The night was silent, but Lucien's mind was anything but.
He stood in front of an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the dim glow of streetlights barely reaching its rusted exterior. Inside, hidden from the world, was a place he had prepared for moments like this—a base where he could store his equipment, a sanctuary where he could shed his disguise as a student and become what he truly was.
Lucien pushed open the heavy steel door and stepped inside. The air smelled of oil and metal. Against the far wall, a secured locker stood, its contents untouched since he first arrived in this city. He entered the combination and pulled the door open.
Inside, neatly arranged, were his weapons and gear.
Knives of various sizes, a pair of silenced pistols, and an assortment of tools designed for infiltration and combat. His fingers brushed over them, selecting only what was necessary. Every item he chose had a purpose. There was no room for excess, no space for mistakes.
Finally, he reached for a set of clothing—a tactical outfit, entirely black, designed for speed and efficiency. He changed swiftly, his movements fluid and practiced. When he looked into the mirror, he no longer saw a student. He saw a ghost, a hunter.
Tonight, Daggerbone would fall.
---
Lucien navigated the streets in complete silence, his presence barely noticeable even in the emptiest of alleys.
The location he had extracted from the captured assassin earlier led him to an abandoned factory by the river. From a vantage point on a nearby rooftop, he observed the area. A dozen men patrolled the perimeter, armed and alert. More could be inside.
He studied their movements, mapping out the gaps in their coverage. Every breath, every blink, every shift of weight—they all told him something.
He moved.
Descending from the rooftop, Lucien landed without a sound in the shadows behind one of the guards. A quick step, a sharp pull—his knife slid effortlessly across the man's throat. He caught the body before it hit the ground, lowering it gently.
One down.
He moved to the next, slipping through the darkness like a whisper. A quick chokehold, a silent snap of the neck. Two down.
It wasn't long before someone noticed. A guard turned a corner, eyes widening as he saw one of the bodies—
Lucien's knife was already buried in his chest before he could scream.
But the sound of the body hitting the floor was enough.
A shout rang out.
And then, the gunfire began.
---
Lucien became a shadow of death.
Bullets whizzed past him as he weaved through the chaos, closing the distance before his enemies could react. His blade carved through flesh, his movements too fast, too precise.
One man tried to aim—Lucien grabbed his wrist, twisted it until bones snapped, and fired his own gun into his skull.
Another came from behind—Lucien ducked, swept his legs, and drove a knife into his throat before he hit the ground.
They outnumbered him, but he was faster. Smarter. Deadlier.
One by one, they fell.
Until only silence remained.
But then, a slow clap echoed through the air.
Lucien turned.
---
A man stood at the entrance of the warehouse, leaning casually against a steel beam. He was different.
Unlike the others, he wasn't panicked. He wasn't afraid.
He smirked, eyes locked onto Lucien with something that almost resembled amusement.
"So, you're the infamous Falkner," he said, stepping forward. His movements were relaxed, effortless. Like a predator recognizing another.
Lucien said nothing.
The man chuckled. "I expected more of a monster. You just look like a kid."
Lucien's grip on his knife tightened slightly. He could feel it. This one wasn't an ordinary assassin.
This was different. This was a real fight.
The man raised a single hand, gesturing for Lucien to come. "Let's see if you live up to the name."
Lucien didn't hesitate.
He lunged.
And the battle began.
---
TO BE CONTINUED.
End of Chapter 36