The moon
hung high
, its silver glow slicing through the darkness as Seraphis crouched on a
rooftop
, peering down at
Lord Cedric Vale’s estate.
It was a
fortress.
Tall stone walls wrapped around the compound,
torches flickering
along the perimeter.
Guards in heavy armor
patrolled in pairs, their movements precise—
too precise.
"Trained mercenaries."
Not the usual
bumbling noble guards.
These were professionals.
Killers.
Seraphis smirked.
"Good. That makes it fun."
She reached into her coat, fingers brushing against her
metal playing cards.
The magic within them
hummed in response.
Tonight was going to be
messy.
Phase One: The Approach
She
descended silently
, landing in the shadows. Her body moved like a
ghost
, slipping past blind spots, pressing herself against the cold stone.
One guard walked past.
Another
turned his back.
Seraphis
exhaled.
Her fingers flicked—and
one of her playing cards shot forward.
It
slit his throat mid-step.
He made no sound, just a
gurgling gasp
before she caught him,
lowering his body
without a whisper.
"One down."
She
retrieved her card, wiping it clean.
Then, she
vanished deeper into the estate.
Phase Two: The Inside
The
grand hall
was eerily quiet. A chandelier flickered above, casting warped shadows against the stone walls.
Seraphis
moved swiftly
, her boots making no sound.
She reached the
study
, where Reynard’s intel said Cedric kept his plans.
The door was locked.
She didn’t bother picking it.
Instead, she
touched the wood—and her cards reshaped into a thin blade.
She slid it
between the hinges
—a soft push—
and the door gave way.
Inside, a desk covered in
scrolls and maps.
She scanned them quickly.
Trade routes. Supply chains. Unmarked shipments.
Her eyes narrowed.
"He's funding someone. But who?"
Then—
a creak.
She spun,
daggers drawn.
The shadows in the corner shifted.
"I was wondering when you’d notice me."
A figure
stepped forward.
Tall. Cloaked.
A mask covering their face.
Seraphis’ grip
tightened.
"And you are?"
The masked figure chuckled.
"A message."
Then—they
lunged.
Phase Three: The Duel
Seraphis barely dodged, flipping backward as
a dagger sliced through the air.
Her opponent
moved like lightning,
their blade
a blur.
Seraphis
countered
, her cards expanding into a
whip-like chain
—snapping toward their throat.
They
ducked.
Then, suddenly—
a second dagger flashed.
Seraphis twisted, but not fast enough—
the blade grazed her side.
Pain flared.
Her eyes
narrowed.
"Alright. No more playing."
She flicked her wrist—
five cards shot out at once, circling the figure like blades.
They dodged
two
—but the third caught their
shoulder.
They hissed in pain.
Seraphis
grinned.
"You're fast. But I’m faster."
The masked figure
staggered back, clutching their wound.
"Tch. Not bad."
Then—they
vanished.
Seraphis cursed, her eyes scanning the room.
Gone.
Completely.
But on the desk, where they had stood, lay a
single folded note.
She grabbed it, unfolding it carefully.
One sentence.
"The game is only beginning, White Raven."
Seraphis
exhaled.
She hated games.
But she was damn good at winning them.