Chapter 25: Embers
East Coast, Holy Light Citadel.
An old man, whose frail frame looked as though it might shatter at any moment, stood atop a soaring, restricted observatory platform. His formal wizarding robes whipped violently in the howling wind.
Floating in the air directly before him was a massive, radiant orb resembling a miniature sun.
"My time is at an end." The old man’s face was deeply lined with ancient wrinkles. Staring into the core of the blazing orb, he whispered, "An hour has already slipped away... I cannot hold back the corruption any longer."
If Xander had been present, he would have instantly recognized this legendary, era-defining artifact: the [Eyes of the Sovereign Sun] anchoring the summit of the Holy Light Citadel.
"Who has breached the perimeter?" a voice from within the brilliant sun demanded with mounting impatience.
"We are mobilizing our vanguard now," another distant voice echoed through the artifact.
"It is too late," sighed the legendary Grand Magus, Anthony. "Do not squander resources trying to salvage my position. The enemy has already committed their pieces. An absolute doomsday is descending upon every spellcaster on this continent."
The blinding [Eyes of the Sovereign Sun] suddenly fell into a stunned silence.
"Even if the abyss claims us, we cannot allow these arrogant entities to walk away unscathed," a fierce, determined female voice resonated from the artifact. "The Arcane Reservoir is the ultimate legacy left to us by the First Deity. We cannot stand by and watch them defile it."
"Chloe, we lack the leverage to halt them..." Anthony let out a ragged sigh. "My grip on the Eyes of the Sovereign Sun is slipping entirely. The Serpent-Tongue Cult is poised to break their chains and run rampant across the surface. You must..."
His voice faltered.
At that exact moment, the soft, measured footsteps of a remarkably elegant young apprentice sounded from the shadows behind him.
"Teacher, I have successfully retrieved an ancient panacea that may purge the blight from your system," the youth spoke softly.
"What?" Anthony turned his head toward his trusted disciple, a flicker of genuine surprise cross-cutting his weathered features.
Suddenly, the young man’s countenance twisted into a grotesque, malformed sneer. Deep within his pupils, two tiny, slithering vipers—one a sickening emerald green, the other a fiery scarlet—began to rotate in a rhythmic, hypnotic pattern.
"You... you are..."
The legendary Grand Magus never finished his deduction.
A uniquely jagged, blackened sacrificial dagger was driven ruthlessly into his lower back.
"Anthony!"
"What is happening over there?!"
From within the core of the blazing sun artifact, the panicked, frantic shouts of multiple legendary-tier arcanists erupted in unison.
The youth threw his head back, letting out a manic, echoing laugh.
"Following the shadow-work of the patron deity of assassins, the grand Crimson Patriarch himself personally bestowed his blood to forge this cursed blade!"
"How many seconds do you have left to draw breath, my beloved Teacher?"
Tanchapel, Wealthy District, The Deepening Night.
"Miller utilized the forbidden, slow-acting venom of the Serpent-Tongue Cult to systematically poison your previous lord. If you harbor any desire to exact blood vengeance for his murder, you will execute my commands to the absolute letter."
Twenty heavily armed figures were assembled in a tight perimeter just outside the iron fences of Estate 31.
Xander issued his instructions in a hushed, lethal monotone.
"Miller’s estate is divided into three defensive layers. There are multiple concealed sentries monitoring the outermost perimeter. I require your detachment to lock down and neutralize the second-tier mercenaries."
As he spoke, he gestured toward the faintly shifting silhouettes of Kael Amber and Sera Agate, the two Phantom Assassins hovering silently at his flanks.
Even though Andre was intensely curious as to how on earth his young master had managed to recruit two tier-two powerhouses of this caliber, Miss Elyra had personally vouched for the tactical deployment. That was more than enough validation for him.
He offered a grim, resolute nod.
Dealing with a few arrogant sellswords was well within their capabilities; the frontier boys were entirely confident they could handle the clash.
"Do not let your guard down," Xander countered sharply, his eyes narrowing beneath his mask. "There are hardened, second-rank vanguard elites anchored among those sellswords. Even though they only number five or six, they are professional killers who know how to keep their lives."
"Understood." Andre stepped into his role as guard commander with a newfound, rigid gravity, replying, "I will spearhead a squad of eleven men to dismantle their defensive line. The remaining eight will hold their positions here, fully equipped and awaiting your signal."
Xander nodded, thoroughly satisfied with the tactical response.
The raw operational capability of these Redoak Vale youths was highly commendable.
Now, it was time to collect the blood debt.
Xander instantly melted into the shadows, invoking his active stealth parameters.
Behind him, his two elite retainers synchronized perfectly, vanishes triggered as they executed [Strong Stealth].
The trio advanced toward the estate’s external sentry pickets like three reaping scythes—one scouting the vanguard, two locking down the flanks.
There was no moonlight to grace the sky tonight.
The pitch-black canopy was perfectly suited for a midnight slaughter, followed by a total arson.
The Wealthy District sat at a considerable distance from the chaotic lower sectors of Tanchapel.
Furthermore, the affluent elite who resided here were notoriously indifferent, rarely batting an eye if their neighbor’s estate went up in flames, so long as their own walls remained untouched.
Under normal circumstances, the city watch kept standard patrol routes weaving through these cobblestone streets.
Unfortunately for the inhabitants of Estate 31, tonight’s watch had been completely misdirected toward a staged disturbance at the northern docks.
They wouldn’t be returning to this sector for hours.
This was the exact window where Miller’s private fortress was at its most vulnerable.
Xander had absolutely no intention of letting such an optimal tactical opportunity slip through his fingers.
Perhaps the sudden, total annihilation of the Bleakhollow Gang had shaken Miller’s sense of security; Xander quickly noted that the perimeter was crawling with an abundance of newly established hidden sentries.
Among them was a tight, six-man patrol unit weaving through the gardens in irregular intervals.
Oh? It seems he spent a small fortune upgrading his security...
Xander was well aware that while the lay followers of the Serpent-Tongue Cult weren’t necessarily frontline combatants, they always possessed an array of underhanded, esoteric hexes.
Tonight’s infiltration could easily devolve into a bitter war of attrition if they tripped an alarm.
However, surgically dismantling isolated sentries was his absolute specialty.
In less than ten minutes, Xander and his two Tier 2 Phantom Assassins had seamlessly erased every single external watcher guarding the outer grounds of Miller’s manor.
Even the rotating six-man patrol team was completely and efficiently liquidated under a series of coordinated [Sneak Attack] strikes from the dark.
The entire sequence of lightning-fast executions unfolded right before the eyes of the Redoak Vale guardsmen crouching in the dense shrubbery.
"Preternatural... that’s too terrifying..."
"Never mind the two elite assassins behind him... look at Masked Twin Blades. He is fundamentally registered as a Ranger class, so how on earth is he executing high-tier assassination techniques with that level of mastery?"
"If we were the ones marked on his ledger..."
The hushed whispers of the guardsmen caused a cold shiver to ripple down their spines.
To be caught in the crosshairs of a hunter like that was a definitive death sentence.
At that moment, Andre felt an immense wave of relief that his hot-tempered, young recruits hadn’t provoked a confrontation with the Masked Twin Blades back at the storehouse.
He was profoundly grateful that this monstrous executioner was fighting on their side of the board.
With the outer perimeter entirely sanitized, Xander flashed a hand signal toward the bushes, indicating that the secondary phase of the assault was live.
Turning a sharp corner, Xander glided toward the manor’s rear service entrance.
Watching Xander and the two assassins vanish past the high stone masonry, Andre drew his broadsword, his face twisting into a rare, predatory snarl.
"Brothers, fall in! Dammit, I’ve loathed that fat bastard Miller for years, but to discover he poisoned the Old Lord and brokered a deal with the gnolls to butcher our homeland? Our young master may have hired the Masked Twin Blades to take his head, but we are going to spill enough mercenary blood tonight to wash away this anger!"
Inside a lavishly insulated, warm study on the second floor, the bloated Miller sat perched upon a velvet sofa, his eldest son Bob seated nervously across from him.
Positioned statically in the dim recesses of the room were the massive, towering silhouettes of two muscular enforcers.
Whenever Miller or his son glanced toward those two shadows, a profound sense of absolute security washed over them.
Those men were true savage fighters—elite, second-rank [Berserkers] whose combat instincts were worth every single gold piece Miller had invested.
Barbarians possessed sensory perceptions akin to wild beasts; with these two juggernauts anchoring the room, a stealth breach was theoretically impossible.
Bob pulled his gaze away from the guards and spoke in a hushed, anxious tone.
"Father, word from the frontier indicates the gnoll chieftains are growing incredibly restless. Rumor has it they uncovered an ancient, highly volatile relic deep within the subterranean tunnels beneath our old castle."
Miller’s eyes narrowed into thin, venomous slits, mirroring the cold gaze of a viper.
"I knew those subhuman beasts wouldn’t honor a territorial pact for long. They took Redoak Vale and genuinely convinced themselves they could keep it permanently."
"What is our immediate counter-move?" Bob asked, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Fool!" Miller sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. "We operate with the absolute backing of Sir [King Cobra]. Do you honestly think I fear a pack of mangy frontier gnolls? The moment that wretched brat Marvin draws his final breath, I will utilize my political leverage to force the city hall to deploy the Arcane Vanguard to purge those beasts. I won’t even grant them the dignity of a negotiation."
Bob looked at his father with a mixture of reverence and deep-seated terror.
"Father... when... when will you finally introduce me to Sir [King Cobra]? When can I take the vows?"
"Do not rush the process," Miller murmured smoothly. "The internal protocols of the Serpent-Tongue Cult are exceptionally strict, and only those with absolute, unyielding devotion are permitted to enter the inner circle. Your current faith is entirely too fragile. If I were to present you to Sir King Cobra in your current state, he would order his familiars to swallow you whole."
As the words left his mouth, two tiny, ethereal vipers—one a violent red, the other a toxic green—manifested within Miller’s eyes, spinning in a slow circle.
"I spent a lifetime believing I would never reclaim my birthright. I never anticipated that the path to absolute wealth would open through the grand mysteries of the Serpentine Cult of Doom. Now that Jean is dead and buried, the remaining obstacles are trivial."
Bob swallowed hard.
"But Father... if the Serpentine Cult of Doom is marked for total eradication by the high orders, how do you dare to walk openly beneath the sunlight of Tanchapel?"
"You dare to question the absolute supremacy of our dark faith?!" Miller suddenly roared, the twin vipers in his pupils practically thrashing against his irises.
Like an enraged beast, he surged forward and delivered a devastating backhand across Bob’s face, sending the young man crashing off the sofa and slamming against the base of the grand bay window.
Bob’s vision swam from the sheer force of the blow as his jaw instantly began to swell.
"I spoke out of turn, Father! Forgive me!" Bob reacted with instinctual terror, immediately scrambling onto his knees to beg for mercy.
"Blood relative or not, heresy cannot go unpunished," Miller said ruthlessly, stepping over him. "Crawl back to the center of the rug and extend your left hand for the branding."
Bob didn’t dare offer a shred of resistance, lowering his head to comply.
But before his palm could touch the floor, a mocking, razor-sharp voice sliced through the tension of the room:
"My deepest apologies for interrupting a wholesome family disciplinary session. But I presume you harbor an equally foul opinion of uninvited guests?"
BANG!
The massive glass window shattered into a million sparkling shards.
A dark shadow cut through the airborne debris, executing a flawless, high-velocity roll across the hardwood floor.
Two blinding silver streaks flashed through the air, accompanied by the distinct, sickening sound of tearing flesh.
Before he could even realize the window had breached, the kneeling Bob cleanly lost his head, his skull bouncing across the carpet.
"Masked Twin Blades! It’s you!"
Miller recoiled in a mixture of profound shock and homicidal fury!
