A Stranger Without Malice

"—Enough hiding." 

The words of the assassin who grew impatient came as the wall of books were slashed away. 

"Come out of there already and play." the sinister words left the mouth of Charlotte as her cold eyes locked onto him. 

At that moment, however, the one whose mind was unrestrained was ready, focused not on the blade in front of him. 

'Feel the wind against your skin. Raise it, stir it, let it rage,' he thought, raising his hand. 

The assassin felt a change in the wind, raising her arms instinctively in a defense. 

He snapped his fingers, causing a rupture of air as it blasted directly against the hostile woman. 

"Wind magic?—" Charlotte let out, being slid back. 

The sudden roar of air caused the neighboring shelves to rattle and the scattered pages to flutter. 

'Right now, I feel like I can do anything. That's how it is, right? That's why I was reborn to this world,' he thought, swiping his hand forward. 

The gesture commanded a vicious torrent of wind, not allowing the assassin a moment to gather herself. 

"Hurgh—!" Charlotte winced, attempting to resist the pull of the wind. 

Blake commanded the rotation of the elemental tempest, moving his hand as he used the gale to throw the assassin across the room. 

Through multiple bookshelves, the woman was slammed through before rolling across the ground. He didn't let up there; the survival instincts driving him to take action led him to continue twisting the wind itself. 

"Ghaaa…" Groans left the lips of the assassin as blood seeped from her lips. 

The air picked her up again as Blake raised his hand over his head, slamming the assassin into the ceiling with a powerful impact. 

Such a display of magic did not come fondly to his constitution as he immediate felt the repercussions— 

"Nnaaah…!" He gasped, finding his muscles tensing up and a migraine flaring. 

It felt like knives jabbed at his skull, along with a feverish heat overtaking his body. 

'Shit…Did I push myself too far? It feels like…my brain is cramping up,' the painful thoughts emerged in his throbbing mind. 

He fought to steady his breathing as a tightness gripped his chest. Amidst the recoil of his own hypnosis, he found that the persistent killer was not through yet. 

Dragging herself towards him with a bloodied and bruised body, with her dress torn and her left arm snapped and dangling, the assassin didn't have any playful words for him. 

There was only sheer focus; a concentration of bloodlust that no longer has the luxury to play with its food. 

'She's still not going down?! Shit!' He realized. 

As much as his body pleaded against the idea, he clenched his muscles, forcing mana to pump through once again. 

He could feel the blood vessels in his head swelling, the same for his eyes as he placed everything into one last spell. 

"Die…!" Charlotte said through bloodied lips, gripping her dagger with both hands as she drew within a few strides. 

He pushed both hands out, turning them as if spinning the wind itself. It felt heavier; the effort it took was as if he was tugging at a raging bull, having to steer it in his wished direction. 

Charlotte dashed towards him like a cornered wolf, "Let me see your blood!" 

"—Fuck off!" Blake yelled. 

It felt as though his head was one moment from popping like a balloon as he finally spun the wind around. In a violent torrent, it swept the assassin off her feet, twisting her limbs around to an unnatural degree. 

The cracks and pops accompanied the roar of the gale, bringing the caster to point his hands up. Like a cannon of wind, it was directed upward, launching the killer through the roof.

[??? Thwarted]

[EXP: +100] [132/200]

Blake breathed out, letting his arms hang down as a droplet of blood slid down from his nostril. 

"Good riddance," he mumbled. "The hell was that about?" 

The aftermath left the now quiet library in shambles, with shelves either toppled over or shattered entirely. He found a chair to sit down on, catching his breath, though even that felt like a painful labor. 

It was a lot to take in, especially after expecting a simple venture to a peaceful library, only to be met with the opposite. 

'An assassin hired to kill me…That's new and concerning. It had to be about this insignia–somebody else wants it so they can have a claim to the throne. I bet it's not just one person, either–I'll have to sleep with one eye open,' he theorized before standing back up. 

There was a complete lack of energy in his body as he walked with more of a graceful stumble, finally getting a chance to look around at the library properly. He ventured towards the back of the torn-up archive, checking the desk where a librarian would usually be stationed. 

"...Ah," he quietly let out as he peered behind the wooden reception. 

There he was who he could only assume was the librarian, a middle-aged woman of braided, hazel hair left lifeless on the ground in a puddle of her own blood. By no means was he a hero, but the sight of death like so didn't sit well with him. 

As he turned back, finding the scenery of the decimated library in his view, the original goal he had in coming seemed washed away completely. 

'There goes any plans I had for finding a book with information I need…It's all a mess now–hell, the right book might've been destroyed in the chaos,' he thought, dragging his feet along as he walked towards the exit. 

He looked up towards the newly-made hole in the ceiling, wondering if he had truly finished off the assassin, though the fact he never heard her come back down was the only answer he needed. 

"Do not look so lost, bearer of the insignia." 

The unfamiliar voice immediately put him on edge as he jumped back, though wincing at the sudden movement. It was clearly not the assassin, seeing as what he heard was the voice of a silver-tongued man. 

"Who's there?!" He asked sharply. 

Through the moonlight that peered into the broken library, he witnessed the stranger walk out from behind a shelf. 

A man as pale as snow, dressed in white robes with an interior that seemed interwoven by the cosmos. 

"Be not afraid, bearer. I am not your enemy," the mysterious man assured the wary adventurer. 

There was something inhuman about him: that translucent skin with platinum hair, harboring irises that were like staring into a rainbow kaleidoscope. 

"Tell me who you are–now," Blake commanded. 

[Hypnosis failed.] 

The rejection of his own persuasive words recoiled upon him like a chime resonating through his skull, bringing him to a grimace. 

Closer with graceful strides, the pale man approached him, "Do not point the ire of your system towards me, bearer. It is not a wise thing to do whilst you remain but a whelp."