Chapter 412: A Running Rat
The night was thick with tension, and the moon cast a cold, pale glow over the cobblestone streets of Astellia’s capital. The lone assassin stumbled through a shadowed alleyway, his body wracked with pain. The aftermath of his comrades’ forced self-destruction had left him wounded, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side, the burn marks searing into his skin. He could feel the taste of blood in his mouth and the unmistakable tightness in his lungs with every shallow breath. His body felt like it was on the verge of collapse, each step more difficult than the last, but he had no time to rest. He had to deliver the information to Varzadia. The secrets he carried were invaluable—the Baron Evocatore was far stronger than they had anticipated.
The assassin leaned against the stone wall, catching his breath, his eyes darting nervously around. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the silence of the deserted streets. His pulse pounded in his ears, each thud a reminder of the precarious situation he was in. The capital should’ve been a safe haven for those who could slip unseen between alleys and rooftops, but tonight was different. Something was out there—he could feel it, a presence stalking him, hunting him. His senses, honed by years of training, tingled with the instinctual fear of being prey.
Suddenly, he heard it—the soft crunch of paws on stone. The assassin’s eyes widened, his gaze snapping towards the alley’s entrance. His heart skipped a beat, a chill running down his spine. From the darkness emerged five silhouettes, each moving with a predatory grace, their eyes glowing a cold blue. Winter wolves. He didn’t know why they were in the capital city or how they had tracked him, but that was irrelevant now. The fear surged through him, his legs carrying him forward, out of the alley, away from those haunting eyes.
He burst out onto a broader street, his boots skidding against the cobblestones as he turned sharply, pushing himself to move faster. The wolves were relentless; he could hear their heavy breaths, the soft pad of their paws as they pursued him. They weren’t barking or growling—they were silent, focused, and it terrified him. There was no sound but his own ragged breathing, the pounding of his heart, and the steady, inexorable rhythm of paws chasing him.
The assassin darted through the narrow streets, his thoughts racing as he desperately tried to come up with a plan. He had to get out of the capital, get the message to his superiors. The strength that Baron Lyan Evocatore had displayed was unlike anything they had prepared for. His comrades had been sacrificed, their bodies used as vessels for dark magic, and yet the Astellian forces had still managed to corner and destroy them. Lyan had been at the center of it all—a storm of lightning, commanding powerful spirits, his presence dominating the battlefield. They had underestimated him, and now it was up to the assassin to make sure that mistake wasn’t repeated.
He rounded a corner, almost slipping on the slick cobblestones, his lungs burning as he forced himself to keep running. His legs felt like lead, the exhaustion threatening to overtake him, but he knew he couldn’t afford to slow down. The city walls weren’t far now—if he could just reach the gates, perhaps he could slip through the shadows and make his way into the forest beyond. He had to believe that. He couldn’t afford to think otherwise.
But the winter wolves were fast. Too fast. He could feel them closing in, their icy breath almost tangible in the air behind him. The assassin gritted his teeth, pushing harder, his vision blurring at the edges from exhaustion. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, each beat a reminder of how close death was. He could hear the low growl now, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through his very bones. They were playing with him, he realized. Herding him, pushing him towards an end that only they knew.
Suddenly, one of the wolves lunged, its powerful form slamming into the assassin’s back, sending him sprawling to the ground. He hit the cobblestones hard, the impact driving the breath from his lungs, his vision exploding into stars. Pain flared through his body, a sharp, agonizing jolt that seemed to reverberate through every bone. He struggled to push himself up, his limbs trembling, his strength failing. The wolf circled him, its eyes never leaving his, the other wolves forming a perimeter around him, cutting off any chance of escape.
The assassin panted, his eyes darting around desperately, his mind racing for a solution. He couldn’t die here. Not without delivering the message. He tried to rise again, but his legs gave out beneath him, his body betraying him. The wolves watched, their cold eyes unblinking, their breaths misting in the night air. They were patient, knowing that their prey was already beaten.
It was then that he heard footsteps—slow, deliberate, echoing softly against the stone. The wolves parted, and two figures stepped forward, their presence commanding. The assassin squinted, his vision still blurry from the fall. One of the figures was dressed in a butler’s suit, her long black hair flowing behind her, her eyes cold and calculating. Beside her stood another woman, her hair a striking silver, her expression one of detached curiosity.
"Ravia... Raine... the siblings of death..." the assassin croaked, recognition flickering in his eyes. He had heard of them—the twin terrors, the butlers of House Evocatore, the granddaughters of the terrifying White Shadow assassin. They were known as the siblings of death, feared and whispered about throughout the underworld. Ravia and Raine were not just loyal servants; they were among the deadliest of Lord Evocatore’s women. He had never expected to face them himself.