Timeless Assassin-Chapter 432: Slow Decay

(Twin Fang Planet, Black Serpents Headquarters, Antonio’s POV)

The air inside Dupravel’s office felt heavier than usual.

Antonio stood motionless beside Dupravel’s seat, his fists clenched tightly behind his back, nails biting into the flesh of his palms as he kept his head bowed low, not in submission, but in restraint.

His eyes were fixed on the man sitting comfortably in the chair opposite them— Commander Entrail of the Universal Government, adorned in regal black and gold armor, his posture relaxed, his lips curled into a smirk that had barely wavered since his arrival.

"I must admit, I’m surprised," Entrail said, his tone calm and condescending, "I expected at least a trace of dignity from the once feared Dupravel Nuna. Instead, I find a man who can barely form a sentence without spitting on himself."

Dupravel let out a guttural laugh, tilting his head with a jerk that made the light bounce off his crooked jaw.

"You come here ask for scroll? Fine, Bring me son first, then you take scroll. Else— leave," he growled, smacking his palm onto the armrest of his chair, making Antonio flinch internally.

Entrail chuckled, tilting his head mockingly. "Yes, yes, the eternal barter. But sadly for you, Guildmaster, I do not deal in hostages. That’s another department entirely, and frankly, I don’t care about your son."

Antonio stepped forward slightly, attempting once again to de-escalate, though every word he uttered felt like swallowing fire.

"We acknowledge there was a lapse in protocol, Commander. But we successfully defended the scroll, as we always have. The Cult may have gotten close, but close is not a crime. The scroll was untouched. Still secure."

"And what?" Entrail cut him off mid-sentence, waving his hand like he was brushing off lint. "You want a medal? A pat on the back? ’Oh thank you, Serpents, for doing the bare minimum expected of you?’"

Antonio exhaled through his nose, forcing calm into his tone. "We are already investing in a new vault. Triple the defensive layering. Spatial seals and multi-plane warding. It will not happen again."

Entrail scoffed.

"No. It won’t. Because that scroll won’t be yours to guard anymore."

Antonio’s jaw twitched.

He wanted to scream. To call the man out. To remind him that the Black Serpents had held that scroll longer than Entrail had held his rank.

But Monarch or not, Entrail was an officer of the universal government, and Antonio couldn’t afford the fallout that would come from an open insult to an officer of the government, not now at least.

"And yet..." Entrail continued, rising slowly to his feet, pacing lazily toward the window as if admiring the skyline. "What irks me most is not your incompetence. It’s what you’ve become, Dupravel."

He turned back toward the guildmaster, his smile twisting into something colder.

"I once thought of you as a rival. A warrior of purpose. Refined. Dignified. But now? Look at yourself. You grunt. You spit. You bark like a beast in a cage. It’s no wonder the Cult nearly stole the scroll—you probably tried to eat the intruder instead of stopping him."

Dupravel rose to his feet with a snarl, his aura flaring erratically, but Antonio quickly stepped in front of him, placing a firm hand on the Guildmaster’s chest.

"Guildmaster," he muttered low, "not here... we fight him here, we lose everything."

Dupravel growled, pacing back like a cornered animal, his limbs twitching with barely restrained madness.

Entrail smirked, satisfied by the reaction, then turned to face them both.

"You have two days," he said, enunciating each word with surgical precision. "Two. Days. Surrender the scroll willingly, or face me on the battlefield when I return with an army. And trust me, you don’t want me to come here with an army."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode from the office, flanked by his guards.

Only once the sound of their boots had faded did Antonio let out the breath he had been holding, his body trembling not with fear— but fury.

He looked toward Dupravel, who had collapsed back into his chair, hands twitching, lips curling into a savage snarl as he muttered something incoherent under his breath.

Antonio said nothing.

But in the quiet that followed, one truth crystallized in his mind like a blade to the spine:

The Serpents were running out of time. And once the scroll was gone, they would be nothing more than any other normal guild in the universe, bound by the government’s regulations and devoid of any special privileges.

And Antonio would die before letting that happen.

’I can’t believe a simple Grandmaster level warrior has pushed us this deep into a shit hole.

Leo Skyshard... you better pray I never get my hands on you, because if I do, then death would simply be a luxury that you pray for but never get!’ Antonio thought, as he grit his teeth in anger.

—---------------

It wasn’t just the Guildmaster or the Vice Guildmaster of the Black Serpents feeling the heat from the Universal Government.

The pressure was everywhere, infecting the corridors, seeping through the ranks and poisoning the air like a slow, invisible toxin.

The morale of the common guild members had plummeted to unprecedented lows after the Cult robbery attempt.

Whispers turned to rumors. Rumors turned to headlines. And headlines turned to exits.

Poachers from rival guilds prowled the streets of Twin Fang Planet like wolves in tailored suits, exploiting the chaos, dangling lucrative contracts, immunity clauses, and relocation packages in front of Serpent talents like golden bait.

They didn’t even need to hide it.

The news of the Universal Government demanding the return of the Cult Scroll had already been broadcast across half the galaxy..... and thanks to a coordinated smear campaign by rival recruiters who made sure every mid tier and high ranking Serpent knew exactly what was at stake, a mass exodus from the guild had begun.

In the last ten days alone, over 70,000 high-level members had defected.

Combat veterans, information analysts, tech specialists, asset managers, men and women who had once sworn loyalty to the Serpents, now vanishing into the arms of more stable guilds.

It was the largest exodus in the history of the organization.

And the worst part?

It showed no signs of slowing down.

The exits created vacuums.

The vacuums created instability.

And instability bred more fear than any external threat ever could.

The Black Serpents were hemorrhaging strength not from battle, but from within.

With every name struck from the database, with every clearance badge turned in, a message was being etched into the walls of the Twin Fang Headquarters, one that no glyph or spell could erase:

The once mighty guild was crumbling from the inside.

And while the Cult had failed to retrieve the scroll, they had succeeded in something far more devastating.

They had triggered the chain reaction.

They had planted the first crack.

They had set in motion the slow, merciless unraveling of the Serpents from the inside out.

And thus, at long last, they began their revenge on the guild that had slaughtered their previous Dragon Noah.

A reckoning written not in blood, but slow decay.

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