Sometimes, the sky watches everything, powerless to intervene. It has seen empires rise and fall, kingdoms at war, people slaughtering each other, bloodshed, betrayal, despair, and pity.
But today, it sees a lone man standing atop a high wall, staring at a noble's estate. The estate is built in a square formation, surrounded by thick stone walls on all sides. It has only a ground floor, but its roof is shaped like a dome — and at the top of that dome, a soldier stands on duty. On each of the four sides of the estate, three more guards are stationed. Twelve soldiers on the ground. One on the dome. Thirteen in total.
A deadly aura radiates from the man's body, wrapping around the sword on his back — the only occupied sheath among the two he carries. The blade hums with killing intent, its surface dark bluish and etched with glowing letters in an ancient language. In his right hand, he grips another sword tightly. It looks plain — ordinary, almost — but the way he holds it suggests otherwise.
Suddenly, lightning crashes down, striking a tree just beside the wall. Flames erupt in the night. The blinding light draws the attention of the dome guard, who squints in confusion as he finally notices the man standing on the wall, unmoving in the storm.
'Wait… Who is he? Why is he standing like that — rigid, like a trained soldier? That aura… it's deadly. I can feel it. One sword in his hand… another glowing blade on his back. A bluish mask… those eyes — glowing with a blue aura, thirsting for blood. A long black coat, plated with silver bolts, floating in the wind. Black armor. Black boots. Hair messy and wild, swaying into his eyes. Two sheaths. One empty. One full.'
He blinks three times, processing the danger.
And then — fear strikes.
"He is here! The Assassin... ShadowBlade is—"
A flash of light cuts across his vision. A razor-thin beam. Silent. Swift.
His words stop.
His head splits clean from his body and falls.
'Huh… my head… it's falling... I couldn't even finish my sentence… couldn't warn the others. He's here... The rumors... they were true. They said—
He only draws one blade.
Because if the second leaves its sheath… the game is over.'
But his death wasn't in vain. His shout echoes, alerting the remaining twelve guards stationed below.
The sky darkens further. Thunder roars, and an ominous wind sweeps across the compound. The clouds thicken. Something is about to happen.
For two full minutes, nothing moves. Silence. Only the rain begins to fall — heavy, relentless.
The twelve guards gather near the front, confused and unsettled.
"Why isn't the dome soldier responding?" one mutters.
The dome, crafted from magically imbued glass, blocks sound and sight — both from inside and outside. It was designed to let nobles enjoy their peace, free from the noise and chaos of the world. No sound can enter. No cry can escape.
But now… through the pouring rain, a figure emerges before them. The man from the wall.
He stands tall, blue eyes glowing, killing intent flowing like a storm around him.
One of the soldiers stares, voice shaking.
"The Assassin... Sh–ShadowBlade…! Soldiers! Focus on the trespasser!"
But it's already too late.
A jagged flash of white light bursts forth, laced with thunder, slicing through them all in the blink of an eye.
Fifteen seconds later, twelve heads hit the ground.
He stands among them, emotionless. The rain pours harder, washing the blood into the soil.
The sky watches in silence.
It dares not speak against him.
Because it understands — this man moves with purpose. He is focused. Driven. Fueled by revenge. And he will not stop until he reaches the end.
---
He turns toward the dome — the very one atop the noble's chambers.
Inside, the noble remains unaware. He enjoys his time with three maids draped across him, sipping wine and laughing without care. Three personal guards stand at the corners of the room, forming a tight triangle around their lord.
From above, the glass cracks.
He enters.
A shadow dropping into the middle of the room.
The guards tense.
'This is what they call nobility?'
He smirks beneath his mask. "Living a peaceful life… while my people burned alive. He doesn't even hide his pleasures from his men. Hah. What a graceful noble.'
'Tonight… his smile dies first.'
Before the guards can react, a blade flashes.
One head drops to the floor — clean and silent.
He speaks coldly, voice like sharpened steel.
"Three guards. One down with one sword. Do the math."
Then he raises his blade.
"You won't leave this room breathing."
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