Faced with John's question, the gathered assassins and killers exchanged bewildered glances.
They honestly didn't know the full story. All they were aware of was that the Guildmaster—and especially Lord Rocky—harbored an intense killing intent toward the golden-haired girl.
As for John, well, he had simply gotten entangled with her, which had caused him to become a target too.
"Big brother, we really don't know anything. We're just following orders!" the lead assassin wailed, his face a mask of helplessness and regret.
The others behind him hurriedly nodded, all chiming in with the same excuse:
"We're just small fries! Nobodies! How could we possibly know what the big shots are planning?"
John, however, remained unmoved by their pleading.
Seeing that none of them were willing to reveal the truth, he simply raised his hand—and in his palm, a black tadpole began to wriggle ominously. It radiated a strange, disturbing energy.
The moment the assassins laid eyes on it, their blood ran cold.
They had witnessed what that tadpole could do. Once it entered someone's body, their stomach would swell like a balloon—just like a pregnant woman's.
Several of their comrades had already suffered at the hands of this dreadful thing.
The wailing, the moaning, the sobbing—it was like they were undergoing some kind of torturous labor.
Just the memory of it made everyone's scalp tingle with horror.
"We really don't know! Please, spare us!" they cried in desperation.
These once-ferocious killers were now completely broken.
No more pride. No more menace.
They were just terrified souls begging for mercy, hoping John would show them even a shred of compassion.
But John wasn't feeling generous.
If they refused to give him a satisfactory answer, then there was no need for them to stay alive.
After all, these assassins were a source of chaos and unrest in the city. Wiping them out would actually benefit Winterhold.
"I know! I know!" a voice suddenly called out from the back.
Just as John prepared to flick the tadpole, a short assassin pushed his way through the crowd and stumbled to the front, forcing a sycophantic smile as he bowed toward John and Celia.
The others turned their hopeful gazes toward the short man as if he were their savior.
He wasn't someone anyone paid much attention to—a cleaner, really. He rarely participated in real missions and mostly just swept floors in the corner.
Did this guy really know the truth?
The tension in the air thickened.
If he said the wrong thing, John might still get angry—and then they'd all be doomed.
Under the wary eyes of his peers, the short man cleared his throat and began to speak:
"I overheard something once. I was cleaning the Guildmaster and Lord Rocky's meeting room, and I caught bits and pieces of their conversation. Apparently, a vile thief snuck into the guild and stole a very important scroll."
As he spoke, he glanced cautiously at Celia.
Everyone else followed his gaze.
But… Celia was an assassin. Theft was more of a rogue's specialty, not hers. Why was he looking at her?
Celia narrowed her eyes. "I suggest you watch your mouth. I didn't even know about the existence of your Killer Guild before all this. Why would I go out of my way to steal from it?"
Flustered, the short man quickly waved his hands and explained:
"No, no! I'm not saying you stole it! What I meant was… the person who did steal the scroll was killed by you later on. And because of that, they redirected their attention onto you!"
Celia frowned and fell into a brief silence.
His words… could they be true?
She had killed a thief shortly after arriving here—and taken everything from his body. But the guy didn't seem to have anything valuable. She'd only kept the silver coins and burned everything else.
Could that scroll have been one of those things she incinerated without a second thought?
John noticed Celia was deep in thought and didn't interrupt her.
Instead, he casually flicked his fingers.
A few black tadpoles shot from his hand and burrowed into the bodies of the assassins still kneeling nearby.
Moments later, their stomachs began to swell grotesquely.
Agonized cries rang out.
It was like a delivery room in hell.
Then, without a hint of hesitation, John swung his sword—and cleanly finished them off.
To him, these people were nothing more than vermin. Street scum. Eliminate them, and the city became that much cleaner.
He felt no guilt.
But when it came time to deal with the short man, John paused.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Instead of killing him, John said flatly, "Since you're willing to cooperate, then I've got one more favor for you."
The short man nodded vigorously, nearly headbutting the ground.
He'd already wet himself earlier from fear.
He may have been an assassin once—but standing on the edge of death had shattered whatever courage he had left.
Later That Day
John and Celia returned to Old Jaque's courtyard, with the short man in tow.
Old Jaque frowned the moment he saw the stranger.
"Where have you two been?" he asked, then narrowed his eyes. "And why did you bring someone new back with you?"
"Killer Guild," John replied simply. "This guy's one of them."
Old Jaque's brows arched in surprise.
He squinted at the short man, then sniffed slightly—and his eyes widened.
"You reek of blood and killing intent… don't tell me…"
He stepped forward and examined John and Celia more closely.
"Did you… destroy the Killer Guild?"
He sounded genuinely astonished.
"The Killer Guild has some seriously powerful awakeners. Did you actually take them all out?"
He wasn't joking.
The Killer Guild had operated in Winterhold for years, not just because of its political backing, but also because of its frightening strength.
Its upper ranks were composed almost entirely of Gold-ranked awakeners—true monsters.
John might be strange. Celia was no pushover.
But to wipe out the entire Killer Guild?
That should've been impossible.
John simply shook his head. "The Guildmaster and top brass left last night. No idea where they went. So I guess… they got lucky."
Old Jaque's eyelid twitched.
Listen to this guy…
He made it sound like killing gold-rank awakeners would've been a minor inconvenience.
Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention to the short man.
And then—
His eyes went straight to the man's stomach.
It was… round. Unnaturally round.
And worse—there was movement inside.
Old Jaque blinked.
Rubbed his eyes.
Looked again.
Nope—still there.
He quickly extended his spiritual perception and scanned the man's body carefully.
A few seconds later, his jaw dropped open.
"HE'S PREGNANT?! Did you do this?!"
From what he could tell, the man really was carrying a fetus inside him.
It was faint, and not quite human, but it was definitely there.
John: "..."