I woke with a start, jolted by a chilling noise coming from the hallway. My heart pounded as my eyes adjusted to the darkness surrounding me. Glancing at the window of the luxurious guest room, I realized it was near midnight.
The orders I had received were clear: infiltrate this mansion, gain the trust of its owners, and «survive» until midnight. Everything had gone better than I initially thought, but I still didnât understand why they used the term survive.
Although Daphneâs family had seemed a bit odd from the start, they hadnât treated me poorly at all. Quite the oppositeâthey had been extremely kind and hospitable. Daphne herself came across as an incredibly empathetic and caring person, like the textbook definition of «a good person.» They showed none of the bloodthirsty and cruel nature that Mica had described in such detail.
I lifted the blankets silently, opened the door, and bolted out of the guest room. As I raced down the long hallway, I hesitated for a moment. Should I confront my own group just to save Daphne? The chaos echoing through the mansion confirmed what I already suspected was happening.
On my way, I stumbled upon the lifeless body of Daphneâs sister, split in half. Blood and organs flooded the immaculate marble floor, creating a macabre contrast between white and vivid red. The horrific sight made my stomach churn violently, and it brought back the words Daphne had spoken days ago, her voice laced with concern.
âItâs the group of assassins shaking Sherazade.
«No kiddingâŠÂ» I thought bitterly as I continued running down the hallway. My breathing grew heavier, mingling with the metallic scent of blood that permeated the air. I reached a rose window, a massive circular stained-glass window reflecting the silvery light of the full moon.
Beneath that majestic moon stood five imposing figures perched on a web of thick threads.
They had arrived. I hadnât expected such a dramatic entrance. Those figures were the group I had joined, and I clicked my tongue in frustration as I realized the assassin group Daphne spoke of with such fear was none other than the one I belonged to.
«Are we targeting this place just because theyâre rich?» I wondered as my thoughts raced like a galloping horse. They never really told me the missionâs objective. Suddenly, I looked below the window and noticed the mansionâs bodyguards heading toward the forest.
«What⊠what should I do? Should I go help them?» The weight of indecision paralyzed me momentarily.
From my elevated position, I could observe Anastasia, one of our companions, who seemed only a year or two older than me. Her long white hair, radiant like moonlight in a clear sky, cascaded softly down to her waist. A straight fringe partially covered her forehead, while a few longer strands delicately framed her face. Her eyes, an intense shade of red, gleamed with piercing intensity, like embers burning in the dim light.
She wore a white central piece that covered her torso, elegantly fitted to highlight her figure. This garment was adorned with golden details, including a distinctive cross-shaped ornament on her chest and small accents evoking magical symbols. The armor extended over her shoulders and arms, transforming into black and gold plates with sharp edges, reminiscent of claws, adding an intimidating air. These plates, asymmetrical in design with spikes and angular shapes, reinforced her imposing presence.
Beneath the torso armor, she wore black shorts that left much of her legs exposed, emphasizing her agility. Her legs were protected by high black boots that reached up to her thighs, complemented by additional plates on her thighs and knees, also in black and gold tones, with pointed details that maintained a sharp, gothic style. A long white cape, apparently made of a lightweight and translucent material, hung from her shoulders, billowing gracefully behind her.
In her right hand, Anastasia wielded a colossal sword, almost resembling a lance. The blade, a deep black with jagged edges, was decorated with faintly glowing golden runes. The hilt, wrapped in black leather and topped with a claw-shaped pommel, suggested this weapon had been her companion in countless battles.
I watched her leap backward and land on the ground with one hand on the earth, with the grace and precision of a predator. The guards attempting to flee froze at the sight of her. Then, another figure landed beside her. By the time the bodyguards reacted and aimed their weapons, Anastasia was already standing, glaring at them with a furrowed brow as the night wind played with her long white hair.
Captain Gilthunder, standing next to Anastasia, was a tall, muscular man. He had piercing gray eyes and medium-length black hair, swept back in a messy style, with thin black eyebrows. His sharp jawline was adorned with a faint stubble that made him even more intimidating. His attire was simple, consisting of a tight black shirt that emphasized his muscular build, loose tan athletic pants with a black belt at the waist, and high black boots covering most of his calves.
I observed as Anastasia and the captain approached the group of four guards, their faces and expressions tense.
Suddenly, one of the guards closed the distance with Anastasia and attacked at high speed. She reached for her sword, and before my eyes could follow her movements, with a single step, she slit the bodyguardâs throat in an instant.
The manâs body fell to the ground with a dull thud that I could hear clearly even from my position. As I watched Anastasia kill one guard, the captain was already in front of another, his bloodied hand piercing through the bodyguardâs chest. With a shake of his hand, the body collapsed like a rag doll.
âWhatâs with these guys? âI heard one of the surviving guards exclaim.
âTheyâre monsters! âthe other replied, his voice breaking with fear.
The two remaining guards exchanged pale, terror-stricken looks as one, without thinking further, stumbled and ran in the opposite direction. But before he could get far, the familiar sound of a gunshot echoed through the night, shattering the silence like glass. The man fleeing like a frightened rabbit fell to the ground like a felled tree. A hole had been pierced through the center of his brain, a wound from which there was no recovery. The same fate befell the other man running alongside his companion. No human could survive that, not even with ogre blood. Once the brain was destroyed, even an ogre couldnât regenerate.
âHow pathetic⊠Fleeing in the face of an enemy âI heard someone say with disdain.