The midnight air hung still over the city of Rammstein. A full moon glowed above, unobstructed by clouds, spilling the beautiful moonlight over the palace. Inside, Estefan Angeras slept soundly on his bed, his chest slowly rising and falling beneath fine silken sheets. A deceptive calm blanketed the moment but that peace shattered the moment a figure appeared, silent as breath on the window sill.
The man was clad head to toe in black cloth, his face concealed and his breathing measured. He was no amateur thief or a wanderer but he was an assassin, trained to kill and disappear like a whisper.
Without hesitation, the assassin crouched low and pulled out a short bamboo blowpipe from his belt then he fitted a poisoned needle into the narrow opening. He raised the pipe to his lips, aimed at the Baron's exposed neck and exhaled sharply.
