The manor was unnervingly quiet. Orven's gloved hands moved with precision as he slipped through the corridors, guided by memory and instinct. Every creak of the wooden floorboards felt deafening, but his breathing remained steady. The scent of polished oak and burning candles clung to the air, a stark contrast to the blood he'd spilled in alleys not hours earlier.
He reached the double doors of the Viscount's private study. A simple lock barred his way—an insult to someone of his skill. Within seconds, the door clicked open, and Orven slipped inside, his frame a shadow against the flickering candlelight.
The room was immaculate, lined wall to wall with towering bookshelves, maps pinned on the walls, and a grand desk at its center. But what caught his attention wasn't the wealth of the furnishings; it was the documents spread across the desk, hastily scrawled notes and maps covered in ink marks. The Viscount had been studying something—obsessing over it.
Orven leafed through them quickly, his eyes narrowing at the seal stamped on multiple papers: the sigil of the Asura Empire. Red lines connected cities, troop movements, and supply chains across the Jade Kingdom's borders. Detailed annotations referenced infiltration points, potential assassinations, and something far larger than the politics of a single province.
These weren't the records of a corrupt noble. This was the work of someone preparing for war.
Orven's breath slowed as he sank into the Viscount's chair, scanning the documents more carefully. For years, he'd believed that all nobles were the same: selfish, arrogant, and willing to sacrifice anyone for their power. Yet these plans suggested something else—a man desperately trying to predict and stop the Empire's advance.
The sudden groan of a floorboard broke his concentration. Orven spun, dagger drawn, only to find the Viscount himself standing at the threshold, his face pale but his eyes calm.
"So," the Viscount said softly, his voice surprisingly steady, "they've sent an assassin."
Orven didn't answer. He stepped forward, blade raised, his shadow stretching long across the study's carpet.
"Go on then," the Viscount continued, lifting his chin. "Strike me down if that is your purpose. But before you do, look again at those papers. The Empire is moving. Your Jade Kingdom will fall in months if nothing changes."
Orven hesitated, his instincts warring with reason. The man before him wasn't pleading for his life—he was pleading for his plan.
"I don't care for politics," Orven said coldly, though his grip on the dagger faltered for just a moment.
"And yet politics is what made you this way," the Viscount replied, his gaze unwavering. "You're young. You've seen their cruelty, haven't you? You've lived it. I see it in your eyes. That rage... they've molded you well."
The assassin stiffened, his mind flashing back to the flames of his village, the screams, and the silent corpses left in the aftermath.
"I can help you," the Viscount said, stepping closer. "Join me, Orven. Become my son. I will give you resources, training, purpose. Together, we can stop what's coming."
The offer cut deeper than any blade. Orven had spent eight years surviving, killing, and running from shadows both real and imagined. To be offered something other than blood and coin—it was a cruel temptation.
For a moment, neither moved. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the maps and plans, the symbols of a kingdom on the brink of collapse.
Orven lowered his blade slightly, his voice low but dangerous. "You'd take in an assassin? A killer who came here to slit your throat?"
"I'd take in anyone willing to fight for what matters," the Viscount replied, his tone calm but firm. "And I think you, boy, matter more than you know."
Orven's heart pounded in his chest. He should kill the man. That was the mission. Yet the documents whispered of truths far greater than the contract he'd taken. For the first time in years, he didn't know which path to take.