As much as it was an institute of education, Knoxfort was also a cesspool of politics. Not much of a surprise, considering not a single student was unworthy of a kidnapping. But such a rich aura of politics comes with a certain need for frequent, extragavant social events. And so Knoxfort knew how to party.

Every holiday from the Day of the Dead to the New Years Masquerade was an excuse for another ball or dance or parade or, well, masquerade. And they made sure to give the local high society plenty to gossip about every time. Whether it be causing competition by giving awards to the best academic and athletic performances every quarter year, or allowing extragavant romance with costumes and masks to satisfy a nobles standard of courtship, Knoxfort knew how to amuse.

But the fort in the name wasn’t simply for decoration either. The security was constantly immaculate. Even the very architecture of the institute itself had many escape routes and emergency shelters built under the ground floors. Each dorm building had a small squadron of soldiers to keep watch, and they were rotated thrice a day to ensure no one ever slacked on the job. Class rooms were protected by an abundance of extremely expensive enchantments carved into the wood, all of which could be activated by a simple touch from the teachers desk. And of course, all such measures would be ramped up for each and every event.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it, the teacher had to press the button. In the end, there’s cracks in every shield. And not expecting an infiltration specialist with all of The Company’s resources at his leisure...well, it’s not something to be ashamed of.

But he couldn’t just do it. He couldn’t simply call for an ungodly amount of explosives, plant them under the venue of the next big thing Knoxfort was doing to brown nose its patrons and blow them all to bits. It would be rather unwise.

Why? Well,

A: Their entire goal with this operation was to prevent peace. To make sure Azdon and Leviot were in constant competition. To maintain war. Each and every event at Knoxfort was attended by a considerable amount of Azdonian royalty, and murdering that many at once would leave Azdon too weak, too quick.

The Company swam best in muddy waters, but even they couldn’t swim in a flood.

B: Knowing who the Princess simply gave them many more advantages than boorish explosions. Although his main mission was killing her, this was a flexible operation initiated by a reasonable business. Their motive was profit, and the margins were subject to change.

Information was always priceless.

C: This side of the operation was supposed to be graceful. Precise surgical cuts, rather than a wildly swinging sledgehammer. Not to imply the company wasn’t capable of the latter, but if they wanted to go that route, they’d more likely put their focus on the other side of the operation.

Marriage needs two people, after all. And so there’s two you can kill to prevent a marriage.

Kevan Georgely Leviathan, the Second Prince of Leviot, was protected by a third of his countries considerable royal guard at all times.

Comparitively, Knoxforts guards were a joke. Only comparitively, however, because,

D: Security was still a concern. Sure, he could do many unpleasant things using his position. His two years of effort weren’t in vain. But demolitions work was quite...extreme. Sneaking in enough of whatever the fuck he managed to get from the explosives department and planting them in Knoxfort under so many watchful eyes was more than just a gamble. Even with how convenient The Companys resources were, there was still limits to risks he could take.

ideally, he wouldn’t be taking any risks with this one.

E: He couldn’t do it. Personally. He admitted it, best not to ignore weakness. He had killed many many innocents before, people unrelated to the under belly of society he resided in. He wasn’t some wimpy recruit who hadn’t seen any blood except his womans period. He knew how to deal with it. It was his job.

But he had always looked them in the eye.

Maybe, there were countless lives that were essentially lost due to his actions that he would never know about. A simple mission to carry intelligence from one outpost to another could result in countless lives lost when his job was done. But that blood wasn’t on his hand. In those cases, he was simply a cog in the machine that makes the bullet. But for every assassination, every kill, he had made sure to look them in the eye. Understand them, just a little bit. Remember them, for just a little while.

He couldn’t just orchestrate death on such a massive scale when there were other options.

He realized, of course, that he was compartmentalizing his excuses. He was simply creating this mental list to convince his logical side and force it to play along. He had to face reality. He couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility that he wouldn’t find her. He couldn’t not account for failure.

The solution to his dilemma was Prom.

It was the only event on the school schedule that actually forbid the attendance of family. Students only, with the staff to serve them and the teachers to sit around feeling awkward as they watch their intellectual apprentices devolve into alcohol fueled hormone nests. It was also held at the end of the school year, and by some lucky coincidence, the hall it was to be held in was still under construction.

The lack of higher level nobility fixed problem A.

The venue being under construction fixed problem D.

And the timing of the event being at the end of the year made B and C easily insignificant. Because he needed to account for failure. He needed to have an ace up his sleeve in case he didn’t find her after the year was over. He couldn’t afford anything except success. If it came down to it… He’d have to live with problem E.

He really hoped he could find her.