"No, because of what's inside," she clarified grimly. "I can already sense several powerful auras deep within the city—monsters that are likely Gold Rank and higher. And more than one of them. If they sense something's wrong, the entire city could mobilize within minutes."
Arthur nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, his golden eyes reflecting the glow of distant torchlight flickering atop the battlements of Dark City. The air was still, thick with tension, and yet within his mind, a storm of thoughts churned in silence—tactical possibilities, outcomes, contingencies, and opportunity.
He turned his gaze back to the city, allowing his eyes to sweep across the massive fortified wall that ringed the monstrous settlement. Every stone, every sentry, every tower—he studied them with the detached interest of a strategist, not a conqueror. Yet beneath that calm surface, something darker stirred. The kind of cold certainty born only from supreme confidence in one's power.
"Hmmm… tens of thousands, silently," he murmured, almost to himself. His voice carried no urgency, just a quiet thrill. The kind of tone that promised retribution wrapped in elegance.
He tilted his head slightly and then smiled—a slow, chilling curve of his lips that did not quite reach his eyes.
"That would be a memorable gift indeed."
He turned his head toward Diana and Kaelira, who stood a step behind, awaiting his command with the poise of experienced killers.
"Do it," Arthur said, his tone now sharp and commanding. "Kill as many as you can. Leave no trace, no scream, no sound. If there's anything of value—documents, artifacts, enchanted gear, anything that looks out of place—bring it to me. And make sure to collect all the corpses."
His words were delivered calmly, but the weight behind them was absolute. There was no hesitation, no mercy.
Diana's crimson eyes gleamed under the moonlight, and a smirk flickered across her face. "Yes, my lord."
Kaelira's gaze sharpened, her body already shifting into motion. "As you command."
Both women turned without another word. In perfect synchrony, they raised their hands, each forming a distinct hand seal—silent, ancient signals passed down among assassins.
From the surrounding shadows, the wind stirred unnaturally, and the terrain itself seemed to shift.
Then they emerged.
Thousands of cloaked figures detached themselves from the surrounding landscape. They had been hidden in the terrain—beneath ridges, within the hollows of trees, underneath camouflage so perfect they had been invisible even under close scrutiny. Their gear bore no shine, their movements no sound. These were Arthur's assassins—his Gold Rank blades in the dark.
Five thousand shadows, five thousand silent storms.
Diana raised two fingers. Kaelira mirrored her. Then, in a motion as smooth as flowing water, they dropped their hands.
The signal was given.
What followed was not a charge. It was not an assault. It was a vanishing.
The assassins blurred into nothingness, slipping into the night like vapor, spreading through the hills in waves. They split into coordinated squads, each group assigned to a segment of the city's perimeter. Their movements were ghostlike, passing through blind spots in the guards' patrol routes, navigating the shadows with terrifying precision.
One by one, the sentries on the wall fell.
A goblin leaned lazily on his spear, yawning as he looked out over the dark landscape—then collapsed, a blade piercing through his neck from behind.
Another guard turned to speak to his partner, only to find him gone—dragged into the shadows, throat slit, eyes wide with disbelief.
No alarms were raised. No one screamed.
The only sound was the wind brushing softly over the walls… and the gentle thuds of bodies falling silently onto cold stone.
The assassins moved like a single organism—efficient, tireless, and merciless. Magical traps were disarmed. Surveillance wards were smothered with specialized talismans. Some assassins scaled the towers, slit the throats of goblin mages mid-chant, and vanished before the bodies even hit the floor. Others leapt from vantage to vantage with unnatural agility, executing targets with pinpoint precision and collecting each corpse with practiced hands.
Diana led one of the primary strike squads personally, weaving through the darkness like a phantom. Her dual daggers whispered through the air, each stroke a death sentence. She severed nerves, punctured vital points, and vanished into the gloom before her victims had even realized they'd been touched.
Kaelira, ever the silent hunter, moved with eerie grace. Her steps were so light they left no mark on the ground. She disabled archers in rapid succession, tossing flash needles into their eyes before closing in with her curved blades. She dismembered a trio of goblin captains guarding a rune station, then set to work copying the rune sequence for Arthur—just as he'd ordered.
From their observation point, Arthur watched it all unfold through his system interface, which allowed him to see through the vision of tagged assassins. The city guards were falling like dominos, their defenses quietly bleeding without even realizing it. Within mere minutes, over five thousand enemy troops had been erased from existence—without a single alarm bell being rung.
And the operation wasn't over.
The assassins were collecting the bodies as instructed, each corpse sealed into storage rings or wrapped in shadow veils to be brought back. Some squads swept deeper into the city's outer ring, stealing maps, capturing low-level commanders, and retrieving enchanted items from guard outposts and smaller armories.
The information and resources were piling up fast.
Arthur's cold smile deepened as he folded his arms. The wind lifted his cloak slightly, fluttering it like a flag atop a mountain of corpses.
This was how wars were won.
With silence. With precision. With shadows and steel.
And now, as Dark City slept under its illusion of safety, it had already begun to bleed from within.
The gift had been delivered.
And soon... the reckoning would follow.
In one of the many towering watchposts embedded along the fortified outer wall of Dark City, a presence stirred.
The platinum-ranked commander of the city, Grothak the Nightblade, stood with arms crossed, his towering frame draped in obsidian-forged armor that shimmered faintly with enchantments. His yellow eyes narrowed as he stared out over the cityscape, his instincts prickling with unease. For hours, the night had been calm — too calm.
A whisper in the wind. A faint shift in the magical atmosphere.
His pupils dilated. A heartbeat later, he extended his mana sense like an expanding wave, his consciousness pushing outward, brushing through the night like an invisible tide.
And then—he froze.
Thousands of life signatures—many already vanishing—were flickering around the outer perimeter of the city wall. Shadows that moved too fast, that killed without sound, that collected corpses like they were harvesting grain in a field.
"What…?"
His voice was low, guttural, disbelieving.
In all his years commanding the outer defense of Dark City, no one—not a single faction, army, or rogue warlord—had dared encroach on their territory with such brazen contempt. And yet, here they were… assassins. Not just a few scouts or spies. This was a full operation. Coordinated. Ruthless.
*"Who would dare…?"*
His disbelief quickly turned into boiling fury. The veins beneath his armored skin pulsed, glowing a faint crimson. The air around him shimmered from the surge of his mana as he flung open the tower's reinforced door and launched himself into the sky with a powerful leap, wind cracking behind him.
His black cloak billowed as he landed atop the nearest wall segment. From there, he could see the aftereffects of the silent massacre.
Empty watch posts. Blood stains beginning to congeal. Spell wards deactivated. Magic lanterns flickering eerily, unattended.
Grothak's lip curled back in a snarl.
"Show yourselves!" he roared, voice echoing across the night like a war drum. "You cowardly rats! Come and fight me if you dare—!"
Thwip.
A sudden flicker of silver.
Clang!
The sound of metal on stone rang out just inches from his head. Grothak instinctively jerked back—but too late. A thin, razor-sharp dagger had already sliced across his cheek, leaving a thin trail of dark blood. The blade embedded itself in the wall behind him with a violent crack, half-buried in enchanted stone.
Grothak's hand went to his face, his fingers coming away wet with blood.
His eyes widened. Someone—something—had just struck him. A Platinum-ranked commander.
A moment later, he turned his gaze toward the source of the attack.
High above, perched effortlessly on a distant tower edge like a wraith born of the shadows, stood a lone figure—her black hair catching the moonlight like silk, a second dagger casually spinning between her fingers.
Diana. The Blade of Shadows.
A smirk danced across her lips, her crimson eyes glowing with a quiet defiance. Though she was a Gold Rank Hero, she had done the unthinkable. She had struck a Platinum commander and vanished without fear.
And then, she was gone. A blur of motion swallowed by the night.
Grothak's blood boiled. "You dare…?!"
With a furious bellow, he shot into the sky, wings of mana erupting from his back as he took flight in pursuit. His senses expanded once more, scanning the fleeing assassins—now disappearing in waves, vanishing into forest shadows and rocky crevices. They moved like they were part of the terrain itself, slipping through reality with uncanny precision.
He chased. He burned mana. He tore through the sky like a comet.
But it was futile.
The assassins had already scattered, guided by practiced escape patterns and cloaked under layers of magical concealment. Some had already tunneled underground. Others leapt across forest canopies with agility beyond natural limits. Every squad moved with a single purpose: leave no trace behind.
Grothak howled in rage, unleashing a destructive wave of mana that cracked the earth below—but all it did was tear apart empty shadows and silent trees.
There was nothing left to catch. No bodies. No attackers. Only silence.
His chest heaved, his pride scorched.
Back on the far hillside, watching through a distant vantage from within a veiled grove of enchanted foliage, Arthur stood with his arms crossed, observing Grothak's fury from afar through Diana's linked perspective.
A faint smile played on his lips.
"Now he knows," Arthur said quietly. "He's not the hunter anymore."
Kaelira, standing beside him beneath the moon-drenched canopy, allowed herself a small, mischievous laugh. "Do you think he'll like the gift?"
Arthur didn't reply.
He merely turned away, his golden eyes reflecting the distant gleam of Dark City's towers as his long black cloak fluttered in the cold forest breeze. Each step he took was deliberate, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot the only sound accompanying his silent satisfaction.
Their first message had been carved into the night with blood and silence.
And the true storm had yet to fall.
Sometime later, after they had put enough distance between themselves and the towering walls of Dark City, the assassins began to reassemble in the cover of the forest's denser region. Like spirits returning to the fold, they emerged from the shadows in organized silence—hooded, masked, their blades faintly slick with drying blood and mana-stained steel.
One by one, they knelt in quiet formation, forming a crescent before their liege.
Arthur stood at the center, his aura calm yet commanding, the flickering campfire light casting sharp shadows across his face. His mood was light—pleased, even. The sting of the earlier battle was nothing more than a faint itch in the back of his mind. What mattered now was information. Numbers. Details.
Footsteps approached. Diana stepped forward with her usual grace, her expression composed but sharp, crimson eyes flicking to Arthur's.
"My lord," she said, lowering herself into a half-kneel, "reporting the results of the strike operation."
Arthur nodded. Though he had watched much of it unfold through the shared assassin link, he wanted to hear the full report—every loss, every gain, every unexpected ripple.
"We eliminated approximately fifteen thousand goblin soldiers stationed along the outer and inner city walls. All bodies were retrieved and stored, as per your command. We also recovered several defensive rune. Additionally, our squads retrieved enchanted equipment—nothing elite, but useful for redistribution or trade. Some strange relics were also acquired; I've passed those to Kaelira for analysis."
Arthur's gaze remained calm, but his fingers curled slightly at the mention of the rune. That was useful. That meant Dark City had vulnerabilities.
But then Diana's tone shifted.
"But, my lord…" she said more gravely, standing upright now, her crimson eyes narrowing, "I bring… troubling news."
Arthur's gaze met hers. "Go on."
"During the operation," she began, "I encountered a squad of goblin soldiers moving between patrol posts inside a lightly guarded alley. They had assumed they were alone. I eavesdropped from a rooftop."
She paused, her jaw tightening slightly. "They were speaking about the leadership of Dark City. Apparently, the higher-ups—possibly including City Lord Kaldor himself—have been in contact with the Kobold Sovereigns."
Arthur's brow lifted, curiosity flickering behind his golden gaze.
"They were discussing a deception plan," Diana continued. "According to what I heard, the goblins told the kobolds that we possess the key to some kind of treasure vault. I assume… it must be referring to the same one we raided just few hours ago."
Arthur's expression darkened, though he remained composed. "And the kobolds believed it?"
"They seem to," Diana nodded. "From what I gathered, this conversation occurred just three days ago. That means…" Her voice dropped. "The kobold city may launch a full-scale attack on us within the next three to four days."
Kaelira hissed under her breath. A few of the nearby assassins shifted in place, the air growing taut.
Arthur folded his arms, thoughtful.
Diana went on, colder now. "Those disgusting goblins have devised a full-proof plan. If we're weakened or destroyed by the kobolds' assault, they'll swoop in and finish the job themselves. Their intention is clear: let someone else break our bones, then come harvest the corpse."
She spat softly to the side in disgust. "Cowardice disguised as strategy."
Arthur was silent for a long moment. Then, he looked up toward the stars beyond the tree canopy.
He chuckled.
Low, dry, and almost amused.
"How interesting," he said softly. "To think they believe we'd fall so easily. To use another city as a pawn…"
He turned toward the gathering, his aura slowly intensifying—a quiet storm beginning to rise in his core.
"They're preparing for war," he said. "Good. Let them come."
Then he looked back at Diana, his eyes sharp with intent. "Double our scouts and reinforce every perimeter. I want the kobolds watched day and night. No movements go unseen."
"Yes, my lord," she said immediately.
Arthur turned his back to them once again, his cloak settling like a curtain behind him.
"So the goblins want to play this game…" he muttered. "Then we'll turn the board upside down."
A storm was brewing.
But this time, it would not be Arthur who bled first. If one knows when the enemy will attack, it became easy to defend.