Rain fell in thin curtains, pattering against rusted tin rooftops as Michael moved through the Lower Ring with his cloak pulled tight. The streets were quieter than usual. Too quiet. Even the usual Dreg thugs had vanished.
He felt it—eyes on him. Movement in the peripheral edges of vision. Watching. Waiting.
"Too soon," he whispered. "They're already coming."
[Passive Skill: Peripheral Sense – Active]
[Threat proximity: Moderate. Stealth magic detected.]
He ducked into a broken tannery, blade drawn.
Schkt.
A glint of silver whirled toward him. He twisted instinctively, the blade flashing up—
CLANG!
The dagger deflected just inches from his neck, embedding itself in a wooden pillar behind him. A second figure dropped from the rafters—short, masked, and barefoot. Silent as a shadow.
Michael lunged. His sword came down in a heavy arc—but the attacker bent unnaturally, twisting out of reach like smoke. The blade struck the stone floor, sending sparks flying.
Too fast.
He jumped back. "Who sent you?"
The masked assassin didn't speak. Instead, they raised both hands—and darkness rippled around them. Not just shade—compressed mana.
Michael's system flared.
[New Threat Detected: Class-D Mana Rogue – "Whisperblade"]
[Hostility: Fatal Intent]
[Recommended Action: Survive.]
The figure blurred. Michael ducked under the first slash, pivoted, then drove his elbow into the attacker's ribs. It connected—but there was no sound, no grunt, nothing. As if the air had swallowed every noise.
He moved again. The sword whispered in his mind.
"Flow."
Michael dropped into the second stance—Flowing Edge—and mirrored the assassin's slash. This time, their blades met in a blinding ring of steel. The masked killer staggered back. Surprise flickered behind the fabric of their veil.
He pressed forward—but then he froze.
There were two of them now.
The second assassin stepped from the shadows behind him. Identical robes. Identical silence. But a different pressure in the air—cold and cruel.
Michael's instincts screamed.
[Warning: Dual Threat. Combat stamina below 60%.]
[Adaptive Flow in effect – movements partially predicted.]
He turned, slashing wildly—just enough to force distance—but a kick slammed into his side and sent him tumbling through the wall of the tannery. He crashed onto the rain-soaked street, dazed, coughing.
The two assassins stepped out of the shadows together.
And then—something changed.
A third figure appeared, walking calmly behind them. No mask. No cloak. Just a girl, no older than fifteen, with violet eyes glowing faintly.
She smiled.
"You're slower than I thought, Bladebound."
Michael forced himself upright, sword trembling in his hand. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm not important," she said cheerfully. "But the man who hired me wants to see what you're capable of. So go on—impress me."
She raised a hand.
The two Whisperblades vanished again—slipping into darkness like wraiths.
Michael braced himself, eyes darting through the mist.
And then—
SLICE!
Pain tore across his back.
He staggered. Blood splashed to the ground.
Another strike came—this one across his thigh. Fast. Invisible. Perfectly timed.
[Critical Damage. Blade Resonance: 17% → 19%]
[Passive Ability Triggered – Iron Draw Counteractive Pulse]
→ Reflects last physical trajectory on partial instinct. Cooldown: 12 seconds.
Michael screamed and spun wildly—channeling the counter-blow—and struck something.
A body hit the cobblestone, unmoving.
The first assassin.
Gone.
The girl's eyes widened just a little. "Huh. That was... not bad."
Michael dropped to one knee, panting, blood soaking his cloak.
"You'll last longer than they said," she murmured.
Then she vanished into the mist, leaving the second assassin behind.
Watching.
Waiting.