Two assassins moved through the crowded market streets with silent precision. Their targets were unmistakable.
Silver hair and piercing blue eyes made Lord Terrace and his son, Damon, stand out; such physical features were a rarity and easy to track.
The assassins operated with a practiced ease—one weaving through the crowd as if he were any other market-goer, his presence masked so effectively that no one paid him any attention. The other lingered in the shadows, moving with the fluid grace of a predator stalking its prey.
At that moment, Lord Terrace and Damon were concluding their business with Haelin. They had come to her to discuss a special weapon for Damon—one that could adapt and grow alongside him, a weapon worthy of an S-Rank Weapons Master.
Damon’s talent granted him dominion over every type of weapon, but his current preference was for a thin, katana-like blade.
Haelin had proposed a unique solution—a weapon that could change its form based on Damon’s needs, responding only to his magic essence. The materials needed were rare and costly, but Lord Terrace had assured Haelin that he would provide whatever was necessary.
As they prepared to leave, Haelin handed Damon a finely crafted silver and blue sword as a parting gift. “Until we complete your true weapon,” she said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Consider this a promise of what’s to come.”
“Thank you,” Damon said, bowing slightly. He could feel the craftsmanship in the weight and balance of the blade—a testament to Haelin’s skill.
Lord Terrace nodded to his old friend, expressing gratitude with a simple, meaningful look before they stepped out into the streets.
The moment they left the smithy, a prickle of unease ran down Lord Terrace’s spine.
Years of experience had honed his instincts to a razor’s edge, and he knew they were being followed. His eyes scanned the busy market, picking up subtle shifts in the crowd and fleeting shadows in the alleys.
Lord Terrace said nothing to Damon, instead guiding him with a steady hand through the winding paths. When they reached a narrow alleyway, he paused, his voice low but calm.
“Stay close,” he instructed.
Damon nodded, sensing the change in his father’s demeanor. Together, they moved deeper into the alley, the noise of the market fading behind them.
The assassins followed, their movements as silent as death itself. They believed themselves undetected, but Lord Terrace had led them exactly where he wanted.
As the alley narrowed, Lord Terrace stopped abruptly, turning to face their pursuers. The first assassin, who had been weaving through the crowd, stepped forward, his expression cold and unflinching. The second emerged from the shadows behind, blocking any possible retreat.
“Show yourselves fully,” Lord Terrace commanded, his voice cold and devoid of fear.
The assassins exchanged glances, their faces betraying no emotion. The first moved closer, his steps deliberate, while the second kept his distance, ready to strike from afar. The tension crackled in the air, heavy and oppressive. Damon’s grip on his new sword tightened.
“Who sent you?” Lord Terrace demanded. There was no room for hesitation in his voice.
The assassins said nothing. In a flash of movement faster than Damon’s eyes could follow, one lunged forward, a blade appearing in his hand.
Lord Terrace intercepted the attack effortlessly, disarming the man with a single strike and knocking him unconscious with a swift blow. The second assassin hesitated for a fraction of a second—long enough for Terrace to close the distance.
With a steely grip, he pinned the man against the alley wall, his gaze like ice. “You have one chance to answer,” he said. “Who sent you?”
The assassin’s resolve cracked under the weight of Terrace’s aura, a suffocating pressure that left him gasping for breath. “Paul Haylen,” he choked out, his voice strained. “He paid… to eliminate you and your son.”
Recognition flashed in Terrace’s eyes, and fury burned hot beneath his composed exterior. He released the pressure slightly, enough for the assassin to breathe but not to move. “You work for the Ghost Scions?” he demanded.
The assassin nodded, his face pale. “Yes.”
The air around Terrace grew colder. His grip on the man tightened, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might crush him where he stood.
Damon watched, eyes wide, sensing the barely restrained rage in his father. He had never seen this side of him so clearly—an unyielding force of nature.
“You dare come after my family,” Lord Terrace said, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you know what that means for you?”
The assassin’s eyes widened with fear. He stammered, “We—our leader… no one was supposed to know. We never target those on the forbidden list.”
“Forbidden list?” Terrace’s voice was like a blade’s edge. “Do you know who I am?”
The assassin swallowed, realizing the gravity of his mistake. “You… you’re Lord Ashbourne Terrace. The Terrace Family is third on the forbidden list. We were warned never to target you.”
“Yet here you are,” Terrace said, his aura flaring.
Boooom!
The pressure crushed the assassin to the ground, his nose and eyes bleeding.
Crack!
Crack!!
The walls cracked around them, the ground splitting under the force of Terrace’s power. Damon, even though shielded from most of it, felt blood trickle from his ears. He struggled to remain standing.
“Father!” Damon’s voice cut through the haze of rage. “Stop.”
The plea pierced through Terrace’s fury. He looked at his son, seeing the strain on Damon’s face. With a deep breath, he released the pressure, allowing the assassin to crumple to the ground. The man gasped for air, trembling.
Terrace’s eyes remained cold. “You will go back to your leader and tell him what happened here. Make sure he knows that his men crossed a line.” He leaned in closer. “If this happens again, tell Galarie that there will be no mercy.”
The assassin’s eyes widened. Lord Terrace had just mentioned their leader’s name casually. It was now obvious that he somehow knew their leader.
The assassin nodded frantically, fear etched into every line of his face. “I understand,” he whispered. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” Terrace’s gaze hardened. “Where does Paul Haylen reside?”
———————————
———————————
A/N
Apologies for the late chapter upload. There will no more delay beyond this. Thank you!
There shall be a bonus chapter today as well!