SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 595: Wrong Answer

The assailant muttered a curse under his breath.

"Damn it. Then we have no choice but to wait for them. The others have already begun their part."

Trafalgar and Caelum remained silent.

Both stayed put, donned in the masks and attire of deceased individuals, while the dining car around them lay in opulent disarray. Shattered plates were scattered across the floor. Wine had stained the pristine white tablecloths. Wealthy passengers were slumped where they had fallen, their fine garments creased beneath the faint glow of the emergency lights.

A few minutes trickled by.

Impatience flared in the attacker with each passing moment.

His fingers drummed against the pommel of his curved sword. He turned his head twice towards the door behind Trafalgar and Caelum, then towards the next carriage, where the logistics team was likely occupied.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue and began to walk. "I'm going to check on their progress. They shouldn't be taking this long with just one person."

Trafalgar fell into step beside him.

"Perhaps they're in the restroom," he offered, his voice muffled by the mask. "But fine. Let's go. I'll accompany you."

The man cast a fleeting, irritated glance at him, but not one of suspicion.

"Come along, then. This delay is quite unusual."

He turned his back.

That was his pivotal error.

[Widow's Whisper] materialized in Trafalgar's grasp.

The small dagger settled into his hand without a sound, and before the attacker could advance another step, Trafalgar had closed the distance, pressing the blade against his throat from behind.

The man froze instantly.

Trafalgar leaned in closer, his voice a low whisper near the man's ear.

"If you wish to keep your head attached to your neck, you will cooperate fully from this moment forward."

The attacker attempted to wrench himself free.

Trafalgar applied firmer pressure with the blade.

"Foolish man."

The dagger drew blood.

The attacker stiffened as he felt a warmth begin to trickle down his neck. He couldn't see the wound, but he heard the distinct sound of blood dripping onto the floor.

Plop.

Plop.

Plop.

The sound was soft, almost unnervingly delicate, and all the more gruesome for its subtlety.

Trafalgar's grip remained unyielding.

"You would be wise to remain still," he stated. "Killing you would pose no issue whatsoever. Furthermore, your group has created quite the disturbance. An assassination attempt on an heir of the Eight Great Families is remarkably poor planning."

The man ceased breathing for a fraction of a second.

When he finally spoke, his voice emerged thin and reedy.

"We lacked prior knowledge of that..."

"Then your intelligence was flawed," Trafalgar retorted. "Which means cooperation is your sole sensible option now. Do not move. Should even a single muscle twitch incorrectly, you will end up like your associates from the other car. In the event you haven't noticed, they are deceased."

The man swallowed, and the involuntary movement caused the dagger to press a fraction deeper.

"Yes."

Caelum stood a short distance away, observing the scene without intervention. The golden-eyed disguise remained flawless, yet Trafalgar could sense his intense focus on every breath the attacker drew.

Trafalgar commenced with the fundamental inquiries.

"How many of your group are aboard the train?"

The man hesitated.

The dagger tightened its hold once more.

"Twenty-four," he responded rapidly. "Twenty-four individuals on board. Six distinct teams. Some are canvassing passenger cars, others are securing staff sections, and a few are managing the cargo.

"How many are in the cargo car?"

"Eight. Perhaps ten if they reassigned personnel from the rear. I cannot confirm if the others have already advanced."

"What is your objective?"

"Blueprints," the man stammered, the word escaping with his strained breath. "Blueprints and one secured container. That is the extent of my knowledge."

"Blueprints for what purpose?"

"I do not know."

Trafalgar's grip intensified.

"I swear, I lack that information. The logistics team is aware. The leader knows. We were merely informed that the container would be within the mithril-reinforced car and that the gas would facilitate an easy sweep."

"Who is in command?"

"A woman named Merisse. Human. Dressed in a black coat. Possesses short red hair. She utilizes wires and explosive devices. She is with the cargo team."

"Where is Selara?"

The attacker swallowed again.

"Director Selara? The academy official?"

"Indeed."

"I overheard that her carriage was designated high-risk. Some of our operatives were instructed to avoid engagement unless absolutely necessary. If she is conscious, they will bypass her until the cargo is secured."

Caelum's gaze shifted subtly.

Trafalgar took note.

"What else can you tell me?"

"The train was compelled to halt due to detonations on the external mana conduits. Not sufficient to cause destruction. Merely enough to trigger the emergency systems and lock the route. Once the cargo compartment is breached, the extraction team will detach the final two carriages and depart through the blizzard."

"By what means?"

"There are sled constructs situated outside, concealed near the snowdrift. That is the extent of my understanding."

Trafalgar remained silent for a moment, considering the provided information.

Acknowledging this quietude, the man mistakenly perceived it as leniency.

"I've told you everything," he stammered, his voice cracking. "Please, don't kill me. I've revealed all I know."

Trafalgar surveyed the dining car surrounding them.

Passengers lay in slumber, glass shards littered the floor, and the lingering, dark stains of blood from the prior confrontation marred the carpet near his trousers. The subtle, cloying scent of the soporific gas still hung in the air, barely masked by the ventilation system.

Then, he recalled the words uttered in the adjacent carriage.

The unsettling gaze directed at Cynthia.

The dark elf's assertion that unrestricted freedom would follow the completion of their sweep.

Trafalgar's expression remained impassive.

A swift movement of his arm.

The dagger sliced open the man's throat.

The attacker's hands instinctively shot up, desperately attempting to stanch the grievous wound, to somehow hold himself together. Blood surged between his grasping fingers in torrents, cascading down his chest and splashing onto the floorboards. He staggered forward, but with his hands clamped to his neck, nothing could break his fall as his knees gave way.

He collapsed heavily onto the floor.

His shoulder struck first, followed by his face.

His boots scraped once against the wooden planks. His fingers continued to press against the gash, as if sheer willpower could mend the fatal cut. It was futile. The blood spread beneath him, expanding into a dark puddle that crept towards the shattered stem of a wine glass, engulfing it halfway.

His body convulsed twice.

The third tremor was noticeably weaker.

After that, only the rhythmic trembling of the train persisted.

Trafalgar observed until all movement ceased.

"Now we possess the crucial information," he stated coolly. "Our first priority is to locate Selara."

Caelum's gaze shifted from the deceased to the bloodstain on Trafalgar's hand.

"Understood, Young Master," he replied, inclining his head slightly. "In the future, should you wish to avoid such... contamination, permit me the privilege. Should you ever require information from an individual, simply inform me. I shall handle the extraction."

Trafalgar cast a brief glance at him.

"Very well. Although, acquiring practical experience holds its own value." He allowed the [Widow's Whisper] to dissipate, then wiped his hand on a cloth procured from a nearby table. "Should we encounter Selara's master, I shall indeed utilize your particular talents."

Caelum's response was immediate and polished.

"Without question."

Trafalgar reacquired the pilfered sword.

"Which carriage follows this one?"

"The subsequent car is most likely where Miss Selara was last observed," Caelum informed him. "It's a considerably longer carriage than the preceding ones, featuring numerous private chambers and spanning two levels. Certain guests opted for more substantial compartments within it. Its design offers ample concealment, but conversely, provides numerous avenues for our search."

"Shall we separate?"

Caelum's gaze was directed towards the connecting door.

"Our time is limited. It may prove more efficient."

"I shall take the upper level," Trafalgar declared.

"Then I shall assume the lower," Caelum responded.

Together, they proceeded towards the adjacent car.

Behind them, the restaurant car remained a scene of tranquil slumber, interspersed with scattered comestibles, fractured glassware, and the fresh corpse lying unnervingly close to the aisle. The opulence of the setting had acquired a distinctively sinister hue, reminiscent of a lavish banquet interrupted by a massacre before dessert.

The connecting door swung open.

The next carriage extended significantly further than any other.

A narrow, winding staircase ascended near the entrance, granting access to a second story adorned with private suites. Below, the central passage meandered past locked doors, intimate seating areas, and small alcoves where affluent travelers might briefly escape the perception of being confined within a train traversing a snowstorm. The illumination flickered intermittently, and the distant tempest battered the windows with bursts of white.

Some doors remained shut.

Others stood ajar.

A few bodies lay prone in the corridor, seemingly asleep.

Some were attired in the garb of ordinary passengers.

Others wore concealing masks.

Trafalgar and Caelum exchanged a single, fleeting glance.

No further communication was necessary.

Caelum veered left, proceeding down the lower corridor.

Trafalgar ascended the stairs.