Season 3 chapter 50
The Silent Execution
While Kniya was delivering his ridiculous autobiography, Malesh slipped silently through the overgrown bushes and stepped into the ruined courtyard.
The five royal aristocrats and their four private security guards were still laughing, deeply engrossed in their disgusting plans to establish 'entertainment barracks' with the displaced civilian women.
Malesh didn't yell. He didn't make a grand, cinematic entrance to announce his presence. He despised theatrics.
He simply raised his custom-machined, heavy-caliber pistol.
PFT. PFT. PFT. PFT.
Four suppressed shots rang out in less than a second. The four heavily armed private guards dropped to the cobblestones instantly, perfect bullet holes completely shattering their visors before they even realized they were under attack.
The five royal aristocrats froze, their cigars dropping from their mouths in absolute, paralyzing terror. They turned around, their arrogant faces draining of all color as they saw the Managing Director of Malesh Energy stepping out of the shadows.
"Wait! Do you know who we—" one of the royals shrieked, raising his hands.
PFT.
The man folded backward, a bullet ripping straight through his chest.
"Guards! Help us!" another royal screamed, scrambling backward and tripping over the rubble.
Malesh's face remained a mask of flawless, terrifying deadpan. His arm didn't even tremble as he walked methodically across the courtyard, pulling the trigger with robotic, mathematical precision.
PFT. PFT. PFT.
Three more aristocrats were executed instantly, their bodies slumping against the shattered statues of the temple.
The final royal—the one who had originally proposed the barracks—was crawling frantically on his hands and knees through the dirt, weeping hysterically.
Malesh stepped heavily on the man's expensive coat, pinning him to the ground.
"Please! I have money! I have land!" the royal begged, choking on his own tears.
"Your psychological parameters are a statistical liability to the human race," Malesh stated coldly.
PFT.
The final target was silenced. The courtyard went completely, deathly quiet.
Malesh slowly lowered his smoking pistol, his dark eyes scanning the nine fresh corpses bleeding out onto the sacred stones. He smoothly ejected the spent magazine, slid a fresh one into the grip, and holstered the weapon inside his charcoal suit jacket.
He let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh, adjusting his dragon-themed tie.
"Ah. Finally. Now the work is done," Malesh muttered to himself. He turned his back on the carnage and walked back toward the street to check on his business partner.
The Literary Relief
Malesh pushed his way out of the bushes, expecting to find Kniya either screaming in frustration or covered in a teenager's tears.
Instead, he froze.
The teenage girl was sitting on a chunk of concrete, eating a premium chocolate and literally laughing out loud while Kniya animatedly explained something with his hands.
Malesh's jaw dropped slightly, a rare break in his robotic composure. He marched over to them.
"What the hell happened?" Malesh asked, entirely bewildered. "How did this scenario totally change? She was actively hyperventilating three minutes ago."
"Oh, it was easy," Kniya smirked, puffing out his chest with absolute pride. "I just told her some funny stories about my old business deals and getting chased by attack-geese. And guess what? She is actually a massive fan of the exact same Demon Lord fantasy novels I read! And only the good, non-degenerate ones! Her literary taste is exquisite!"
Malesh stared at Kniya, his brain completely failing to process the sociological miracle that had just occurred.
"Okay, Kniya," Malesh stated flatly, rubbing his temples. "You are an absolute shit. I never thought in a million years that you could actually convince a weeping teenager to stop crying by complaining about birds and fantasy novels. It defies all known psychological logic."
"I am a man of the people!" Kniya boasted loudly.
"Well, whatever it is, my work in the courtyard is officially done," Malesh declared, nodding toward the bushes. "The targets are liquidated. Let's go."
"Right," Kniya agreed. He reached into his coat and pulled out a pristine, beautifully bound paperback volume of his favorite Demon Lord novel. He handed it to the girl.
"Here is a novel for you to take," Kniya said, giving her a surprisingly genuine smile. "It will provide you some comfort on the road. Now listen, there is a highly secure, camouflaged shelter camp run by our people located in Wollondaik. You need to hike there. It is a long walk from this city, but the bamboo is very sturdy."
The girl carefully took the book, clutching it to her chest. "Thank you, mister."
Malesh crossed his arms, looking down at the girl and then glaring sharply at his business partner.
"Bro," Malesh criticized coldly. "You haven't provided her with any actual resource on which human beings survive. She cannot eat a paperback novel. Walking to Wollondaik requires caloric intake and logistical funds."
Kniya rolled his eyes so hard he nearly lost his balance.
"Are you questioning my philanthropy?!" Kniya yelled aggressively. "I provided her with the absolute essentials! Open the book, kid!"
The teenager blinked and opened the front cover of the novel. Tucked neatly inside the dust jacket was a massive, incredibly thick stack of high-denomination DI'an federal bearer bonds.
"I slipped exactly 120,000 credits inside the cover," Kniya smirked, crossing his arms and looking at Malesh triumphantly. "That is really, really more than enough for a teenager! She can buy food, water, and probably hire a small private mercenary team to escort her to the shelter!"
Malesh looked at the massive stack of cash, doing the quick economic calculation in his head.
"Yeah, that is statistically more than enough for now," Malesh agreed, his deadpan baseline returning as he turned toward the destroyed highway. "Let us continue our operations. We have a President to blackmail."
The Endless Roster
(Two Weeks Later)
The dense, towering evergreen forests of the NDC state were incredibly silent, completely untouched by the fires of the ongoing political rebellion.
Deep in the thick foliage, the heavy, metallic THWACK of a suppressed gunshot echoed through the trees.
A high-ranking member of the royal family, who had been hiding out in his luxurious, heavily guarded forest estate, violently collapsed onto his own wooden porch.
Crouched in the heavy bushes fifty yards away, Malesh calmly lowered his smoking, custom-machined pistol. He looked down at his ruined clothes and let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh, running a hand over his face. The sheer physical toll of the last few days was finally catching up to him.
"Oh, fucking shit," Malesh groaned, his voice completely deadpan but laced with heavy, genuine fatigue. "How many... I'm literally tired of killing people. We killed a lot of them today."
Kniya stepped out from behind a massive evergreen tree, his coat stained with mud and ash. He didn't complain about the dirt. He just pulled the thick, red-stamped assassination dossier out of his inner pocket and stared at the long columns of names.
"Yeah, the list is still going on," Kniya muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the paper. "Approximately one hundred people are still left. Now we have to travel to the different parts of the country to hunt them down. Looking at these locations... it feels like a well-coordinated plan, you know."
"Yeah, definitely," Malesh agreed, reloading his weapon with grim efficiency. "They have deliberately scattered their high command across the Republic to ensure their survival. We have a lot of ground to cover. Let's move."
The Coordinated Chaos
For the next phase of the operation, the two billionaires completely abandoned their corporate boardrooms and transformed into a highly-funded, unstoppable execution squad. They moved in absolute secrecy, methodically sweeping across the Republic to dismantle the Royal Family's shadow network.
Their first stop was the state of Migrains.
In the western flatlands, far away from the riots, a royal aristocrat was relaxing on the balcony of his massive, fortified chateau. He was drinking premium wine and laughing with his guards, completely insulated from the suffering of the displaced citizens.
A sniper bullet fired from the tree line shattered his wine glass and dropped him instantly.
Standing on a distant ridge, Kniya lowered his rifle, shaking his head in pure disgust.
"Killing them is a literal nightmare," Kniya spat, looking at the luxurious chateau through his scope. "They are literally enjoying themselves while the Republic is burning to the ground. What the fuck is that? It is truly, you know, weird to see. Their own people are dying, and they are throwing parties."
They moved to the hyper-industrialized main hub of KDC.
Not all of the targets were lounging in luxury. Deep inside a heavily guarded corporate office building, a key protest instigator was sitting at his desk at 2:00 AM. He was surrounded by maps and radio transmitters, actively working hard at his office just to plan out the next wave of fake, violent protests.
The heavy oak door of his office was suddenly kicked open.
Kniya and Malesh walked into the room shoulder-to-shoulder. Before the instigator could even reach for the alarm, Malesh raised his pistol and fired a single, flawless shot. The man slumped over his desk, his blood pooling over the maps of the burning cities.