The Greatest Assassin Gets Reincarnated in Tensura

Clayman sat in his lavishly decorated throne room, a grand space adorned with golden chandeliers, velvet curtains, and intricate gothic carvings. His castle, much like his personality, was ornate, extravagant, and deceptive—masking his true cunning behind an elegant façade.

He reclined lazily on his elegantly carved throne, one hand swirling a glass of rich red wine, while the other gently stroked the fur of a fox-like puppet monster perched on his lap. The creature let out a soft purr, its beady, lifeless eyes staring blankly ahead as its master caressed it with almost affectionate detachment.

Just then—

A swirling ripple of energy tore through the air.

With his usual flair, Laplace materialized into the chamber, stepping forward with an exaggerated bow. His golden eyes gleamed with mischief, but beneath that carefree mask, there was an undercurrent of tension.

Clayman took a slow sip of his wine, unbothered, before offering a small smirk. "Laplace… You really do enjoy making an entrance, don't you?"

Laplace chuckled, flipping a coin between his fingers as he leaned against a nearby pillar. "What can I say, boss? Gotta keep things interesting."

Clayman gestured lazily with his wine glass. "I assume you're not here just to admire the decor. So? What brings you?"

Laplace's smirk faltered—just a little.

"Well… let's just say ya might wanna rethink your plans a little."

Clayman's fingers stilled against his puppet's fur. "Oh?" His red eyes flickered with interest. "Go on."

Laplace sighed, flipping the coin again before catching it.

"Footman and Tear? They got wrecked."

Clayman raised a delicate eyebrow. "Oh? By whom?"

Laplace's smile returned, though it was sharper this time. "Now, that's the problem. We don't know."

Clayman's grip on his wine glass tightened.

"Elaborate."

Laplace crossed his arms. "Four people. All dressed in black. Fast. Strong. Too strong. They came outta nowhere and beat the livin' hell outta our two clown buddies, then left 'em with just one message—'We are watching.'"

The room fell into silence.

The firelight flickered against Clayman's eerily calm expression, but Laplace could see the subtle way his fingers tensed against the glass.

"…The Eminence in the Shadows." Clayman finally murmured.

Laplace tilted his head. "Oh? So ya do know 'em."

Clayman swirled his wine, his lips curling into something between a sneer and a smirk. "I've heard whispers. A myth. Shadows that move unseen, striking with impunity, answering to no one. If they're watching us, that means our plans are being monitored."

His eyes darkened.

"Annoying pests."

Laplace shrugged. "Annoyin' or not, they're real. And they ain't weak."

Clayman was silent for a moment, tapping his fingers against the armrest. Then, his lips curled into a cruel grin.

"Interesting. It seems our little game just got more entertaining."

He turned his gaze toward Laplace, the amusement in his eyes barely hiding the sharp edge of his calculating mind.

"No matter. We continue as planned. I'll make adjustments where necessary, but this… Eminence in the Shadows… if they wish to interfere, they'll find themselves caught in my strings soon enough."

Laplace chuckled, though he wasn't entirely convinced. "Well, boss, let's just hope ya ain't bitin' off more than ya can chew."

Clayman simply smiled, raising his glass. "Let them watch."

And with that, he took a slow sip, the rich crimson liquid swirling like spilled blood under the candlelight.

Unbeknownst to Clayman, his every word, every smirk, every calculated move—was already in my hands.

The elegant dining hall of my domain was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting soft shadows across the black marble floors and the grand dining table where I sat with my lovers. The air was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of the finest dishes—perfectly grilled meats, delicate pastries, and exotic fruits from realms beyond mortal reach.

At the head of the table, I leaned back in my chair, swirling a glass of crimson wine—a direct contrast to the white porcelain plates before us. My gaze, however, was fixed on a swirling projection of light floating above the table. It displayed Clayman's lavish throne room in perfect clarity, his every movement laid bare before us.

Across from me, Velzard sat gracefully, her icy-blue hair cascading over her shoulder. She was barely paying attention to her meal, her cold sapphire eyes locked onto Clayman's smirking face in the projection. She slowly twirled a silver fork between her fingers, the metal beginning to freeze over.

To my right, Testarossa, ever the epitome of elegance, sipped her wine with a composed smile. Her scarlet eyes glowed faintly as she listened to Laplace's report, her posture relaxed yet dangerously poised—like a queen waiting for the right moment to strike.

Ultima, on the other hand, was visibly irritated. The petite yet deadly demon sat with her arms crossed, her crimson twin tails twitching in frustration. "Tch. That arrogant bastard thinks he can just 'adjust his plans' like we aren't already ten steps ahead?" she muttered, stabbing into her steak with unnecessary force.

Carrera, ever the wildcard, laughed lightly, resting her chin on one hand as she flicked a knife between her fingers. "Oh, let him think that. It'll make it more fun when he realizes he's completely screwed." Her golden eyes gleamed with mischief as she casually popped a piece of food into her mouth.

I chuckled, setting my glass down. "Clayman is an amusing one, I'll give him that. Even when he's clearly being played, he still thinks he's in control."

Velzard scoffed. "It's only natural for an insect to believe itself mighty—until the foot comes down." She glanced at me, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Shall I handle it now?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. Let him move his pieces first. We need Rimuru to face this trial on his own."

Testarossa gave me a sly glance, swirling her wine. "And what about Laplace? He's observant—more so than the others. He might suspect that there's more going on."

I smirked, resting my chin on my palm. "Laplace is smart, but he's not a threat. He knows something's wrong, but he doesn't have enough pieces of the puzzle. Let's keep it that way… for now."

Carrera grinned. "And if they step out of line?"

Ultima's eyes glowed dangerously. "Then we remind them why the shadows belong to us."

With that, the four of them clinked their glasses together, a silent agreement between us.

Clayman and his pathetic schemes were nothing more than a game.

And we?

We were the players who had already won.