Chapter 4 - breakfast
The morning sun slipped through the cracks of wooden shutters, painting streaks of gold across the worn floorboards of a small countryside house.
Inside, chaos ruled.
"Move, you hog! That's my dumpling!" a sharp voice pierced the air as a girl with fiery red hair lunged across the table, chopsticks ready for war.
"You snooze, you lose, Mei," another girl snickered, her obsidian-black hair cascading down as she stuffed the dumpling into her mouth. "Mmm… tastes like victory."
Around the table sat six women, each looking nothing like the demons whispered about in Shenzhou's darkest alleys. Dressed in loose robes and with bed hair sticking out in every direction, they looked more like mischievous students than assassins who had painted the capital red just hours ago.
The smallest of them, a girl with twin buns and an innocent smile, sipped her tea calmly as the others fought over breakfast. "You're all too loud. We just killed five nobles last night. Can't we have one peaceful morning?"
"Peaceful is boring, Lin," the red-haired one snapped, reaching for another dumpling. "Besides, did you see that pompous pig's face when I almost skewered him with my spear? Priceless!"
Laughter erupted around the table.
Another girl—tall, elegant, with long silver hair that shimmered like moonlight—rested her chin on her palm, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And yet, you missed."
"Missed on purpose," the redhead shot back. "It's more fun when they run. Makes the hunt sweeter."
As they bickered, the room carried an undercurrent of raw, unspoken power. Their weapons lay casually by the door: blades that gleamed unnaturally sharp, a spear leaning against the wall, a bow strung tight. The scent of blood still clung faintly to their clothes.
At the head of the table sat someone who had barely spoken. She ate in silence, movements graceful and precise, as though the chaos around her didn't exist.
Finally, her voice cut through the noise like a blade.
"What should we do, Jia? The palace doubled its security. It'll be tricky to get in," asked a black-skinned girl with striking green eyes from the far end of the table.
The woman at the head of the table lifted her gaze. Her jade-green eyes glimmered like polished gemstones under the morning light. Midnight-black hair framed her smooth, unblemished skin—skin too perfect, too noble. She looked less like an assassin and more like a pampered princess from a royal family.
"Well…" Jia set down her chopsticks with a soft clink. Her voice was calm, carrying the weight of command. "You got too carried away last night. We were never meant to kill Wang."
A hush fell over the table.
"We only needed to take back what he stole," she continued, eyes sharp now. "But instead, you decided to play."
No one dared speak.
"This time," Jia said, rising to her feet, "we do it right. Tonight, we will infiltrate the palace… and take back the scroll."
She gestured lazily toward the half-finished dishes. "Eat up. You'll need your strength."
The green-eyed girl at the far end of the table broke into laughter, the sound deep and dangerous. "You heard the captain," she grinned, flashing white teeth. "To the palace."
Everyone laughed, the sound loud and wild, shaking the quiet walls of the little house.
--
The clash of steel rang across the palace training grounds, sharp and relentless. Dawn's first light spilled over the white stone courtyard, glinting off polished blades.
Two figures stood at the center, swords flashing like silver lightning.
Ryouma Kenzaki moved like water, each step precise, each swing controlled. His long black hair streamed behind him as his crimson robe cut through the mist. He barely broke a sweat, even as Takeshi, his sparring partner, pressed with everything he had.
The sharp crack of a parry sent Takeshi stumbling back. Ryouma didn't follow; he lowered his blade with calm poise.
"You're too tense," he said simply, his amber eyes calm as still fire.
Takeshi scowled, breathing hard. "Easy for you to say."
From the shadows of the veranda, a tall man leaned against a pillar. His skin gleamed and polished,chocolate coloured, his white dreadlocks falling over broad shoulders, and his gray eyes were sharp with curiosity. Kaelen—the palace's silent storm.
"You both heard what happened last night," Kaelen said lazily, though his gaze was fixed on Ryouma. "Six assassins. Took down five noble families in a single strike."
Takeshi wiped sweat from his brow, snorting. "Not assassins. Wausau warriors. That's what the rumors say."
Ryouma gave no reaction, only adjusted his grip as if preparing for another round.
"They say," Kaelen continued, "the Wausau don't kill for money or politics. They kill for balance. For vengeance." His lips curled faintly. "Tell me, Ryouma… do you think that's true?"
The amber-eyed swordsman didn't look at him. "Rumors aren't worth a blade's edge."
Takeshi let out a harsh laugh. "Rumors or not, those bastards fight like demons. I've seen men with war scars older than me cut down like children. And these Wausau—" he spat to the side, "—they didn't even use horses. Just ran. Like wolves."
Ryouma slid his katana into its sheath with a soft click, his expression unreadable.
"If they come here," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm, "we'll be ready."
Kaelen studied him for a long moment before smiling faintly. "Confident as always."
Takeshi grunted, rolling his shoulders. "Hope you're right."
The three men stood in silence as the sun rose higher, shadows stretching long across the training ground. Far beyond the palace walls, a different silence gathered—a silence that belonged to the Wausau.