The sound of bones breaking filled the room just as the closet door slammed open and a fist slammed into Captain Finn's chest, knocking him backward into the wall. The man barely managed to let out a groan before collapsing to the floor, his chest completely collapsed, convulsing, his eyes rolling back.

  Only three other people remained in the room: Baron Hills and his two remaining guards, Alrickson and Lumilda, both level-six mages, hardened by military campaigns and high-risk missions. However, nothing in their years of experience had prepared them for what emerged from the closet.

  A man dressed in the typical uniform of the mansion's servants emerged, although what was most striking—and what chilled the blood—was the grotesque leather mask that covered his head. The piece, crude, bulky, and misshapen, had an almost organic appearance, as if it had been molded from human skin, and only allowed one to see through two irregular holes at eye level.

  Even more disturbing was the fact that the man didn't emanate the slightest trace of magical energy. To the mages' senses, the individual was indistinguishable from a mere ordinary civilian. And yet, he had just killed a Level 5 mage with a single blow.

  "HAAAAAAA!" the Baron shouted, in a tone of utter panic.

  The nobleman quickly shattered the blue crystal of his security medallion, activating the self-defense protocol, while the two mages immediately acted, protecting the Baron with their bodies. Three translucent energy shields deployed with a burst of light, enclosing the group in a barrier of various shades of blue.

  The assailant didn't seem impressed. Instead of retreating or attacking immediately, he pulled from his robes a small glass bottle that appeared to be filled with a white powder. Without hesitation, he threw it directly at the shields. The bottle burst with a violent crack, as if its interior was pressurized, releasing a thick cloud that expanded in moments throughout the room.

  The powder was so fine that it easily penetrated the magical defenses, enveloping them. There was neither taste nor smell, but the three immediately noticed a strange effect as the powder entered their throats and eyes.

  "Don't breathe!" Lumilda ordered, as they tried to hold back their coughs.

  They tried to react in some way, but the masked man had already drawn his sword. A thin line of light ran along the blade, and then he began his attack. Energy blasts were launched at inhuman speed, bouncing off the shields at such a frantic pace that the room shook. They weren't powerful blows, but they were a steady and precise barrage, enough to test even the combined defenses of two high-level mages.

  Alrickson responded with a flurry of fiery missiles, which crossed the room, leaving trails of fire in their wake. But the assailant moved with almost animal-like agility, dodging each attack with inhuman precision, even countering the projectiles with his own energized sword.

  Lumilda, a wind magic specialist, tried to redirect the cloud of dust toward the small ventilation ducts in the ceiling, hoping to clear the air. But by now it was useless, as everyone had already inhaled too many lungfuls of the white powder.

  Additionally, the room had been designed as a security chamber, with walls capable of resisting attacks even from level-seven mages. The door was barred, and the only window was located directly behind the enemy.

  The trio soon felt the effects of the dust, which still floated in smaller quantities in the air. First came the tingling, a stinging numbness that spread from the lips to the throat, followed by a feeling of emptiness in the lungs, as if the air had lost its consistency. Then, their vision began to distort: ??the lights seemed to vibrate, the colors were distorted, and the sound of their own heart became unbearably sharp.

  Baron Hills was the first to succumb. His breathing became erratic, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to his knees with a stifled groan before collapsing onto the marble floor. The medallion he had activated flickered one last time, emitting a faint blue glow before going out completely.

  Alrickson and Lumilda, both with military training, tried to resist. The fire crackled between the red-haired mage's fingers, though the flame wavered, uneven, as if the will behind it were breaking. Lumilda, with trembling hands, conjured an erratic gust of wind that barely moved the dust from her face. Neither of them could think clearly; their minds were drowning in a tangle of echoes and hums.

  It was then that the masked man moved. His step was silent, too much for a body of flesh and blood. He emanated no magic, but every movement seemed measured with surgical precision. Alrickson, overcome by instinct, attempted a desperate maneuver: overload his magic, unleash a total flare, and reduce everything to ash. He managed to open his mouth, to exhale the name of his spell, but all that emerged was a gasping growl. A red line crossed his abdomen before he realized what had happened. The attacker's sword had barely moved. There was no resistance, only the wet sound of flesh splitting and the dull thud of the body falling to the ground, split in two and releasing a huge amount of blood.

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  Lumilda screamed, or thought she screamed, but the sound did not come from her throat, but was reduced to only an empty gasp. Her vision crumbled, like a broken mirror. She tried to drag herself toward the door, but her arms didn't respond. Her wrists buckled as they touched the ground, and all she could notice was the man approaching.

  The assailant held her with inhuman strength. The shackles clicked shut on her wrists, cold and heavy. He then placed a black collar on her, which she immediately recognized: a model of Imperial suppression magic, used in containment camps or war prisons.

  The man then took a small white object, which fit perfectly in his hand, and brought it up to Lumilda's nose, then pressed a kind of trigger. A strange gas was released with a hissing sound into her nostrils. The effect was immediate: the numbness subsided, her pulse relaxed, and her mind refocused on the surroundings with a high-pitched ringing in her ears.

  "I take it none of you partook of the wine during dinner?" the man's voice was calm, with an almost melodic timbre. It didn't sound like the voice of an assassin, but rather that of a curious doctor, analyzing the results of an experiment.

  Lumilda blinked several times. She tried to answer, but the words caught in her throat. The man watched her silently, tilting his head with mild interest, like someone examining a strange insect. Without saying anything, he took out another of the white objects and inserted it again into one of her nostrils, activating it for a new and greater relief result.

  “W-What are you doing?” she managed to say in a choked voice.

  The man crouched down in front of her, close enough for her to see the jagged edges of his leather mask, the sweat running down the edge of his collar, and the eyes behind the holes, two points of deep black.

  “Answer my question,” he said with a calmness that cut through the air. “Did you or did you not drink wine during dinner?”

  The woman looked him straight in the eyes, or at least into the dark void beyond the holes in that grotesque leather mask. For an instant, her fear turned to suppressed rage.

  “Everyone already knows about your organization's use of poisons…” she replied, her voice halting but firm. “And it wasn't difficult for the Duke to warn all nobles to be careful with food… especially alcoholic beverages.”

  The man was silent for a few seconds. Then, a faint chuckle escaped his throat. “I guess it was just a matter of time before they realized it,” he said calmly as he stood up. “The time for games is over… we'll have to move up our plans.”

  He walked calmly toward the Baron's body, which lay convulsing, its eyes bulging and white foam on its lips. The marble floor reflected the irregular tremors of its movements. The masked man knelt beside it, observing it curiously, like an anatomist regarding an interesting specimen. Then, without hesitating, he thrust his hands between the Baron's ribs and pulled hard, tearing the clothing in the process.

  The sound was indescribable. A wet crunch, like broken branches covered in mud, mixed with a gurgle of air. Lumilda felt her stomach clench and immediately covered her mouth, but it was no use. She soon vomited all over herself, the acid burning her throat. And for several seconds, she simply closed her eyes as she coughed uncontrollably.

  When she finally conquered her dizziness and looked up, the man was sitting on the ground in front of her, legs crossed, staring straight into her eyes. In one hand, he held the Baron's freshly extracted heart, still beating, expelling drops of blood that fell to the ground in an almost hypnotic rhythm.

  Lumilda lost focus of her vision and wanted to close her eyes, but something inside her—perhaps a survival instinct—prevented her from doing so.

  It was then that she felt contact: a warm, damp hand gently resting on her cheek. The smell of blood was intense, invading her senses. Her body immediately froze.

  "You remind me of my sister," he murmured.

  His voice was soft, almost affectionate, a terrifying dissonance in the face of the horrific act he had just committed. His bloody fingers slid slowly down her cheek, leaving a red trail on her pale skin. Then he brushed a strand of her hair aside and tucked it behind her ear in an intimate gesture.

  “I need you to deliver a message…” he said, leaning in a little closer, so close that she could feel his breathing, slow and controlled, mingling with the stench of blood. “A message for your authorities… those who should arrive shortly, assuming the alarm our dear Baron sent has worked.”

  Lumilda, barely conscious, nodded weakly. She didn’t do so out of obedience, but because any resistance seemed absurd.

  The man turned the heart over in his palm, watching the last spasm ripple through the muscle before it died completely. Then, in a calm voice, he added, “Tell them that the Kingdom of Silence has awakened and that we’re ready to get serious… We’re going to attack the major cities very shortly, and we’re going to kill all the corrupted nobles of this Duchy and the surrounding kingdoms.”

  He released the heart, which fell to the ground with a muffled sound, leaving a dark pool that slowly spread toward Lumilda’s feet. She didn't fully understand the message, but she memorized every word.

  The man, after wiping his hands with a handkerchief, bowed his head and, with his arms open and his voice deepening, declared: “No one will be able to stop us… Not the Empire, not that fucking Oculus.”

  Then, without further ado, he stepped toward the window. He opened it with a resolute gesture, took one last look at the trembling woman, and leaped into the void, like someone leaving a stage after finishing their act. He completely ignored the fall: more than thirty meters to the mansion's gardens awaited below, but his figure completely ignored the damage, and in just moments he was lost in the shadows of the city.

  Lumilda stared at the hollow window for a few seconds, unable to move. The sounds of the night re-entered the room: the wind in the curtains, the alarms that sounded in the distance, and the rapid beating of her own heart. It was all too much to process.

  Then a certainty washed over her, cold and simple. She—Lumilda—was, as far as she could remember, the only person who had survived the attack of one of those "specters": the assassins people had begun to call since the crisis began, shadows that left no witnesses. Her body trembled, her skin prickled, and the taste of vomit filled her mouth again.