Chapter 23: Real Power
...The three assassins in the room were still standing a few steps back, frozen for a split second. Their professional calm, which had been absolute just moments before, shattered completely as they finally registered what had just happened.
The impossible sight of their target, who they had fatally stabbed only seconds ago, suddenly sitting up and healing himself perfectly in a flash of green light was something entirely outside of their understanding or experience.
It was like watching someone come back from the dead right in front of them, and not just come back, but fix themselves instantly. They finally reacted to this unbelievable sight.
Their bodies stiffened, their eyes widened behind their masks, and they simultaneously stumbled backward another step or two, putting a little more distance between themselves and the figure who was no longer lying injured on the bed. A deep, primal instinct for self-preservation kicked in, overruling their mission parameters for a moment.
The assassin who had delivered the first, crucial stab to Eric’s chest, the one who appeared to be in charge based on their earlier movements, saw clearly that Eric had not only survived, but healed himself in mere milliseconds. The sheer impossibility of it spun in his mind, but there was no time for prolonged questioning.
A flurry of frantic thoughts must have raced through his head – How?! This shouldn’t be possible! What kind of power is this? Is this truly the Third Prince? – but his years of brutal training and the absolute nature of his mission immediately took over.
The fear and confusion were pushed down. Questioning could wait until after. His primary objective, etched into his very being, was clear: eliminate Prince Eric. Dead means dead, no matter how many times he might come back.
So, as soon as the middle assassin, the one who had been calmly watching, fully processed the mind-boggling act of instant healing, he didn’t waste a single moment in shock. Ignoring the confusion raging internally, he acted with the swift, deadly efficiency of a seasoned killer. He reached into a hidden pocket sewn expertly into the inner lining of his black cloak. His hand moved quickly, a blur of motion unseen by the naked eye.
With practiced speed that showed countless hours of training, he pulled out another knife. This wasn’t a combat dagger, but a thin, wickedly sharp throwing blade, perfectly balanced for speed and accuracy. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t question his target anymore. His orders were simple and direct. His target was still Eric, the figure on the bed.
With a powerful, expert throw born of immense skill, he hurled the knife directly and with terrifying speed towards Eric’s head, aiming for the forehead or an eye – a guaranteed kill if it landed. The throwing knife sliced through the air with a high-pitched, deadly whistle, a chilling sound that spoke of lethal speed, a deadly projectile cutting towards its mark with chilling accuracy in the dim light of the room.
Adam, currently in full and unwavering control of Eric’s body after the rapid, complete healing process, was still sitting upright on the bed. His ancient mind processed the assassins’ reactions in a fraction of a second. He saw the three figures stumble back, their earlier calm replaced by shock.