Chapter Eight: The Chains of Fate

The night was still. Unnaturally so.

A thick silence stretched over the estate, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Waiting.

Raymond sat in a chair by the window, his fingers loosely wrapped around the hilt of his sword. He had not slept. He never did on nights like these.

Ethan Hale sat at his desk across the room, staring down at a ledger but not truly reading it. His free hand gripped a half-filled glass of wine, though it remained untouched.

"You were expecting this," Ethan said, voice hushed.

Raymond didn't turn. His gaze remained fixed outside, where the faint glow of lanterns lined the streets. He could feel them. Moving shadows. Quiet, efficient, deadly.

"They're already inside," Raymond murmured.

A single creak.

The hair on the back of his neck rose.

He stood. Ethan followed a second later, his expression unreadable but his grip on the dagger at his belt tightening. The moment of hesitation was gone.

Good.

There would be no second chances.

The assassins came silently.

But not silent enough.

Raymond heard the shift in the air before the first blade even moved.

They attacked from the darkness of the hall, two figures darting forward in perfect synchronization—one leading with twin daggers, the other wielding a short sword, its edge angled for a fast, killing thrust.

Raymond stepped into the attack rather than retreating.

The dagger-wielding assassin aimed for his neck. The movement was fluid, practiced. A direct, invisible kill.

But Raymond had seen this before.

He turned his body at the last possible second, the blade missing his throat by inches. At the same time, his left hand caught the assassin's wrist, redirecting the momentum downward just as his right leg kicked out—

The assassin's knee buckled.

Raymond's sword moved before the man could recover. A quick, downward cut, slicing through the assassin's exposed forearm.

A muffled grunt. The dagger clattered to the floor.

No time to finish him.

The second assassin lunged.

Raymond saw the glint of the short sword coming from his right. A low thrust—aimed for his ribs.

He twisted his grip, switching from a cutting stance to a thrust in a fraction of a second.

His sword met the short sword in mid-air.

The impact sent a vibration through his arm, but he used the momentum, pushing forward rather than resisting. The assassin staggered as Raymond shifted his stance, bringing his left elbow up in a sharp strike to the man's jaw.

The assassin reeled, dazed.

Raymond's sword came down in a Mittelhau—a diagonal cut, controlled but brutal.

Steel bit into flesh.

The short sword clattered to the ground as the assassin fell to his knees, choking on blood.

The first assassin had recovered, despite his wounded arm. He reached for a second dagger, his movements still precise, but slower than before.

Raymond didn't give him the chance.

He surged forward, blade in motion. The assassin tried to parry, but Raymond's sword turned mid-strike, a feint—

Then reversed into a brutal thrust straight into the assassin's chest.

A faint exhale. The light in the man's eyes flickered and died.

The body hit the ground with a dull thud.

Ethan had not moved during the fight. Not out of hesitation, but because he was watching.

Analyzing.

Raymond met his gaze for a fraction of a second. No words were exchanged. None were needed.

There were more.

They moved toward the staircase leading to the main hall. Three. One already heading for the study, the others sweeping the estate.

Raymond gestured subtly.

Ethan nodded and slipped into the darkness without a sound.

Raymond moved forward.

This time, he let himself be seen.

The moment his boot touched the wooden floor, one of the assassins turned, eyes sharp.

Raymond smiled.

Then he moved.

The assassin barely had time to raise his sword before Raymond closed the distance.

A sharp cut to the wrist forced the man's grip loose.

Not deep enough to sever. Just enough to disarm.

The assassin backpedaled, instinctively retreating.

Raymond did not let him.

His blade was already mid-motion. A false feint to the left, making the assassin lean slightly—then a sudden, full-force thrust straight into his midsection.

The steel pierced through cloth, skin, and bone before the assassin even realized the mistake.

A faint gasp—then silence.

The second assassin hesitated. A flicker of doubt.

A mistake.

A third shadow moved from the edge of Raymond's vision. A blur of motion. The glint of steel—

Pain.

A dagger buried itself in his side, just below the ribs. Not deep enough to be fatal, but enough to burn like fire.

Raymond sucked in a sharp breath, his knees nearly buckling. His grip faltered for a split second before his fingers tightened around his sword once more.

The assassin who had thrown the blade was already moving, closing the distance, a second dagger raised for the killing blow.

Raymond twisted his body at the last second, the fresh pain in his ribs screaming in protest. He barely managed to deflect the incoming strike, the clash of metal ringing in his ears.

The assassin pressed forward, sensing weakness. Raymond was forced onto the defensive, his movements slower, his footwork slightly uneven.

Then Ethan struck.

The blade of his dagger found its mark, sinking into the assassin's exposed neck. The man gasped, gurgled, then crumpled to the floor.

Raymond staggered, pressing a hand to his wound. Blood seeped between his fingers, warm and sticky.

Ethan stepped beside him, his own breath heavy. "You're bleeding."

Raymond exhaled, steadying himself. "It's not deep."

Ethan didn't look convinced. He tore a strip of cloth from his sleeve and pressed it against the wound. "You saved my life back there. Consider us even."

Raymond smirked, despite the pain. "Not even close."

But there was no time for further conversation.

The assassins were dead, but their presence had confirmed one thing.

House Valner wasn't finished with them yet.

And this was only the beginning.