Chapter 89: The Stollen Clan’s Demise

“T-The King?!” I exclaimed, startled. I could hardly believe Diane knew the King like that. That was a high-level character background, not something you would expect from a character who died beheaded in a dark cave without even a speech.

“Back then, I hadn’t killed anyone yet. I was about to receive my initiation, but right before that my life was hanging by a thread. The man standing before me, wearing a luxurious lion’s pelt, would decide whether I lived or died. I still don’t know why, but he decided to spare me. The King brought me to the castle and told me to take care of his daughter. Even today, I can’t believe it.”

…

I lived in a village in the mountains, on the borders of Ashia. Because the frontier region was far less populated and the terrain made invasion very difficult, it was the perfect location for the Stollen clan’s base, which carried the name of the main family.

People from a lineage of Awakened tend to be born Awakened, but in the Stollen family, for centuries only Awakened of the Assassin class had been born; otherwise, the children would be born as ordinary humans.

That isn’t a justification for the path my ancestors chose. Even with this latent talent within our family, an honorable path could still have been created if that power had been used for good. But that didn’t happen, and the story of the Stollen family was marked by a trail of blood, working on a myriad of assassination jobs throughout its story.

I was the daughter of the clan leader, and since my birth my destiny had been clear. My father was considered the best Assassin, and it was only natural that his daughter would either follow in his footsteps or give birth to an heir worthy of the family.

At first, they simply observed whether I had any aptitude for the job, and once that was confirmed, my training began.

From the age of three, I spent two years training in the mountains, just to develop physical strength and balance at such a young age. Once I had mastered the basics, my parents decided it was time for my initiation.

My mother was thrilled that I seemed to be some kind of genius, being more skilled than the other children. However, I never felt what people called motherly love coming from her. Like the other children, I was raised to serve as a tool for taking other people’s lives.

We were trained not to get attached to people outside of our village when we were on a mission, but the same rule applied within the village.

The adults—and even the children—trusted no one except their own nuclear family, and everyone coveted a higher position in the hierarchy. It was a constant struggle to see who could pull the rug out from under whom.

Violence inside the village was forbidden. This was a rule my ancestors had created to keep a village of assassins under control, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. Sometimes someone would suddenly die in an “accident” while on a mission, a couple would be found dead in their home without anyone knowing who had poisoned them, and there were many other cases in which the violence was more discreet.

It pains me to say it, but in my short life I had already grown used to that kind of hellish environment—a life of blood and lies, where the only time I could feel at peace was when I was alone, looking up at the blue sky.

The night before my fifth birthday, when I was supposed to kill someone for the first time, I was looking at the full moon, admiring how pale and clear its glow was, when I noticed something different flying across it.

At first, I thought it was a bird. Then I realized there were several of them, crossing the mountains toward the village in our valley. As they got closer, I noticed that the creatures were far too large to be mere birds.

“Wyverns!!” the guard on watch shouted.

In no time, the monsters—ridden by soldiers dressed in silver armor atop those pale serpents—began raining fire down on the village.

Although we knew our clan was looked down upon by the King, we had believed that the natural protection of the terrain would be enough to prevent an attack. But that was a mistake. In a single night, an army of wyverns destroyed the village of the Stollen clan.

My parents escaped, but I ended up being left behind. Part of the clan had been killed while trying to fight back against the assault, so when I saw the soldiers, I raised my hands to show I had no intention of fighting.

At the time, I couldn’t feel any empathy for the members of the village who were being killed. There were no real bonds between us—no friendship or brotherly affection—so their deaths felt as natural as an insect being devoured by a spider.

The soldiers hesitated to kill me. Apparently, they were reluctant to kill a child, so they took me to their leader to decide what to do with me.

I was brought before two men. The leader of the offensive was the one the soldiers addressed respectfully; his ornate clothing clearly showed his high position in the hierarchy.

“Your Majesty, what should we do with this girl?” one of the soldiers asked.

For a moment, I noticed that his eyes seemed surprised to see me, but as if life had already hardened his heart, he steadied his gaze in a fraction of a second so his soldiers wouldn’t notice.

The King then asked me, “Have your hands ever been stained with blood, little one?”

“Never in my life, Your Majesty,” I replied respectfully, though without emotion. I reacted the way I had been trained to. I didn’t want to die—not there.

The King thought for a moment and then asked me in a firm voice, “And is that what you want for your life?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty. It’s the only thing I was ever taught, but I don’t know if I truly wish to do it.”

The King gave a small smile, though his voice remained firm. “Then come with me and serve me in my palace.”

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