The Velbrath noble district was built like a fortress—tall stone walls, patrolling guards, and gilded arrogance woven into every brick. Viscount Ragnis's estate was no different.
But to Ryle Astoria, walls were just obstacles, and guards were merely distractions.
The moon hung high as he moved through the shadows, slipping past the outer patrol with practiced ease. His footsteps were silent against the marble floors as he navigated the corridors, blending into the darkness.
His goal? Proof.
Solid, undeniable evidence that Ragnis had fabricated his heroism. And if Ryle knew anything about arrogant nobles, it was that they had a habit of writing down things they shouldn't.
The viscount's study was lavish, lined with bookshelves and expensive trinkets. A large oak desk sat at the center, papers neatly stacked—letters of business, records of taxes… and one worn leather journal.
Ryle picked it up, flipping through the pages.
His instincts had been right.
The journal detailed everything—the bribes, the staged celebration, and the town guards who had been paid to back up the lie.
"Honestly," Ryle muttered to himself, "why did he even write this in a journal?"
He snapped the book shut, tucking it into his coat. This was more than enough to destroy Ragnis's credibility. But before he could move—
The door slammed open.
A dozen knights flooded into the room, swords drawn. Behind them, Viscount Ragnis strolled in, his smirk dripping with superiority.
"Ah, the so-called journalist," Ragnis said, voice laced with amusement. "Did you really think a rat like you could sneak into my home unnoticed?"
Ryle sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Well, I was hoping to be out by now, but I guess your men are slightly more competent than I gave them credit for."
The viscount chuckled, stepping closer. "I've heard of you, Astoria. A man who digs through filth, thinking words hold power. But you're nothing. Just another fool playing at importance."
He gestured lazily to his knights. "Kill him."
The knights advanced, blades glinting under the candlelight. Ryle didn't move.
Not until the first one lunged.
Then everything blurred.
A simple step to the side—the knight's sword met empty air. Before he could recover, Ryle flicked his wrist—just a tap against the man's armor.
BOOM!
The knight was sent flying backward, smashing through the bookshelf with a sickening crash.
Silence fell over the room. The remaining knights hesitated, their confidence shattered.
Ryle exhaled, rolling his neck. "You really should've just let me walk out of here."
The next knight swung wildly. Ryle caught his wrist, barely exerting pressure. Bones snapped like twigs. The man screamed before Ryle flipped him effortlessly into the ground, knocking him unconscious.
Two more rushed him.
Ryle ducked under a blade, spun between them, and delivered two light taps to their armor.
CRACK!
They were launched backward, colliding against the stone walls before slumping to the ground, unmoving.
The remaining knights staggered back. Their faces, once filled with confidence, were now painted with pure terror.
Ryle turned to Ragnis, stepping closer. The viscount, once so full of arrogance, had gone pale.
"You…" Ragnis stammered. "What… what are you?"
Ryle leaned in slightly, voice calm but heavy with finality.
"The truth is heavier than your lies."
He held up the stolen journal, shaking it lightly. "And I think the kingdom will love to hear about this."
Ragnis's mouth opened, but no words came out.
Ryle turned away. He had everything he needed.
And by sunrise, Viscount Ragnis's legacy would be in ruins.