"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin" Chapter 10: The First Hunt

The Assassin’s Guild was unlike any place I had ever seen. The underground halls were carved from smooth stone, illuminated by dim blue crystals embedded into the walls, casting eerie shadows along the corridors. The air carried the faint scent of steel, leather, and sothing else—sothing tallic. Blood, perhaps.

The mont I stepped past the entrance, I felt eyes on . The other assassins, so seated at long wooden tables, others sharpening their weapons, barely concealed their interest. So stared openly; others flicked glances my way before returning to their tasks.

I ignored them.

The overseer from my trial—whom I had learned was called Mada Varis—had told to et her in the mission hall. I walked deeper into the guild, my fingers idly tracing the edge of my throwing cards hidden within my sleeves.

Every step I took echoed slightly against the stone floor. The deeper I went, the more I noticed small alcoves lining the hall, filled with training dummies, sparring rings, and even silent figures ditating in the shadows.

Finally, I reached the mission board. A towering slab of dark wood covered in parchnt. Each paper held a request—so simple, so covered in red ink, signifying higher risk.

Mada Varis stood beside it, her piercing eyes scanning as I approached.

“Good, you’re here,” she said, tossing a thin parchnt toward . I caught it midair and flicked my gaze over the contents.

Target: Horace Fenn.Occupation: Informant.Last Seen: The Rusted Nail Tavern, Slums District.Details: Capture and interrogate. Retrieve any information regarding recent noble disputes. Do not kill—unless necessary.

I raised a brow. “You’re sending after an informant for my first mission?”

Mada Varis smirked. “What, were you expecting a noble assassination right out of the gate?”

No, of course not. I knew how things worked. I was at the bottom of the hierarchy, and I had to earn my place. But still, hunting an informant…

It was a test. Not just of skill, but discretion.

“Fine,” I said, slipping the parchnt into my belt. “Anything else?”

Mada Varis studied for a mont before shaking her head. “No. Just don’t get caught.”

I turned without another word, heading for the exit.

The Hunt Begins

The Rusted Nail Tavern was exactly what I expected—a den of filth, smoke, and desperation. The building was worn down, the wooden beams sagging under the weight of too many years and too many sins. The stench of ale, sweat, and unwashed bodies hit the mont I stepped inside.

The patrons were a mix of drunkards, rcenaries, and those who preferred to keep their faces hidden beneath thick hoods.

Perfect.

I pulled my own hood lower, moving toward the bar with careful, deliberate steps. I had already morized Horace Fenn’s description—a balding man with a scar along his left cheek, often seen wearing a green coat.

It didn’t take long to spot him. He sat in a corner booth, nursing a tankard of ale while nervously glancing at the door every few minutes.

I slid into a shadowed spot at the bar, ordering a drink I had no intention of drinking. I observed him carefully, noting his twitching fingers, the way his eyes darted to anyone who got too close. He was expecting sothing—soone.

He’s already paranoid. That’ll make this easier.

A man approached his table, clad in a dark cloak. Their conversation was low, barely above a whisper, but I focused, attuning my senses.

“—not safe. They’re watching the manor—”

Horace hissed, shaking his head. “Damn nobles. I told them, I don’t have anything else!”

The cloaked figure leaned in. “You better find sothing. If you don’t—”

I moved before he could finish.

Silently rising from my seat, I walked toward their table, my steps lost beneath the drunken laughter and off-key lute playing in the background.

Then, with a flick of my wrist, I sent a single playing card flying.

It struck the cloaked man’s wrist just as he reached for sothing beneath his robes. He let out a startled grunt, jerking back.

Horace’s eyes widened. “What the—”

I was already there.

Sliding into the seat beside him, I pressed a dagger against his ribs, my expression unreadable beneath my hood.

“Quiet,” I murmured. “And walk.”

Horace swallowed hard, his forehead beading with sweat. He didn’t dare protest.

I stood, keeping my blade hidden beneath my cloak as I guided him toward the exit. The cloaked man made no move to stop —he was too busy nursing his injured wrist, glaring but unwilling to risk a scene.

Smart.

The night air was crisp as I led Horace into the nearest alley. He stumbled slightly, his breathing ragged.

“L-Look, I don’t know who sent you, but—”

I slamd him against the stone wall.

“Talk,” I ordered, my voice cold.

Horace trembled, but he wasn’t a complete fool. “A-Alright, alright! What do you want to know?”

“The noble disputes,” I said. “Everything you know.”

He swallowed hard. “It’s about House Valre and House Greth. They’ve been at each other’s throats for months, but recently… things escalated. Soone’s been funding rcenaries, arming them. The Valre heir was nearly assassinated last week.”

Interesting. I pressed my blade slightly deeper. “Who hired the assassins?”

“I-I don’t know! That’s the truth, I swear! But I know where you can find out!”

I narrowed my eyes. “Go on.”

Horace exhaled sharply. “There’s a man—goes by The Broker. He operates out of the old warehouse near the docks. He deals in information. If anyone knows who ordered the hit, it’s him.”

I studied him, searching for any hint of deceit. His fear was genuine, his desperation real.

Slowly, I pulled back, sheathing my dagger. “Good.”

Horace sagged with relief—only to stiffen as I leaned close to his ear.

“If you lied,” I whispered, “I’ll find you again. And I won’t be so kind next ti.”

He nodded frantically. “I swear! It’s the truth!”

I stepped back, my hood casting a shadow over my face. “Then you better pray your information is worth sothing.”

Without another word, I turned and disappeared into the night.

My mission wasn’t over yet.