Timeless Assassin

Chapter 918: The Cult Mastermind

(Execution Livestream Continuation, The Righteous Faction Citizens POV)

Across the Righteous Faction worlds, Dumpy’s entry was treated like a catastrophic event, as none of the Righteous Faction citizens quite expected to see something so devastating exist on the side of the Cult.

"Wh– what is that?"

The question echoed across countless viewing halls, as the livestream frame struggled to convey scale, perspective, or meaning, the towering figure rising from the crater on The Pit making everything else on the battlefield look suddenly small and fragile.

"That can’t be a living thing," someone said quickly, almost pleading, as though saying it aloud might make it true. "That’s got to be a war construct... right?"

"It’s moving," another replied, voice hollow. "That thing is breathing."

*FSSHHH—*

As acid steamed off Dumpy’s shoulders and soldiers fled in disorganized terror beneath him, the silence that followed was not respectful, nor stunned into reverence, but broken and frantic, filled with overlapping reactions as minds scrambled to reframe what they were seeing into something manageable.

In one crowded plaza, a man laughed once, sharp and brittle.

"Of course the Cult would do this," he said too loudly, gesturing at the projection. "Of course they’d bring out something obscene like that."

His laughter didn’t spread.

Nearby, a woman pressed her hands together, eyes wide as Dumpy raised his blade and Monarch-tier spell formations died mid-cast.

"Did... did he just stop them from using mana?" she asked. "He didn’t dodge it. He didn’t counter it. He just—"

"Shut them down," someone finished quietly.

Parents reacted quickly.

Too quickly.

In homes and private halls, adults pulled children closer, hands covering eyes that were already too curious, voices dropping into rehearsed certainty as fear leaked through their composure.

"You see that monster?" a father said, pointing sharply at the screen as Dumpy stood amid melting stone and fleeing soldiers. "That’s what the Cult really is."

"That’s why they have to be wiped out," a mother added, nodding as if affirming a lesson long prepared. "That’s what happens when you let evil grow unchecked."

A child frowned.

"But... aren’t evil monsters supposed to die? Then why does he look like he’s winning?"

The question hung uncomfortably in the air.

No one answered immediately.

As despite no-one wanting to admit it outloud, across the Righteous Faction worlds, the outrage they felt at the situation, began to begrudgingly mix with something far less acceptable.

Awe.

Horror sharpened by admiration they refused to name.

"If that thing is just one of the warriors fighting for the Cult..." someone murmured in a military viewing chamber, "...then what more do they have hidden?"

Screens across the universe continued to show the same image from different angles, none of them making it any easier to understand, as citizens watched formations collapse, doctrine fail, and an execution spiral into something far larger than anyone had prepared for.

They had tuned in expecting justice.

They were now watching calamity.

And no amount of shouting, explaining, or labeling could fully drown out the quiet, creeping realization spreading through every crowd.

That whatever the Cult truly was...

They had been underestimating it uptil now.

—----------

(Meanwhile, on the Administrative Capital of the Righteous Faction, within the Chief Administrator’s office)

*SLAM!*

The sound of his fist striking the desk echoed far louder than it should have, a sharp, violent crack that made the thick wooden surface jump once under the impact, pens rattling, documents sliding as the Chief Administrator leaned forward with bared teeth, breath hissing through them as he shook his head slowly, as though denial itself might rewrite the reality that had just been placed before him.

"No," he muttered under his breath, not to the room, not to the trembling figures standing before him, but to the universe at large. "No... this doesn’t make sense."

Across from him, two junior administrators stood rigid, backs straight yet shoulders visibly tense, hands clenched at their sides as though bracing for a blow, because the man behind that desk was not merely their superior, but one of the most powerful civilian figures in the Righteous Faction, and right now, he looked like a man watching the floor crumble beneath his feet.

The Chief Administrator dragged a hand down his face, fingers lingering at his eyes for half a second too long before he slammed his palm down again, slower this time, heavier, the wood creaking softly in protest.

*THUD*

"Say it again," he said, voice low and tight. "From the beginning."

One of the juniors swallowed hard.

"Sir," he began, forcing the words out in a steady cadence despite the tremor in his voice, "while the Cult army is fully engaged on The Pit... the Su Clan initiated coordinated raids across multiple Righteous-aligned systems."

The Administrator’s jaw clenched.

"Raids," he repeated flatly.

"Yes, sir," the second junior continued quickly, stepping in before the silence could stretch any further. "Quick-strike operations. They are not carrying any heavy machinery with them that would signal occupation.

Instead, they seem to be flying mostly empty carriers to take out as much loot as they can from the planets."

"How many," the Administrator asked, already knowing he would not like the answer.

"Seven planets confirmed so far," the first replied. "Loot operations are ongoing on all seven. Intelligence suggests they’re prioritizing mana cores, military weapons, ancient relics, and high-value civilian assets."

The Administrator leaned back slowly, chair creaking beneath his weight as he stared at the ceiling above him, ornate patterns blurring together as his thoughts raced faster than his breathing, because he understood at this moment that these raids could not be coincidence alone.

The Su Clan must have planned for this in advance, which meant they were most likely co-ordinating with the Cult.

"And this isn’t even their full force, is it," he said quietly.

"No, sir," the second junior admitted. "Based on fleet signatures and manpower estimates, this appears to be only a fraction of the Su Clan’s total strength. If the window remains open... more systems could be hit within the next few hours."

Silence fell again, thick and suffocating.

The Administrator exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening against the armrests as a bitter, almost hysterical laugh threatened to escape his throat and failed, because the shape of the disaster was finally becoming clear, and it was far worse than a battlefield loss.

They had miscalculated.

No—he had miscalculated.

It had been his analysis, his projections, his insistence that the Cult would retaliate directly, predictably, that had led to the redeployment of Righteous forces, the stripping of garrisons from key interior worlds to reinforce what he had confidently declared would be the Cult’s primary strike zone following Veyr’s execution.

They had prepared for a hammer.

And instead, they were being bled by knives.

"The Cult attacks the symbol," he murmured to himself, eyes unfocused. "The Su Clan guts the body."

One of the juniors hesitated, then spoke, voice barely above a whisper. "Sir... what are our orders?"

The Administrator did not answer immediately.

He stared upward still, mind spiraling through outcomes, through blame, through the cold, inescapable truth that no matter how this war ended, whether the Righteous Faction crushed the Cult on The Pit or failed spectacularly in front of the universe, someone would need a head to display.

And that head would be his.

Because it was under his authority that troops had been withdrawn.

Under his signature that defense grids had been weakened.

Under his confidence that the Su Clan had been deemed a secondary risk.

"They’re working together," he said at last, voice hollow. "Not formally. Not openly. But in effect... they might as well be."

The room seemed to shrink around him.

The Cult drew every eye to The Pit, every fleet, every God, every camera, while the Su Clan, those opportunistic snakes, slid their blades into exposed worlds and vanished before anyone could respond.

Perfectly timed.

Perfectly cruel.

His fingers curled into fists again, nails biting into his palms as anger finally broke through the fog of dread.

"There’s someone inside the Cult....

Someone who masterminded this.

And although I don’t know who—

What I do know is that this mastermind must be identified and removed, even if it’s the last thing I do as Chief Administrator...."

He said, as he finally realized that someone within the Cult had played him like a puppet, and it wasn’t until it was too late that he finally saw a glimpse of this mastermind’s true plan.