The sun was high in the sky, casting golden light over the walls of the Elmhurst estate.
Cicadas buzzed in the hedges. Now and then, the clink of armor or the creak of leather broke the lazy afternoon stillness.
One city guard leaned against a marble pillar near the estate’s side entrance.
His helmet was pushed back so the breeze could cool his sweaty brow.
He yawned wide, scratching the strap beneath his chin.
“I wonder when we get to go back,” he mumbled.
A soft rustle came from the bushes behind him.
He blinked.
Then gasped.
A flash of silver cut through the air—fast and silent. The blade sliced clean across his throat.
His eyes went wide. He tried to cry out, but only a wet gurgle escaped. His hands reached for the horn at his belt—but too slow.
A gloved hand caught him as he collapsed and gently lowered him to the ground.
The killer waited a beat, listening.
Silence.
Then he raised two fingers.
Go.
More figures rose from the hedges—slim and fast, wrapped in dark clothes.
Each wore a mask with faint red stitching, barely visible in the light.
They moved like shadows, slipping between trees and stone.
Some crept toward open balconies.
One scaled the wall toward the second floor, using ivy as a ladder.
Another darted past the garden fountain, vanishing behind a patch of rose bushes.
The rest moved straight toward the Elmhurst Library—where their target waited.
Inside the library, the air was still.
Sunlight poured through tall windows, painting golden shapes across polished floors. Dust floated lazily in the light.
Cassian stood over a table, reading a map.
Lucien sat on a bench, flipping through an old book.
Leila sorted papers by the window.
Kael leaned against a wall, arms crossed.
Grey, quiet and sharp-eyed, stood near the shelves.
Rook sat in a chair, snacking on dried fruit.
Garron and Captain Alric spoke in low voices near the door.
No one sensed danger—yet.
Then, by pure chance, Cassian saw movement—a shadow flicked across the floor.
He frowned and looked up.
Masked assassins crouched along the rafters, swords drawn.
“AMBUSH!” Cassian shouted, yanking his sword free.
One of the assassins dropped down, blade aimed for Lucien’s chest.
Lucien rolled off the bench just in time—the dagger stabbed into the wood behind him.
Leila cried out and fired her crossbow.
Kael was already moving, daggers flashing.
“It’s the Crimson Crow! Protect the prince!” Cassian barked.
Everything burst into chaos.
Another assassin rushed at Lucien. Garron blocked the blow with his broadsword, sparks flying.
A third leapt at Leila while she was reloading. Grey moved fast—his blade slicing clean through the attacker’s neck before he landed.
Captain Alric fought off two assassins near the door. “Guard the prince! Don’t let them surround him!”
Rook ducked a flying dagger. “That’s easy for you to say!”
Lucien stood, sword drawn. “Let them come. I can fight!”
“Careful!” Garron shouted. “Their blades are poisoned!”
An assassin lunged from the shadows behind Lucien.
Kael slammed into him midair and stabbed twice, dropping the killer instantly.
But more kept coming.
They dropped from above, slipped through windows, stormed in through side doors.
Steel clashed. Men shouted. Scrolls flew.
Some assassins hurled glass vials at the shelves.
CRASH!
The bottles shattered. Green fire erupted, crawling up the books like hungry vines. The heat hit like a wave.
“Fire!” Leila yelled. “They’re setting it all on fire!”
“Fall back!” Alric ordered. “Get the prince to safety! Use the east door!”
Cassian slashed another assassin. Blood sprayed across the scrolls.
The assassins were fast. Silent. Precise.
They had one goal: Kill the prince!
Then—a sharp whistle came from the back of the room.
One last assassin burst through the smoke, charging straight at Lucien.
“DOWN!” Cassian roared.
Lucien ducked.
Rook’s dagger flew across the room and buried itself in the attacker’s eye.
The man dropped dead at Lucien’s feet.
“Thanks,” Lucien panted, chest heaving.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Rook muttered. “More are coming.”
The fire spread faster, climbing the shelves and curling over ancient scrolls.
Smoke filled the air, choking their lungs.
Then it came—the bell tower began to ring.
Once.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjm9mD7O4l2
Twice.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1XyPr2Ihb0
Three times.
The estate’s warning signal—meaning the city guards were under attack as well.
Cassian looked toward the smoke-blackened window.
“They’re trying to burn us alive.”
“East door! Now!” Alric shouted.
No one hesitated.
The group moved—swords drawn, fire at their backs, blood on the floor behind them.
Smoke poured from the broken doors as they rushed into the hallway.
Garron and Alric slammed the doors shut and shoved a heavy bookshelf against them.
“That’ll slow them down. Move!” Garron shouted.
The fire crackled louder now, swallowing the library in green flame. The heat pressed at their backs, chasing them down the polished corridor.
Cassian, Garron, and Alric pushed ahead, shielding Lucien.
Leila stayed close, crossbow reloaded.
Kael and Grey flanked the group like wolves, blades drawn.
Rook followed last, knives glinting in each hand.
They passed through the eastern hall, golden light pouring through the windows—until a shadow moved behind one.
Cassian looked up. “Watch out—!”
CRASH!
Glass shattered. Dozens of masked assassins dove in through the tall windows, rolling to their feet in perfect sync.
“Protect the prince!” Alric shouted, already clashing blades with one.
Kael lunged at the second, ducking low and slashing through the back of the attacker’s knee.
Rook hurled a dagger that sank into an assassin’s collarbone.
“They're everywhere!” Leila snapped.
“We go through the backyard!” Cassian barked.
“This way!” Garron pointed to a narrow servants’ hallway. “It leads to the kitchens!”
The group turned sharply, sprinting down the corridor as Kael, Rook, and Leila fended off the final pursuers.
Dusty paintings shook on the walls as their boots thundered down the stone floor.
They burst into the kitchen. Grey kicked open the back door with a crunch of splintering wood.
Sunlight and wind blasted in.
The garden behind the estate was wide and green, ringed by hedges and iron fences. A stone path led toward the back gate.
Freedom.
Then—
A sharp whistle.
Figures leapt from the hedges.
Dozens.
All in black. All masked.
The Crimson Crow was waiting.
“Shit, we’re surrounded!” Alric hissed.
“Form a line!” Cassian ordered. “We break through or we die here!”
The assassins charged.
Steel met steel.
Garron swung hard, parrying two strikes at once and elbowing a third assassin in the jaw—Kael finished the job by slitting his throat.
Cassian met their leader—saber to saber, the clash echoing through the garden.
Lucien stayed close behind him, blade drawn, teeth clenched.
Leila ducked behind a stone birdbath and fired bolt after bolt.
Rook rolled past a lunging attacker, slicing his ankle open and flipping another dagger into his throat.
Grey moved like mist—every strike silent, every step sure.
But more kept coming. The enemy surrounded them.
Alric roared, “Clear a path to the back gate!”
Kael stabbed an assassin and turned to Rook. “Think you can give us that?”
Rook smirked. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He hurled a small flask into the hedges. A loud bang erupted in smoke and blinding flash.
Some of the Crimson Crow staggered back, clutching their eyes.
“Now!” Cassian shouted.
The group pushed forward.
Lucien stayed in the center. Kael and Grey carved a path ahead. Garron and Alric guarded the rear.
They reached the gate.
Locked.
“Rook!” Kael called.
Already there. He jabbed two thin picks into the old iron lock.
“Give me three seconds—”
Clink. Snap.
“—Done.”
He kicked the gate open.
The group poured through. Rook jammed the mechanism immediately.
Behind them, the assassins roared in frustration as the gate slammed shut.
Cassian turned back once. Smoke rose from the manor. Screams echoed inside. Crimson masks glinted in the sun.
“They’ll be coming around.”
Lucien exhaled, chest rising and falling fast. “Where now?”
Alric wiped blood from his cheek. “Anywhere but here.”
Then—all of a sudden, he stumbled.
Cassian turned. “Captain?”
Alric dropped to one knee, then collapsed forward with a grunt. His sword clattered to the ground beside him.
“Alric!” Garron rushed to his side, rolling him over.
The captain's face had gone pale. His breath came in short, tight gasps. His arm twitched, fingers curling against the earth.
Then they all saw it.
A gash across his upper arm—thin, almost shallow—but already the skin around it had turned an ugly shade of purple.
Leila dropped beside him, her crossbow forgotten. “No… no, no, no—he’s poisoned.”
Cassian knelt. “When did this happen?”
“I didn’t see—” Alric hissed between clenched teeth. “Must’ve been back… at the library. One of them nicked me.”
Lucien stepped closer, worry written all over his face. “Is it bad?”
Leila peeled back part of the sleeve and winced. “Worse than bad. It's spreading fast. We need to slow it down.”
Grey looked around. “Rook! Your pack—do you still have that binding powder?”
“Yeah,” Rook said, already digging through his bag. “It won’t cure him, but it might buy us time.”
He tossed the small satchel over. Leila caught it and opened the flap, pouring the powder over the wound.
Alric let out a sharp cry, muscles seizing, but then slowly loosened again.
His breaths were still ragged, but his eyes found Garron’s. “Don’t… let them get the prince.”
Garron squeezed his shoulder. “We won’t. Rest. We’ll carry you.”
Alric shook his head weakly. “I’ll just slow you down… leave me. Get His Highness out. That’s an order.”
“Not happening,” Garron growled. “We don’t leave our own.”
“They’re going to catch up,” Kael warned, watching the treetops. “We need shelter, now.”
Grey pointed ahead. “There’s an old chapel near the ridge. Abandoned. I saw it earlier through the library window.”
Cassian stood. “Then we make for it. Someone help Garron carry Alric.”
“I got him,” Rook said, slipping under the captain’s other arm. “Don’t die on me, old man.”
Alric gave a weak grin. “That’s the plan.”
The group moved again, faster now, urgency in every step.
Behind them, smoke still curled into the sky. Somewhere in the distance, a crow called—sharp and hollow.
Leila glanced back once, tightening her grip on her crossbow.
“They won’t stop,” she whispered. “They’ll keep coming.”
Garron’s voice was low, firm.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8so1FgnMJ5
“Don’t worry. Mira will find us. And when she does—it’s payback time.”
