Fast.Professionally fast. Shadow-trained fast.
The figure was a blur of black that seemed to fold space, crossing half the hall in a heartbeat.
Another throwing star flew—not at Esumi this time, but at Yoshi.
He was the divine guardian.
He was the true threat.
I moved without thinking, knocking Yoshi aside.
A star grazed my upper arm, hot pain blooming but shallow.
I came up slashing with my knife at where the assassin would be.
Had been.
My blade met only air.
The assassin had already moved, flowing around my strike.
Akunaiappeared in his hand.
I barely got my knife up in time to deflect it. The impact jarred my arm, sent shock waves up to my shoulder.
The shadow was strong and skilled.
Just like me.
The realization slammed into me. This wasn’t some desperate rebel or hired thug. This was someone fromtheorganization, someone who’d been through the same training, learned the same movements, sworn the same oaths.
Someone who should be onourside.
Esumi attacked from the other side, his dagger low, going for kidneys.
The assassin spun, deflecting with a short sword that appeared from nowhere.
I knew that draw. Sakurai had taught me that draw.
The blade sang as it met Esumi’s dagger, metal on metal echoing through the empty hall.
They exchanged three strikes, fast and precise.
Esumi was good—better than I’d seen in the practice ring—but the assassin was better.
Shadow-trained better, each movement economical, perfect, and deadly.
Then Yoshi moved.
Not moved.Blurred.
One moment he was behind me. The next he was across the hall, tearing an ancient sword from its mounting on the wall. The blade was ornate and probably hadn’t tasted blood in a century or more. In Yoshi’s hands, powered by divine force, it became something else entirely.
He crossed the distance faster than I could track.
The assassin barely got their guard up.
The impact of their blades shook the floor, rattled windows, sent decorative urns tumbling.Mahouradiated throughout the hall, Yoshi its epicenter.
