Miss Assassin is heavily addicted

Chapter 44.1. National-Level Assassin

Five p.m.

As dusk settled below the horizon, the afterglow of the setting sun painted the sky with the silhouettes of migratory birds. On the streets of Northern Street, people came and went; parents, hand in hand with their children, carried a paper bag of bread and discussed their dinner—a typical family.

Inside a street-side mental health clinic.

Monica sat on the sofa reading the newspaper, her left leg crossed over her right knee, casually waiting for the shop to close. In thirty minutes, she would close for a break, take off her white coat, stretch, and look no different from any other psychologist.

And the contents of the newspaper in her hand;
That's about what happened yesterday on Narcissus Street.

The National Security Agency of Country A arrested two spies in a bar. The bar, suspected to be their hideout, was shut down, and the owner, named Perkins, was taken away for investigation, making the situation tense again.

—Of course, this is information that Monica analyzed.

The newspapers only reported that two suspicious individuals were taken away by the search department, and that there was also a dispute between police officers and ordinary citizens. The Big Bird Spinning Bar had to ask its customers to leave that night and had to close down, and the public's opinion of it took a sharp turn for the worse.

As for the photos published above, the chaotic scene was probably taken casually by a customer at the time. The police officers and the band members were fighting, and you can see a familiar face covering his face in distress at the scene.

Seeing this, Monica slowly put down the newspaper, picked up the coffee on the table, took a sip, and her eyes were calm.

I recall a photo I saw in the Royal City Express not long ago: a former spy seeking a new life posing with police officers. A gently flowing fountain was behind them, leaves swayed in the sunlight in a garden, and blurry figures surrounded them.

Although you could tell he looked a little embarrassed, the fact that he shook hands and took photos with the police was undeniable.

"Ding bell~"

The silver bell at the door suddenly rang, and Monica looked up.

The person who walked in was a middle-aged man with blond, wavy hair, dressed like a middle-class person. He locked the door behind him as soon as he entered, and his demeanor immediately became relaxed and no longer feigned.

Mark walked over excitedly, bringing the good news:
Hey! Guess what Leon is doing right now!

Monica recalled the contents of the two newspapers she had seen and found the question truly perplexing: "What are they doing?"

"He... he actually infiltrated the National Security Bureau's intelligence division! This is incredibly good news for us!"

Mark excitedly pumped his fist and rolled up his sleeves, then sighed:
"You know, the organization has been giving us tons of missions lately... Now that Leon is reporting on their movements, we'll be much safer. He's our undercover spy!"

Monica listened for a few seconds before reciting:
"Are you sure he wasn't arrested by the intelligence department, so he's joking about infiltrating?"

Mark's expression froze instantly; he clearly knew about Big Bird's incident at the bar the previous night, but he quickly shook his head and confirmed:
"No, Leon wouldn't betray us no matter what. Besides, he sent it via secret letter. The letter didn't ask us to do anything. It just said that if we felt unsafe about any operation or wanted to know if the intelligence department had noticed anything, we could ask him."

Mark scratched his head, a hint of regret in his voice:

"He still has no intention of coming back, saying that he wants to exchange this intelligence for money... He also said angrily that if the 300 million crowns were split equally, he would have to pay 60. I think we should give it to him first?"

Monica remained unmoved: "One intelligence report for one sum of money."

Mark smacked his lips, moved, and said, "But isn't this a little inappropriate..."

Monica understood Mark's unspoken meaning. He wanted to use money and emotional appeals to win He Ye back, but Monica felt that such actions were merely wishful thinking.

Being a spy is dangerous.

Bringing He Ye back now would be like having a bomber flying overhead while they wave their conspicuous flag. Perhaps in a few years, no one will be able to visit the four of them at their graves.

Now that he had left as he had come to be, Monica would not expose her friend.

"You didn't come here just to tell me this? If so, just use a secret message. Don't wander around unnecessarily."

Monica calmly changed the subject, continuing to flip through the newspaper, her eyes glancing at the clock on the wall again; there were still eighteen minutes before closing time—in other words, she wouldn't be able to kick Mark out for another eighteen minutes.

The setting sun outside the window gradually disappeared beneath the clock tower, and groups of children waved goodbye on the street. A stray black cat peeked out from the alley and feasted on the freshly emptied trash can.

"Well, actually, it's not just this one thing..."

Mark sat down opposite Monica, tactfully avoiding mentioning He Ye again, and fumbled in his pocket to take something out:

"Didn't you ask me the other day if I had anything related to Leon's identity? Well, this gold-rimmed glasses frame is something he used a few years ago, but it's broken."

A pair of gold-rimmed glasses without lenses sat on the table. Monica put down her newspaper, her gaze falling on the mirror before she fell silent: "..."

"This is all I could translate."

Mark honestly put his hands back in his pockets, then looked around and muttered, "By the way, how's Sophia doing lately? I could go and talk to her, after all, we've been colleagues for several years."

“This is ‘Wan’s’.” Monica sighed, somewhat speechless.

"..." Mark blinked, then realized what she meant and realized he was getting senile.

“And—” Monica took a deep breath and picked up the newspaper again, seemingly casually, but actually just to cover her face so that Mark couldn’t see the emotions in her eyes.

"Sophia has gone on a mission."

Monica paused and said softly, "Lawrence too."

Mark frowned: "How come I didn't know?"

As the captain of this spy team, he coordinates most of the missions with the CORE Operations Bureau, unless, unless the mission is a highly classified and extremely dangerous special operation.

Monica was silent for a few seconds, and then what she said confirmed Mark's guess.

“The level is owl,” she said.

“…” Mark’s body stiffened, then he slowly lowered his head.

Is that so...?

The languid middle-aged man looked as if he had aged several years in an instant. He awkwardly touched his stubble, somewhat at a loss. This stemmed from his anxiety about the outcome of the mission, as no one knew if they would return alive.

……

The camera turned.

—Grilli suburbs, Highway 7—

The sun had completely sunk below the horizon, and beyond the outskirts lay forests gradually receding from the industrial city. A modified Mante-type cargo truck was speeding along. It looked no different from a livestock transport vehicle, but the entire vehicle, from the side windows to the windshield, had been bulletproofed and modified for enhanced performance.

The black delivery truck sped along the multi-layered, compacted gravel asphalt road, its engine roaring.

The carriage is a spacious area for transporting goods, and the entire carriage is covered with linen. Originally intended to shield livestock from view and prevent them from becoming agitated by the unfamiliar environment, this has now become a clever arrangement that allows people inside to see the outside scenery simply by pushing the linen over their shoulder.

There were eight people sitting in the carriage. They were dressed differently, but they were all in a highly unified silence.

Assassin William Nelson took a deep breath, silently adjusting his breathing. A veteran member of CORE for five years, infiltrating Greeley City, he had been transferred from his own spy squad to join this special operation.

And without a doubt, everyone present here is.

The Owl mission was CORE's highest level of secrecy operation, and also its most dangerous. William had never carried out such a mission in his career as an assassin; this was his first.

As an officially recognized Class B assassin, he had assassinated officers of all ranks and was quite well-known in the enemy's rear areas, but he was not confident that he could survive this mission.

The mission requirement was to escort.

My gaze fell upon the black-haired young man sitting at the very back of the carriage. He was wearing an ordinary shirt, an inexpensive watch, and glasses, and he looked well-educated and reasonable—yet his eyes revealed a sense of indifference towards the world.

Closely nestled around him was a man in his forties, who appeared to have gray hair. Judging from his observed behavior, he was not a combatant, but rather someone bound by some kind of blood relationship.

The mission requires escorting the black-haired youth to the Wolfson Railway, 70 kilometers away, before 9:00 AM. A steam train, number 2619d, will be stuck on the railway for 30 minutes due to a power plant malfunction.

During this period, he must be allowed to board the train quietly, and then the rest of the task will be none of their concern.

The importance of the mission was also explained to him during the mission.

The young man's name was Emil Feren. Born into the aristocratic class in country B, he studied physics and chemistry in country A for several years. He was a recognized genius in the scientific community. At only 27 years old, he was already an unprecedented theoretical pioneer in the field of energy molecules, and he also had achievements in engineering and materials science.

With the situation becoming increasingly volatile, the country now needs talent like this to develop weapons. Therefore, they need to ensure the scientist's safe return home, and whatever happens, he must be protected from harm.

However, there is no doubt that Country A will not allow this scientist to leave smoothly. Even if they manage to evacuate him quietly, it is only a matter of time before their people discover it.

The assassin, William Nelson, had no choice but to trust the organization's arrangements.

A national-level assassin lurks in Gretel, and he would definitely be assigned to this kind of mission. The problem is that William doesn't know the assassin's identity. Assassins are always kept secret.

Perhaps in search of that vague sense of security, he began to observe the people in the carriage.

William's eyes darted around quickly, discerning subtle movements, and soon he spotted a man who caught his attention.

He was a blue-haired, blue-eyed, expressionless young man wearing a black trench coat. He was checking the sniper rifle in his hand without any expression—a large-caliber sniper rifle that he had taken out of a black suitcase not long ago and finished in a few dozen seconds.

His demeanor exudes a murderous aura.

Perhaps this is the legendary national-level assassin, or at least an A-level personnel.

Then William noticed another 'killer'.

No, calling her an assassin is an insult to that term, because that girl with the black iris-like appearance seemed so natural. She didn't feel the slightest sense of crisis, and there was even a hint of drowsiness in her red eyes.

The beautiful young woman with shoulder-length black hair silently rubbed her fingers, her eyes seemingly lost in thought. Despite the oppressive atmosphere in the carriage, she seemed indifferent and unconcerned.

She was sitting on the other side of Emil.

Why would the organization send someone like this? Just a pretty face?

William, who had been trying to find a sense of security, became tense. He had to take another deep breath to calm himself down. The oppressive atmosphere in the carriage reflected his concern about life and death.

Night falls.

The sound of wheels speeding over stones startled the birds in the roadside trees; the only sound in the silent carriage was the clanging of the engine.

Suddenly, I could feel a ray of light piercing behind me.

“A car is following us.”

A man's voice came from the driver's seat. He could see in the rearview mirror that it was a private car—but chasing at this speed at this time was definitely not a friendly move.

The top leadership of Country A was absolutely unwilling to see Emil leave; this pivotal and brilliant scientist was far too important.

If they cannot stay, they will choose to fake their death as an accident.

Now, the 'accidental death' is underway.

Hearing the voice of the man in the driver's seat, the already oppressive atmosphere became even heavier. The blue-haired, blue-eyed killer suddenly stood up, grabbed the handle above his head, pushed open the sunroof, and gracefully jumped onto it.

At that moment, the night wind rushed into the carriage through the sunroof.

Lawrence, who had climbed onto the roof of the car, leaned over and gripped it tightly. His black trench coat fluttered in the wind, and his eyes were indifferent.

The surrounding forest scenery is rushing past.

He didn't expect to be caught up with by the Internal Security Operations Bureau so quickly. The ISAB agents were smarter than he thought. Even though there were disguised bait transport vehicles in other directions, they were still caught precisely.

No, it's more likely that they'll choose to send a processing team to every single transport vehicle... In that case, we can only hope they can't handle everything.

Lawrence mounted the sniper rifle on the roof of the car, adjusted his breathing, aimed, and prepared to intercept. The trigger, which he had pulled countless times before, sprang into action again after a brief silence.

boom!
The bullet sliced ​​through the air in an instant! It flew swiftly into the driver's side window of the rear car, and the shattered glass sprayed blood everywhere!
Then the out-of-control car crashed into a tree!
Thump! Fuel is leaking from the engine! Sparks fly!

Lawrence calmly pulled the pin to change the cartridge.

"Clang clang (the sound of bullets hitting the ground)"

William saw the bright yellow large-caliber sniper bullets fall into the carriage. The guy who climbed on top seemed to have done something incredible. He lifted the curtain and looked back, and found that the light coming from behind had indeed disappeared.

Amazing, amazing...

To hit the driver from such a distance at high speed, he must be a national-level assassin.

But his joy was short-lived, as he discovered that even more white light was shooting from behind—this was not good news, as those guys would relentlessly pursue him!

(End of this chapter)