The Hyades were an elite team of assassins, part of the Revolutionary Army.

Their mission was simple: to eliminate those whose existence interfered with the Army's plans — officials, spies, and minor military commanders.

Their targets usually had little security or sometimes traveled entirely unguarded, confident in their own safety.

The Hyades were masters of stealth. Most of their operations went unnoticed.

However, exceptions happened, and when they did, the Empire witnessed chaos in their wake.

Five assassins, like shadows, were both weapons and warnings to the enemies of the revolution.

Regulus and Chelsea sat directly on the soft, fluffy carpet in the living room, which warmly cushioned their legs.

In front of them stood a chessboard, its pieces already placed in position.

Time seemed to flow slowly, though not for Chelsea — her discontent was evident in every movement.

"This Nimbus is so annoyyying," she drawled dramatically, moving her rook. Her tone, full of mock suffering, hinted at the dread of a long, miserable day. "He's making me do all this paperwork again! So irrritating…"

Regulus stared at the board, but his gaze was unfocused, as if the chess pieces had dissolved into his thoughts.

"Uh-huh," he muttered absentmindedly, not lifting his eyes from his musings.

Chelsea frowned, her irritation becoming more obvious.

"What are you daydreaming about?!" she snapped, slapping the floor with her palm. "I'm complaining here, and all you can say is 'uh-huh'?! You could at least pretend to care, you know!"

Regulus lifted his head, his golden eyes meeting her annoyed gaze. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Ah, sorry," he said with a slight smirk. "Well, good luck, sis." The corners of his mouth twitched in a lazy smile, one that seemed more amused than sincere.

Chelsea huffed, her fiery red hair swaying slightly as she moved a pawn forward with deliberate annoyance.

"You're such a great supporter," she grumbled, glaring at the board as if she were trying to shatter it with her gaze.

On a nearby couch, leaning against the cushions, lay Mirzam. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders as she held a manga in her hands.

She was slowly flipping through the pages, as if completely unbothered by the events unfolding in the room. But suddenly, she looked up from her reading to chime in:

"Oh, come on, writing reports for a couple of hours isn't the end of the world," she said with a wide grin, as if Chelsea's frustration couldn't be less important to her.

Chelsea turned sharply toward her, her eyes flashing with irritation.

"If you were in my place, you'd just collapse and sleep immediately!" she retorted, pointing an accusatory finger at Mirzam. "And anyway, you haven't done your paperwork for a whole month!"

Mirzam didn't bother to argue. She just smiled even wider, placed her manga on the table, and stretched lazily, like a cat basking in the sunlight.

"You're probably right," she agreed nonchalantly. "That's why I prefer relaxing."

With that, she practically melted into the couch, like a queen fully content with her philosophy of life. Chelsea let out a loud sigh, her irritation now reaching its peak.

"You're absolutely useless, just lying there and spouting nonsense," she muttered, though Mirzam was already back in her manga world, paying no attention.

Regulus made his final chess move, pausing theatrically before announcing:

"Checkmate."

His voice was calm, but there was a clear note of triumph in it.

Chelsea froze, staring at the board, and finally, realizing her defeat, let out a dramatic sigh and collapsed onto the chessboard. Her head knocked over several pieces, which landed with soft thuds on the plush carpet.

"Great, I lost again…" she groaned, burying her face into the board as if there was no point in resisting fate any longer.

The bishop couldn't hold back a small smile — not a kind one, but more smug and self-satisfied. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, and declared with a tone of arrogant finality:

"You'd need a hundred years of practice to beat me."

His voice was dripping with so much vanity that Chelsea felt not just defeated, but humiliated.

"You're so cruel," she muttered, sitting up from the board. Her red hair was slightly messy, and there was a hint of wounded pride in her voice. "You could at least compliment me…"

Regulus just chuckled, looking down at her, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"For what? Surviving a whole ten moves?"

Chelsea scoffed and grabbed one of the pawns still on the board, hurling it at Regulus as she said:

"Take that! Learn how to be a gracious winner!"

Regulus laughed, dodging the makeshift projectile with ease. The atmosphere in the room instantly softened.

"If you think about it, under Lion's Heart, I really do resemble the undead," Regulus mused, lowering his gaze to his hands. "My body, when this ability is active, is frozen in time… I don't need food, water, or air. Even sleep and exhaustion don't touch me. My heart doesn't beat, and every process in my body is simply stopped," he thought, his expression distant.

"If I applied time stasis to another person, they'd become the same. Invulnerable. But to do that, I'd have to hold them in my arms constantly… and that's impossible with the wives. Their hearts need to beat — that's the essential condition for me to remain invincible. Ugh, how inconvenient…"

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Lazily, almost as if against her will, Difda pushed it open. Her long pink hair swayed slightly with every step, and as always, her enormous scythe was visible behind her back.

"Hey, blond idiot," she said sharply as soon as she spotted Regulus. Her voice was laced with irritation, as if she were already tired of dealing with him. "Let's go. Nimbus told us to head to the Capital — we're out of supplies."

Regulus let out a deep breath, followed by a heavy sigh, making it abundantly clear that his mood wasn't any better. He rose from the carpet, not bothering to hide his boredom, and reluctantly followed Difda out the door.

Mirzam, who had been peacefully lounging on the couch with her manga, watched the pair leave with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"She does have a great figure," Mirzam thought to herself, her gaze sliding over Difda's silhouette: the elegant curves of her hips, her slender waist, and the fullness of her bust. Almost unconsciously, Mirzam glanced down at her own chest.

"I wish I had a body like that…"

Her thoughts were interrupted by Chelsea's mocking voice.

"Thinking of more pervy jokes, are you?" Chelsea teased from a distance, lazily sucking on a lollipop.

Mirzam reluctantly tore her eyes from her manga and looked at Chelsea with an expression of disinterest.

"Nope. Just reading," she replied coldly, as if the very idea of explaining herself was exhausting.

Chelsea, however, clearly wasn't going to let her off the hook so easily. A playful smile spread across her face as she abruptly snatched the manga from Mirzam's hands.

"Let's see what you're reading," Chelsea said with a hint of cheekiness, flipping through the pages slowly. Her expression turned to surprise for a brief moment. "Romance? So, you're into romance, huh?"

Chelsea froze, staring at the manga's cover, then let out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment.

"And here I thought you were reading porn," she declared with mock gravity, as if her wildest expectations had just been crushed.

Mirzam instantly turned bright red. Her usually calm and unflappable face was now glowing with embarrassment. Before she could gather her thoughts, she leapt up, rushing toward Chelsea to snatch the manga back.

"Hey! Give that back… and don't you dare tell anyone!" Mirzam exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of irritation and shame.

But Chelsea, as if anticipating the attack, stepped back nimbly. Her movements were quick and precise, like someone who had spent a lifetime avoiding this very situation. Her smirk widened, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Sure, sure, of course," she replied with a mocking tone, nodding sarcastically. "I won't tell anyone… maybe."

Her teasing tone only fueled Mirzam's frustration. The red on her cheeks deepened, and though she was naturally reserved, she couldn't hide her flustered reaction.

Mirzam, who was usually quick with dirty jokes and unbothered by anything, suddenly seemed completely out of her depth when it came to romance. Chelsea knew this weakness well and loved to exploit it.

"You're impossible!" Mirzam shouted, clenching her fists as if preparing for another attempt to grab the manga.

Chelsea, meanwhile, took another step back, narrowing her eyes like a tiger playing with its prey.

"Chelsea, you're the worst!" Mirzam yelled, her voice trembling with anger.

But the redhead only giggled, clearly enjoying the moment.

"Relax, I won't tell anyone," Chelsea finally said, waving the manga teasingly in front of her friend's face. "But only because I'm feeling generous."

Mirzam shot her a glare, full of silent promises of revenge, but didn't reply. She knew arguing further was pointless, though she silently vowed to get even for this humiliation.

Regulus and Difda exited the dark underground corridor of the Hyades' base. As soon as they stepped through the heavy metal door, they felt the stark contrast: the cool, damp air was replaced by the fresh crispness of the night.

The moonlight bathed the deserted road ahead of them, illuminating every stone and speck of dirt under their feet.

This time, Difda wasn't carrying her massive scythe on her back. She had left it in the armory, deciding it was unnecessary for this task.

But the absence of her weapon didn't diminish her intimidating presence in the slightest.

After walking about a kilometer along the deserted road, flanked by the ominous shadows of trees, they finally reached a wagon.

The horses shifted impatiently, their breath forming small clouds of mist in the chilly night air.

A middle-aged man sat on the driver's bench, his face weathered and his clothing carrying the scent of leather and hay. He looked up at the approaching pair.

"Where to?" he asked in a hoarse but calm voice.

Difda, taking her time, pulled a pack of cigarettes from her inner pocket.

Pausing deliberately, she took one out, struck her lighter, and took a long drag.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as the smoky warmth tickled her throat.

"The Capital," she said shortly, exhaling a puff of smoke that the night wind immediately whisked away.

Regulus didn't even bother to engage in their conversation. He climbed into the wagon without a word, sprawling across the bench inside.

Pulling his long scarf from his neck, he draped it over his face and muttered with lazy indifference:

"Wake me if something happens."

Difda smirked slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing. She was already used to his attitude, as if the entire world were beneath his notice.

As the wagon began to move, its wooden wheels creaked, and the horses clopped rhythmically along the road.

The sounds of the journey blended with the rustling of wind through the trees.

Difda gazed into the darkness ahead, silently smoking, while Regulus was already on the verge of sleep, his breathing slow and steady.

The wagon slowed and then came to a stop, its wheels creaking softly against the stone-paved road. The Capital greeted them with a bustling noise — voices, the clatter of hooves, and the distant hum of a marketplace. The air was thick with a medley of scents: warm pastries, smoke from forges, and a faint trace of dampness.

Difda was the first to jump off the wagon, shaking off the weariness of the long journey. She looked around briefly and noticed Regulus still lying motionless on the bench. With an exasperated sigh, she rolled her eyes.

"Earth to Regulus. I repeat, Earth to Regulus," she called mockingly, leaning over and shaking his shoulder.

Regulus responded with a barely coherent mumble, pulling the edge of his scarf down slightly:

"Mmm… five more minutes…"

His voice was so drowsy and indifferent that Difda visibly bristled with irritation. She let out a heavy sigh, filled with clear frustration.

"What do you mean, 'five more minutes'?" she said loudly, almost shouting. "You've already been asleep for twenty! Get up, you lazy bum!"

As always, her words had no effect on the Archbishop of Greed. He remained sprawled across the bench, as if the entire world existed solely for his comfort.

Realizing that words were useless, Difda frowned. Her patience was at its breaking point. She confidently placed one foot on the edge of the wagon.

"That's it. I've had enough."

Without giving him a chance to protest, she swiftly raised her foot and brought it down, firmly planting her boot into Regulus's solar plexus. The strike was quick and precise, forcing a groan from him.

"Ugh… wh-why…" Regulus exhaled painfully, clutching his stomach and opening his eyes wide.

"For pissing me off," Difda said with icy calm, withdrawing her foot and casually fixing her hair as if nothing had happened.

The Archbishop slowly sat up, rubbing the sore spot and looking at her with genuine reproach.

"You could have just called me, you know? Gently, softly… like a sister," he grumbled, coughing lightly.

"Gently?" Difda repeated with a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest. "That *was* the gentle option. Don't make me resort to more drastic measures."

Regulus realized it was pointless to argue with her. He simply sighed, adjusted his scarf, and climbed out of the wagon, stretching his shoulders and sleepily surveying the Capital.

"Listen, Difda, I don't have any money… how am I supposed to buy you supplies?" Regulus said lazily, looking at her with an innocent expression. His golden eyes gleamed mischievously, as if he already knew how things would turn out.

Difda snorted, clearly unimpressed. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a few gold coins and tossed them in his direction without a word.

The coins glinted in the sunlight as Regulus deftly caught them midair. He smiled contentedly, inspecting the coins to ensure the amount was sufficient, before tucking them into the pocket of his baggy black pants.

"Thanks," he said with a slight nod.

But before he could turn away, her voice cut through the air, cold and threatening:

"If I find out you spent even one of those on yourself…" she said, pausing for effect and narrowing her pink eyes. "You're dead."

Her face bore an expression that would send chills down the spine of any sane person.

Regulus tensed, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. He raised his hands in mock surrender, his smile turning nervous as if trying to appease her for a crime he hadn't yet committed.

"Easy, easy, calm down," he said hastily. "I'm not going to buy anything for myself. Only supplies for our wonderful team," he added, as though trying to butter her up.

Difda crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her chin slightly and squinting even harder.

"I am perfectly calm," she retorted coldly. "Just consider this a warning."

Regulus shook his head slightly, silently reminding himself that arguing with her was futile.

"All right, all right, I got it," he muttered before turning away. But beneath his scarf, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

After parting ways, the two went about their tasks. Difda headed toward the butcher's shop, her steps brisk and confident, as sharp and determined as her personality.

Meanwhile, Regulus strolled lazily toward the vegetable stalls.

"Vegetables, bread, sugar, salt…" he muttered to himself, yawning and scratching the back of his head. His gaze wandered over the market stalls, while his thoughts drifted. "I could use one of those coins for a pastry… just for the energy needed for the team, of course…"

But he quickly dismissed the thought, remembering Difda's warning and the threatening look in her eyes.

Having bought everything he needed and stuffed two bags to the brim, Regulus slowly exited the shop onto the bustling streets of the Capital.

He took a few deep breaths, enjoying the fresh outdoor air after the stuffy interior of the store. Rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension from carrying the heavy bags, his gaze wandered to a dark alley nearby.

From the first glance, it was clear the place promised nothing good: poorly lit, narrow, and seemingly designed for shady dealings.

"Hm. The most suspicious alley in the world," Regulus thought, narrowing his eyes. "Might as well test my abilities. A little practice wouldn't hurt."

With this in mind, he casually made his way toward the alley. With each step, the noise of the street seemed to fade, replaced by an eerie silence.

"As expected," he mused as two figures emerged from the shadows in front of him.

They were hulking brutes.

One had a buzz cut, muscular arms, and a knife that he lazily twirled in his hand.

The other held a pistol with practiced confidence, as though threatening people had become second nature to him. Both men were not only taller than Regulus but visibly more massive.

"Well, well, fresh cabbage just rolled in," the first one sneered, baring yellow teeth in the dim light as he cracked his neck and stepped forward.

"The night just got more exciting," added the second, glaring at Regulus with a heavy gaze. He nodded toward the bags in his hands. "Mind sharing your groceries, citizen?"

Regulus lazily lifted his eyes to them, his relaxed expression unchanged.

"Unfortunately, no," he replied with a polite smile, as if the conversation had nothing to do with robbery. "You see, if I give this up, that crazy lady with the scythe will kill me. And let me tell you, she knows how to make it hurt."

The first thug frowned, unsure how to react to his calm demeanor.

"What the hell did you just say?" he asked suspiciously, tightening his grip on the knife.

The second thug squinted, tilting his head.

"So, you're refusing, huh?"

Regulus, still casually adjusting his grip on the bags, shrugged as though the outcome didn't matter to him.

"Of course, dumbass," he said with a bored tone, as if the entire situation was beneath him.

For a moment, there was a tense silence, as though the world was holding its breath before the inevitable clash.

The tension was palpable. The man with the pistol flushed with anger, his fingers tightening around the weapon's grip.

"You've got some nerve, asshole!" he roared, flicking off the safety and aiming the gun directly at Regulus.

The instant his finger pulled the trigger, the Archbishop of Greed, as if anticipating the move, activated his ability — Lion's Heart.

Time for his body froze, and along with it, all internal processes: his heart stopped beating, and his blood ceased circulating. He became like a statue frozen in the past.

The bullet, whistling through the air at tremendous speed, struck him square in the stomach… but the result was shocking.

There wasn't a single trace of impact on Regulus — no blood, no wound, not even a tear in his clothing. However, something else was clearly happening. Gritting his teeth, Regulus dropped one of the bags and clutched his chest.

"Kh… kh… kh…" He coughed painfully, the sound heavy and strained. His face contorted with agony.

"What the hell?!" blurted the knife-wielding thug, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Did I hit him or not?" muttered the man with the pistol, glancing nervously between his weapon and Regulus.

Still standing but visibly on edge, Regulus's golden eyes turned icy, cold as steel. He exhaled deeply and slowly, the carbon dioxide freezing in the air as his ability began to shift once more.

"Now it's my turn," he thought.

In the next moment, he used Temporal Immobility of Objects on his own breath. The frozen particles of air transformed into invisible, ultra-dense blades, rushing toward the two thugs at 100 meters per second.

"Huh?!" was all the first thug managed to exclaim before his body was sliced cleanly in two.

"What the—?!" The second thug didn't even finish his sentence before meeting the same fate.

Regulus stood motionless, observing the results of his attack. He had deliberately limited its speed to prevent the blow from reaching the buildings behind the thugs, giving himself enough time to halt the effect.

A stronger release would have meant he couldn't stop the strike in time, and his exhalation could have cut through several structures — something Greed couldn't afford.

When silence returned to the alley, Regulus allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. He collapsed to his knees, his breathing labored, his face pale.

"Damn it… this hurts like hell," he thought bitterly. "Lion's Heart — it's a cursed ability. Brilliant in its power, but this pain… it's like dying every time."

He stayed like that for about a minute before slowly rising. His movements were sluggish, as though his entire body ached. Regulus picked up the second bag and approached the remains of the two thugs.

"Well, let's see if you had anything useful for me," he muttered, searching their pockets.

Within seconds, he found a handful of gold coins, which glinted in his hand. Regulus pocketed them without much thought.

"I could go for a milkshake," he murmured, as though the recent skirmish hadn't even happened.

With that, he turned and walked back toward the main street, leaving behind an alley drenched in blood.