Hot.
That was all I could feel.
The sun in the Kingdom of Mizar didn't just shine; it was an ancient, angry entity, beating down on my skin like a burning sledgehammer. The air around me vibrated, creating waves of mirages that made the landscape of this desert city appear to undulate.
I licked my cracked lips, tasting the salt of sweat mixed with fine sand dust. In this old watchtower, a sandstone ruin that smelled like bat droppings, I was just a ghost waiting for time to pass.
Through the narrow window slit that was once probably used by ancient archers, I stare intently at my target.
Five hundred meters below, the world looks different. On a balcony of a luxurious villa sheltered by maroon silk, opulence is displayed without shame. A fat man in an open silk shirt that revealed his hairy, sweaty chest was laughing freely. Round glasses perched on his flat nose. In his right hand, covered in gemstone rings, was a wine glass filled with a thick red liquid, its surface fogged with condensation.
The sight made my throat feel even drier.
His name was Rail. A black market trader who had fled the Kingdom of Alfonso a week ago. To the outside world, he was just a successful businessman on vacation. But to my client, he was a thief. Rail had stolen the "Heart of Alfonso." It was a magical crystal artifact that was the national treasure of a neighboring kingdom, and he thought the money from the theft could buy him safety in the middle of this desert.
"Enjoy your last wine, Pig," I thought coldly.
I had been perched on this old watchtower for seven days. Seven days of eating dry jerky that tasted like shoe leather and rationing water to one bottle per day. I even had to regulate my breathing to slow my heart rate, minimizing my need for oxygen and water. Rail was so foolish to think the Mizar Desert could hide him. He forgot that shadows are always longer under the scorching sun.
I took a deep breath, trying to synchronize my body's rhythm with the hot wind blowing gently from the west.
Taking on a cross-continental contract like this was actually madness. I am a citizen of the Astra Empire, a superpower that holds hegemony over the continent. If anyone knew that "The Numbers"—an independent secret organization operating under the empire's sky—was known to the public, I'm sure the entire continent would be in an uproar. Especially since my mission this time was to kill a target in the Kingdom of Mizar on behalf of the Kingdom of Alfonso.
This is no longer just a murder case. It is a declaration of war.
The fragile intercontinental diplomacy could collapse overnight. The Astra Empire could be accused of violating territorial sovereignty, and the Mizar Kingdom could block the spice trade routes. But that is why my pay is high. The organization never leaves a trace. We are ghosts, and we will vanish like the wind.
And for me, Rail is just another name to cross off before I can return home to the empire.
Moving slowly so as not to reflect the sunlight, I shifted the black bag beside me. Inside, lay cold metal components.
This is no ordinary weapon. This is the "Mag-Rail Prototype." It is a masterpiece, as well as a little monster that we designed in the Organization's underground workshop.
My hands, wrapped in leather gloves, began to assemble it with mechanical precision.
Click.
The rough black steel barrel was attached to the body of the weapon.
Click.
A glass tube containing neon blue mana fluid is inserted into the energy slot.
Click.
The magic sight lens, enchanted with Eagle Eye magic, locks into place.
It's ugly and heavy. The frame is made of unpolished black steel, with copper wires connecting the mana tube to the trigger. This is not a work of art; it is a long-range killing tool. An instrument of death created for one purpose: to end lives without being detected by the enemy.
I positioned the rifle butt against my right shoulder. My cheek pressed against the cold steel that was starting to warm up due to the room temperature.
My index finger began to press the trigger halfway.
Zzzt...
A low humming sound like a mosquito began to be heard when the magic circuit inside the weapon was activated. The mana liquid inside the glass tube began to bubble violently, changing from a calm blue to a bright purple. The capacitor inside the barrel began to charge with enough energy to blow up a two-meter-thick concrete wall.
The heat from the weapon began to spread to my face. This was a design flaw in the prototype. If I held it too long, my cheeks could blister.
Through the magic sight lens, my vision became sharp. Digital numbers floated in my lens, calculating distance, humidity, and air density.
"The wind is moving three degrees east," I muttered softly, my eyes narrowing toward the villa's balcony.
Below, Rail had just raised his wine glass high. He said something to the hostess beside him, as if toasting his illusory freedom. He smiled broadly, showing off his shiny gold teeth in the sunlight.
It was the last smile he would ever make.
I held my breath. My heartbeat slowed to one beat every five seconds. The world around me, the roar of the desert wind and the stinging heat, began to fade.
There was only me, the red crosshairs, and the small dot between Rail's eyebrows.
"Good night."
I pulled the trigger all the way.
There was no deafening explosion of gunpowder. This weapon did not use explosive powder.
Sus...!
Only a sharp hissing sound like steam escaping from a high-pressure boiler, followed by a very brief flash of blue light.
A small metal projectile the size of a needle shot out of the barrel at hypersonic speed. Its speed was so high that it split the air particles, leaving a thin trail of distortion that quickly disappeared.
Half a second later.
On the balcony five hundred meters away, Rail's head jerked back.
No gunshot sound reached him. Only pure kinetic impact. The fat merchant's head exploded like a watermelon hit by a giant hammer.
The wine glass in his hand slipped, falling in slow motion, then shattering into pieces on the marble floor. Red wine spilled, mixing with another red liquid that now flowed heavily from what was left of Rail's neck. His fat body swayed for a moment and finally collapsed onto the small table in front of him.
Panic did not immediately ensue.
Two seconds passed in an eerie silence. The escort girl beside him just stared with her mouth agape. The mercenaries around the balcony still stood at attention without turning their heads, thinking their boss might have passed out from drunkenness.
Then, the scream broke out.
I didn't waste any time enjoying my handiwork. In this business, celebration is the beginning of death. I immediately pulled the weapon from the window. The heat from the barrel pierced my gloves. With a quick movement, I dismantled the "Mag-Rail" into small components in less than ten seconds.
Every second was precious. If his death was reported to the Sand Guard—the elite police of the Kingdom of Mizar—then in a matter of minutes, the entire city would be locked down. Mizar was famous for its Sand Barrier, which could instantly block access in and out of the city.
I put the pieces of the weapon into a bag lined with mana-dampening magic, then threw a dull brown desert cloak over my body. I changed my posture from that of a tall assassin to a hunchbacked young man who looked exhausted from the heat.
Now came the hardest part: getting out of this sandy hell alive.
I descended the tower stairs with light, silent steps. The dust on the floor was barely disturbed by my footsteps. Once I reached the bottom, I opened the rotten wooden door and was greeted by a wave of heat that was even more intense than above.
The East District Market of the Kingdom of Mizar. This place was a human labyrinth.
The sharp smell of spices mixed with the sweat of thousands of people and camel dung. The cries of merchants selling flying carpets and air-cooling potions filled my ears. It was perfect chaos. The best place for an assassin to disappear.
I blended into the flow of people. My head is bowed, covered by a tattered cloth. I walk at the same pace as the locals, relaxed yet efficient. As if this heat is an old friend.
At first, I thought everything was going perfectly. I had passed two checkpoints without any problems. The East Gate, a giant exit made of ironwood twenty meters high, was already visible at the end of the main road.
However, bad luck often comes when we feel most secure.
Tuiiiiit!
A magic whistle sounded loudly, its voice not like a normal whistle, but like the cry of an eagle amplified by wind magic. The sound wave made anyone who heard it feel a vibration in their chest.
Instantly, the market activity stopped. The merchants froze. The buyers turned to the source of the sound.
"Close the gates! There's a murderer using illegal magic!" the shout of a Sand Guard captain echoed, amplified by sound-amplifying magic.
My heart beat one beat faster. Illegal magic? Damn. Magic residue from the "Mag-Rail". That weapon was still a prototype; the leakage of mana particles must have been detected by the city's sensors as soon as I descended from the tower.
I quickened my pace, still trying to look normal. "Just a little further," I thought.
But my eyes caught a flash above the roof of the building to my right. An archer in the distinctive brown and gold uniform of Mizar was taking aim. Not at the crowd, but specifically at me. The bag on my back must have been emitting a heat signal that was obvious to them.
"There he is! The man in the brown robe with the black bag!"
My cover was blown. There was no point in acting anymore.
With one stomp of my foot, I threw away the pretense. My leg muscles, forged by the hellish training of "The Numbers," exploded with full force. I darted through the market crowd.
"Move!" I shouted, colliding with a fruit vendor, spilling his basket and creating a natural barrier of rolling melons.
"Catch him!"
Several people in Mizar royal police uniforms began chasing me from behind. They were fast, accustomed to running on sand. But I was trained to kill, not just run.
I jumped onto a cattle cart, then used it as a springboard to leap onto the roof of a fabric merchant's tent. The canvas sagged under my weight, but provided enough spring to propel me forward.
A magic wind arrow whizzed past my ear, cutting a small piece of the cloth covering my head. Another centimeter and my ear would have been severed.
"Damn, they're elite archers," I cursed silently.
Before my eyes, the giant East Gate began to move. The one-meter-thick wooden door slowly closed, narrowing my escape route.
I was still fifty meters away. The door would be completely closed in five seconds. Even with normal human running speed, let alone mana-enhanced speed, I wouldn't make it.
"Surrender! You're surrounded!" the shouts from behind grew closer.
I smiled slightly behind my face cover. They were right. For normal wizards or knights, this was a dead end. But they didn't know who they were chasing.
In this world, every wizard is born with one Secret Ability. It is a law of nature. A unique talent engraved in the soul. My master, Hilda, had a terrifying ability called "Zero." Emperor Astra had the ability "Domination."
Having two secret abilities was considered a miracle that only happened once in a thousand years.
But me? I was an anomaly. I was a glitch in the system of this world.
I had three secret abilities. And one of them was my ticket out of here.
I focused the flow of mana throughout my neural network. A strange cold sensation began to spread, as if the space around me was warping.
The name of my ability is "Jumper."
It's not just running fast. It's a short-range spatial leap. Moving my body from point A to point B, ignoring the physical distance between them.
"One," I counted.
Wuuus!
My body flashed, disappearing from the tent roof and reappearing instantly ten meters ahead, on the sandy ground. A sensation of nausea hit my stomach, a side effect of spatial displacement.
The guards stared wide-eyed. "He... he teleported?!"
The gate was still open two meters. The gap narrowed rapidly.
"Two."
I jumped again. This time, the world around me shifted like a glitch. I reappeared fifteen meters ahead. The distance to the gate was now just a little more.
The gate now had only a narrow gap, less than half a meter wide. A guard in the gate tower saw me and hurriedly pulled the emergency lever to speed up the closing.
Too late.
"Three."
I took the final leap. Not toward the door, but right through that nearly closed gap.
My world went dark for a moment, then bright again.
Bam!
The sound of the giant gate slamming shut echoed behind me, shaking the ground. Dust flew everywhere.
I rolled onto the hot sand outside the city walls. I was out of breath and cold sweat poured down my face. The pain from using the "Jumper" three times in a row felt like my muscles were being forcibly pulled.
Even so, I was outside.
In front of me lay only an endless desert and freedom.
I stood up, brushed the sand off my cloak, and looked back at the towering walls of the Kingdom of Mizar. The frustrated shouts of the guards could be heard faintly from behind the thick walls.
"Mission accomplished," I muttered, then turned and walked toward the pickup point in the middle of the desert before disappearing into the mirage.