A month ago
Duke Richard Medici POV
I felt thirsty so I woke up.
I looked and the curtains in window were flowing because of winds. The wind were faster than normal....and colder.
I looked at my wife still sleeping peacefully and smiled. I put the blanket more carefully over her and stood to take water from jug on table.
As I stood I saw ... A man.
He sat in the farthest corner of the room, where light hesitated to reach and shadows gathered as if drawn to his presence.
At first glance, it was difficult to even notice him.
Not because he was small or insignificant—but because he felt… absent. Like a gap in perception, something the mind instinctively slid past rather than acknowledged. Only when one looked carefully did his figure take shape within the darkness.
He leaned back in a simple chair, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed—almost careless. Yet there was a precision even in that stillness, as though every angle of his body had been chosen deliberately. He did not fidget. He did not shift. He simply… existed.
And that was enough to make the air feel heavy.
His build was lean, neither bulky nor frail, but perfectly proportioned for movement. There was no wasted mass on him—only efficiency. His limbs appeared long and controlled, suggesting speed rather than brute strength. Even seated, there was a quiet readiness in his body, as if he could vanish or strike in the same instant without warning.
His face remained hidden.
A dark hood draped over his head, its fabric thick enough to swallow what little light dared approach. Beneath it, a mask covered the entirety of his face. Unlike ornate designs worn by nobles or ceremonial guards, this one was simple—matte, unreflective, almost absorbing the surroundings into itself.
It had no expression.
No markings.
No identity.
Only narrow slits where his eyes should be.
And within those slits—
Darkness.
It was impossible to tell if he was looking at someone… or through them.
His hair, if visible at all, was concealed beneath the hood. Not a single strand escaped. Every detail about him was controlled, hidden, erased.
Even his breathing was silent.
His clothing followed the same principle.
He wore layers of dark fabric, each piece tailored not for appearance, but for function. The outer cloak fell loosely over his frame, its folds blending seamlessly into the surrounding shadows. It did not sway unnecessarily, nor did it make a sound when he moved.
Everything had a purpose.
His gloves were thin and tightly fitted, covering his hands completely, leaving no skin exposed. Even his fingers moved with a controlled fluidity, suggesting familiarity with blades, poisons… and death.
His boots were equally silent—crafted from dark leather, flexible and light. The kind that left no sound, no trace, no evidence.
No weapons were visible.
But that, perhaps, was the most unsettling part.
Someone like him would never reveal where his weapons were.
Or how many he carried.
The shadows around him seemed thicker than elsewhere in the room, as if they acknowledged him… or obeyed him. Light from nearby sources dimmed subtly in his presence, never fully touching him, never exposing him.
Even the space around him felt different.
Quieter.
Colder.
Like something unseen was watching from within that darkness.
Despite sitting still, he dominated that corner of the room completely—not through force, not through display, but through absence. The absence of sound, of presence, of certainty.
One could look directly at him and still feel unsure.
Was he truly there?
Or was the mind simply filling in what it expected to see?
And perhaps that was the most dangerous thing about him.
Not his strength.
Not his skill.
But the fact that even when you found him…
You could never be certain you truly had.
And I am sure he allowed me to feel his presence.
The man said
"Nice to meet you, Duke of North."
I asked him
"Are you .... Assassin Guild Leader?"
The shadowed figure tilts his head slightly—just enough for me to perceive movement, though his masked face remains unreadable.
"You paid fifty platinum coins for a conversation."
His voice is neither deep nor high, but something in between—a tone that refuses to linger in the air, slipping away like mist.
"You already know the answer."
He shifts ever so slightly, and for a moment, the darkness around him seems to pulse, as if responding to his will.
"So let us skip the obvious."
His fingers tap once—just once—against the armrest of the chair.
"Why am I here, Duke?"
The question is simple. The weight behind it is not.
I responded
"I want to assassinate someone. A Powerhouse ."
The Assassin Guild Leader leans back further in his chair, his form nearly lost in the surrounding shadows. He's silent for a moment, as if considering his next words with care.
"A Powerhouse" he repeated, voice echoing quietly.
"Very ambitious. And… expensive."
He tilts his head, and his gaze—or what seems like a gaze—lingers in my direction.
"What makes you think I'll accept the job?"
I replied as calmly as possible
"You are here....means you are at least interested. Because those 50 platinum coins were for just an appointment with you. You didn't have to actually come."
A hint of a smirk seems to flicker across his concealed face.
"Observant," he notes. "I like that."
He remains motionless, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Then, almost casually:
"And you're right. If I wasn't interested, I wouldn't have come. But there's a difference between interest and a commitment."
His gloved finger taps on the chair armrest, a soft yet rhythmic sound that fills the tense silence.
I said defiantly
"Yes, but interest is still better than nothing ."
The Assassin Guild Leader lets out a dry chuckle. It's a short, humorless sound that adds a touch of mockery.
"True. Interest is better than nothing."
He pauses, his gaze seemingly fixed on me despite the concealing mask.
"But it doesn't guarantee cooperation."
His gloved fingers stop their tapping, now holding the armrest with a slight grip. His next words come slow and deliberate.
"I need more than that to accept an assassination of a Powerhouse."
I frowned
"What do you want?"
His head tilts slightly, the darkness in his mask's slits deepening.
"Everything."
The word hangs in the air, heavy and absolute.
"Your territory."
"Your resources."
"Your silence."
He leans forward slightly, though his posture remains relaxed—like a serpent uncoiling just enough to strike.
"And most importantly… your loyalty."
He pauses, letting the demand settle.
"Forever."
Then, with an air of finality:
"Do you accept?"
He doesn't mean I give him everything literally. He basically want to use everything for his Guild.
My frown grew
"That's a lot to ask. If I am ever found out supporting Assassin Guild, things won't end well even if I am Duke."
The Assassin Guild Leader's gaze hardens, his mask's slits narrowing perceptively. Despite the mask's obscuring, his displeasure is palpable.
"I'm well aware of the risks," he retorts, his voice cool and controlled. "But I also know your kind."
He leans closer, the shadows around him shifting again, as if responding to his mood.
"You want something done, but you don't want to dirty your hands."
His gloved fingers drum on the armrest—a subtle but ominous rhythm.
I diverted the topic to make time to think
"You ask for the payment but you don't yet know who I want assassinated."
The Assassin Guild Leader chuckles, a sound that lacks humor. His gaze remains locked on me, calculating and predatory.
"You're right. I don't know the target. Yet."
He leans back in his chair, the shadows embracing him like an old friend.
"But I have… guesses." His tone is mild, almost conversational.
He's testing me, seeing how much I'll reveal.
my eyes narrowed
"Guesses? Would you care to tell me those guesses?"
The Assassin Guild Leader exhales softly—not quite a sigh, but close. There's amusement there. Or maybe impatience.
"Very well."
He shifts just enough for the light to catch the edge of his mask—briefly, before he sinks back into shadow.
" you wiped out the Lewin merchant family."
A pause. Deliberate.
"All but two."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Adrian Lewin is now The Twelfth Lord of The Coalition of The Twelve Lords."
His gloved hand lifts, index finger tapping once—just once—against the side of his mask.
"And you are afraid."
The word hangs in the air, sharp as a blade.
"Am I wrong?"
I scoffed
"You have investigated me. But yes, you are right."
The Assassin Guild Leader nods slightly, his expression hidden behind the dark mask. There's a subtle shift in his demeanor—a hint of approval.
"I have my ways,"
he says, the corners of his mouth tilting slightly—a sly smile I sense rather than see.
He leans back in his chair again, his tone almost nonchalant.
"But we're getting off track."
He lifts a gloved hand, examining his fingers in the faint light.
"Do you agree to my conditions or not?"
Since he already investigated me then he knows I am not in a good position. No point bargaining.
I sighed
"I agree. So, what's your plan for assassination?"
The Assassin Guild Leader nods once, satisfied with the agreement.
"Good."
He relaxes just a fraction in his chair, shadows creeping closer.
"To answer your question..."
He turns his attention to me. His gaze is unreadable, but I can almost feel the intensity of his focus.
"Assassination of a Powerhouse like the Twelfth Lord is no easy task."
He leans forward slightly.
"Are you sure you want to know my plans?"
I chuckled
"I guess knowing or not knowing won't make a difference."
The Assassin Guild Leader lets out a slow exhale—something between amusement and approval.
"Wise choice."
He taps a gloved finger against the armrest, considering me for a moment.
"Then consider our business concluded."
He stands—so smoothly it barely registers as movement—the shadows shifting to accommodate him.
"Expect… results."
And before I can blink, he's gone—nothing left but the faintest whisper of displaced air and the creeping cold.
I walked towards the jug and drank water after filling it in a glass.
Now this water is for calming myself rather than thirst.
As I hold the water, taking a long, measured sip, I can feel myself beginning to relax. The tension in my shoulders—the slight tightness in my chest and mind—slowly uncoils.
The cold water helps.