The blade glinted in the dim candlelight, death speeding toward Lord Thornfield. Thorne’s instincts screamed at him, and he barely had time to react. His hand shot up, the Invisible Threads of his skill grasping at the knife in midair, yanking it off its lethal course. The dagger embedded itself into the wall behind Thornfield with a heavy thud, the hilt vibrating from the impact. Lord Thornfield flinched, his eyes widening as he took in the situation, but Thorne had already moved.

  The assassin launched himself at Thorne, his movements a blur of black and steel. Thorne ducked under a vicious slash, rolling across the floor and coming up in a crouch, his eyes narrowing as he sized up his opponent. This wasn’t a common thug—this was someone trained, someone deadly. The man’s stance was perfect, his grip on the dagger sure and steady. He was dangerous, but Thorne didn’t let that intimidate him.

  Thorne activated Burst of Speed, his vision narrowing as his world slowed, everything sharpening to a razor’s edge. He dashed forward, his own daggers drawn, the blades slicing through the air as he aimed for the assassin’s throat. The masked figure reacted with uncanny speed, deflecting Thorne’s strike and countering with a knee aimed at Thorne’s ribs. Thorne twisted, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the assassin followed up with a rapid flurry of slashes, the blades whistling past Thorne’s ears as he dodged and parried.

  The two assassins moved like shadows, their blades a blur of flashing steel as they clashed. Thorne spun, his foot hooking around a small table and sending it crashing into the assassin’s legs. The man leaped back, flipping over the obstacle with ease, his eyes narrowing in irritation as he landed lightly on his feet.

  Thorne didn’t give him a chance to recover. He activated Lethal Flurry, his hands a blur as he unleashed a rapid succession of stabs and slashes, forcing the assassin to retreat. His blade flashed out in a vicious arc, slicing through the air where the man’s chest had been moments before. The assassin twisted to the side, his movements almost liquid as he avoided the blow, but Thorne’s follow-up strike caught him off guard.

  With a growl, Thorne slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest, sending him crashing into a heavy bookshelf. Books and trinkets toppled to the ground as the assassin staggered back, but he recovered quickly, launching himself forward with a snarl. He activated a skill, Shadow Step, his body flickering and disappearing for a split second before reappearing behind Thorne, his dagger aimed at Thorne’s spine.

  Thorne sensed the shift in the air and dropped to the ground, rolling away as the dagger sliced through the space he had just vacated. He came up on one knee, his hand raised as he activated Knife Fan. A volley of daggers shot out from his outstretched hand, the blades whizzing through the air toward the assassin.

  The man cursed, his body blurring as he used Evasion to dodge the deadly projectiles, but one of the knives still caught his arm, a dark stain spreading across the fabric of his sleeve. The assassin’s eyes blazed with anger as he launched himself at Thorne again, his movements wild and unpredictable.

  They crashed into the wooden desk, Thorne’s dagger cutting through the air as the assassin ducked and spun, his own blade slashing out in a counterattack. Thorne felt a sharp sting as the knife grazed his shoulder, but he didn’t let it slow him down. He activated Bloodletting, his blade slicing through the man’s forearm, cutting deep. The assassin grunted, blood spraying from the wound as he stumbled back.

  Thorne pressed the advantage, his strikes relentless as he drove the man toward the corner of the room. The assassin kicked out, catching Thorne in the stomach and sending him staggering back, but Thorne activated Burst of Speed again, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. He brought his dagger down in a savage arc, aiming for the man’s neck.

  The assassin raised his arm, the blade catching him in the shoulder instead. He cried out, his grip on the dagger faltering as he tried to block Thorne’s next strike. Thorne twisted the blade, pulling it free and slamming his knee into the man’s gut. The assassin doubled over with a gasp, but his hand shot out, grabbing a small statuette from the nearby table and hurling it at Thorne’s head.

  Thorne ducked, the statuette shattering against the wall behind him, shards of porcelain raining down as he lashed out with his foot, catching the assassin in the chest and sending him crashing into the bookshelf again. The assassin’s head snapped back, his body going limp for a moment before he shook his head, struggling to stay conscious.

  Thorne’s eyes darted to the other side of the room, his senses on high alert. He could hear the panicked breathing of the woman hiding behind the screen, but there was something else, another sound coming from the shadows near the wardrobe. He narrowed his eyes, his Critical Eye skill activating as a new figure appeared in his vision.

  There—another assassin, barely visible in the darkness, a glint of steel catching the light as he shifted. Thorne’s heart skipped a beat as he realized the second attacker’s intention. He was aiming for Thornfield.

  “Look out!” Thorne shouted, but it was too late. The hidden assassin threw his dagger, the blade flying toward Thornfield’s heart with deadly precision.

  Thorne activated Invisible Threads again, his hand jerking to the side as he pulled at the air, redirecting the blade’s path. It missed Thornfield by a hair, instead slicing through the air and embedding itself in the chest of the mistress, who had stumbled out from behind the screen, her eyes wide with shock.

  “No!” Thornfield screamed, his voice breaking as he lunged toward her, catching her as she fell, blood pouring from the wound.

  Thorne’s heart pounded as he turned back to the first assassin, his grip tightening on his dagger. The man’s eyes flicked toward the door, then to his wounded ally, and Thorne knew he was about to make a break for it.

  “Not so fast,” Thorne growled, activating Backstab. He dashed forward, his dagger plunging into the man’s side, twisting as he pulled it free. The assassin gasped, his body convulsing as he staggered back, his eyes wide with shock.

  But he wasn’t done yet. With a final, desperate effort, the assassin lunged at Thorne, his dagger aiming for Thorne’s throat. Thorne’s eyes flashed as he activated Lethal Flurry, his body spinning as his daggers slashed out in a whirlwind of steel. The assassin’s eyes widened in horror as Thorne’s blades cut through his defenses, carving deep wounds into his chest and arms.

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  The man stumbled back, his body crumpling to the floor as blood pooled around him. He gasped for breath, his eyes unfocused as he reached out, his hand trembling.

  Thorne didn’t wait to see the light leave the man’s eyes. He turned to the second assassin, his gaze locking onto the man as he stood frozen in the shadows. Thorne’s lip curled into a snarl as he lunged forward, his daggers raised.

  The second assassin’s eyes widened as he scrambled back, his hand fumbling for another dagger, but Thorne was on him in an instant. He activated Bloodletting again, his blade slicing through the man’s arm, severing tendons and muscle, blood flowing unnaturally fast.

  The assassin screamed, his dagger clattering to the floor as he clutched at his ruined arm. Thorne didn’t give him a chance to recover. He kicked out, his foot connecting with the man’s knee, shattering the joint. The assassin collapsed, his scream turning into a choked sob as he looked up at Thorne, his eyes filled with terror.

  “Who sent you?” Thorne demanded, his voice low and deadly as he pressed the tip of his dagger to the man’s throat.

  But the assassin only shook his head, his lips moving soundlessly as blood poured from his wounds. Thorne’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade. He didn’t have time for this. There could be more assassins, more threats to Thornfield and Uncle’s plans.

  He pushed the dagger deeper, the man’s breath hitching as he choked on his own blood. “Who?” Thorne repeated, his voice a deadly whisper.

  The assassin’s eyes fluttered shut, his body shuddering as he exhaled one last, ragged breath. Thorne cursed under his breath, pulling the blade away as he stood, his eyes scanning the room for any other threats.

  Lord Thornfield was on the floor, cradling the mistress’s lifeless body in his arms, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Thorne’s eyes lingered on the scene for a moment before he turned away, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what had just happened.

  This was more than just a simple assassination attempt. Someone was sending a message, and Thorne intended to find out who.

  Thorne tried to calm down, his mind racing to piece together what had just happened. Assassins—skilled and coordinated—had infiltrated the Thornfield manor. But where had they come from? As far as he knew, the Lost Ones were the only guild operating in the city. The few remaining gangs Uncle hadn’t yet crushed were more inclined to street brawling than to carrying out precision strikes like this.

  He forced himself to take a steadying breath, his eyes flicking over to Lord Thornfield, who was now hunched over, quietly sobbing as he cradled the body of his mistress. The pathetic sight stirred something like disgust in Thorne’s chest. He had to keep this fool alive, no matter how much he despised the man’s weakness.

  Thorne strained his ears, tuning out the lord’s muffled sobs, trying to catch any sounds from the rest of the manor. There had to be more assassins lurking in the shadows. The explosion that killed the mistress would have alerted the guards, but the manor was oddly silent. Were they already dead, or worse, compromised?

  The lord’s whimpering grew louder, his sobs turning into wretched cries, and Thorne’s eyes snapped back to him. He glared, his patience fraying. “Pull yourself together!” he snarled, his voice sharp and commanding.

  Lord Thornfield barely reacted, his eyes wide and unfocused, his hands trembling as he brushed a strand of hair away from the lifeless woman’s face. Thorne’s teeth clenched. This was pointless. He turned his attention back to the door, his senses straining for any sign of movement. The faintest whisper reached his ears, and he stiffened, his eyes narrowing as recognition dawned.

  It was the maid’s voice. The one who had reprimanded the other for almost dropping the wine bottles. His mind raced, and a terrible realization struck him.

  “Take cover!” he yelled, his instincts screaming at him to move. He lunged toward Lord Thornfield, grabbing the man by his collar and yanking him down just as the door exploded inward with a deafening roar.

  Thorne was thrown back by the blast, his body slamming into a bookshelf. The impact rattled his bones, pain shooting up his spine. His Aetheric Skin skill absorbed most of the damage, but his health plummeted as a chunk of his health points disappeared.

  Dust and debris filled the air, mingling with the acrid scent of smoke and charred wood. He bit back a curse. His ears rang from the force of the blast. He shook his head, blinking through the dust and debris as his vision swam.

  He spotted Lord Thornfield, a pathetic figure huddled against the wall, small cuts marring his face and hands from the debris. The man’s eyes were wide with terror as he scrambled backward, his chest heaving in barely suppressed horror, as the realization of the danger truly sank in.

  But Thorne had no time to deal with him. Four figures moved through the gaping hole where the door had been, their forms cloaked in shadows. One of them hurled a small metal sphere into the room, and Thorne’s instincts screamed at him to move. He dove to the side just as the sphere exploded, thick black smoke billowing out and filling the room, reducing visibility to zero.

  His Veil Sense flared to life, tingling along his skin, feeding him information about their levels. They were all in their mid-twenties, except for the maid, who was slightly stronger at level 28. He had the levels on them, but there were four of them, and they were coordinated.

  He gritted his teeth, knowing what he had to do. He had to give it his all.

  He activated Aether Surge, feeling the familiar rush of power flood his veins, heightening his senses and sharpening his reflexes. The world around him slowed, his perception expanding as he let his Aether Vision take over, the world shifting into shades of blue and gold and he peered through the dense smoke. The figures of the assassins shone like beacons in his vision, bright outlines with dense aether swirling inside.

  He didn’t hesitate. He drew a dagger from his belt and hurled it at the nearest outline. The blade sliced through the smoke, striking true. A strangled gasp escaped the assassin’s lips as he crumpled, clutching his throat, blood spraying across the floor.

  Thorne moved, his body a blur of motion as he turned invisible with his Veil of Light and Shadow skill. He slipped through the smoke, a ghost among shadows.

  With one hand, he tagged another assassin with Invisible Threads, feeling the ethereal strands wrap around the man’s limbs. The assassin stumbled, his movements jerky and disjointed as Thorne pulled the threads taut. Activating Stealth Strike, Thorne surged forward, his dagger plunging into the man’s back, right at the glowing red point highlighted by his Critical Eye skill.

  The man didn’t even have time to scream before his body went limp, collapsing in a heap.

  The two remaining assassins spun around, their forms tense and wary. Thorne crouched low, his breaths controlled and silent. He could hear their harsh breathing, the uncertainty in their stances as they glanced around, trying to find him in the smoke-filled room.

  “You said it was just a child!” one of the assassins spat, his voice tinged with fear. “Not a killer!”

  “That was the info I had,” the other woman, the fake maid, muttered, her tone laced with frustration. She drew her blade, the weapon gleaming in Thorne’s enhanced vision. “I’ll deal with him. You take care of the rich fool.”

  Thorne’s eyes narrowed. The rich fool was his responsibility, his task. And no one, especially not these amateurs, would take him down tonight.

  He tightened his grip on his dagger, his body coiled and ready to strike. The odds were still against him, but he relished the challenge, the thrill of it thrumming in his veins. He had already taken down two. Two more wouldn’t be a problem. He just had to be smart, fast, and ruthless.

  And he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.