Ryn Cardell knelt on the warehouse floor, holding the seventh Forbidden Mana Stone in his hand, sweat beading on his forehead.
Something was wrong.
The weight was right. The veins were right. But the luster was too dull.
"Mira." He didn't look up. "Get me the purity tester."
"Y-yes!" His assistant jumped down from the workbench, clutching scrolls and instruments as she rushed over. Her glasses nearly fell off. "But Ryn, according to the Manual of Forbidden Substance Identification, Third Edition, page 47, visual inspection has a misdiagnosis rate of—"
"Mira."
"Sorry!"
She handed him a small copper box. Ryn opened it, and the crystal probe inside immediately glowed faintly. He pressed the probe against the stone's surface.
Three seconds.
The probe shifted from white to pale purple.
"Shit." Ryn tossed the stone back into the crate. "89% purity. Contract requires 95% minimum."
"S-so what do we do?" Mira wrung her hands nervously. "The buyer arrives in ten minutes, and if they find out—"
"I know what they'll do." Ryn stood up, his knees cracking. Twenty-four years old but felt like forty. "Option one: they haggle, I take a loss. Option two: they think I'm trying to scam them and just cut me."
"Then we should—"
The warehouse door opened.
Not knocked. Just opened.
Ryn's stomach dropped.
The person who entered wasn't his buyer.
A small figure stood in the doorway.
About five-foot-four. All black clothing. Hair covering one eye. Twin daggers at her waist, hilts worn smooth from use.
No sound when she walked.
Ryn immediately raised both hands.
"Okay! Okay okay okay! Whatever you want, it's yours!" His voice came out an octave higher than intended. "Money's in the iron box under the table, password is my mother's birthday—wait I'm an orphan so the password is 1234—"
The woman in black didn't speak.
She just looked at him.
That look. Ryn had seen it before. The way a butcher looks at a pig.
"Mira, run!"
His assistant was already hiding behind the workbench, making small animal-like whimpering sounds.
The woman in black moved.
Ryn's survival instinct: when a suspected assassin enters, immediately execute "Cardell Emergency Protocol Three."
Protocol contents: run toward nearest exit while throwing anything throwable.
He grabbed the nearest mana stone crate and hurled it toward the woman, then spun and bolted for the side door.
The crate tumbled through the air.
The woman sidestepped, moving like a shadow.
Ryn's hand touched the doorknob—
A blade pressed against the back of his neck.
Cold. Precise.
"Move, carotid artery severs." The woman's voice was soft, emotionless. "Time to death: seven seconds."
Ryn froze.
"Please—please wait!" His voice trembled. "Who sent you? Northern Empire? Federation? Academy? I can pay double! Triple!"
"Employer identity: confidentiality clause."
"Right right right, confidential, I understand!" Ryn started talking faster. "But you know what, killing me is actually a terrible investment decision! Because I have dirt on three Empire officials, plus IOUs from two Federation councilors, and also—"
The blade pushed forward one millimeter.
He felt the sting of skin breaking.
"Last words: thirty seconds."
"Wait wait wait!" Ryn's brain spun frantically. "What's your name? At least let me know who's killing me!"
The woman was silent for three seconds.
"...Lyra Nightwhisper."
"Nightwhisper? THE Nightwhisper from the Grey Mist Independent Assassins Guild?" Ryn's voice suddenly filled with hope. "Oh my god you're the one who took out 'The Butcher' Marko with a single strike? The legendary never-miss—"
"Fifteen seconds."
"My point is!" Ryn talked like a machine gun. "You're a professional, right? Professional means rational! Rational means negotiable! Look, what good does killing me do you? You get your contract payment, but once I'm dead, who else can pay you more? But if you let me live—"
"Five seconds."
"I'll make you the richest assassin in the Grey Mist!"
The blade stopped.
"...Explain."
Ryn's survival instinct put his mouth into automatic mode.
"It's simple!" He still had his hands up. "You kill me now, you get paid once. But once I'm dead, my network dies too. But if you become my bodyguard, I pay you triple what your current employer offered every month, and—"
"Not necessary."
"—and you get the list of everyone who wants me dead!" Ryn spoke even faster. "Think about it! Right now at least five factions want me eliminated! You protect me, which means you automatically get intelligence on five potential employers! What a business opportunity—"
Lyra lowered her blade.
Ryn nearly collapsed.
"Triple payment." Lyra said. "Monthly. Advance."
"No problem!"
"Plus room and board."
"Of course!"
"Anyone approaches you, I assess threat level first."
"Completely agree!"
"Your schedule. I need advance notice."
"Absolutely will tell you!"
Lyra nodded.
Then she did something Ryn completely didn't expect:
She bowed slightly.
"Contract established. I am your blade."
Ryn blinked.
"Wait... what?"
"From now on," Lyra said, her gaze suddenly becoming... softer? No, more like a beast recognizing a new master. "Anyone who threatens you, I will eliminate."
"Eliminate means—"
"Kill."
"No no no, I meant protection not—"
The warehouse door opened again.
This time it was the actual buyer.
Three people. The leader was a bald, massive man with arms as thick as Ryn's thighs.
"Cardell!" The big man's smile was fake. "Heard you have quality goods?"
Ryn's brain immediately switched to merchant mode: "Of course! Please come in—"
Lyra blocked him.
Daggers drawn.
"Threat assessment: high. Recommendation: eliminate."
"Lyra don't—"
Ryn grabbed Lyra's arm to pull her back.
Bad decision.
The bald man thought it was an attack signal and drew his curved blade.
Lyra immediately counterattacked, Ryn was pulled backward by her movement—
His foot stepped on a place on the floor he shouldn't have stepped.
Click.
"Shit—"
The floor opened.
Ryn and Lyra fell together.
The trap door slammed shut.
Ryn lay on the damp ground, everything hurt.
Darkness. Complete darkness.
"...Mira?" His voice echoed in the enclosed space. "Mira!"
No response.
He sat up, fumbling for the wall. Stone. Cold and wet. This was the old cellar beneath his warehouse, which he'd converted into an emergency shelter.
Problem was: the emergency shelter was designed to "activate from above, hide below, automatically open after twenty-four hours."
He'd just triggered it from below.
"...Dammit."
"Space analysis: 3x4 meters." Lyra's voice emerged from the darkness, completely calm. "Exit: one, located in ceiling. Locking mechanism: timer. Estimated opening time: 12 hours."
"How do you know—"
"Night vision."
Of course. Professional assassins all had night vision.
Ryn sighed. "So can you get us out?"
"Ceiling mechanism: magic lock. Requires specific key. I cannot breach."
"So we're trapped."
"Correct."
Ryn leaned his head against the wall.
Perfect. Fucking perfect.
The buyers upstairs probably thought he was pulling a trick. Mira was probably terrified right now. The Forbidden Stones were still in the warehouse.
And he was trapped in a cellar with an assassin for twelve hours.
"...Sorry." He suddenly said.
"What?"
"You took a contract to kill me, and not only did I survive, I trapped you down here too." Ryn laughed bitterly. "This is probably the worst day of your professional career."
Silence.
Then Lyra said: "It's not."
"Hm?"
"The worst day was seven years ago." Her voice became very quiet. "I killed my first person. I was fifteen."
Ryn froze.
He hadn't expected this.
Assassins don't voluntarily talk about their past. That's the rule.
But darkness has a strange effect. Makes people say things they normally wouldn't.
"...Fifteen years old." Ryn repeated. "Too young."
"What about you?"
"Me?" Ryn laughed. "Started as a pickpocket at ten. Learned to forge documents at twelve. First smuggling run at fourteen. Even younger than you."
"Why?"
"Because no one would feed me." He said it flatly, like talking about weather. "Orphans in Crossroad Town have two paths: join a gang or starve. I chose a third: start my own business."
Longer silence.
"Did you have a master?" Lyra asked.
"Yeah. Old man named Graves. Taught me everything about smuggling." Ryn's voice softened. "He died three years ago. Empire soldiers caught him, hanged him in the street. I hid in the crowd and watched."
"...I'm sorry."
Ryn shook his head, then realized she could see while he couldn't.
"Don't apologize. That's just how this world works." He said. "What we do, sooner or later we pay the price. Same for you, right?"
Lyra didn't answer.
But Ryn felt the atmosphere change.
He continued, voice tinged with self-mockery: "You know why I'm so scared of women?"
"...No."
"Because of my mother." Ryn laughed, but the sound was bitter. "I don't remember what she looked like, but I remember the day she left. I was five, woke up and she was gone. Note on the table: 'I'm sorry.'"
"That's it?"
"That's it." Ryn shrugged. "So my understanding of women is: they all leave. Or worse—they kill you." He paused. "Not aimed at you specifically."
"...I understand."
Silence again.
But this time it wasn't as awkward.
"Lyra." Ryn said.
"Yes?"
"You took the contract to kill me for money, right?"
"Yes."
"Then if..." He hesitated. "If someone paid you more money to protect me instead of kill me, would you accept?"
"You already paid triple."
"I mean..." Ryn took a deep breath. "If I treated you like a person instead of a tool, would you find that strange?"
Long silence.
Then Lyra's voice came, confused:
"...What do you mean?"
"I mean, you have a name, a past, feelings." Ryn's speech slowed down. "But everyone treats you like a weapon. Including yourself."
"I am a weapon."
"No." Ryn shook his head. "Weapons don't have worst days. Weapons don't remember their first kill. You're a person, Lyra."
Even longer silence.
Ryn almost thought she wouldn't answer.
Then—
"...Thank you."
The voice was so small Ryn almost didn't hear it.
He smiled. A genuine smile.
"You're welcome."
When the cellar door opened, sunlight stabbed Ryn's eyes.
Mira's face appeared at the opening, eyes red and swollen.
"Ryn! You're alive!"
"Barely." He climbed out, stiff all over. "The buyers?"
"They took the mana stones." Mira said quietly. "I'm sorry, I couldn't stop them—"
"It's fine." Ryn rubbed his neck. "Being alive is good enough. Lyra—"
He turned around.
Lyra was already standing in the warehouse, checking every corner.
Then she walked up to Ryn.
Her gaze was different now.
No longer a butcher looking at a pig.
More like... a wolf that had acknowledged a master.
"From now on," Lyra said, voice calm but firm, "anyone who threatens you, I will eliminate in advance."
"Lyra, listen—"
"Including those three robbers."
"Wait—"
"Current location: North District, Seventh Street. Estimated twenty minutes to resolve."
"Lyra don't—"
She was already gone.
Ryn stood there, stunned.
Mira adjusted her glasses. "Um... Ryn? What just happened?"
"I'm not sure." Ryn rubbed his temples. "But I think I just recruited a very dangerous bodyguard."
"Is that a good thing?"
"I don't know."
Outside the window, a black shadow leaped across rooftops.
Ryn sighed.
"I really don't know."
A tall figure in black armor stood in the shadows, telescope aimed at the warehouse.
Silver cropped hair. Scar across her face.
Eira Drask lowered the telescope and wrote a line in her small notebook:
Target: Ryn Cardell Status: Confirmed alive New variable: Assassin Lyra Nightwhisper (requires investigation) Recommended action: Continue surveillance
She looked up toward the distance.
The direction of Ironhold Fortress.
Father would want this intelligence.
But she didn't want to report yet.
She didn't know why.
Eira frowned.
Emotion is weakness.
She shouldn't hesitate.
But...
"Target value: under reassessment." She murmured.
Then disappeared into the morning mist.