Chapter 27: A Desperate Response

The night was thick with tension. The city streets were unusually quiet, as if the air itself held its breath in anticipation of the coming storm. Somewhere in the heart of noble society, a powerful man was reading a letter that could bring his entire world crashing down.

Leon had made his move.

Now, he was waiting for his brother's next play.

The Crimson Fang's Fury

Inside the lavish estate of House Valefort, Damien Valefort—Leon's elder brother—sat in his private study, his fingers gripping the blackmail letter so tightly that the parchment nearly tore. His sharp jaw clenched as his cold, blood-red eyes scanned the words over and over.

"You wanted me dead. Now, I hold your fate in my hands."

"Let's see how long you last, dear brother."

Damien's fingers twitched, his entire body filled with barely restrained fury.

His personal advisor, Lord Reginald Crowley, stood across from him, face impassive.

"This… is problematic," Crowley said in a calm tone.

"Problematic?" Damien hissed, his voice laced with venom. "This is disastrous. That bastard should be dead!"

Crowley sighed. "And yet, he's very much alive… and smarter than we expected."

Damien slammed his fist onto his desk, shaking the crystal decanter of wine beside him. "He was nothing. A discarded mongrel. He should have stayed in the dirt."

Crowley adjusted his gloves. "But he didn't. And now, he has enough information to ruin you."

Damien's breath came in short, heavy bursts. He had spent years securing his influence, eliminating rivals, and silencing enemies. His smuggling operations, bribery, and under-the-table deals had been carefully hidden.

No one was supposed to find out.

Yet here was Leon—the weakling of the family—holding the keys to his destruction.

Unacceptable.

Damien turned his glare toward Crowley. "Find out how he got this information. And then… deal with him."

Crowley bowed slightly. "As you wish, my lord."

Leon's Hidden Stronghold

Leon sat in the dimly lit study of his private estate, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. Across from him, his loyal companions Ronan, Mira, and Gareth waited for his next move.

"So…" Mira said, tilting her head. "Your brother has read the letter by now. How long do you think before he snaps?"

Leon leaned back in his chair. "Knowing Damien? He's already losing his mind."

Ronan crossed his arms. "And when he realizes you're serious?"

Leon's smirk widened. "He'll come for me."

Gareth frowned. "And you're prepared for that?"

Leon nodded. "We don't need to fight him in the open. We just need to keep him off balance."

Mira grinned. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Leon chuckled. "Let's just say… I've been waiting for a chance to pay him back."

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.

One of Leon's informants entered, bowing slightly. "My lord, urgent news."

Leon gestured for him to continue.

"A messenger was seen leaving House Valefort in a hurry. Destination: The Black Talons."

The room went silent.

The Black Talons—Damien's personal assassins.

Leon's smirk disappeared. His brother was moving faster than expected.

"How many did he send?" Leon asked.

"Reports suggest at least a dozen. Possibly more."

Ronan cursed under his breath. "He's not wasting time."

Mira leaned against the wall. "You knew this would happen."

Leon's eyes gleamed. "Of course. And that's why…"

He stood up.

"We'll strike first."

The Black Talons' Downfall

In the dead of night, a Black Talon hideout sat nestled between abandoned warehouses near the docks. The assassins gathered in silence, sharpening blades, checking poison vials, and preparing for their next target.

None of them knew that Leon was already watching them.

Perched atop a nearby rooftop, Leon's eyes gleamed in the darkness. Mira, Ronan, and Gareth crouched beside him.

"Look at them," Mira whispered. "So smug. Thinking they're the hunters."

Leon grinned. "They're about to learn otherwise."

He raised his hand. "Wait for my signal."

Gareth gripped his sword tightly. "And then?"

Leon's smirk turned deadly.

"Then… we kill them all."

A moment later, Leon gave the signal.

The attack began.

Assassins vs. Hunters

The first Black Talon barely had time to scream before Leon's blade sliced through his throat.

The second turned in shock, reaching for a dagger—only for Ronan's sword to skewer him from behind.

Chaos erupted.

The Black Talons scrambled, some drawing weapons, others attempting to flee. But Leon's group was faster. Smarter. Deadlier.

Mira's twin daggers flashed like lightning, cutting down two assassins before they even realized she was there.

Gareth, a walking fortress, slammed through the enemy lines, his massive sword cleaving through flesh and bone with terrifying ease.

Leon?

He was a ghost in the night.

One assassin lunged at him—only to find Leon had already moved behind him.

Slash!

Blood splattered as the assassin collapsed, lifeless.

The remaining Black Talons realized they had been ambushed. They were the prey.

A desperate few tried to run—only to be cut down before they even reached the doors.

Minutes later, silence returned to the warehouse.

Leon wiped his blade clean, stepping over the fallen assassins.

"Well," Mira said, slightly out of breath. "That was fun."

Leon chuckled. "And now, we send Damien a little message of our own."

A Message in Blood

By morning, the noble district of the capital was in uproar.

Every noble awoke to a grisly sight—the heads of the Black Talons, mounted on pikes at the city gates.

And beneath them, a simple note:

"Try again, dear brother. I dare you."

The nobles whispered. The city shook.

And in House Valefort, Damien stared at the message in stunned silence.

Leon hadn't just survived.

He had declared war.

A dark chuckle escaped Damien's lips.

"Fine, little brother…" he muttered. "Let's see how long you last."