Chapter Thirteen

Aryan—now bearing the name "Yek-Woodpile"—was assigned to care for his first dying charge, a young man in his twenties. Three deep gashes marred his chest, yet he lay as though impervious to pain, motionless upon the earth bed. He did not groan, nor did he make any demands. Save for the faint rise and fall of his breath, he seemed as lifeless as the dead.

Though it was called "caring for him," the task was little more than watching as his life ebbed away, occasionally providing a bowl of water. The only mercy Alamut Castle extended to the wounded was refraining from burying them alive.

The boys had spent just one night in the castle, scarcely familiar with their new names, before being assigned to watch over the dying, beginning their grim existence in their new "home" amidst the stench of blood.

It only took one person to care for a dying man, but the days were slow, the "off-season" as it were, and there was only one patient. So, Sefr-Woodpile ordered all the boys to come, "to get used to it," he explained, though he stood far off by the door, holding his nose.

"This is what you get for wanting to be a killer," he remarked with malicious glee. The dying man on the bed remained unresponsive.

"His name's Shonz-Woodpile (No. 20), he came into the castle with me. Look at him now—lying there waiting for death while I stand here and watch him die. Heh, if you want to be a killer, better try harder next life."

Shonz-Woodpile did not reply, perhaps he could not even hear the words. It was Doo-Woodpile(Bahman), who, gathering some courage, spoke up, "But if you become a real killer, you can rise above, can't you?"

This question irked Sefr-Woodpile. "Yes, rise above. Go ahead and become killers, all of you. Let's see who can live longer than me in East Fortress. I'll bow to him. Look at yourselves—what a joke, wanting to be killers."

Sefr-Woodpile raised his redwood cane, but he did not want to come near the dying. With a flick of his sleeve, he turned to leave. In his eyes, Shonz-Woodpile was already dead.

Shonz-Woodpile died that evening, and though the boys protested in silent horror, they were forced, under the threat of the redwood cane, to carry his body and dispose of it. They carried the corpse to the western gate and cast it over the cliff's edge.

This was the final resting place for the servants of Alamut Castle.

"This place is called 'The Cliff of Wailing Ghosts,'" Doo-Woodpile continued, attempting to scare the others. "Listen—don't you hear strange sounds from below? It's like the groans of the dead."

The boys, terrified, turned and fled in a frantic scramble. From his position guarding the western gate, Sefr-Woodpile snorted, either in amusement or disdain.

Aryan ran with the others. He had been here the previous night and had indeed heard the eerie screams from below the cliff.

Not long after, the boys learned from Sefr-Woodpile that the cliff truly was the "Cliff of Wailing Ghosts." Doo-Woodpile had not been spinning tales, though no one knew how he had learned of it.

The cliff was a triangular platform, the ruins of a stone altar at its center. It was said that the dead were once burned on this altar, which gave "Woodpile House" its name. However, since Alamut Castle had changed its customs, the altar had gradually fallen into ruin, and only a few charred stones remained, bearing the scorch marks of countless pyres.

In the days that followed, the boys did little but watch as one after another, young aspirants like themselves, succumbed to death. Their bodies were thrown over the cliff in the same grim ritual. Most of them had come to Alamut Castle with dreams of becoming killers, only to be cast aside when they failed to meet the brutal standards of East Fortress.

Alamut Castle was divided into several relatively independent areas, with East Fortress dedicated to training assassins, while West Fortress contained various other facilities, including places like "Woodpile House" for the care of the dying.

Despite knowing that death was more likely than survival, there were still those eager to enter East Fortress. The boys could hardly understand it. Most of them, like Sefr-Woodpile, felt it was better to remain in West Fortress, living as servile slaves rather than die as failed killers.

But Doo-Woodpile was different. He hinted more than once that he had the potential to become an assassin, though he lacked the skills or physique to back up his words. No one took him seriously.

Aryan had also considered the possibility of striving to enter East Fortress. The assassins had destroyed the Gulen family, and learning the craft here seemed like the perfect way to seek revenge. Yet there were many flaws in this plan:

First, time was running out. The young master of the Gulen family might be recognized at any moment. Aryan had to act swiftly.

Second, the training in East Fortress was brutal and bloodthirsty. Few survived the trials, and Aryan feared he might die before he had a chance to avenge his family.

Third—and perhaps most realistically—no one had recommended him, and as a low-ranking slave, Aryan had no hope of entering East Fortress.

Aryan, once again seeking divine guidance, found none. Since entering Alamut Castle, it seemed that the will of the gods had been sealed off from him. He was now at a loss. He had no means of finding his sister, nor could he exact his revenge. At present, he couldn't even imagine having a chance to confront Rashid again, let alone assassinate him.

He feared that he would be stuck in "Woodpile House," carrying the deadbody for the rest of his life.

It wasn't just him. The boys all shared a sense of abandonment, as though they were merely forgotten pawns. Alamut Castle had never truly intended to give them a future. Like the dying they cared for, they were destined to wither away in this cursed place until death finally claimed them.

On the fifth day of their time in the fortress, the boys finally received a glimmer of hope.

Firouzeh, the maidservant who attended Miss Vashti, had arrived.

Though the boys had never received a kind word or smile from Firouzeh, and each of them had felt the sting of her "iron fingers" at some point, seeing her now filled them with a sense of familiarity, as though encountering a long-lost relative. Only she could save them from this torment.

That afternoon, Firouzeh entered the room without a sound, as always succinct in her speech. "Come with me."

The boys, who were cleaning the room of the dead, nearly burst into cheers. However, Sefr-Woodpile stood at the door, and they dared not show their joy in front of him. His redwood cane was not to be taken lightly.

"Who are you?"

Sefr-Woodpile stared in surprise at the unfamiliar middle-aged woman. She moved so silently that he hadn't even heard her footsteps, which greatly displeased him.

"I am Miss Vashti's wet nurse," she replied calmly.

Sefr-Woodpile furrowed his brow. He had never heard of a "Miss Vashti" in the castle, and this woman, with her flat figure like a coffin, hardly resembled anyone's wet nurse.

"What Miss?" he asked.

With a swift motion, Firouzeh poked him with a finger. Sefr-Woodpile flushed, let out a grunt, and collapsed onto the doorframe in shock.

"Go," she said, turning towards the courtyard. The boys hastily followed her, Only doo-woodpile was more thoughtful. He helped sefr-woodpile up and whispered to him who the visitor was.

They passed through the eastern gate, took a winding alley, and after several turns, Firouzeh led the group to the residence of the Eighth Young Master, Rashid. The masters of Alamut Castle all lived in the North Fortress, far from "Woodpile House." Along the way, there were countless turns and alleys, and Aryan, though he paid close attention, only remembered about seventy percent of the route. It was rare that Firouzeh, having entered the castle not long ago, could find her way so easily.

The residence of the Eighth Young Master was built facing south, consisting of two courtyards. Though not very large, it exuded a serene and elegant atmosphere. It was hard to imagine that its owner was an assassin.

Firouzeh pointed to the empty space in front of the main hall and ordered, "Kneel."

Without hesitation, the boys complied, kneeling alongside the ten girls who had come with them and several personal maidservants, all with nervous expressions as if something significant were about to happen.

The hall door was open, and a translucent screen in the doorway cast the shadow of a slender figure.

"Is everyone here?"

"Yes, Miss."

The daughter of "The Iron-headed Demon" seemed to disdain the title of "Young Mistress." Her servants continued to refer to her as "Miss," and from this moment on, everyone who came with her would do the same.

"Let them swear their oath, one by one."

The voice from behind the screen was unmistakably that of "The Iron-headed Demon's" daughter—no bridal shyness or joy, only a barely contained fury.

"I, Firouzeh, swear by the heavens that I will serve only Miss Vashti, daughter of 'The Iron-headed Demon.' If I break this oath, may thunder strike me, and upon my death, may I fall into the eighteen layers of hell, never to be reborn."

Doo-Woodpile was the first person to follow and swear an oath, his words sincere. Had Aryan not known his background, he might have believed Doo-Woodpile had served Miss Vashti for many years.

Aryan was the second. He had just received his new name and was now to take a new surname. As he swore with his mouth, in his heart he repeated, "I am Aryan.Gulen. "

For those who struggled with the Western Kingdom language, the oath was harder to pronounce. Doo-Woodpile volunteered to translate, and though the boys stumbled over their words, they eventually managed to complete the oath.

No one understood why the daughter of "The Iron-headed Demon" suddenly made them swear this oath.

After the oaths were sworn, the voice from behind the screen asked, "Firouzeh, who do you think is suitable?"

"It doesn't matter much," Firouzeh replied. "What matters is intelligence. I think he's the one."

She pointed at Doo-Woodpile, who, quick to respond, took two steps forward and bowed, saying, "I am willing to go through fire for Miss Vashti."

Miss Vashti simply said, "It's him," and with that, the mysterious oath-taking ceremony came to an abrupt end.

Afterward, the boys were escorted back to "Woodpile House" by another maidservant, while Doo-Woodpile remained behind, not returning until the evening.

Sefr-Woodpile locked the courtyard door with a muttered complaint. He had learned of Firouzeh's background and dared not challenge her directly. Instead, he vented his frustration through veiled insults. To him, these ten boys were within his sphere of influence, and Firouzeh's interference, along with the Eighth Young Mistress, was a disruption of the rules, a direct threat to his authority.

Doo-Woodpile, however, was unconcerned. When he returned to the shared dormitory, he kicked off his shoes, jumped onto the earthen bed, and let out a long, relaxed sigh, lying back in silence for a long time.

The others knew his temperament; sooner or later, he would boast about the special treatment he had received from Miss Vashti.

"Starting tomorrow, I won't be with you to watch the dead anymore," he finally said, as if remembering something trivial.

"Why? Are you leaving?" someone asked curiously. In Alamut Castle, the Western Kingdom language was the common tongue, and though the foreign boys had only learned a little, they could just about manage simple conversations now, though swearing was still difficult.

"Firouzeh is going to teach me martial arts," Doo-Woodpile answered. "Soon enough, I'll be an assassin."

This news startled everyone. Doo-Woodpile had already shown an interest in becoming an assassin, but no one had expected such good fortune to come so quickly.

"Can you really do it?" Panj-Woodpile asked in halting Western Kingdom speech, though he and his younger brother, Haft-Woodpile, had participated in the blood oath, they had never forgotten Doo-Woodpile's earlier betrayal.

Everyone had the same doubt. The first corpse they had disposed of was that of a failed assassin apprentice from East Fortress. Given Doo-Woodpile's frail frame, it seemed unlikely he could endure even a day before being carted back to "Woodpile House."

"You don't understand," Doo-Woodpile scoffed, "Assassins are still human. There are ranks, and there are rules. Ordinary people go in and have no chance of survival. But I'm recommended by the Eighth Young Master and his wife. Who dares touch me?"

No one could refute him; they were all ignorant of the true inner workings of Alamut Castle.

Aryan, however, was moved by these words. He hadn't wanted to waste time learning the assassin's trade, but if he could win the favor and recommendation of the masters, wouldn't that give him a chance to get closer to Rashid?