Seraphis walked out of the Guildmaster’s office, the silver badge of her
new rank
cool against her palm. She unfolded the parchment he had given her, scanning the details of her next
target
.
The name on the paper was
Ruthven Vale
, a merchant of considerable wealth and influence.
The crime?
Manipulation, extortion, and
murder.
He had a habit of
harassing
those who defied him—shopkeepers, travelers, even his own employees. If they angered him, they didn’t just lose their livelihoods.
They lost their lives.
And yet, every time a body was found, the blame conveniently landed on
bandits
. The guards did nothing, either
paid off
or too afraid to go against him.
A snake hiding in plain sight.
Seraphis folded the paper and tucked it away.
This would be easy.
Or so she thought.
A City of Secrets
The marketplace was bustling when she arrived. The air was thick with the scent of spices, roasted meats, and fresh bread. Merchants shouted over one another, advertising their wares, while pickpockets weaved through the crowds like silent predators.
Seraphis moved effortlessly, her
black assassin’s uniform
blending into the sea of people. Her
mask
, covering her nose and mouth, concealed her identity.
She had already learned everything she needed to know about Ruthven Vale.
His habits.
His routes.
His weaknesses.
He operated from a lavish estate just beyond the market, a
fortress disguised as a home.
But Seraphis wasn’t interested in storming his gates. That would be
messy
.
She would do this the way she knew best.
Silent. Unseen. Absolute.
The Merchant’s Web
She perched atop a building, observing the
flow of people
below. Then she saw him.
Ruthven Vale was a
heavyset man draped in silks
, a smug smile plastered across his round face. He moved through the market like he
owned it
—which, in many ways, he did.
Two
bodyguards
flanked him, both armed with short swords. Their eyes swept the crowd, searching for threats.
But Seraphis wasn’t in the crowd.
She was above them.
She followed as he entered a
small shop
, his voice booming inside.
A woman’s voice responded—
frightened.
Seraphis narrowed her eyes.
Another victim?
She moved swiftly, her form nothing more than a shadow as she reached the building’s rooftop.
Through a
tiny opening
, she listened.
A Merchant’s Cruelty
“I gave you a fair warning, didn’t I?” Ruthven’s voice was sickly sweet, like
rotting fruit
. “And yet, here you are, still selling to that rat from the east side.”
The woman stammered. “P-please, sir, I had no choice. I need to feed my family.”
A loud
smack
echoed through the shop. Seraphis clenched her fists.
“You don’t seem to understand,” Ruthven continued, his tone dripping with false sympathy. “I decide who prospers and who suffers in this city. And you, my dear, have made a
very bad choice.
”
Seraphis didn’t need to hear more.
Tonight, he would die.
Setting the Trap
That night, Ruthven Vale hosted
one of his infamous private gatherings
in his estate. A
banquet
, where only the wealthiest merchants and corrupt officials were welcome.
Seraphis didn’t bother with the main entrance.
She had her own way in.
Scaling the walls was effortless. She
slipped through an open window
, her presence like a whisper in the wind.
She moved through the
lavish halls
, her footfalls silent on the marble floors. She had
one goal
—find Ruthven, end him, and leave without a trace.
The Moment of Death
She found him in his
private chambers
, reclining on a velvet chair, a goblet of
red wine
in one hand. His guards stood nearby, laughing as they
counted coins.
Seraphis was already in position.
From the shadows, she flicked
three playing cards
into the air.
They
whirled like blades
—one slitting the throat of a guard before he could even scream, another piercing the heart of the second.
The third card hovered at Ruthven’s neck.
His goblet
clattered to the floor
, red wine pooling beneath his trembling feet.
“W-wait!” he stammered. “I can pay you! I can—”
Seraphis didn’t wait.
With a flick of her wrist, the card
sliced through his throat.
He gurgled, eyes wide with terror as blood
spilled down his silks
. He collapsed, the room falling into
dead silence
.
The Final Touch
Seraphis wiped her blade clean, then pulled out a
small parchment
.
She
pressed it into Ruthven’s lifeless hand
.
It was a fabricated
bandit insignia
—one she had
planted
at previous crime scenes.
When the guards found him,
it would look like he had finally fallen victim to the very criminals he blamed for his murders.
Poetic justice.
Without another sound, Seraphis melted into the shadows, disappearing as if she had never been there at all.
The city would wake to a new world.
And Seraphis?
She was already moving toward her next mission.