Chapter 107: Traveling with Little Spoon

The grand-scale military exercise finally drew to a close—sudden and unexpected. Even the directing team had planned for it to continue longer. Yet, fate proved unpredictable; events unfolded beyond the control of even the directors. The Red Army’s commanding officers were collectively taken out. It wasn’t as if they could just say, “We passed by a necromancer,” and resurrect the commanders to keep fighting—that would be far too frivolous.

Though unforeseen, the exercise had to be declared over. The directing team deployed the Yellow Ribbon Parrot to immediately spread the news throughout the battlefield, clearly announcing the Blue Army’s victory.

Upon hearing this, the Blue Army naturally erupted in cheers, while the Red Army’s morale plummeted, heavy sighs filling the air. Yet, in truth, regardless of whether they belonged to the Red or Blue side, most soldiers were inwardly perplexed. To the rank and file, the entire exercise felt like aimless running back and forth with weapons—sometimes being told they were dead, then alive again, and dead once more.

This wasn’t the fault of the soldiers, nor the exercise itself. From a real combat perspective, soldiers neither had the means nor the right to know the finer details of tactics and strategy. In actual warfare, if they ran forward, they might truly die—no one would explain anything beforehand.

Not only the low-ranking soldiers but even seasoned regimental commanders often found themselves bewildered. Still, many astute observers had anticipated the Red Army’s defeat. The official announcement was therefore unsurprising.

To be honest, even if Orson and other regimental commanders had managed to reach the Blue Army’s headquarters and engage the opposing commander in a duel, Orson would have hardly stood a chance. Whether by sheer attributes or skill, he was outmatched. If judged by the directors, the Blue Army’s set parameters far exceeded those of the Red. And if it came to personal combat, Richard’s prowess was superior in every way. Only if he managed a successful sneak attack while Richard was deeply distracted might there have been a faint chance.

Orson himself knew how the battle would end. He had simply hoped to stage a dramatic duel between the two commanders, to add a tragic grandeur to the inevitable defeat and perhaps earn some credit in the post-battle assessment. Unfortunately, even that wish was unfulfilled.

Little Spoon and another supervisor approached from the rear, smiling lightly at the officers. “Gentlemen, thank you for your hard work.”

Orson and the others sighed. Kevin dismounted from his guard’s back, head bowed in shame and silence. Orson could not blame Kevin; after all, Kevin was dead—strictly speaking, he knew nothing. With a tone akin to instruction, Orson addressed the group: “Remember this—any sign with the words ‘Headquarters’ so conspicuously displayed is undoubtedly a trap. Understood?”

“Yes,” Kevin nodded, unable to shirk responsibility onto the crow this time. He blamed himself for not training the bird better; it seemed there was much to teach it yet.

“This is your barbecue,” Little Spoon produced some grilled meat and handed it over. “Though the exercise is over, since you were the first to fall, you’re still entitled to your share.”

The group exchanged glances and smiled bitterly. Meanwhile, the other supervisor stood silently, seemingly offering no food. Kevin found this odd—someone so scrupulous, yet the mission to assassinate him was mysteriously aborted.

“Once you’ve taken your barbecue, you may leave. Captains, please reorganize your units,” the other supervisor instructed.

They all nodded. Kevin then asked, “May I ask where the Thunder Knights are now?”

“I’ll take you there,” Little Spoon nodded toward him.

“Alright,” Kevin agreed, following her in the opposite direction. The path back was riddled with traps, but they moved cautiously and deliberately avoided them. Little Spoon was clearly experienced; leading the way, Kevin simply followed her footprints without issue.

In truth, even if all the traps had been triggered, no one would have died—though it was certainly uncomfortable.

“I have a question—though I’m not sure if I should ask,” Kevin spoke as they walked.

“Go ahead.”

“I feel like you never said a single word to me during the entire exercise. Is that just my imagination?” Kevin inquired.

“Well...” Little Spoon hesitated briefly before telling the truth, “There were rules—forbidding communication with you. Especially directed at you.”

“No way,” Kevin found it hard to believe, “I’m just a lieutenant. They singled me out?”

“If you don’t believe me, that’s fine,” Little Spoon didn’t elaborate further.

“Could it be that I offended the Assassin Guild leader, and he’s targeting me even here?” Kevin’s thoughts wandered.

“No,” Little Spoon corrected, “Mainly because you’re a bard. They worried I might accidentally reveal something, so during the exercise, I was forbidden from speaking with you.”

Kevin shook his head but admitted there was some sense to her words. If possible, he wouldn’t mind extracting information through third-party channels. Still, being explicitly singled out was quite an honor.

“You did great this time,” Little Spoon turned back excitedly, wiggling two fingers, “One person taking down two regiments!”

“But I also made some blunders,” Kevin tried to maintain a calm front.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Little Spoon waved him off, then glanced at Kevin curiously, “But I’m puzzled. It seemed like you led the group here. Yet how did you know there was a headquarters here—even a fake one? I was monitoring you the whole time and saw no signs of communication.”

Kevin paused, then forced a dry chuckle. “I just guessed.”

“Hmph, not honest,” Little Spoon clearly didn’t believe him, looking around instead. “Where’s your crow?”

Kevin remained silent, unsure how much she had deduced.

“What’s wrong?” Little Spoon asked naturally. “Can’t say? That’s alright.”

“Well...” Kevin felt awkward, “Actually, I just caught this crow randomly in a field. It’s extremely...”

The crow flapped down swiftly from the air, landing steadily on Kevin’s shoulder, turning its head to look at him.

“...dumb,” Kevin finished with a smile, “Always doing some unexpectedly silly thing—a real source of amusement. Ha ha!”

“Ah... ah...” the crow cried loudly, apparently voicing its displeasure.

Little Spoon laughed heartily. “Don’t say that; pets get upset.”

Kevin smiled casually and changed the subject. “By the way, after this exercise, are you going to the Count’s place to tend the fire?”

“Don’t know,” Little Spoon shook her head. “Depends on the situation. If I get promoted, I’ll have other missions.”

Kevin nodded, respecting the secrecy surrounding assassins and refraining from probing further. Instead, he asked her opinion on the profession. “Do you intend to remain an assassin? Is this your choice, or something you must do?”

Little Spoon answered, “I was forced before during training, but now I want to become a real assassin—one with ideals and aspirations. Like the protagonist in your ‘Assassin Chronicles.’ That character’s amazing.”

She then asked, “I’ve heard many protagonists are author’s alter egos. Is that true?”

Kevin smiled. “It depends. For beginners, that’s often the case. But for veterans, to cater to market demands, they often cast readers as the protagonist’s stand-in, not themselves. Of course, only a portion of readers.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Little Spoon looked puzzled. “Actually, I just wanted to ask—the protagonist in ‘Assassin Chronicles’ is fearless in the face of death and morally upright. Are you like that? I heard you often tell dirty jokes...”

“Ahem! Personally, I think if the protagonist is stronger than the author—strong in personality, temperament, intelligence, not physical power, since that’s invincible level—it’s normal. The author needn’t feel shame. Art springs from life and transcends it. Unless it’s a biography. Conversely, if the protagonist is worse than the author—worse morals, sleazier temperament, doing things the author wouldn’t—then no matter how invincible, it’s a trash novel.”

“Uh...” Little Spoon scratched her head, at a loss for words.

“Let’s change the topic,” Kevin waved his hand. “The background in ‘Assassin Chronicles’ differs from reality. In the book, it’s a time of war when assassins play a huge role. In real life, such earth-shattering missions may never happen. Your ideals might be like wanting to be a renowned general in a time of peace.”

“What should I do then?” Little Spoon asked instinctively. “Go abroad?”

“Actually, assassins also have routine tasks, a sort of cover work,” Kevin replied. “What kind of job do you want?”

“To be a fire-tending maid,” Little Spoon answered.

Kevin was speechless.

“I could do other things,” she added, “like sweeping floors or washing dishes.”

Kevin was speechless again.

“Alright, honestly, besides assassination, I don’t know what else I can do,” Little Spoon shook her head.

“You need to study,” Kevin said. “After this exercise, I realize I still know too little. As magical equipment and devices become more widespread and diverse, a major transformation will come. We must stay ahead of the times.”

“Mm,” Little Spoon nodded.

“If you truly want to be an exceptional assassin, your need to learn is far greater than mine,” Kevin smiled. “The army travels in large groups, but assassins go alone or in small teams. We can discuss problems together, but you, if trouble arises, will have to solve it on your own.”

“True,” Little Spoon clenched her fist, clearly motivated. “I’ll tend fires and read books at the same time.”

Kevin was speechless.

After walking a while longer, Kevin hesitated but finally asked an important question: “Um... after I retire, will the Assassin Guild leader still hunt me?”

Little Spoon paused. “Probably not. But... it’s hard to say.”

Kevin was silent.

“You see, my father is the Assassin Guild leader. Killing someone is quite casual for him,” she explained. “He’s a Sword Saint level. Sometimes when he’s in a good mood, he just... you know...”

Kevin’s face paled.

“Of course, he’s a good person and doesn’t kill arbitrarily,” she concluded. “Meaning, when he kills, it’s casual—but he won’t kill without reason.”

Kevin was speechless.

(To be continued.)