Thorne remained still as he watched Lord Valewyn sit alone in his office, his once-proud form now hunched over the large desk. The noble’s hands clutched his head in frustration, his posture betraying the effect the noble’s earlier meeting with the mysterious man had.

  Thorne’s mind raced through possible approaches for the assassination, but he knew time was running out. A surprise attack was his safest bet; a head-on confrontation with an unknown opponent could prove disastrous.

  He didn’t know what skills Valewyn possessed, but the man had the body of a warrior. The years may have dulled his edge, but Thorne couldn’t take any chances.

  He activated his Critical Eye skill, and his vision immediately sharpened, highlighting weak points on the noble’s body. Red markers flared in his sight, indicating vulnerabilities, but to Thorne’s surprise, they were few and scattered. Beneath Valewyn’s fine clothing, there was an unseen layer of protection—a magical barrier or perhaps armor disguised as a simple shirt.

  Thorne’s grip tightened around the dagger he had palmed. He took a deep breath, centering himself, and with practiced precision, he hurled the blade toward Valewyn’s throat.

  The dagger flew true, cutting through the air with deadly intent. Thorne watched, heart pounding, as the blade neared its mark. But just as the dagger was about to strike, a loud noise echoed through the room, startling both Thorne and the noble.

  A small explosion erupted from Valewyn’s hand, and Thorne’s eyes widened as he saw the man’s body flash with a blue light. A metallic clang reverberated through the room, the sound of his dagger meeting an invisible barrier.

  Valewyn leaped to his feet, his eyes wild as they scanned the room. He looked confused, perhaps even disoriented, and Thorne noticed a strip of burnt skin on his hand, as if a ring had once been there but had suddenly vanished.

  “Who’s there?” Valewyn demanded, his voice a mix of fear and anger. He began circling the desk, his eyes searching frantically for something.

  Thorne narrowed his eyes, quickly assessing the situation. The noble was clearly searching for a weapon, something to defend himself with. Thorne wasn’t about to give him that chance. He palmed another knife, this one concealed inside his boot, and waited for the right moment.

  With a sudden movement, Thorne hurled the second dagger. Valewyn’s reflexes were surprisingly sharp; he twisted to the side, the blade narrowly missing him. The man’s speed was unexpected for someone his age, and Thorne’s suspicion grew. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped.

  His aether points were dwindling after maintaining Shadow Meld for so long, leaving him with limited options. Thorne deactivated both Shadow Meld and Stealth, stepping into the light. The noble’s eyes locked onto him, confusion etched across his face.

  “A boy?” Valewyn muttered under his breath, the disbelief evident in his tone.

  Thorne arched an eyebrow, his mind working quickly. He needed information, and the noble’s shock might provide an opening. “You seem surprised,” Thorne said casually, as if they were discussing the weather. “Did you expect someone else?”

  Valewyn’s eyes narrowed, the confusion slowly giving way to recognition. “One of the Lost Ones,” he muttered, almost gleeful. “So, your master has sent you to kill me.”

  Thorne’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression neutral. The man knew about Uncle’s secret guild. This was bad—very bad. He needed answers, but prolonging the confrontation was dangerous. Valewyn had already shown that he had hidden aces, and Thorne wasn’t eager to find out what else he had up his sleeve.

  “You know,” Valewyn continued, his voice gaining strength, “I was once like you—a tool for someone more powerful, an expendable pawn sent to do the dirty work.” He sneered, his eyes flicking over Thorne’s.

  “Once?” Thorne scoffed dismissively. “From what I heard you are just the chancellor’s errand boy.” Thorne felt satisfaction as the man’s face turned red in fury.

  “You’re young, inexperienced. You think you’re dangerous, but you’re just a child playing with knives.” Lord Valewyn said with barely controlled anger, trying to sound placating.

  Thorne remained silent, his expression unreadable, but inside, he was seething. Valewyn’s dismissive tone grated on his nerves, but he couldn’t let the man get to him. He needed to stay focused.

  “You think you can kill me?” Valewyn continued, his voice dripping with contempt. “Do you even understand who I am? What I’ve done? Your Uncle sent a boy to do a man’s job, pathetic.”

  Thorne’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the dagger in his hand. He needed to end this quickly, but he also needed answers. “You seem confident,” Thorne replied coolly, “but you’re still here, cowering in this office, hiding from that man.”

  Valewyn’s expression darkened, a flicker of something—fear, perhaps—crossing his face. “You know nothing,” he spat. “I’ve survived this long because I’ve learned to play the game. I’ve outlived more powerful men than you, boy.”

  “Then you should know when the game’s over,” Thorne said, his voice steady despite the tension thrumming through him.

  Valewyn barked a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “You really think you can just walk in here and kill me? I’ve been dealing with assassins for longer than you’ve been alive.”

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  “Then it shouldn’t be a surprise when you die tonight,” Thorne said, his voice cold as ice.

  Valewyn’s eyes flashed with anger, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he lunged toward a heavy candlestick on the desk, but Thorne was faster.

  With a burst of speed, he crossed the distance between them, his daggers flashing in the dim light. Valewyn parried the first strike with the candlestick, swinging it with surprising strength. Thorne ducked under the blow, his foot lashing out to sweep the man’s legs from under him.

  Valewyn stumbled but didn’t fall. Instead, he grabbed a paperweight from the desk and hurled it at Thorne. Thorne dodged, rolling to the side and coming up with both daggers ready. The man was fighting desperately, using anything he could find as a weapon. But Thorne could see the subtle way Valewyn was maneuvering, leading him toward the back of the room.

  Realizing the trap, Thorne pressed the attack, unwilling to let the noble gain any more ground. He unleashed his Lethal Flurry skill, his daggers moving with rapid, calculated precision, each strike aimed at a vital point. But Valewyn’s defensive skills were formidable. He used the environment to his advantage, deflecting and blocking Thorne’s attacks with whatever he could grab.

  The fight was growing desperate, the room echoing with the sounds of their struggle. Thorne considered using one of his aetheric abilities—Aetheric Grip could end the fight instantly—but his earlier encounter with the mysterious woman had left him wary. He couldn’t risk drawing more attention to himself.

  A vase shattered as Valewyn used it to block a strike aimed at his throat, the shards scattering across the floor. Thorne pressed forward, his daggers cutting through the air with deadly intent.

  Valewyn grabbed a chair and swung it at Thorne, forcing him to leap back. The chair splintered against the wall, but Valewyn didn’t hesitate—he grabbed the broken leg and wielded it like a club, his eyes wild with desperation.

  The two clashed again, Thorne’s daggers moved in a blur as Valewyn fought back with ferocity. The noble was surprisingly strong, each of his strikes carrying the weight of a seasoned warrior. But Thorne was faster, his reflexes honed through years of training with Uncle’s elite assassins.

  Valewyn wasn’t just strong; he was skilled. Thorne recognized the signs—this was a man who had been trained in combat arts, who had honed his body into a weapon over decades.

  The noble swung the club in a wide arc, aiming for Thorne’s head. Thorne ducked under the blow and lunged forward, his dagger slicing through the air toward Valewyn’s chest. But the noble twisted at the last moment, the blade grazing his side instead. Blood blossomed on Valewyn’s shirt, but he barely seemed to notice. With a snarl, he brought his knee up, aiming for Thorne’s gut.

  Thorne twisted his body, avoiding the knee strike by a hair’s breadth. He retaliated with a quick, precise strike, his dagger aiming for Valewyn’s throat. But the noble saw it coming and threw his weight to the side, the blade missing by inches.

  As they clashed, Thorne felt the noble’s Warrior’s Instinct skill activate, allowing Valewyn to anticipate his moves with uncanny accuracy. Each time Thorne thought he had an opening, Valewyn countered with surprising speed, his strikes aimed with lethal precision.

  Thorne dodged a powerful swing of the club, but Valewyn’s follow-up kick caught him in the ribs, sending him crashing into a bookshelf. Pain lanced through Thorne’s side, but he gritted his teeth and pushed off the shelf, using the momentum to throw himself back into the fight.

  Valewyn’s eyes glinted with a cold, calculating light as he pressed his advantage. He reached for a small vial hidden in his belt and hurled it at Thorne. The vial shattered against the wall behind Thorne, releasing a cloud of noxious gas.

  Smoke Bomb! Thorne thought, his vision going hazy as he inhaled the fumes. Coughing, he activated his Escape Artist skill, the skill allowing him to slip out of the gas cloud as he felt his health points taking a hit. But the momentary distraction allowed Valewyn to close the distance.

  The noble’s Brutal Strike came at him fast, a heavy punch aimed straight for Thorne’s head. Thorne ducked just in time, the blow grazing his ear as he spun to the side. He retaliated with a swift Backstab, but Valewyn twisted away, the blade barely scratching his side.

  Thorne was starting to realize just how outmatched he was. Valewyn wasn’t just powerful; he was experienced. Every move Thorne made was met with an equal and opposite reaction. The noble’s Tactical Awareness skill was clearly at a high level, allowing him to stay one step ahead in the chaotic battle.

  But Thorne had one advantage: his speed. With a sudden burst, he activated Burst of Speed again, moving with blinding agility as he unleashed another Lethal Flurry. His daggers flashed like lightning, striking from unexpected angles. Valewyn tried to block, but this time, Thorne was faster.

  He feinted left, drawing Valewyn’s guard, then spun right, his daggers slicing in a deadly flurry. The blades found their mark, cutting deep into Valewyn’s defenses and slashing through his protective shirt. Blood splattered the fine carpet as Valewyn stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

  Thorne didn’t give him a chance to recover. With a final, decisive strike, he drove his dagger into Valewyn’s chest, piercing his heart. The noble’s eyes went wide, a choked gasp escaping his lips before the light faded from his eyes.

  Valewyn’s body crumpled to the floor, the life draining from his body. Thorne stepped back, breathing heavily. The room was silent, the only sound the soft drip of blood onto the floor. He stood over the body, his mind already compartmentalizing what he had done. There was no time for guilt or hesitation. This was his life now.

  As Valewyn lay dying, a faint smile crossed his lips. “Uncle’s time… is coming,” he rasped, the words barely a whisper. “He won’t escape… what’s coming for him.”

  Thorne’s expression remained cold, but the words struck deep. There was no time to dwell on them. He knelt beside the body and, with steady hands, began to carve the symbol of the Lost Ones into Valewyn’s forehead. The spiral emblem took shape under his blade, each cut precise and deliberate. It was a message—a warning to those who opposed Uncle’s will.

  When the task was done, Thorne straightened, wiping the blood from his dagger. He moved to the desk, quickly searching through the papers and documents scattered across it. Most of it was useless—ledgers, correspondence, nothing of real value. But when he opened the drawer, he froze.

  There, among the trinkets and papers, was a token. A spiral emblem, identical to the one he had just carved, emblazoned on its surface. Thorne’s hand trembled as he pocketed the token, his mind racing with questions. What was this doing here? What connection did Valewyn have to the Lost Ones?

  Pushing the questions aside for now, Thorne moved to a small mirror propped up on a vanity table. He cleaned himself up, leaving no trace of the battle on his clothes or skin. Satisfied, he activated Shadow Meld once more, his form blending into the shadows as he slipped out of the room.

  As he walked down the hallway, he couldn’t help but smile. The notification flashed before his eyes, filling him with a sense of accomplishment.

  Congratulations! You have leveled up!

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