The moonlight spilled like silver over the castle spires, painting the ancient stone of Castle Loon in hues of cold serenity. The night air held a slight chill, the kind that lingered after too much silence. Torches crackled along the castle's inner walkways, and soft footsteps echoed through the curved corridors.
Edwin, a man of calm eyes and a hard-won scar that ran along the side of his jaw, walked with his hands folded behind his back. Beside him was Grand Instructor Relshane, a tall woman with snowy white hair pulled into a braid down her back and a sharp, observant gaze that had seen far too much.
Her features were tempting. Two large oval shaped watermelons hanging in front her. They were tightly clothed by her thick fabric. Her ass was as well large. All round and sexy. She graced in her steps.
They walked in silence at first, each step echoing off the marble tiles that had seen centuries of assassin boots tread over them.
Relshane finally broke the silence. "So... I heard about the boy who injured Idran."
Edwin's lips curled into a knowing smile. "You know Idran doesn't get injured by some random kid. Ever."
"And yet one did. That's not something to ignore."
"It wasn't just one," Edwin said, glancing at the moon. "Twenty-four managed to land hits. Some brute force. Some clever tactics. A few used abilities I've never seen from recruits in a long while." He began to think that Derick was right after all.
Relshane whistled. "This batch. I don't know whether to be excited or afraid."
"Both might be appropriate."
They turned a corner, heading down a narrower stone hallway lined with statues of former Elite Assassins. The eyes of the statues seemed to watch them as they passed, a reminder of the legacy the campus demanded of its students.
"The rumors are spreading," Relshane said. "Some of the instructors are already placing bets. There's talk of a girl who cut through a reinforced steel shield, and a boy who predicted the knife rain test with complete accuracy."
"Rumors always make things bigger," Edwin said. "But this time? There's truth in it."
Relshane paused. "And Xero?"
Edwin turned to face her. "He doesn't talk much. But he listens. Studies. Thinks. He saw an opportunity no one else did. Even Idran was impressed. That's rare."
Relshane nodded slowly. "Quiet ones. They're the ones who change things."
As they continued walking, torches flickered along the arched ceiling. The scent of old parchment and polished steel wafted from behind training room doors.
The moon followed them.
They reached the inner sanctum of the administrative wing, and Edwin excused himself, making his way toward the lower chambers.
A narrow spiral staircase led him to a domed room carved into the heart of the mountain upon which Castle Loon stood.
Inside, a massive circular table was covered with scrolls, rune-inscribed tomes, and detailed maps of different assassin institutions across the continent.
Seated there was Orath.
A tall, lean man with gray sideburns, sharp eyes like daggers, and fingers always twitching as if weaving invisible threads.
He was the holder of registration for the Grande Assassin Tournament—one of the most feared and respected men on campus.
"Edwin," Orath said, not looking up from a document he was reading. "You're late."
"I'm exactly on time," Edwin replied, taking the seat opposite.
Orath finally raised his head. "So. You want Castle Loon on top again?"
"We've fallen behind," Edwin admitted. "Last year's performance was... disgraceful. We lost to Mirefall Campus by a hundred points."
"They had a monster in their ranks. Varnax. Half-blood shadow demon. No one could touch him."
Edwin leaned in. "Then this year, we make monsters of our own."
Orath chuckled. "You think you've got them already?"
"We've got the foundation. Twenty-four promising recruits. A dozen with high-performance under lethal stress. Five with raw magic we haven't fully classified."
"And one... with something else."
"A boy named Xero. He isn't so good as to say but he has an instinctive goal and aim. He's not here like others. He's here to be a true assassin. " Edwin said.
Orath nodded slowly. "The whispers say he's a void-type."
"No confirmation yet. But his reactions are instinctive. He doesn't just survive—he calculates."
Orath stood, pacing around the table. "I can prepare the paperwork for the Tournament. But I want assurance. We're not sending rookies to die."
"They'll be ready. I want you to approve a private training track. Choose the best instructors. Push them harder than any class before."
Orath crossed his arms. "That hasn't been done in a decade."
"And last year, Mirefall beat us for the third time in a row."
The room fell silent.
Edwin stood.
"These recruits are different, Orath. They aren't spoiled nobles or war-trained brutes. They've clawed their way through every death trap we threw at them."
"I've seen the stats."
"Then you know."
Orath tapped his fingers on the map. "If we do this, the other campuses will see it as a challenge."
"They already do."
Orath exhaled. "Fine. I'll get the instructors. You get the recruits through the fifth test alive."
Edwin extended a hand.
Orath took it.
The pact was made.
And beneath their feet, the stones of Castle Loon trembled slightly, as if awakening to the ambition of its caretakers.