I didn't sleep. How could I? The weight of my decisions pressed down on like a mountain, crushing any hope of rest.
Dawn found sitting at the small window of our hideout, watching the city slowly co to life. The early morning fog clung to Veridia City's spires, shrouding the towering buildings in mist. Sowhere in that sprawling tropolis, Isabelle was being held captive.
My Isabelle. Suffering. Waiting.
The thought of her in the Guild's clutches made my blood boil. Every fiber of my being scread to storm their headquarters imdiately. But that would be suicide—and it wouldn't save her.
"You look like hell."
I turned to see The Man with the Mustache standing in the doorway, his ridiculous facial hair sohow still perfectly grood despite the early hour.
"I made my decision," I said, my voice rough from the sleepless night.
His eyebrows shot up. "And?"
"I know where to find the mask."
His eyes widened with excitent. "Excellent! Where is it?"
"Not so fast." I stood, crossing my arms. "I have conditions."
He frowned. "Conditions?"
"I'll tell you where the mask is, but first, you need to gather the materials to control a male corpse."
"But—"
"Only one," I continued firmly. "Not both. The female stays untouched."
His mustache twitched with irritation. "That significantly reduces our defensive capabilities."
"Those are my terms."
He studied for a long mont, clearly calculating his options. "Very well. One corpse it is. But why not retrieve the mask now?"
"Because I don't fully trust you." The words ca out bluntly. "Prove you can do what you claim first."
"Fair enough." He sighed dramatically. "The materials for the ritual are... rare. It could take ti."
"How much ti?"
"Anywhere from one to six months."
I exploded. "Six months? Isabelle could be dead by then!"
"I said 'up to' six months," he corrected hastily, backing away from my anger. "With my connections, likely much sooner. But quality materials are essential—unless you want a rampaging corpse instead of a guardian."
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. This was the best compromise I could manage—protecting Clara while still moving forward with rescuing Isabelle.
"One month," I said firmly. "You have one month to gather what you need."
He nodded quickly. "I'll do my best."
"And one more thing." I stepped closer, letting him feel the weight of my power. "If anything happens to Clara while I'm gone—anything at all—there won't be a place in this world where you can hide from ."
"Understood." He swallowed hard. "Crystal clear."
I watched him gather his belongings, his movents quick and efficient despite his usually flamboyant deanor. He paused at the door.
"Be careful, Liam," he said, surprising with what seed like genuine concern. "The Guild won't take last night's humiliation lightly."
With that, he was gone, leaving alone with my thoughts and growing sense of unease. Had I made the right choice? Clara's safety for Isabelle's rescue? The mask was powerful—dangerously so—and I was placing its secret in the hands of a man I didn't fully trust.
But what choice did I have?
---
Across the city, The Warrior's Scroll was selling out faster than it could be printed. The headline scread in bold letters:
"BLACK-ROBED TERROR STRIKES AGAIN: GUILD AUCTION IN RUINS!"
Darnell Bradford, heir to the Bradford Trading Company, slamd the scroll down on his breakfast table, spilling his tea.
"This is outrageous!" he sputtered to his companions. "How can one man infiltrate the Guild's most secure event and escape unscathed?"
Blaise Rostova, daughter of the Northern Territories diplomat, picked up the scroll with delicate fingers. "They say he killed twelve guards with a single movent."
"Exaggeration," scoffed Darnell.
"Is it?" Blaise's eyes narrowed. "My father's sources confirm the death toll was even higher."
The third person at the table, Cassius Montgory, remained silent, thodically cutting his food into precise portions. As son of the city's military commander, he had access to information others didn't.
"The Guild is humiliated," he finally said, his voice low. "And a humiliated beast is the most dangerous kind."
"What are they doing about it?" Darnell demanded.
Cassius t his gaze evenly. "They've called in the black and gold robes."
Silence fell over the table. Even Darnell, with all his bluster, paled slightly.
"All of them?" Blaise whispered.
Cassius nodded once.
The black and gold robes—the Guild's elite assassins. Rarely seen, never survived. Their deploynt ant one thing: the Guild was done playing gas.
---
In his private chambers at the Guild headquarters, Erson Hols sat in ditation, eight scrolls arranged in a perfect circle around him. Each scroll bore the na of a black and gold robe assassin.
These were his personal selections—the best of the best. Masters of death who operated in the shadows, answering only to him.
He opened his eyes as Julian entered the room, head bowed in deference.
"Vice President Hols," Julian said, his voice strained. "President Bancroft requests an update on your progress."
Erson's lips curled in disdain. Julian had disgraced himself at the auction, fleeing while his n died. The fact that he still walked free was testant to his family connections, nothing more.
"Tell President Bancroft that I've selected my team." Erson rose smoothly to his feet. "The hunt begins today."
Julian's eyes widened at the sight of the scrolls. "All eight? For one man?"
"This is no ordinary target," Erson replied coldly. "The black-robed man has made fools of us repeatedly. That ends now."
"Of course." Julian hesitated. "And... what of the Ashworth girl?"
Erson's expression hardened. "What about her?"
"Should we accelerate the extraction process? With this threat looming—"
"The extraction proceeds as scheduled," Erson cut him off. "Her blood is too valuable to risk with hasty procedures." ThisispartofaseriesfromMyVirtualLibraryEmpire(*).
Julian bowed and retreated, but Erson could see the doubt in his eyes. More weakness.
Once alone, Erson unrolled the first scroll, revealing the detailed profile of his lead assassin. A master tracker known for never losing his prey.
"Find him," Erson whispered to the portrait. "Find Liam Knight."
---
The Warrior's Scroll continued to spread the news throughout the day, each edition more sensational than the last. By evening, the entire city was buzzing with speculation and fear.
I moved through the shadows, keeping my head down as I gathered supplies for what was to co. Every corner I turned, I heard whispers of the "black-robed man" and his assault on the Guild. The stories grew more outlandish with each retelling.
I slipped into a small teahouse, choosing a corner table with my back to the wall. The place was crowded with rchants and laborers, all discussing the sa topic.
"They say he walked through walls like a ghost," one man whispered.
"I heard he killed twenty guards with just his eyes," another replied.
"My cousin works for the Guild," a third joined in. "Says they've called in the black and gold robes."
The teahouse fell silent at these words. Even I felt a chill run down my spine. The black and gold robes were legendary—not just assassins, but executioners for the Guild's highest-profile targets.
I sipped my tea slowly, processing this information. If the Guild had deployed their elite killers, they were taking the threat seriously. Very seriously.
As I left the teahouse, a town crier was announcing the latest news from a street corner.
"Extraordinary eting of the Guild council called! Vice President Erson Hols takes charge of manhunt! Rewards offered for information leading to capture of the black-robed criminal!"
I pulled my hood lower, quickening my pace. Things were escalating faster than I'd anticipated. I needed to move quickly now—find Isabelle and get her out before the entire might of the Guild descended upon us.
But first, I needed to check on Clara one last ti.
---
In the grand assembly hall of the Veridia City Martial Guild, Erson Hols stood on the raised platform, facing the gathered masters and senior disciples. His presence commanded attention—tall, imposing, with eyes that seed to pierce through flesh and bone.
"The events of last night are unacceptable," he began, his voice carrying to every corner of the vast chamber. "Our security was breached. Our reputation damaged. Our strength questioned."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"This ends now." Erson's voice hardened. "I have deployed all eight black and gold robes with a single mission—find this criminal and bring him to justice."
The murmurs grew louder. All eight black and gold robes? Such a deploynt was unprecedented.
"So of you may wonder why such resources are being dedicated to one man," Erson continued. "Let be clear—this is not just about one intrusion. This individual has repeatedly challenged the Guild's authority. He has stolen from us. Murdered our people. Attacked our allies."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Most dangerously, he possesses knowledge that threatens everything we have built."
The hall fell silent.
"I will not rest until he is captured." Erson's eyes swept the room. "And neither will you. Every disciple, every master, every resource at our disposal will be focused on this task."
He reached beneath his robes and withdrew a small, ornate box. The sight of it caused several senior masters to gasp.
"To ensure success," Erson declared, holding the box high, "I will apply to President Bancroft for the Martial Saint Weapon! I will ensure that he is killed at the first available opportunity!"
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