The sun barely crested over the horizon when Seraphis stepped through the
guild doors
. The air inside the assassin’s guild was thick with
smoke, steel, and whispered conversations
, the scent of oil from sharpened blades mixing with the usual dampness of the stone walls.
Sophie was at the front desk, lazily sipping a steaming cup of something that smelled suspiciously like
spiked tea.
She blinked sleepily when she saw Seraphis, then groaned.
“You’re back already? Gods, don’t you sleep?”
Seraphis smirked. “Sleep is for the weak.”
Sophie made an exaggerated
gagging noise
. “And here I thought you were human.”
Ignoring her, Seraphis leaned on the counter. “Got another job for me?”
Before Sophie could answer, the
guild master’s door slammed open.
Garrick, standing in the doorway, gave her an unreadable look before jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“Inside. Now.”
Seraphis sighed, pushing off the counter. “That didn’t take long.”
The Job: A Count's Death
Garrick sat behind his
scarred wooden desk
, rolling a
dagger between his fingers.
He gestured toward the chair across from him, but Seraphis remained standing.
“Alright,” he said, setting the dagger down with a dull thunk. “Got something for you. A little different this time.”
Seraphis crossed her arms. “Go on.”
Garrick leaned forward. “There’s a
corrupt count
in a
small mountain town
to the north. Name’s
Count Alric Vael
. Filthy bastard’s been bleeding his people dry with
insane taxes
while snatching up land. But that’s not the worst of it.”
He tossed a
sealed parchment
onto the desk.
Seraphis picked it up, skimming the details.
Kidnappings. Torture. Disappearances.
The Count’s
personal estate
was a fortress in its own right, surrounded by thick
snow-covered forests
and guarded by a
small army of mercenaries.
The report detailed
secret underground dungeons
, where prisoners were allegedly kept for “entertainment.”
Seraphis’s expression darkened. “Charming.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Garrick said, eyes glinting. “The Count’s
family
—or what’s left of them—are all involved. His
brother
runs a network of
smugglers and thieves
that bring him fresh victims. His
niece
oversees the ‘
entertainment
’ side of things. They’re all
filthy,
and they all
need to go.
”
Seraphis narrowed her eyes. “And what’s the request?”
Garrick’s smirk turned sharp.
“The client doesn’t want it to look like an assassination,” he said. “They want it to look like
infighting
. Like the family turned on each other in a
bloody power struggle.
”
Seraphis let the words settle in the air. A
massacre
, disguised as a
civil war
.
Her lips curled into a smirk.
“Now that,” she said, “sounds like fun.”
Into the Snow
The journey to
Count Vael’s estate
took
three days
on horseback, through thick forests and snow-covered trails.
The town beneath the
Count’s mansion
was a miserable, gray thing. Houses
leaned against each other
, sagging from disrepair.
Shadows
moved behind shuttered windows, and the streets were eerily quiet.
Even the air
smelled wrong
—like
rot
and
fear.
Seraphis dismounted outside a small
abandoned church
, tying her horse to a post.
She’d done
her homework
on the way.
The Count
stayed in his
fortified mansion
most of the time, growing fat off the suffering of his people.
His brother
, Dorian Vael, was currently
in town
, overseeing a shipment of “supplies” coming in from the south.
His niece
, Selene Vael, was still in the mansion, keeping herself entertained with whatever
unfortunate souls
were in the dungeons.
The
first move
was obvious.
She had to get
Dorian
to the estate.
And for that, she needed a
little persuasion.
The Setup
Seraphis waited until nightfall.
Dorian Vael operated out of an
old tavern
, using it as a base for his
smuggling operation
. It was
well-guarded
—but not
unbreakable.
Dressed in a simple
dark cloak
, she slipped through the
side alley
, moving like a
ghost.
Her fingers traced the edges of her
metal playing cards
, feeling their familiar
cold weight.
Inside, she could hear
raucous laughter
and the
clinking of mugs.
Perfect.
She scaled the wall in
silence
, slipping through an
open second-floor window.
The moment she was inside, she moved like
a shadow
, weaving through the darkened halls until she reached her target:
Dorian’s
office.
She found him seated behind a massive
mahogany desk
, a half-empty bottle of
fine wine
at his side. He was
counting coins
, completely oblivious.
Seraphis stepped out of the shadows.
“Nice place you’ve got here.”
Dorian’s
head snapped up
, his hand reaching for a dagger—
Too slow.
Before he could react, one of her
metal cards
shot forward,
slicing across his wrist
. He yelped, clutching his bleeding hand.
Seraphis smirked. “Oops.”
“Who the hell—?”
She kicked his
chair backward
, sending him sprawling. Then she
leaned down
, pressing another
card to his throat.
“I need you to take a little trip,” she whispered. “You’re going to the mansion. Now.”
Dorian’s breath was
shaky
. “Like hell I am.”
Seraphis pressed the
blade deeper.
“Oh, you misunderstand. That wasn’t a request.”
The Perfect Storm
By the time they reached the
Vael estate
, the pieces were in place.
Seraphis had
"bound" Dorian
, making it look like he’d been
attacked by mercenaries
. The moment he stepped inside the mansion, bloodied and desperate, he started screaming about a
betrayal.
Selene Vael, ever
paranoid
, immediately
accused him
of working with outsiders.
The Count, already on edge from recent
rebellious whispers
,
demanded answers.
Seraphis, hidden in the
rafters
, watched as
arguments turned to shouting.
Then she made her move.
She
whispered rumors
into the guards’ ears, using her illusions to make it seem like
Dorian’s men had turned traitor.
Then, when the first blade was drawn—
She cut the lights.
Chaos erupted.
Blades clashed in the dark. Guards turned on
each other
, caught in the frenzy of fear.
Seraphis moved
like death itself
, her
cards flashing
in the moonlight as she
silently cut down
anyone who tried to escape.
By the time the dust settled—
The
entire Vael family
was dead.
And it looked like they had
killed each other.
The Aftermath
Seraphis stood in the middle of the carnage, surveying her
handiwork.
Blood stained the
marble floors
. Bodies lay
scattered
, blades still clutched in their hands.
She smiled.
By morning, the town would find the
slaughtered nobility
and assume the family had
torn itself apart
over greed and betrayal.
A perfect crime.
She turned, disappearing into the
snowy night.
Another job well done.