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The morning sunlight crept through the window blinds, casting a soft glow across the room. As soon as Sanjid opened his eyes, he gave himself a quick pat on the cheek to shake off the sleep.
He kicked off the quilt and headed to the bathroom. The cold splash of water and the familiar minty sting of his toothpaste helped ground him in routine. As he brushed his teeth and stared at his reflection in the mirror, a small smile tugged at his lips.
It had only been three days since he'd moved into this quiet single-family apartment, but already the rhythm of his new life had started to settle. He'd spend the mornings running in weighted gear, followed by a hearty breakfast, and then hours of tutorials, combat drills, and mental training.
Each day was full and structured. A peaceful kind of discipline.
Still, every now and then, a pang of longing surfaced—he missed his parents. Despite that, everything else felt calm, even fulfilling.
After washing up, he pulled on his enchanted training gear, preparing for another day of hard work. But as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, something caught his eye—a flicker of movement on the living room sofa.
He froze.
There was someone in the apartment. Someone had gotten in without making a sound.
His instincts sharpened instantly, posture tightening for a potential fight. But then his gaze landed on the figure sitting calmly on the couch.
And just like that, all his tension vanished.
"Tutor?"
The relief in his voice was unmistakable.
Bella sat elegantly in a gray button-down shirt, her legs crossed, radiating the same composed aura that always made her seem slightly untouchable. She offered a small nod and looked him over with a satisfied smile.
"Good. You haven't grown lazy since returning to the city."
Sanjid grinned and straightened up. "I never forgot your teachings."
Bella's expression softened briefly. She raised her hand and gently tapped his forehead with one finger.
A golden stream of energy shimmered at her fingertip and entered Sanjid's mind like a beam of warm light.
He didn't resist. He never would. She was his mentor, after all. Even if she meant to harm him, he wouldn't flinch.
Moments later, a glowing screen of data appeared within his thoughts. His brow furrowed in confusion as he processed the incoming information.
It wasn't a mission briefing or training schedule.
It was something stranger.
An intel file on a shadowy group known only as the League of Assassins.
But the file was incomplete—no photos, no confirmed identities. Only fragments of names and snippets of data describing their methods. What stood out, however, were three distinct abilities:
Arc Shot
Adrenaline Surge
Bullet Time
The combination of these skills had given the League a fearsome reputation in the global underground. Every member was an elite killer, a phantom in the dark. Those they targeted rarely lived to tell the tale.
But to Sanjid? It was almost laughable.
He wasn't afraid.
Regular weapons had no effect on his body. And as for bullet time? Please.
During his hellish training with Bella—the Goddess of Judgment herself—he'd once sustained high-speed nerve reactions for a full five minutes. That kind of hyper-response made things like Bullet Time seem like a party trick.
Still, one detail did capture his attention: the League's underlying belief system.
"Kill one to save thousands."
Their assassinations were not random acts of greed or revenge. The League followed what they believed to be a sacred order—destiny itself. Their purpose was to carry out divine retribution, no matter how controversial.
Sanjid frowned. A righteous assassin organization?
Why was Bella showing him this?
"Does she want me to join them?" he wondered.
As if reading his thoughts, Bella's calm voice rang out—but this time, it carried a chilling undertone.
"One of the League members... carries the scent."
Sanjid's pupils narrowed. He knew what she meant.
The scent of demons.
Bella continued, her tone cold and absolute. "I want you to investigate. If there is a connection to the demonic dimension—eradicate them. All of them."
He nodded without hesitation. "Understood. I'll begin today."
Sanjid remembered her stories well—the infernal dimensions, the corrupted entities that slipped into their world, and the devastation they brought. If a demon had found its way into a group as influential as the League of Assassins, the consequences could be catastrophic.
This wasn't just another mission. It was a test. One he couldn't afford to fail.
With a shimmer of blue light, Bella vanished from the room, leaving behind a faint trail of energy.
Sanjid sat still for a long moment, collecting his thoughts. If he was about to face a demon in disguise, he had to be at his best.
Today's training could wait.
He closed his eyes, summoning the steel resolve he had forged over the years.
---
Later that night, beneath the shadows of Chicago's outskirts, a decrepit textile factory stood like a relic of a forgotten era. The building resembled a Gothic castle more than a place of industry—arched ceilings, dust-covered machinery, and webs of fabric stretching across the walls like silk.
But within this eerie fortress, a gathering had already begun.
A single overhead light cast long shadows across the floor as a group of men and women stood in silence. Their expressions were grim, their eyes fixed on the man at the center.
He was old—his once-black hair now completely white. Dressed in a vintage gray suit, he looked like a relic himself. His voice, though tired, still carried weight.
"Fox has been missing for three days. And our target still breathes. It seems she failed."
The silence broke like glass.
Murmurs rose from the gathered assassins. Shock rippled through the ranks.
Fox—one of the most lethal killers in the League—had failed? She was a ghost on the battlefield, the one you sent when you wanted a job done without questions or mistakes.
Among the group, a younger man stood frozen. He was thin, wearing a long black coat, his fists clenched at his sides. His name was Wesley.
He had trained under Fox. She had changed his life, shown him a path beyond mediocrity.
They had shared drinks the night before her mission. Watched the stars together.
Now… she was gone?
"Who was the target?" Wesley's voice was strained, trembling with rage.
The old man—who had been watching Wesley closely—hid his satisfaction. Fox's death, though unfortunate, was convenient. It accelerated his secret plan.
Wesley, after all, was a crucial piece on his board. And what better way to fuel a killer's evolution than grief?
He smiled faintly. "Wesley, you know how the League works. Fate—"
"Screw fate!" Wesley snapped, cutting him off. "Tell me who the target was! I don't believe she's dead!"
The outburst echoed across the chamber.
His voice—once unsure—was now thunderous. His grief had sharpened into fury.
The other assassins watched with surprise, but not judgment. They knew the bond between Wesley and Fox. She had personally trained him, made him who he was.
To lose her like this?
Of course he would rage.
The old man simply gave a quiet nod.
Things were progressing faster than he hoped.
Wesley was angry. And that made him dangerous. Perfect.
---
End of Chapter 142.