chapter 49: Dance of Knives

Chapter 49: Dance of Knives

The Down World never rested. The streets pulsed with the glow of flickering neon signs, bathing the roads in eerie, fractured colors—reds that looked like blood smeared across wet asphalt, blues that shimmered like ghostly flames. The air carried the heavy scent of oil, sweat, and distant gunpowder, the aroma of a city that thrived on chaos.

From his vantage point atop a crumbling rooftop, Rin watched the labyrinth of streets below. His breathing was steady, but his muscles ached from the recent battle. His right hand remained firm on the hilt of his dagger, while his left pressed against the gash on his shoulder. The assassin's blade had cut deep, and though the blood had slowed, the pain lingered like a lesson burned into flesh.

Pain meant he was still alive.

A small, seemingly insignificant object weighed down his pocket—a playing card left behind by him. A message. A declaration of intent.

Edmund Verrain was coming.

And Rin wasn't going to wait.

Scene 2: The Voz Family's Next Move

Far above the filth and grime of the Down World, in a high-rise overlooking the neon-lit slums, Mikhael Voz sat at the head of a long, polished glass table. The walls of the office were lined with expensive liquor bottles, gold-framed paintings, and a view that looked down on a city he believed belonged to him.

The air was thick with the scent of burning cigars, curling smoke drifting lazily toward the ceiling as Mikhael tapped his fingers against his armrest. Around him sat his most trusted men, a collection of killers and businessmen who had long since blurred the line between the two.

Leaning against the far wall, absentmindedly spinning a knife between his fingers, was Edmund Verrain. His expression was one of absolute boredom, but there was an unmistakable glint in his sharp, amber eyes—something dark, something hungry.

Mikhael exhaled a thin stream of smoke before finally speaking. "You failed to kill him in the coliseum." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning.

Edmund didn't look the least bit concerned. He simply smirked and tilted his head. "I wasn't trying to kill him. I was learning."

Mikhael's gaze darkened. "And what exactly have you learned?"

Edmund caught the spinning knife mid-air, holding it between two fingers. He took his time before answering, savoring the tension in the room.

"He's clever," he said at last. "He's fast. And most importantly, he doesn't fight fair." His smirk widened into something almost wolfish. "I like him."

A silence fell over the room.

Mikhael's fingers curled slightly around his glass before he set it down with a soft clink. "You like him?"

Edmund shrugged. "I like breaking things. And he's worth breaking properly."

The men around the table exchanged wary glances. Edmund wasn't like other assassins; he didn't kill because he was ordered to. He killed because he enjoyed it.

Mikhael leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. His dark eyes locked onto Edmund's. "Then break him."

Edmund chuckled, flipping the knife once more before slipping it back into his belt.

"With pleasure."

Rin didn't return to his hideout. That would've been stupid. Returning to familiar places when you knew death was hunting you was an invitation to be found. Instead, he kept moving, his path erratic, his senses heightened.

"When the hunt begins," Hudson had once told him, "the first mistake is waiting for it to reach you."

He needed information. He needed an advantage. And he knew exactly where to find it.

The Slant was a marketplace built into the ruins of an old underground train station. It was where whispers were sold alongside weapons, where hired killers drank side by side with the desperate souls willing to pay for protection.

Rin slipped through the winding tunnels, past stalls where illegal goods were displayed openly under flickering lights. The air was thick with the scent of old metal, damp stone, and something rancid beneath it all.

At the farthest end of the market, where the shadows were thickest, sat Silco, an information broker whose ears caught every whisper the Down World had to offer.

Silco was hunched over a table, long, ink-stained fingers counting a pile of bloodied coins. His pale, sunken eyes flickered up as Rin approached.

"Ah," Silco rasped, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile, "the boy who made Edmund Verrain bleed."

Rin didn't waste time with pleasantries. "Who else is coming for me?"

Silco chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Everyone."

Rin's gaze remained cold. "Names."

Silco tapped his fingers against the table, considering. Finally, he leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"Mikhael Voz has put a price on your head," he murmured. "But he's not sending a horde of killers. He's sending one."

Rin said nothing, waiting.

Silco's grin widened. "The Silent Knife."

For the first time, a flicker of real concern ran through Rin's mind.

The Silent Knife wasn't just a name. It was a legend. A shadow among shadows. An assassin so precise, so methodical, that no one had ever seen their face and lived.

Silco saw the shift in Rin's eyes and laughed softly. "Scared?"

Rin's fingers brushed the dagger at his side. His expression remained unreadable. "Not scared." He turned, vanishing into the crowd. "Prepared."

The attack came sooner than expected.

Rin had barely made it two blocks when he felt it—that ghostly presence, an absence of sound rather than an arrival.

Then—

A whisper of steel.

Rin moved on instinct, his body twisting just in time to avoid the deadly arc of a blade slicing through the air where his throat had been.

The Silent Knife didn't hesitate. Their attacks came fluid and relentless, each strike aimed to kill with precision. They moved like mist, silent and unavoidable.

Rin countered, his own dagger flashing in the dim glow of neon reflections, but his opponent was fast. Faster than Edmund. Faster than anyone he had fought before.

A thin line of fire seared across his forearm as their blade found its mark.

Rin reacted instantly, twisting mid-air, using a wall to propel himself backward and gain distance.

But the Silent Knife didn't chase. They simply stood there, their knife gleaming with his blood.

A test.

Rin wiped the blood from his arm, exhaling slowly. "Not bad."

The Silent Knife tilted their head slightly, as if considering him. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, they spoke:

"You are not ready."

Rin grinned despite the pain. "Then I'll get ready."

The Silent Knife didn't answer. In the blink of an eye, they vanished into the night.

Scene 5: The Blood Moon Beckons

Back at the warehouse, Hudson crossed his arms. "You look like shit."

"Good," Rin muttered. "Means I'm still alive."

Hudson smirked. "Did you learn anything?"

Rin nodded. "Yeah. The Silent Knife thinks I'm not ready."

Hudson's grin widened. "Then we make you ready."

The training that followed was nothing short of brutal.

By the time the blood moon hung over the city, Rin stood once more, body aching—ready.

Somewhere, Edmund was waiting.

Rin smiled.

Let him come.