"Placing an order?" The old voice asked. He noticed Jesse's surprise, but there was no need for an explanation. That was just the price here—whether to place an order or not was entirely up to the individual.
"Yes." Jesse gritted his teeth. He had come for this—if he wasn't placing an order, why was he even here?
"Hand over the coins." The old voice said. His role was essentially that of a middleman—the coins were held by him, and once someone completed the task and brought back proof, they could collect the gold coins from him.
He took a commission—one-tenth of the total. It was truly a cutthroat intermediary business. Yet, no one dared to complain, except for the top ten assassins. For them, the commission was usually just a token service fee.
"Mission deadline?" The old voice asked calmly. "If time is tight, you'll have to pay extra gold coins."
"This…" Jesse hesitated for a moment. Hearing that he needed to pay more, he immediately shook his head. "I need his head in no less than two months."
Two months—by then, he would already be consolidating power. It would be the perfect time to take over Sedona City and enslave those beastmen.
"Two months?" The old voice paused, followed by the sound of rummaging through something. After a while, he spoke again. "Sedona City, western lands… With a fast horse, it takes twenty days to get there from here."
"That works. Two months." Jesse confirmed.
"If it's not completed within that time, you can come back and reclaim your gold coins." The old voice said calmly.
If the mission isn't completed, the coins will be returned. However, a 1% fee will still be deducted. No matter what, the middleman never takes a loss.
"Alright." Jesse swallowed hard, pulled a burlap sack from his coat, and counted out twenty gold coins to keep in his inner pocket.
Placing the sack on the table, a hint of reluctance flashed in his eyes. He said, "A total of 130 gold coins. Count them."
"No need. If the amount is wrong, the assassin will personally visit Viscount Jesse to collect the difference." The old voice replied indifferently.
"Uh..." Jesse froze for a moment, forcing down his anger. Gritting his teeth, he said, "They're welcome to try."
That old bastard actually dared to threaten him? Jesse ground his teeth in frustration. Ever since stepping into this tavern, he had felt nothing but humiliation.
"Well then, Viscount Jesse, you may leave now." The old voice dismissed him without hesitation.
"Hmph." Jesse snorted, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to make out the figure behind the candlelight. But all he could see was a vague shadow.
Creak.
With no other choice, Jesse rose to leave. He didn't dare to make any reckless moves—provoking this band of outlaws could very well cost him his life.
As soon as Jesse stepped out, the room fell into silence. Only the candle flame flickers occasionally, as if no one had ever been there at all.
"Come out." The old voice called.
As soon as the words fell, a figure emerged from the shadows—just two meters behind the chair where Jesse had been sitting. It was a man dressed entirely in black, his body wrapped in dark cloth except for his eyes. A short sword, as long as an arm, was sheathed at his waist.
"I'm not taking this job." The black-clad man said coldly.
"Oh? So, you're also interested in the Valtoria Treasure Map mission?" The old voice sounded surprised.
Then, from behind the candlelight, a figure stood up. It was a middle-aged man, around forty, wearing a long red robe. His voice changed, no longer old and frail but now strong and full of energy.
"A large number of people are already searching for it," He said. "Even if you go, there's no guarantee you'll find it."
"Is Lord Seventh Steward trying to stop me?" The black-clad man asked coldly.
So, the middle-aged man with the shifting voice was called "Seventh Steward." If Jesse had seen this scene, he would have doubted everything he thought he knew.
"No, I won't stop you. It's your choice, after all." The Seventh Steward spread his hands and sat back in his chair, pulling the burlap sack closer and counting the gold coins.
"You're only hiring assassins ranked around 300th for this baron's assassination, aren't you?" The black-clad man asked.
"Why not? It's just a baron. There's no need to waste the time of those ranked in the top 100. Besides, they wouldn't be interested in a job like this anymore." Seventh Steward replied calmly, counting out fifty gold coins and placing them into another burlap sack—money meant for hiring other assassins.
The task they were referring to was the hunt for the Swiftwind Organisation. Simply spotting a member of the Swiftwind Organisation would earn a reward of 300 gold coins, while retrieving the treasure map from them would grant a 1,000 gold coin bounty.
This mission was issued by Santner, who, after days of fruitless searching for the thieves, became frustrated and put up a public bounty. This immediately drew the attention of many bounty hunters, and even some assassins were tempted to join the hunt.
The black-clad man's eyes flickered for a moment. He had already seen through this setup, which was why he refused outright. Otherwise, he would've been given only 50 gold coins to take on such a task.
"What's with that look?" The Seventh Steward grinned. "You're one of the few assassins in my list ranked within the top 100. How could I possibly assign you such a degrading task?"
The black-clad man remained silent, clenching his teeth slightly. His opinion of Seventh Steward was clear—all smiling men are scheming monsters. If not for the fact that this place had the best mission opportunities, he would have left for another bounty guild long ago.
A bounty guild was a place where hunters could exchange completed tasks for rewards or take on new missions. Each guild had a group of regular hunters, but they were free to visit other bounty guilds as well.
There were no strict restrictions on this—however, the fewer hunters a guild had, the fewer missions would be completed, which meant less commission for the guild's overseer. To retain skilled hunters, some overseers offered perks like reduced fees or exclusive intelligence.
"When will you depart?" The Seventh Steward asked calmly.
He pulled out a parchment scroll and quickly wrote down the details of the assassination request. The mission would be posted in the tavern for three days, and if no assassins accepted it, it would be sent to other bounty guilds—though this meant a higher commission fee would be deducted.
"I leave tomorrow." The black-clad man replied indifferently.
"Be careful. Don't run into the one ranked third—he just got back, and he's in a foul mood," Seventh Steward paused his writing and added, "The tenth-ranked assassin is already dead."
"The Predator?" The black-clad man's eyes narrowed sharply, his voice betraying his shock. "Wasn't he missing for a long time?"
"Who knows?" The Seventh Steward shrugged. "Word is, his last mission failed. He was apparently trapped somewhere for a long time but has finally returned."
The Seventh Steward picked up the parchment, gently blowing on the ink to dry it, then sighed. "If only I could get a top ten assassin to work through my guild. That poor guy ranked tenth was just unlucky—he actually tried to steal a mission from the Predator."
"I understand." The black-clad man nodded. The Predator was a ruthless figure… He wondered if anyone could ever take him down.
The Seventh Steward chuckled, setting the parchment aside. "You seem worried. Could it be that even you fear the top three?"
The black-clad man didn't answer immediately. He adjusted the strap of his short sword, then spoke in a low voice. "The top three don't take orders. They decide their own missions. That makes them unpredictable."
"True enough." The Seventh Steward sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Which is exactly why the Swiftwind Organisation is in real trouble. If the third-ranked assassin takes an interest in the bounty, it's just a matter of time before the treasure map changes hands."
The black-clad man remained silent. If an assassin ranked third in the guild took action, the entire landscape of this mission would change. That kind of power was something neither Jesse nor even the Seventh Steward could control.
After a moment, the Seventh Steward's lips curled into a smirk. "Well, if you're not taking the assassination job, what are you after?"
The black-clad man's fingers twitched slightly before he finally spoke. "Information."
The Seventh Steward arched a brow. "About?"
"The one ranked third." The black-clad man admitted.
A tense pause filled the air before the Seventh Steward let out a quiet laugh. "Ah, I see. You want to know if he's taking the Swiftwind job."
The black-clad man nodded.
"Unfortunately," the Seventh Steward said, tapping the table lightly, "That information is worth more than the coins Jesse just handed over."
The black-clad man exhaled slowly, then reached into his belt and tossed a small leather pouch onto the table. The clink of gold inside was unmistakable.
The Seventh Steward raised an eyebrow but took the pouch, opening it to count the coins. After a moment, he grinned. "You must really want to know."
The black-clad man said nothing.
The Seventh Steward laced his fingers together and leaned forward. "Fine. Here's what I know." His voice dropped slightly, as if the walls themselves were listening.
"..."
The black-clad man stood there, digesting the information. He had already planned to go after the Swiftwind Organisation, but this changed things. If the third-ranked assassin was truly considering the job, it wasn't just about the gold anymore—it was about survival.
After a long silence, he finally nodded. "I understand."
The Seventh Steward leaned back with a satisfied expression. "Good. Then I expect you'll be making your move soon?"
The black-clad man turned, his dark silhouette blending into the shadows. "Tomorrow."
And with that, he disappeared into the night.
The Seventh Steward watched as the black-clad man vanished into the shadows, his presence fading like a whisper in the wind. He chuckled to himself, rolling the pouch of gold coins between his fingers before tossing it onto the growing pile on the table.
Another restless night in the Tarvan.
The candlelight flickered, casting long, wavering shadows against the stone walls.
The Seventh Steward reached for a wooden cup filled with strong, spiced liquor. He took a slow sip, savoring the burn in his throat before exhaling deeply. His fingers tapped idly against the table, lost in thought.
Then, the door creaked open.
Another visitor.
This time, it was a woman—her deep-blue cloak damp from the evening mist, her hood drawn low over her face. The moment she stepped inside, the air shifted. It wasn't just her presence; it was the way she moved, deliberate and soundless. Like a shadow given form.
The Seventh Steward smirked. "Didn't expect to see you tonight."
The woman ignored the remark. She reached into her cloak and produced a single silver coin, flicking it onto the table. It spun briefly before settling.
"I need information." She said, her voice low and calm.
The Seventh Steward's smirk widened. So many hunters, all sniffing around the same trail.
"Swiftwind Organisation?" He guessed.
The woman said nothing, only tilting her head slightly.
The Seventh Steward chuckled. "Or… something more specific?"
A pause. Then, the woman finally spoke.
"The third-ranked assassin."
The Seventh Steward let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Seems like everyone wants to know about him tonight."
He reached for the silver coin, letting it dance between his fingers. He could sense the tension in the air, the way the woman's posture remained still—unnaturally still.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I hope you're not planning to cross him."
The woman's lips curled into the faintest smirk. "What if I am?"
For the first time that night, the Seventh Steward hesitated.
It's about to become very interesting.
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