With the guards’ attention wholly diverted, the mansion itself stood vulnerable.
Shadows detached themselves from darker corners of the grounds. n moved swiftly, keeping low and close to the walls before slipping through side entrances left unguarded in the turmoil. Most wore the plain attire of newly hired workers. Beneath their modest appearance, however, were seasoned rcenaries, trained killers accustod to bloodshed.
They advanced in silence, their movent coordinated to avoid getting caught. Though the majority of the guards were occupied with the fires, the risk of encountering a stray patrol still lingered. Their goal for that night was clear and spread out ahead of them, highlighted in blood.
Soon, they reached the chamber where the confiscated weapons of the attending nobles had been stored. There was a grim irony in knowing that so of those very weapons would soon be turned against their rightful owners.
Inside the banquet hall, the first signs of sothing amiss began subtly. A cup slipped from a man’s and fell to the floor. One by one, their speech started slurring, even the most experienced drinkers weren’t unaffected as the drug began to take effect. Every single thing was laced from the food, down to the wine.
"Fire! The outbuildings are on fire!"
The cry from outside pierced faintly through the growing haze clouding Kaz’s mind. He blinked, attempting to steady himself, but the room seed to tilt unnaturally. His limbs felt weighted, sluggish beyond reason. When he pushed himself upright, the movent was clumsy, as though his body no longer obeyed him. He swayed dangerously and caught himself against the edge of the table, nearly sending platters crashing to the ground.
All around him, the other guests fared no better. So attempted to rise, only to collapse back into their seats. Others stared in dull confusion, minds struggling to grasp the sudden shift in their senses.
The grand double doors of the hall swung open but only few registered the sound.
Over a dozen ard n stord inside, blades already drawn and held at the ready.
High above, along the upper level, the housekeeper had resud his post. From his vantage point, he observed the unfolding carnage with an unnervingly blank expression. The workers he personally recruited had now shed all pretense. They moved like predators among weakened prey. Not a flicker of joy or horror crossed the housekeeper’s face, only cold detachnt.
The guests were far too lethargic to put up any aningful resistance. Even had their minds been clear, they were still unard.
A rcenary lunged forward and seized Kaz from behind, gripping the back of his coat and wrenching him upright until his spine pressed firmly against the attacker’s chest. Kaz thrashed despite the heaviness weighing down his limbs, his hands clawing weakly at the man’s arm. His protests erged garbled and incoherent.
The rcenary drew a sharp blade across Kaz’s throat in one swift, rciless motion.
Crimson blossod instantly, staining his collar and spilling down his chest. A wet gurgle escaped him as he choked on his own blood. His body convulsed once, then slackened. The rcenary shoved him aside without thought, discarding him as though he were nothing more than dirt.
The sa fate befell the rest of the guests as the rcenaries cut and carved their way through the hall. They butchered everyone in attendance, even the servants unlucky enough to be present. Those who dared to scream or raise a hand in defense were swiftly and rcilessly silenced. It was almost unfathomable how quickly the banquet had transford into a bloodbath.
When at last the rcenaries finished their grim task, bodies lay strewn across the once-pristine floor. Blood pooled thickly, turning the grand hall into a crimson mire.
Their efficiency was chilling. Not a single guard had been alerted to what transpired within those walls. The chaos outside continued to serve its purpose.
Only one task remained: to escape. Compared to the brutality they had executed, slipping away unnoticed would prove the most delicate phase of the operation. The fires had been a masterful distraction, but the flas would not burn forever. Sooner or later, the guards would regain control and resu their posts.
The rcenaries moved among the bodies, ensuring there were no survivors. Satisfied with their work, their leader lifted his gaze toward the upper level.
He knew the housekeeper would be watching. When their eyes t, the leader inclined his head in a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.
Without another word, he turned and signaled to his n. They moved as one, stepping over overturned chairs and splintered tables as they filed out of the hall and disappeared into the night. In their wake, they left the place in utter shambles.
The housekeeper remained still for a mont, watching their retreating figures until the great doors swung shut behind them. Only then did he allow his lips to curl into a small, satisfied smile. Lord Halric would be deeply pleased with this outco. But there was still one final task to complete.
The housekeeper hurried down the servants’ corridor, his asured steps quickening. He knew exactly where to find her. The cook who had so carefully drugged the food and wine would be waiting, expecting him to divulge the next phase of the plan. Instead, she found him erging from the shadows.
He approached her without a word and drew a sheathed dagger from beneath his clothes. She opened her mouth but no sound left her lips. In one swift motion, he ripped the blade free from its sheath and drove it into her abdon. The first strike stole the breath from her lungs. The second silenced her. He stabbed her again and again until her knees buckled and she crumpled onto the cold stone floor, lifeless.
His chest rose and fell heavily as he stared down at her body. Blood pooled beneath her. She had been instruntal in their ploy. Without her, the plan would never have succeeded, and Kaz would still be alive. For a fleeting mont, sothing akin to regret flickered in his eyes. Yet it was swiftly extinguished by reason. What they had done was dangerous. The fewer people who knew the truth of that night, the safer Lord Halric would be.
And so, the cook had to die.
The housekeeper waited a while longer, listening for any stray footsteps, ensuring the rcenaries had ample ti to flee the grounds. When he was certain they were gone, he knelt beside the cook’s body and thodically wiped the blood from his dagger against the fabric of her apron, saring the crimson into the once-clean cloth.
Rising to his feet, he drew in a steadying breath and positioned the blade against his own side. He calculated the angle carefully, aiming for flesh that would wound but not kill, mindful to avoid any vital organs. Without granting himself a mont of hesitation, he drove the dagger into his body. Pain exploded through him, white-hot and blinding, but he did not cry out. He twisted the blade just enough to make the wound grotesque, and convincing. It had to appear as though he had been attacked by the killers as well, both he and the cook.
When he finally withdrew the dagger, and his hands trembled. Blood seeped through his garnts, staining them dark. He staggered backward and allowed himself to collapse beside the lifeless woman, the scene arranged to tell a carefully crafted lie.
A life for a life. A son for a son.
Lord Davien Rycoff would return ho in a day’s ti, but nothing would ever be the sa again.
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