The Executioner Shadow
Chapter 9: A Knife in the Wind
The flames of rebellion still glowed at the South Watchtower, but the true fire now burned in the hearts of those who had witnessed the impossible: a rebel victory. Under the tattered crimson flag, the rebels worked feverishly—repairing walls, replacing stolen Imperial weapons, and converting the abandoned garrison into a fortress.
Rayan stood by the upper window, one hand gripping the hilt of his blade, the other tracing the deep cracks in the stone wall. Kara entered behind him, her breath tight, a folded piece of parchment in hand.
> "Encrypted message from our northern contact," she said.
"One word: Executioner."
Rayan's fingers stopped. His grip on the hilt tightened.
He knew that name. Everyone did, but only in whispers. A myth. A shadow. A name spoken only by survivors—few as they were.
> "He's real?" Kara asked.
Rayan nodded once. "Worse than real. He's controlled."
Kara moved closer. "So what does the Emperor want?"
> "To end this war before it begins. The Executioner is the Empire's clean-up weapon. They send him when fire isn't enough."
Outside, the rebels were drilling in the yard. Torren was shouting orders, adjusting spear formations. Rayan watched them for a moment.
> "They're not ready," he muttered.
Kara nodded grimly. "Then we have to be."
In the Western Slums, far from the warmth of rebellion, fear ran colder than steel.
A rebel scout burst into a safehouse, pale and shaking. "Jamil... Harun... gone. Just vanished."
The room fell silent.
A third scout, barely seventeen, tried to speak but collapsed to his knees. "We found Harun's body… hung from the old bell tower. And carved…"
Kara arrived moments later, alongside Rayan. They climbed the bell tower in silence.
The body hung upside down. His chest was carved with a single mark—two crossed swords. Not the symbol of the Crimson Echo, but something colder, crueler.
> "He was left alive long enough to scream," Rayan whispered, his voice low.
Torren kicked the bell in rage. "This isn't war. It's butchery!"
> "No," Rayan corrected him. "It's precision."
Kara stared at the symbol. "This isn't just death. It's a message."
> "And it's addressed to me," Rayan said.
---
That night, the wind in the city changed.
Rayan moved through the alleys alone, the darkness his ally. Something felt wrong. The lanterns were lit, but no dogs barked. No merchants whispered. Even the beggars had vanished.
He arrived at the Old Chapel, where two rebel guards had been posted.
The first lay in the grass—eyes wide open, mouth agape, frozen in terror. No blood. No wound. Just… gone.
The second lay inside, slumped at the altar. One precise cut at the throat. No sign of a fight.
But Rayan noticed something. Ash on the floor. A faint footprint—bare, silent.
He knelt. Ash meant only one thing.
> "He's here," Rayan whispered.
A breath of wind swept through the shattered stained-glass window.
And from the rooftop, a silent figure watched.
Chapter 10: Trial by Blood
Morning light crept over the walls of the South Watchtower, but no one felt safe anymore.
Rayan called an emergency assembly. Rebels stood in a half-circle, their eyes scanning the shadows, fingers near triggers. Kara stood beside him, her face hard, but pale.
> "The Executioner has arrived," Rayan announced. "And he's already killed four of our people in two days. No one heard a sound."
Murmurs spread. Some clenched weapons, others clutched prayer beads.
> "We're not fighting a soldier. We're facing a blade that thinks."
Torren stepped forward. "So what do we do? Hide?"
> "No," Rayan said sharply. "We bait him."
---
A plan formed quickly.
They'd fake an outpost—one that looked alive, guarded, rich with supplies. A perfect lure. Rayan selected a volunteer: Kael, a loyal scout with nerves of steel. His job was to stay hidden and alert the team if anything moved.
By midnight, the decoy camp was in place. Lanterns were set to flicker. Boiled water steamed from the pot over a fire. Footsteps were embedded in the mud to make it look lived-in.
They waited. Hours passed.
No sound.
No signal.
Then Kara frowned. "Too long."
They raced to the outpost.
Silence.
Kael's body lay near the fire, eyes open, a mark carved over his heart. His mouth was sewn shut.
And a knife had pinned his mask to the door.
> "He didn't scream," Kara whispered.
> "He wasn't allowed to," Rayan muttered. "We're not hunting him. He's already hunting us."
---
Later that night, Rayan walked the tower walls alone. He looked out over the city—so quiet, yet burning with fear. His blade hung by his side, but he didn't touch it.
Suddenly, a whistle split the air.
He turned—Kara stood at the end of the walkway, her sword drawn.
> "I saw movement near the water tanks."
Rayan drew his blade slowly.
They approached together.
No one.
Until—
A shape moved past them in a blur.
Rayan lunged.
His sword met only air.
Then a laugh—a whisper, low and metallic—echoed from the rooftop.
Kara raised her crossbow. "Where is he?!"
> "He's everywhere," Rayan muttered. "Watching, learning."
> "Then give him something to learn."
Back in the war room, Rayan unrolled a map.
He marked three locations: the tower, the slums, and the chapel.
> "He's testing the edges," he told Kara. "He wants to isolate me. Pick me off alone."
> "So don't be alone," she said.
> "I can't stop him with numbers," Rayan replied. "He'll use their fear. I have to face him on my terms."
Torren entered, carrying a relic—a small silver token from the old war. "You said symbols matter."
> "They do."
> "Then let the people see we're still standing. Let them see you're not afraid."
Rayan looked down at his hand—the same hand that once held his brother's when he died.
> "Then we bleed in front of them," he said. "And we show the Empire: we are not afraid of ghosts."
That night, he sent a message through the city.
One location. One challenge. One target.
The Executioner wouldn't ignore it.
Neither would the people.
And as the wind carried whispers across rooftops and alleyways, one phrase echoed across the city walls:
> "The Ghost challenges the Executioner."