An unexpected enemy

A surprise-a colossal surprise!

Harold was deeply unhappy with what had happened to him today and desperately wanted to curse the superior who had assigned his missions.

That fat bastard, who should have gone to meet the God of Light long ago, had first ordered him to kidnap a smuggler that morning, claiming the man was crucial to the empire's border strategy and could not be killed, only captured alive.

Because of that requirement, Harold and his two subordinates had held back from dealing lethal blows when they attacked their target inside his safe house.

That had given the smuggler an opening. He threw a device that released clouds of smoke at his feet, then escaped.

The failure had earned Harold several minutes of abuse from the fat bastard, but he had no way to explain his predicament.

I'm the Peace Dove's ace assassin! An assassin!

An assassin's job is assassination, not kidnapping! If you want someone arrested, why not go to the Inyama police?

They're the biggest kidnapping and extortion thugs in all of Inyama!

Unfortunately, Harold's immediate superior had been parachuted into the position. He knew nothing about how assassins worked and could only hand out assignments without thinking and complain about his subordinates.

After failing the first mission, Harold had thought he might get some time to rest. Instead, that very afternoon, the fat bastard sent someone over with a portrait bearing an address, along with a message.

"Your last target is at this man's place. You must kill them both.

"Then bring back the second target's corpse, take it through the secret passage into Noble City, and dump it before midnight along the route Bagnia's eldest prince will take back to his residence after leaving the ball."

The mission's requirements were strange, but Harold, who had been trained since childhood, did not ask unnecessary questions. He merely grumbled inwardly about his superior's unreliability.

The assignment was too sudden, the deadline too tight. As the man responsible for carrying it out, Harold had no chance to make detailed preparations.

But there was no helping it. A mission was a mission.

Harold could only take his two subordinates to rest at the temporary hideout his superior had arranged. The house also contained a secret passage into Noble City, which would be essential for carrying the corpse past its guards.

The assassin captain planned to rest until late at night before taking his men out to complete the mission.

He knew the target visited the Black Clinic every evening to treat the poor, and the clinic was not far from their temporary hideout-only twenty minutes away by carriage.

Given that distance, Harold felt a little rest would not delay the mission.

But plans could not account for everything. Harold and his men had been sleeping comfortably around a brazier when he suddenly heard the strange scraping of the dog's claws against the ground in the courtyard outside. Then one of the thugs in the hideout went out, cursing.

Harold did not stop the thug. When he realized something was wrong, he picked up a wooden board and gently laid it over the brazier, blocking the faint glow of the coals and plunging the bare, empty room into darkness.

With the situation outside unknown, hiding in the shadows would give them an advantage.

Then an arrow pierced the thug's neck, and he staggered backward into the room.

"Enemy attack!"

Harold shouted instinctively, waking his two groggy subordinates and telling them to grab their weapons. Then he hurried forward to close the door.

But the enemy outside acted far too decisively. Harold had taken only two steps when a dark figure lunged inside, something black slashing toward him with a shrill whistle through the air.

Harold instinctively raised his armored arm to block and counterattack.

In a flash, Harold and the attacker exchanged several rapid blows in darkness neither could see through clearly. The longer they fought, the more shocked Harold became.

His opponent was a master. Not only did he move fast, but his attacks were strange and deadly, every strike aimed at a vital point.

His flank, his neck, his heart, and the blood vessels along the outside of his thigh.

Without the steel bracers on his arms, if Harold had been wielding only a shortsword, several bleeding gashes would already have been carved into his body.

Fortunately, there was only one expert capable of suppressing him single-handedly. From the corner of his eye, Harold saw two more enemies rush in behind his opponent, only to be knocked down by his two subordinates in their first exchange.

That, at least, was good news. The other enemies were hopelessly inept.

But before Harold could enjoy that thought for long, the house's glass window shattered, and several crossbow bolts shot inside.

The Peace Dove assassin standing closest to the front had no time to react before a bolt struck him, sending him toppling backward on the spot.

The other subordinate ducked and dropped flat, avoiding the bolts for the moment.

As for Harold, because he was locked in combat with the expert, the bolts fired blindly into the room mostly flew around him, leaving him in no danger of being shot dead.

But this could not go on. Distracted, Harold had already taken several cuts. Blood soaked his clothes, and he was steadily losing ground in the fight for his life.

Then, after two volleys of bolts, more enemies poured into the house in silence.

These men wielded short weapons such as hand axes and shortswords. Their skills were nothing special, no different from those of ordinary people.

But they had no fear of death, charging inside one after another without a sound.

To cover Harold, the remaining assassin was forced to step forward and engage them, stabbing two enemies down in quick succession with his shortsword.

In an ordinary street brawl, a bloody fight in which two or three men were stabbed to death would have left those street thugs weak at the knees.

Yet the enemies who had appeared so suddenly tonight showed no fear and did not retreat. No matter how many died, they remained silent, swinging and thrusting their short weapons at the assassin in the darkness.

Even an expert assassin could not fend off so many hands in that dark room. Before long, an enemy approached Harold's last subordinate from the side, and a hand axe struck his neck in the darkness.

With that single blow, hot blood gushed out and splashed over Harold. He saw his subordinate fall from the corner of his eye, but before he could mourn him, enemies were already closing in from both sides.

In the moonlight streaming through the window, Harold could just make out the ominous shapes of the weapons in their hands.

Hand crossbows.

Two bowstrings cracked through the air, and Harold felt as though someone had punched him in the chest and stomach. The force and searing pain drove him back, step after step.

The enemy whose face he had never been able to see, and who had not shouted once throughout their fight, did not miss the opening. He lunged forward and delivered another slash to Harold's neck.

Ah, now I should die quickly, without any pain.

Before sinking into eternal darkness, Harold widened his eyes, trying to get a clear look at that formidable enemy and memorize his face.

But even as he fell forever into darkness, he never succeeded.

Right up until his death, Harold had one question that would never be answered... Why did that damned fat bastard of a boss sell me out?