him, then abruptly cut off. "Just so you understand—you can’t get close to me. Either come up with a real strategy, or everything you do will be pointless."

Raiden heard every word, but he refused to just stand there. His opponent couldn’t snap his fingers indefinitely.

He faced the assassin, who was positioned about three meters away. Raiden drew in a deep breath, then, without exhaling, he stepped forward and launched himself into the air for a spinning kick. Before the strike could connect, his opponent smirked and snapped, instantly warping Raiden backward to crash into the ground.

Searing pain lanced through Raiden’s hands, forcing a scream from his throat. He looked down to see the dark lines across his knuckles deepening in color. The agony was brief, but the assassin laughed at his cries, assuming they were from the harsh landing rather than something far more significant.

The pain wasn’t nearly as severe as it had been at dawn, yet Raiden knew he had to endure it and take down the arrogant bastard in front of him.

"What did you do to me, Ash?" he growled, fury building as he forced himself upright.

Each time he pushed against the ground, the pain flared worse, but he refused to give in. He hauled himself upright despite his hands feeling like dead weight, every tiny movement in his fingers sending new jolts of agony through him.

Nevertheless, he clenched his jaw, hunched slightly forward, and forced himself toward the assassin. His anger wasn’t reserved for his opponent alone—it extended to his white dragon, Ash, since she was responsible for his current agony. All he wanted was to land one solid punch on the bastard’s face.

He advanced toward his opponent, only to be teleported back again and again, but he refused to give up. Each forced retreat only fueled his rage further.

But his anger subsided as he looked down at the ground, puzzled. He’d unconsciously noticed a pattern in the assassin’s power. Teleportation seemed to be his only ability, and he could only move Raiden one meter back from where he’d been standing.

Raiden turned toward his opponent, confusion and amusement warring on his face as he suppressed a laugh.

"Are you admitting defeat?... The name is Pope—be grateful I’m the one who gets to kill you." The assassin said with arrogant satisfaction.

"Bookkeeper, they’re weak!" Alora called out. "Their abilities only look impressive."

As soon as her words hit Raiden’s ears, he grinned—they’d come at the perfect moment, right as the pain in his hands subsided and validated his suspicions.

Pope’s face immediately shifted to concern as alarm crept into his features.

New novel chapters are published on fr(e)ew𝒆bnov(e)l.com