25. Assassination

(2 weeks later, in the Slums outside Golden Prosperity City)

In the dimly lit wooden house, the air smelled of damp rot and burning candle wax. Mo Tian sat at the rickety table, his expression impassive as he rolled the parchment between his fingers. Across from him, the beggar leader shifted in his seat, watching Mo Tian's every move.

Mo Tian finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "Tell me about the elder. His habits, his routines, everything."

The beggar leader nodded, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "Elder Zheng Xian. One of the old warhorses of the Zheng Family and a master martial artist. Doesn't stay in the main estate. Prefers a quiet manor in the western district, away from politics. He sends letters to the Family Head to advise him on strategies for the war. Probably thinks it makes him safer."

Mo Tian smirked. "It doesn't."

The beggar leader grinned, exposing yellowed teeth. "No, it doesn't. He's got six personal guards. Three during the day, three at night. All loyal dogs, all competent first-rate martial artists. The manor has an inner courtyard with a single entrance. A good thing for defense, bad thing for escape. He likes to keep it that way."

Mo Tian tapped his fingers against the table. "Servants?"

"Minimal. A steward, a cook, and one personal attendant. The cook is an old woman, comes in the morning, leaves by dusk. The steward is a quiet and loyal type, but careful not to get involved in family matters. The attendant is the only one who stays close to the elder at all times."

Mo Tian's eyes narrowed slightly. "This attendant. Useful?"

The beggar leader shook his head. "Loyal. Not an easy one to flip. If we want him dead, we'll need a cleaner way in."

Mo Tian considered this for a moment. "Does he ever leave his manor?"

"Rarely. Once every three days, he visits a tea house in the southern district. Old habit. Takes only two guards with him when he goes. Likes to drink a specific brew, Jade Serpent Tea."

Mo Tian raised a brow. "Poisoning?"

The beggar leader shook his head. "Too risky. The tea house belongs to a neutral faction. They won't risk their business for a few taels."

Mo Tian exhaled slowly. "Then we take him on the way back."

The beggar leader nodded. "Best place for it would be the bridge leading into the western district. It's narrow, visibility is low at night. If we control both ends, he won't escape."

Mo Tian flicked the parchment onto the table. "We'll need a fast kill. No noise, no struggle. If the Zheng Family finds out too quickly, they'll lock down the city."

The beggar leader leaned forward, voice lowering. "How clean do you want it?"

Mo Tian's lips curled into a small, sharp smile. "Make it look like a robbery. Cut their purses, slit their throats. Leave the bodies in the water."

The beggar leader nodded. "Consider it done."

Mo Tian stood, straightening his robe. "Then we move in three days. Keep eyes on the elder, and if anything changes…"

"I'll let you know." Said the beggar leader.

As Mo Tian stepped toward the exit, the beggar leader spoke again. "One last thing. You never asked about the elder's personal habits."

Mo Tian paused at the doorway. "If he had any weaknesses worth exploiting, you would've told me already."

The beggar leader chuckled. "Fair enough."

Without another word, Mo Tian vanished into the night. The plan was in motion.

…

(3 days later during the evening, in Golden Prosperity City)

This particular evening was thick with mist, curling around the narrow streets like ghostly fingers. The only sound was the gentle murmur of the river flowing beneath the bridge, the perfect cover for what was to come. Mo Tian crouched in the shadows, his breath steady, eyes locked on the approaching figures. His blade and sword hung at his waist, the spear and axe strapped to his back. Around him, hidden within the alleyways and rooftops, the beggars lay in wait, hands gripping knives, eyes sharp with anticipation.

The target was approaching, Elder Zheng Xian. A man whose death would send ripples through the warring factions, a man whose routine Mo Tian had studied down to the breath. His carriage rolled forward, flanked by six guards, their armor gleaming faintly under the dim moonlight. Two strode ahead, their hands resting on the hilts of their blades, while another pair walked alongside the carriage. The final two followed closely behind, their eyes scanning the surroundings, unaware of the doom creeping toward them.

Mo Tian moved. Silent as death, he slid through the shadows, positioning himself along the bridge's support beams. A sharp whistle cut through the air, the signal.

Knives whistled through the darkness, flashing silver in the dim moonlight. The two guards in the front reacted instantly, but too late. One fell, a dagger lodged in his throat, gurgling as he collapsed. The second managed to raise his arm in time, the blade sinking into his forearm instead of his throat. He let out a grunt, stumbling, while his partner beside the carriage dodged just in time, avoiding the fatal strike. But the distraction was enough.

Mo Tian lunged forward, his spear now in hand. He drove it through the first guard's chest, the tip piercing out his back. Before the second could retaliate, another blade streaked through the mist, embedding itself deep into his thigh. He staggered, his sword slipping from his grasp. Mo Tian finished it with a slash from his axe, the heavy steel cleaving through the man's skull in a single brutal strike.

That left the last two.

The guards behind the carriage had heard the commotion. One rushed forward, spear in hand, but Mo Tian was faster. He sidestepped, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted sharply, forcing him to drop his weapon. In the same movement, Mo Tian's sword arced through the air, severing the man's wrist entirely. The guard howled, only for Mo Tian's axe to silence him with a deep cut across the neck.

The final guard turned to flee, but before he could, three knives embedded themselves in his back, courtesy of the hidden beggars. He staggered, barely staying on his feet. Mo Tian ended it with a thrust of his sword, driving it clean through his back and out his chest.

Silence returned.

The carriage door creaked slightly, its occupant beginning to sense something was wrong.

Mo Tian exhaled, stepping over the bodies as he advanced. The mission was not yet done.

He pulled the carriage door open, stepping inside. Elder Zheng Xian sat within, his aged but sharp eyes narrowing at the intrusion. "Who are you?" the elder asked, his voice steady despite the carnage outside.

"The one who ends you," Mo Tian replied, his grip tightening on his sword.

The elder scoffed, his hand flicking in a blur. A hidden blade shot from his sleeve, aimed straight for Mo Tian's throat. Mo Tian twisted, barely avoiding the strike, but the blade nicked his shoulder. Mo Tian lunged forward, his sword slashing out, only for Elder Zheng to parry with a dagger pulled from his robe.

The carriage rocked violently as the two clashed, the confined space forcing them into brutal, close-quarters combat. Mo Tian's sword struck again and again, sparks flying as steel met steel. The elder was fast, faster than Mo Tian expected, his movements refined by years of battle.

With a sudden burst of force, the elder slammed his palm into Mo Tian's chest, sending him crashing through the carriage wall. Wood splintered as Mo Tian tumbled onto the bridge, coughing as pain flared through his ribs. Elder Zheng stepped out, his expression cold, eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"You think an assassin like you can take my life so easily?" Zheng sneered, raising his blade.

Mo Tian wiped blood from his mouth, his vision sharp despite the pain. He exhaled slowly, gathering his energy, and then dashed forward. His body blurred, moving faster than humanly possible. His sword slipped past Zheng's defenses, carving a deep gash across his torso. The elder staggered, his dagger falling from his grip.

But Mo Tian wasn't done. Spinning his sword in his hand, he drove the sword deep into Zheng's chest, twisting it cruelly. The elder gasped, blood spilling from his lips, before Mo Tian wrenched the sword free, sending the man toppling over the edge of the bridge. His body vanished into the raging waters below.

Mo Tian staggered, his breath ragged. His vision swam as he felt the backlash of his 'Heavenly Demon Weapon Art'. his internal energy had burned too fiercely, straining his organs. He coughed, tasting blood, but forced himself to stand. This was only the first move of the art and he was already severly injured.

The mission was complete. The elder was dead.

Now, he just had to survive the aftermath.

Gritting his teeth, he bent down and retrieved his spear, blade, and axe, securing them back onto his body. The beggars emerged from the shadows, silent as ghosts, awaiting his command.

Mo Tian turned to them, his voice hoarse but firm. "Take the elder's head. We leave the city immediately."

One of the beggars rushed forward, jumping in the water before throwing the corps back up. Then another one swiftly severed the head from the corpse before wrapping it in cloth. With their grim prize secured, they vanished into the night, slipping through the alleyways like phantoms.

Mo Tian took a final glance at the bridge, then followed. The city was no longer safe, but beyond its walls, a new game was about to begin.

…

(Later that day under the night sky, in the wilderness outside Golden Prosperity City)

The moon cast a pale glow over the clearing, its light barely penetrating the thick mist that coiled around the gnarled trees. The ancient well stood at the heart of the meeting place, its weathered stones worn smooth by time, its depths long since dried up. It was a place forsaken by the living, perfect for dealings best kept unseen.

A lone figure stood beside the well, draped in layered rags that concealed his wiry frame. Despite his tattered appearance, his posture was that of a man accustomed to power. The Beggar Leader waited in silence, one hand resting lightly on the small wooden box he carried.

The night remained still until the faint crunch of boots on gravel signaled the arrival of the Jian Family's envoy. Three figures emerged from the darkness, their cloaks whispering against the wind. The leader of the trio, clad in deep blue robes with the Jian emblem embroidered in silver, stepped forward, his gloved hands concealed within his sleeves.

"You have it?" the envoy asked, his voice low and controlled.

The Beggar Leader smirked. Without a word, he lifted the box and slowly unwrapped the black cloth binding it. As the lid creaked open, the stale scent of dried blood filled the night air.

Inside lay the severed head of Elder Zheng. It was still wet. His lifeless eyes stared blankly at nothing, his face frozen in an expression of disbelief. The faint traces of a final struggle were evident in the bruising around his neck, but the cut was clean, swift, precise.

The envoy studied the head with an impassive gaze before nodding. "It is done, then."

The Beggar Leader let the lid fall shut and held the box out. "A head for a price paid."

The envoy gestured, and one of his men stepped forward to take it. Only then did he retrieve a sealed scroll from within his robes, holding it out to the Beggar Leader.

"From my master," the envoy said. "You are to deliver this personally."

The Beggar leader's fingers brushed over the wax seal, the Jian Family emblem, pressed firm and unbroken. He weighed the letter in his palm, as if testing its worth, before slipping it into his robes.

"You've gotten what you wanted," he mused, his voice carrying a note of amusement. "What else could Jian Shuren possibly have to say?"

The envoy's lips barely curved in a smile. "That is not for me to say."

A pause. The night wind stirred the branches, the distant hoot of an owl breaking the silence.

Then, without another word, the envoy turned, his men falling in step behind him as they melted back into the darkness.

The Beggar leader stood alone once more, fingers brushing over the sealed letter, his mind already turning over the possibilities. He let out a soft chuckle.

"A head for a head," he murmured. "And a message for a message."

With the severed head delivered and the letter secured, he slipped into the shadows, vanishing into the night.

The well remained behind, its ancient stones cold and indifferent, bearing silent witness to yet another exchange sealed in blood.