"Remember what the guild master said, we execute the plan this time. Lynx, tell us what you know about these guys."
"Rade, this is a bad idea," Lynx said, voice low. She looked around at the others—faces masked, blades cleaned and strapped, poison vials lined on the table. "No matter how much we’re getting from this contractor, it’s not worth it. Our lives are at stake here. Killing the princess would enrage the king, and we’ll be nothing more than scapegoats."
Rade didn’t blink.
He sat on a stone crate, elbows on his knees, knives strapped to his thighs, twin short swords crossed on his back. His body was lean but powerful, like someone forged in bloodshed rather than born to it. His eyes were calm—not because he wasn’t afraid, but because he had killed fear long ago. His jaw was rough with stubble and his brown hair was long enough to tie, yet he let it fall, shadowing his eyes.
He had scars—thin white marks that traced years of missions, and the one across his shoulder spoke of a mistake he never repeated.
He didn’t yell when he replied.
He rarely needed to.
"Lynx. I said briefing. Not whining."
Lynx swallowed. Others shifted uneasily.
Rade leaned back slightly. "Now shut up and tell us what you know about that strange man with the princess."
Lynx sighed. "Fine. But don’t blame me if this turns into a disaster."
She took a breath.
"The girl—Rebecca—is a Legendary. You already know that. Avatar of the Death God. She’s dangerous, but still young."
Rade nodded once, unimpressed.
"But the man... the one who caught the arrows? He’s the problem. I tail-watched him for five minutes, and I lost him. Lost sight, lost scent, lost mana trace. He’s not a normal talent user."
One of the assassins scoffed. "Everyone says that when they’re scared."
"I’m not scared," Lynx snapped. "I’ve tracked Saints before. I’ve tracked Grandmasters. I’ve never seen someone erase their presence like he did. I saw him catch a poisoned arrow with two fingers like it was a fallen leaf."
The room went quiet.
Rade’s fingers drummed on the crate.
"Abilities?"
"Unknown. I couldn’t sense anything from him—no aura, no mana pulse, nothing. It’s like he’s... empty."
"Empty?" Rade repeated.
"Yes. Empty. Like he shouldn’t exist."
Another assassin muttered, "Maybe he’s an illusion user."
"No," Lynx said. "I felt something. A pressure. A bit like nothing and everything at the same time. He looked ordinary but every instinct I have screamed not to get close."
Rade exhaled once, slow and deep. "Appearance?"
"Taller than the princess. Dark hair. Eyes that don’t look a single direction—like he’s watching everywhere without moving. Smiles easily."
"Confident?" Rade asked.
"Too confident. Like he knows no one here can touch him."
That drew some uneasy looks.
Rade stood.
He towered over most of them—not because he was massive, but because he carried weight. Authority made of survival, not rank. His presence pressed down on the room.
He strapped his gauntlets tighter. The leather groaned.
"Good. Now we know the risk."
Lynx groaned. "So we’re still doing this?"
"Yes."
"Rade—"
He cut her off.
"You think I don’t know this is suicide? Of course it is. But we took the contract. A contract from the palace isn’t something you walk away from. If we betray the contractor, we die. If we fail, we die."
He looked around slowly.
"So we pick the option with a chance of living."
Lynx glared. "Barely a chance."
"And yet, still better than no chance."
Another assassin—small, wiry, hood low—raised a hand. "What about Rebecca? What about the mystery man?"
Rade grabbed a dagger and spun it around his fingers.
"We avoid the Death girl. We distract her. And the other one..." He paused. "We don’t fight him."
Lynx blinked. "What?"
"We don’t fight him," Rade repeated. "We misdirect. Separate. Create chaos somewhere else. If we can isolate the princess even for three seconds, we can finish the job."
"And if he notices?" Lynx asked.
Rade gave a thin smile. "Then we run."
Silence again.
He slid the dagger into his boot.
"This mission isn’t about winning. It’s about threading a needle in a hurricane. We strike once. Clean. Then vanish."
Everyone listened.
Because even if this was suicide...
...Rade had survived worse.
Born in the gutters. Raised by violence. Bathed in betrayal.
He wasn’t the strongest assassin.
He was the one who lived.
Lynx rubbed her forehead. "This is madness."
"What else is new?" Rade said with a shrug. "We’re assassins. Madness is the job."
She stared at him for a long moment.
"...Fine. But if we die, I’m haunting you."
"Get in line," he said dryly. "Half the empire will haunt me."
A ripple of dark humor broke the tension—small, but real.
Rade walked forward, headed for the exit.
"We move at sundown. Lynx, locate the princess’s route. Shadow-team, prepare for interference. Poison-team, recoat your blades. And someone tell the guild master we accept the contract’s second phase."
He stopped at the door.
"And spread the word."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"If that man interferes, disengage immediately. You are not to fight him. Understand?"
Nods all around.
Lynx sighed. "We’re dead men."
"No," Rade corrected softly. "Dead men don’t get paid."
He stepped outside.
The room watched him go.
Some admired him. Some feared him.
All followed him.
Because in this profession... confidence wasn’t stupidity.
It was necessity.
Outside, Rade looked up at the sky.
Clouds drifted slowly.
He whispered to himself:
"If this stranger really is as dangerous as she says... then this world is about to get a lot more complicated."
He tightened his gloves.
His eyes sharpened.
And somewhere far across the city—
in a palace where a false king sat—
a contract hung heavy.
Failure meant death.
Success meant war.
And Rade—
Rade walked straight toward it.
Inside the Academy
Rebecca frowned when she noticed the presence of the previous assassin that was sent.
"Seems they don’t learn."