Chapter 11: The Abyssal Hunt

The assassin had failed. The attempt on Alastor's life had been swift and silent, but ultimately, futile. What the would-be killer did not realize was that he had never been alone. He had been watched from the very start.

The Abyssal Vanguards had been waiting.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the estate as the elite warriors of House Von sprang into action. The assassin bolted beyond the estate walls, weaving through the bustling streets, slipping between narrow alleys, and scaling rooftops in a desperate bid to escape. But the Vanguards were no ordinary knights. They were hunters, trained to chase, corner, and eliminate their prey.

Their footsteps were silent, their movements fluid as shadows, their presence suffocating. They needed no armor—their sheer skill was their greatest defense.

At the head of the pursuit was Samael Krauser, the Duskbreaker. Clad in a dark, high-collared coat lined with crimson, his form moved with calculated grace. He did not chase—he stalked. To him, this was not a battle. It was an execution.

His reputation as the seventh strongest knight in the kingdom was not just a title—it was a warning. Few who had stood against him had lived to tell the tale. His cold, abyssal gaze locked onto the assassin, every escape route calculated, accounted for, and doomed to fail.

As the chase continued, the assassin's breathing grew heavier, his movements more frantic. He knew.

He was being hunted.

Then, just as he turned into a deserted alleyway, his path was cut off. Seven figures stood at the other end, waiting. Each one bore the unmistakable presence of the Abyssal Vanguards—silent, disciplined, deadly.

A scarred warrior at the forefront sneered. "Cornered like a rat." His voice was low, dripping with menace. "You'll find no mercy here."

The assassin, however, did not tremble. Instead, a chuckle escaped his lips. "Did you think I came alone?"

A sudden shift in the air. A ripple of killing intent. From the surrounding rooftops, two figures emerged—cloaked in black, their faces hidden behind enchanted masks. More assassins.

Samael smirked. "Good. A real challenge."

The fight erupted in an instant. The first assassin lunged, his twin daggers glinting with a venomous sheen, aiming straight for Samael's throat. But before the blades could land, he was already gone.

Samael twisted his body with an almost lazy step, avoiding the strike by mere inches. His hand shot out, fingers curling around the assassin's wrist. With brutal efficiency, he yanked him forward and drove his knee into his ribs. A sickening crack echoed through the alley as he crumpled, gasping for breath.

He did not stop.

Using the assassin's body as a shield, Samael pushed it into the path of another attacker's blade. A short, startled gasp escaped the second assassin as his dagger plunged into his ally's back.

Samael let the body drop.

"I expected more."

Meanwhile, the Abyssal Vanguards engaged the other two assassins. Magic clashed violently—flames roared, wind howled, and the very earth trembled beneath them. One Vanguard, wielding a twin-bladed glaive, struck with lightning speed, his movements a blur as he deflected incoming attacks and retaliated in kind. Another, a woman with stark white hair, moved like a wraith, weaving between strikes with ghostly precision before landing devastating counterattacks.

The assassins fought fiercely, but the Vanguards were relentless.

One assassin, realizing they were outmatched, attempted to retreat. A mistake.

Samael was faster.

In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance and drove his fist into the assassin's gut. As he reeled, he grabbed him by the throat, lifting him effortlessly. The assassin's fingers clawed weakly at Samuel's wrist, but his grip was unyielding.

"You chose the wrong battlefield boy."

With a brutal display of strength, he slammed him into the ground, the impact creating a crater. Before his opponent could recover, Samael unsheathed his cursed sword and plunged it into the assassin's heart. A clean, merciless execution.

The last assassin, witnessing the fall of his comrade, knew escape was impossible. Cornered, heavily wounded, and with no hope of victory, he made a final decision.

A low, guttural chant left his lips. His body began to glow with an ominous, pulsating dark light.

"Damn it! He's going to—" One of the Vanguards lunged forward, but it was too late.

With a violent explosion of dark energy, the assassin self-destructed, leaving behind only scorched remains.

As the dust settled, silence reclaimed the area.

Samael sheathed his sword, his expression unreadable. He glanced down at his coat—torn, but unstained.

One of the Vanguards clicked his tongue. "Cowards."

Another kneeled beside one of the corpses, inspecting it closely. Something was off.

Then came a sharp intake of breath.

"Vice Captain."

Samael turned. The Vanguard, a man with keen eyes and an almost eerie stillness, had arrived late—but not without purpose. He was Faelan Yoss, the Interrogator of the Abyssal Vanguards, known for extracting the most painful truths in the most excruciating ways.

Faelan crouched beside one of the dead assassins, eyes narrowing as he peeled back the fabric on their forearm. A mark.

Etched into the flesh was a symbol—an intricate sigil of intertwining thorns and serpents.

The moment he saw it, his lips curled into an amused smirk.

"Well, well." He let out a low whistle. "I was hoping this would be more than just a common attempt on our young master's life." His fingers traced the sigil. "This symbol… belongs to someone we've dealt with before."

A slow chuckle rumbled in his chest as he glanced up at Samael. "Looks like the fun's only just starting."

Samael's expression darkened. If Faelan was right, then this wasn't just a failed assassination.

It was a warning.

One meant to send a message.

"The Duke will want a full report," Samael finally said, his voice even.

Faelan rose to his feet, dusting off his hands. "Oh, he'll get one. And I'll make sure it's very… detailed."

His grin widened, and with one final glance at the sigil, he added, "I do hope our little friends left behind someone we can interrogate. I'd hate for this to end so soon."

As he spoke, Faelan's gaze drifted toward the nearby forest, his sharp eyes catching the faintest movement in the shadows. Another assassin lurked within the trees, carefully observing the aftermath. But the moment he realized Faelan had spotted him, he turned to retreat—only to be stopped.

A hand shot out from the darkness, gripping the assassin's throat with crushing force. His eyes widened in shock, but before he could react, a brutal strike landed against his temple. His body went limp, collapsing into the undergrowth without a sound.

Faelan's smirk deepened. "Oh well… seems we'll have a guest after all."