Swords of Justice
Chapter 29: Trust
"I am a professional at my job… are you certain of that?"
The assassin said this as he vanished into the fog.
Hamza drew his sword and replied with confidence,
"With absolute certainty."
"I've been wanting to know the name of the man who ruined our assassination for the first time."
"My name is Hamza… Hamza ibn Ali—the one who will put an end to your actions, and let the light erase the darkness of this fog."
Multiple images of the assassin appeared from every direction within the mist, his voice echoing:
"Your moment has come, Hamza…"
Hamza expected a direct attack—but what happened next was beyond his expectations. The assassin began attacking the soldiers instead. It was impossible to tell which one was real. In desperation, Hamza struck down illusion after illusion, only to suffer swift, fleeting blows. Each time, the assassin retreated back into the fog, repeating the same tactic again and again.
As a result, Hamza sustained several injuries to his legs, arms, and back. Still, he managed to avoid fatal strikes—his wounds were more superficial than deep. Even so, he knew he needed a solid plan.
The assassin laughed.
"You are incredibly naive. There's a dangerous aura around you—I can't risk attacking you directly. Now I understand how you managed to kill my brother. You are truly skilled… but your weakness is your naivety. You protect the weak, and they are nothing but a burden to you. Let me kill them and be done with it. If you keep defending them, you will surely die."
The soldiers felt despair. They realized they were a burden to their leader, Hamza. They wished Fatiḥ were there to help him in this crisis.
But Hamza shouted:
"Shut up, you fool!"
From within the fog, the assassin replied angrily,
"What did you say?"
"Weak? A burden? What nonsense are you spouting? These are among the finest warriors who will save this kingdom. You know nothing about them. I am not protecting them the way you think… I'm showing them what this battle truly is—that they must defend themselves, carry everything on their shoulders, and never flee. I am preparing them for this very fight."
These words shook the soldiers' hearts—and filled them with courage. They began to believe that they would win this battle, as long as Hamza stood with them.
But the assassin grew even angrier.
"Shut up, you dog! Your words disgust me. We are not villains here… our mission is to assassinate the fools who fatten themselves on the people's money. Can't you see? We serve the people."
Hamza replied with fury,
"You are no different from them—no, you are far worse. Don't pretend to be a hero. You kill for money… and for pleasure."
"Believe me," the assassin said coldly, "there is no pleasure in this… the only pleasure is in killing you now."
This time, all his illusions charged toward Hamza at once. Hamza couldn't tell which one was real—
But suddenly…
The soldiers moved.
They attacked the illusions with strength and determination.
The assassin was caught off guard. The number of possibilities narrowed—only two illusions remained untouched by the soldiers.
"Tch… I should retreat and attack again," the assassin thought.
"You're not escaping!" Hamza swung his sword and struck one—but it was fake.
As the assassin fled back into the fog, he laughed,
"You failed to seize your chance. I'll recreate new illusions in no time."
"As if I'd allow that."
Hamza hurled his sword toward him.
The assassin leapt aside, dodging it, and sneered,
"Your luck has run out, you bastard."
Hamza smiled.
"No… yours has."
The sword was tied to a rope.
Hamza yanked it back—looping it around the assassin's neck, slamming him to the ground, choking him in a humiliating struggle.
"How did I not notice that?!" the assassin gasped.
"You're not the only one who knows how to use the fog."
Hamza tightened the rope around his neck. Tears and mucus covered the assassin's filthy face.
The assassin raised his hands weakly.
"Damn it… how did I lose this battle?"
"You claimed to be a professional—but you're not," Hamza said coldly. "You could have started with Princess Hasnaa—she was the easier target. But you chose me… driven by revenge. I wasn't even your primary objective."
With his final breath, the assassin whispered,
"I suppose… this is the end of the assassin squad…"
Hamza drove his sword into his skull.
And just like that, the battle ended.
Hamza turned to the soldiers with a smile and said,
"We're late. Let's move."
Fatiḥ was about to return to see what had delayed them—but they finally arrived.
"What took you so long?" he asked angrily.
The soldiers, their eyes filled with emotion, said,
"He's… an incredible leader."
Fatiḥ frowned in confusion.
"What?"
Hamza placed a hand on his shoulder.
"It's nothing important."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Fatiḥ replied, "but I'll send the signal to everyone."
Commander Jalal had been waiting impatiently for Hamza's group. At last, the signal of readiness was sent.
With confidence, he declared:
"The attack will begin at the first light of dawn."
And the sun had already risen…
To be continued…