The man froze.
Sothing flickered in his eyes—nervousness, doubt, and a little sweat.
Asthia didn't blink. She leaned in just enough to make him uncomfortable. Her voice was calm, but sharp.
"Do you really want to be the one who says no after what happened at the Birchwine Banquet? Because I'll be happy to put your na at the top of the next report. In bold."
Reth stood behind her, arms crossed.
He didn't speak, didn't move.
His face was mostly hidden by his hood, but the way he stood made it clear—one wrong word and things might turn violent.
The man swallowed hard. "Alright, alright—no need for threats. I've got the backup log. Just... give a second."
"Take it," Asthia said, checking her gloves like she had all the ti in the world.
The man fumbled through a ssy folder. The papers were bent, damp, and barely held together.
After half a minute, he pulled out a folded list and handed it over like it might hurt him.
Asthia took it with two fingers, like it was sothing dirty.
"I'll be keeping this."
"That's not standard proced—"
She shut him up with just a look behind the hood.
Not angry. Not scary.
Just tired—like she'd already thought of five ways he could end up face-down in a ditch for wasting her ti.
The man gave in. "Fine."
Asthia turned away, flipping the parchnt once between her fingers.
"Pleasure doing business."
They walked two alleys in silence before Reth finally said,
"Damn. You didn't even need to threaten him."
"Didn't have to," she said, reading the list. "Fear doesn't always need a blade."
"You are a blade."
She smiled slightly. "Was that flattery? Careful. I might start thinking you're actually useful."
Reth grunted. "Be serious. How are we going to sneak in like this? Anyone who sees even a flash of your silver hair will know you. And ? I've got a bounty worth fifty thousand crowns. These cheap hoods won't help."
Asthia didn't even look up. "Mm."
"No, really," he went on. "One wrong step and we're both dead."
She finally glanced at him. A small, sly smile ford on her lips. Then—
She giggled. Just once. Quiet and sharp.
"Oh," she said, clearly amused, "you'll love the solution."
Reth narrowed his eyes. "What solution?"
She turned back to the list, saying nothing.
"Hey. What solution?"
"I'm not telling."
"What do you an you're not—Asthia."
She picked up the pace.
"Asthia."
Still walking.
"You're enjoying this way too much."
Asthia giggled again.
Reth let out a grunt. "You're a nace."
They stepped into a wider street—wet from the rain, still busy. Tents hugged the walls, carts rolled by, and voices echoed as people haggled over prices.
Then—suddenly—a bump.
A man in silk robes stumbled back, arms flailing.
"Watch it, mutt!" the young man snapped.
He looked about twenty. Wore red and gold robes, too many rings, and not a single mark that showed he'd earned any of it.
Reth said nothing.
The noble's eyes shifted—then locked onto the hooded figure beside him.
A slow, smug smile ford.
"Oh? What's this?" he sneered, stepping closer.
"You hiding soone under there? A servant? A thief? Or just a bedwarr trying to play dress-up?"
Reth didn't react.
But Asthia did. Only her voice.
Low. Calm. Annoyed.
"Reth."
That was enough.
He moved.
One punch.
No warning. No show.
Crunch.
The man's jaw cracked under the blow. His head snapped to the side—teeth flew, blood sprayed like a burst wineskin.
He dropped like a sack of silk and sha.
The whole street went silent.
A child dropped their bread. A cart creaked. Soone whispered a prayer.
Gasps spread like wind through dry leaves.
Two guards flinched. One grabbed a halberd. The other reached for his sword.
Too slow.
Reth had already drawn.
So fast, the blade didn't even make a sound.
The halberd guard charged.
Reth stepped aside.
One clean slash.
The sword cut through armor and flesh like it was nothing.
The man dropped, screaming, blood soaking through his mail.
The second guard turned to run.
Big mistake.
Reth flipped his grip—then threw the sword.
It spun once, caught the air, and slamd into the man's back.
He hit the fruit cart and stayed there—pinned, still.
Everything stopped.
Silence all around.
The noble brat groaned on the ground, face covered in blood and broken teeth.
Reth walked over.
Pulled his sword from the wood with a loud crack.
No one moved.
Asthia let out a sigh, annoyed.
"Great. I didn't even get to finish the insult."
Reth glanced at her.
Asthia looked down at the bleeding noble.
Then scanned the crowd.
"Anyone else want to test their title today?"
No one moved.
Reth slid his sword back into its sheath—slow and steady.
Click.
Asthia turned.
"Let's go."
And just like that—they left.
Behind them: silence, blood, and a mory Redhill wouldn't forget.
They had barely taken ten steps when the brat found his voice again.
Wheezing. Coughing through blood. But loud enough to ruin everything.
"You—you don't know who I am!" he shouted, spitting red onto the road.
"I'm the City Lord's son! You're dead! You hear ? Dead!"
Asthia stopped.
She didn't turn.
Reth sighed.
Long. Deep.
Then he turned around.
The noble was slumped against a barrel, soaked in blood and pride. His face swollen, eyes wild.
"I'll have your heads!" he scread.
"You touch and think you'll live? My father will hang your corpses from the gate!"
Reth walked up.
No sword.
Just footsteps.
The first kick hit the chest—thud—knocking the air right out of him.
The boy gasped.
Reth didn't stop.
Second kick—into the ribs.
Third—right to the jaw.
Crack.
The street went quiet again.
Then a fourth.
Fifth.
The sound of boots on bone.
No more shouting. No more threats. Just pain.
Each hit louder than the last.
By the sixth, the brat stopped making noise.
Just twitched.
Reth stood over him, calm. Breathing steady.
Blood spread beneath the boy's face.
His eyes stared blank. His mouth barely moved.
Unconscious.
Quiet.
No longer a noble.
Just another broken body on the ground.
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