It wasn't the pain in my thigh that kept me from sleeping; it was that detestable, hollow sense of emptiness. I leaned with both hands on the sink in my dark apartment, staring at the reflection before me in the mirror. Under the pale light of the bulb, the scar left by Dan's blade looked like a sin that had yet to be forgiven—a deep, reddened gash reminding me of every single second we spent in that courtyard.
I opened the first-aid kit with numb detachment. I pulled out the gauze and antiseptic, beginning to dress the wound with the mechanical movements my body had grown accustomed to over the years. With every tightening of the bandage, the echo of Han's voice reverberated in my mind, as if he were whispering right behind my ear: "Your survival was not an action you achieved... it was a decision I made."
I froze for a second. I felt a coldness seep into my extremities. I had defeated Dan, the man everyone was terrified of, and I had officially become "Rank Two" in the organization... yet Han's words stripped me of everything. I didn't feel the ecstasy of victory; I felt as if I were merely a marionette whose strings were still held by that butcher. Would I have truly died if he had willed it? Were all my evolution and years of training not enough to impose my will upon him? I looked at my hands; they were steady, but deep inside, there was a tremor I had never felt before. I was "nothing" on his scales, and that realization tore at my pride more than any blade ever could.
The time was now eight o'clock at night.
I was in the middle of a grueling training session inside my apartment. I was lifting heavy iron weights, challenging the muscles in my shoulders and chest, trying to drown out the voice in my head with the noise of physical exertion. Sweat drenched my face, and my breaths came out steady and powerful. Suddenly, the "collar" around my wrist vibrated with a familiar pulse.
I stopped and quietly set the weights on the rubber floor. A notification appeared on the small pop-up screen from the collar. It was a message from Hugh: [Location confirmed. We are making our move. Meet me at the old warehouses in the industrial zone (coordinates attached). Do not be late.]
I dismissed the message. I didn't need any more words. I walked over to my bed, grabbed the edge, and lifted it forcefully, revealing a secret compartment meticulously carved into the wooden floorboards. There lay the instruments of my death: my carefully selected blades, sharp knives forged from high-quality, non-reflective alloy, and precision daggers I had practiced throwing thousands of times until they had become a seamless extension of my arm.
I selected two long blades to strap to my thighs, and a set of small throwing knives concealed within my bracers. I donned my black, friction-resistant assassination gear and ensured the straps were pulled tight. There was no room for emotions now; Skyro, "Rank Two," was the one walking out of this room.
I opened the window. The cold city air lashed at me. I leaped to the roof of the adjacent building with the agility of a cat and began to run. The speed of my bounds increased with every rooftop I crossed. I moved between the buildings like a fleeting shadow, utilizing chimneys and roof edges to propel my body forward at breakneck speed. I saw nothing but the path ahead of me, and heard nothing but the rapid thud of my own footsteps. In mere minutes, I had crossed kilometers and reached the outskirts of the industrial zone.
The warehouse was colossal, surrounded by high iron fences, its courtyard dotted with massive transport trucks. Workers moved about under dim floodlights, and the rumble of truck engines filled the area with a rhythmic noise.
I spotted Hugh perched atop an old crane, observing the area with intense focus. I slipped behind him in absolute silence until I was a hair's breadth from his back. "What's the situation here?" I asked in a low voice.
Hugh flinched slightly, then turned to me with an anxious smile: "Damn you, Skyro... you're going to give me a heart attack one of these days. Didn't you read the mission details?" "No. I wanted to hear them from you in the field," I replied coldly, keeping my eyes on the trucks.
Hugh's tone shifted to dead seriousness: "Alright, listen. We are facing the largest arms trafficking syndicate in Valoria. These trucks you see are loaded with heavy weaponry and contraband tech, and they'll be moving to the port tonight to smuggle them out via cargo ships. Lord Hairo's orders are clear and absolute: Kill everyone. Do not leave a single breathing soul in this place. The organization will handle the cleanup after we finish the job."
I surveyed the number of guards scattered around; there were dozens, all armed with modern firearms. "Alright, no problem. Shall we begin?"
"With pleasure," Hugh replied as he unsheathed his knife.
We shot forward like two arrows. Hugh slid down from the crane toward the first guard standing near one of the trucks. With maddening speed, he slipped behind him and clamped his hands around his neck, shattering his cervical vertebrae before the man could emit a single sound. The corpse dropped silently. In that exact moment, another guard emerged from behind the truck, raising his weapon to attack Hugh from behind.
I didn't give him a chance to think. I launched myself from my dark vantage point, and in the blink of an eye, I was behind him. I drove my blade into the side of his neck, then ripped it out in a flashing motion. Blood erupted profusely. The guard desperately tried to clutch his neck to stem the bleeding, but his lungs were already drowning in blood. He fell to the ground, suffocating in a terrifying silence until his soul left his body.
Hugh smiled, wiping a stray drop of blood from his face: "I've truly missed these days... precision, silence, and death."
We advanced toward the massive iron door of the main warehouse. The door was closed, but something was wrong. The air here was heavy with a thick metallic scent... the smell of fresh blood, and in massive quantities.
Dark red streaks began oozing from the narrow gap beneath the iron door. I exchanged a look with Hugh; extreme caution was now paramount. We gripped the edges of the door and pulled it open with agonizing slowness. The grating screech of iron was the only sound in the area, but what we saw behind the door froze us in our tracks.
The severed heads of three guards were placed meticulously right behind the door. They weren't just severed; they were pulverized, their facial features mangled in a brutal manner that suggested a terrifying malice or sheer, monstrous power. We opened the door fully, and the warehouse revealed a massacre the likes of which my eyes had never witnessed.
Dozens of corpses were strewn across the floor like scrap metal. There were no clean kills here; some had their limbs torn off, while others had their chests caved in so violently that bone was fused with flesh. The entire place was a vast pool of blood. No one was left alive. The syndicate we had come to exterminate had already been annihilated minutes before our arrival.
"Was someone here before us?" Hugh whispered, his knife trembling in his hand from the sheer horror of the scene. "Who could do this to all these men in such a short time?"
I didn't answer. I was focusing with every sense I had. Suddenly, a biting cold invaded my spine. It wasn't a physical cold; it was the "sensation of death" that precedes a strike by a fraction of a second. Someone was behind us.
"Hugh! Get down!" I screamed with everything I had.
We both threw ourselves onto the blood-soaked floor. In that exact instant, a massive blade passed over our heads with terrifying velocity. Had I delayed my shout, or had Hugh delayed his reaction by a single hair, our heads would now be joining the collection by the door.
We spun around with lightning speed, weapons drawn.
He was standing there, leaning his back against one of the trucks inside the dark warehouse. A boy with bright golden hair and sharp golden eyes that gleamed with a predatory brilliance. He wore light clothing that didn't suggest he was a fighter, but the aura radiating from him was enough to suffocate the entire room.
He smiled coldly, his white teeth stark in the darkness: "Well... I thought you wouldn't notice me. It seems your senses aren't entirely useless."
Before we could utter a word, he vanished from his spot. Literally, vanished. I only saw a golden flash moving at terminal velocity toward Hugh. Hugh tried to parry the knife that suddenly appeared before his face, but the force of the impact was colossal. Hugh was blasted backward, slamming hard against the warehouse wall, his knife dropping from his hand from the sheer pressure.
The golden boy immediately turned to me. He drew another knife and targeted my neck with a lightning-fast, confident motion. He thought I would be as easy a target as the guards he had butchered. But, thanks to a deeply ingrained instinct, I evaded the strike by millimeters, ducking beneath his arm with superb agility.
I pivoted behind him and attempted to stab him in the back, but he leaped upward with inhuman flexibility, landing a few meters away with unbelievable lightness.
He paused for a moment, brushing his golden hair back as he looked at me with a strange appreciation. "I thought Hairo's children were weak, just boring little tools..." he said, fixing his golden eyes onto mine with piercing focus. "But it seems there are entertaining people here... You, what's your name?"
I didn't answer, but I realized one thing; this "extremely difficult" mission Hairo had spoken of wasn't about the arms syndicate at all... it was about this monster standing before us right now.