"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin"-Chapter 15: Shadows Over Blackthorn Keep
The air inside the Assassin’s Guild was thick with the scent of blood, ale, and whispered secrets.
I sat in the dimly lit hall, sharpening my blades, when the Guildmaster called for me again.
Another mission. Another target.
This time, it was
a fortress.
He spread out a crumpled map on the table, his fingers tapping against a black mark near the
borderlands.
“Blackthorn Keep,” he said. “Used to belong to a noble house. Now, it’s a
bandit stronghold.
”
I examined the map. The castle was half-ruined, its outer walls crumbling, but the
inner keep was intact.
A
perfect
defensive position.
“How many?” I asked.
“Fifty men. Maybe more. Their leader—
Gregor the Red.
” The Guildmaster’s lips curled in distaste. “A war criminal turned bandit lord. A sadistic bastard.”
“And the job?”
“Kill him.” He leaned back. “Kill them all, if you can.”
I smiled.
I
could.
Into the Ruins
The journey to Blackthorn Keep took two days. The road was
dangerous,
crawling with patrols and
scouts.
But I was
a shadow.
By the time I reached the outskirts of the fortress, it was
night.
The castle loomed ahead, its
broken towers
stabbing at the sky. Torches lined the walls, casting flickering shadows over the ruined stone.
From my vantage point on a nearby ridge, I counted the
sentries.
Six on the walls. Three in the watchtowers. More at the gates.
I exhaled slowly.
Easy targets.
I reached into my coat, pulling out a
deck of cards.
Not ordinary playing cards—
my weapons.
I flicked one into the air, then another, and another. They rose, catching the faint moonlight as they
hovered, spinning.
I closed my eyes.
Focused.
And then—
I
saw through them.
The Sniper in the Dark
The world shifted. My vision no longer came from my own eyes but from the
floating cards.
From above, I had a perfect view of the fortress.
Every enemy. Every weak point.
I took a breath—then I
struck.
The first card
whipped through the air,
slicing across a sentry’s throat before he could scream.
The second. A
clean shot
to the forehead of a watchtower guard.
The third. A razor-thin cut across the jugular of a man standing near the gate.
One by one, they
fell.
By the time the last tower guard collapsed, the fortress was already
losing its eyes.
And they had no idea.
I
moved.
Silent Infiltration
With the outer guards
eliminated,
I slipped through the ruins, sticking to the shadows.
Inside the walls,
bandits gathered around fires, drinking, laughing.
They didn’t know death was already among them.
I climbed the stonework, reaching a
balcony overlooking the keep’s main hall.
Gregor the Red sat inside, a massive man with
brutal scars
and
wild eyes.
He feasted like a
king of filth,
surrounded by his men.
I narrowed my eyes.
Then, I dropped
two more cards
into the air.
The moment they reached height—
I struck.
A Storm of Blades
The first card
pierced a bandit’s eye,
embedding itself in his skull.
The second
ripped through another’s throat.
Screams erupted.
The room
exploded
into chaos.
I leapt down, landing amidst the panic,
blades flashing.
A man swung an axe—
I ducked, severing his knee.
He fell, shrieking.
Another lunged with a spear—
I redirected it, sending it into his ally’s chest.
My cards spun around me, slicing through flesh like
whispers of death.
Within moments, half the room was
dead.
Gregor the Red roared, grabbing his massive
two-handed sword.
“Cowardly
bitch!
” he bellowed, charging at me.
I smiled.
Let’s dance.
The Fall of Gregor the Red
His blade
came down like a hammer,
splitting the ground where I had stood seconds before.
I moved—
light as air, fast as lightning.
A flick of my wrist—
a card slashed his cheek, drawing blood.
He
growled.
Swung again.
Faster. Stronger.
But I was
faster.
I danced around his strikes, my playing cards circling like
predatory birds.
Then—
I saw it.
His mistake.
A heavy swing—
too wide, too slow.
I stepped in.
My blade flashed.
His head hit the floor before his body even fell.
Silence.
Then—
The last of his men
fled.
I let them run. Let them spread the
fear.
Blackthorn Keep belonged to
the dead now.
I turned, stepping over Gregor’s corpse, and picked up his
severed head.
Time to return to the Guild.
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