"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin" Chapter 11: Into the Lion’s Den

The night was thick with mist as I moved through the city’s darkened streets, my cloak wrapped tightly around . The air slled of damp stone, rotting wood, and the faint scent of the sea drifting in from the docks.

Horace Fenn had given a na: The Broker. A shadowy figure who traded in secrets, working from an old warehouse near the water. If anyone knew who had hired assassins to take out a noble heir, it was him.

And I intended to find out.

I kept to the alleyways, stepping lightly over discarded bottles and broken crates. The city at night was dangerous—muggers, rcenaries, and those who thrived in the underworld lurked in the shadows. But I was no ordinary traveler.

I was a predator among prey.

The warehouse ca into view. A massive, looming structure of aged wood and rusted tal, its exterior worn by years of neglect. Lanterns flickered along the periter, casting jagged shadows across the wet cobblestone.

Two guards stood by the entrance, their expressions bored but alert. Both carried curved swords at their waists, and I could see the faint glint of hidden daggers beneath their coats.

Slipping into the darkness, I circled the building, scanning for weaknesses.

The windows were boarded up, but gaps between the planks offered glimpses of movent inside—figures shifting, speaking in hushed tones. At least six people. Maybe more.

A direct assault would be reckless.

But then again…

I smirked beneath my hood. I didn’t plan on knocking.

A Silent Entry

From the rooftop of an adjacent building, I crouched, studying my approach. A second-story window had a looser set of boards, nailed only at the corners. It wasn’t a welcoming entrance, but it would do.

I drew one of my tal playing cards, running a finger along its edge. A sharp whisper of steel against skin.

A flick of my wrist, and the card shot forward, striking the boards with pinpoint precision. The loosened plank fell away without a sound, leaving just enough space for to slip through.

I moved swiftly, my body coiling and stretching like a shadow given form.

Inside, the warehouse slled of oil, parchnt, and sweat. Shelves stacked with crates lined the walls, so marked with noble crests, others blank—smugglers’ goods, no doubt.

Below , a handful of n and won gathered around a central desk, illuminated by a single hanging lantern. Papers were scattered across its surface, so bearing wax seals.

And at the head of it all sat a man in black silk robes, his fingers steepled, his piercing amber eyes scanning the group before him.

The Broker.

He was younger than I expected—mid-thirties, perhaps—but his aura was one of cold calculation. He wasn’t just a rchant of secrets. He was a man who knew his own worth.

I adjusted my position, pressing my back against the rafters.

Listening.

“…House Valre is getting desperate,” The Broker was saying, his voice smooth as polished glass. “The heir’s near-assassination has them on edge. They’re willing to pay a fortune for information.”

A man in a hooded cloak scoffed. “Then let’s bleed them dry.”

“Patience.” The Broker tapped a finger against the table. “We sell knowledge. Not crumbs.”

The others murmured in agreent.

I narrowed my eyes. He knows sothing. But how much?

Shifting my weight, I reached for another playing card. If I could get closer—

Creak.

The wooden beam beneath groaned.

For a mont, silence filled the room.

Then—

“Above us!” one of the n shouted.

Damn it.

I moved.

The Fall & The Fight

The second they looked up, I dropped.

A twist mid-air, my coat flaring out as I landed directly onto the table, scattering papers and ink.

The Broker barely had ti to flinch before my dagger was at his throat.

“Talk,” I said smoothly. “And I might let you walk out of here.”

The room erupted into chaos.

Two of his n lunged. I kicked the table forward, slamming it into one’s stomach, sending him sprawling. The second swung a curved blade—too slow. I ducked, driving my elbow into his ribs before sweeping his legs out from under him.

I spun, my playing cards whistling through the air, cutting a third man’s sleeve as he reached for a crossbow. He yelped, staggering back.

The Broker hadn’t moved.

He was watching. Studying.

His eyes flicked to my weapons, to my stance. “You’re no common thug,” he murmured.

“Neither are you,” I countered.

More guards stord in, drawn by the commotion. I counted four. Ard, trained. Not amateurs.

I exhaled. Fine. If they wanted a fight—

I’d give them one.

The first ca in with a dagger strike. I parried, twisting his wrist before slamming my palm into his face. Blood spattered as he fell.

The second swung a club. I dodged sideways, letting it slam into the floor, then drove a playing card into his exposed neck. A gurgle—he collapsed.

The third and fourth hesitated.

Smart.

But not smart enough.

With a flick of my fingers, my remaining cards flew, slicing fabric, cutting skin—not fatal, but crippling. They dropped their weapons, clutching wounds.

Silence fell.

The only sounds were the ragged breathing of the wounded and the slow, deliberate footsteps of The Broker as he rose from his seat.

His gaze t mine.

And then—he smiled.

“Well,” he said, dusting off his robes. “You have my attention.”

I tightened my grip on my dagger. “Then start talking.”

The Broker exhaled, tilting his head. “I might. But tell first…”

He leaned forward.

“Who sent you?”

I kept my expression blank. “No one.”

He chuckled. “Liar. But no matter. I know why you’re here.”

He glanced at the fallen n, unconcerned.

“The noble dispute. The assassination attempt. You want to know who orchestrated it.”

I said nothing.

The Broker’s amber eyes glead. “Alright. I’ll tell you.”

A pause.

“But it’s going to cost you.”

I frowned. “Cost what?”

His smile widened.

“A job.”

I felt my heartbeat slow. This just got complicated.