Chapter 129: Playing Dead

Adam danced back, the thrown dagger embedding itself in the wooden wall where his head had been a moment before. The three assassins moved with a fluid, silent synergy that spoke of countless missions fought together.

’They can track through the Deep Camouflage,’ Adam realized, his mind cold and analytical even as his body flowed into motion. ’Their senses, or their gear, are sharp enough to negate it. I’ll have to anticipate, not just hide.’

As the first dagger missed, the second assassin was already there, materializing from a patch of deep shadow to Adam’s right, a short sword thrusting for his ribs. Adam didn’t dodge. He pivoted, letting the blade scrape against the hardened, scale-like skin of his forearm with a sound like a file on stone. The assassin’s eyes widened marginally behind his mask at the lack of purchase.

“Too light,” Adam taunted, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t they feed you properly in the Duke’s service?”

The assassin disengaged swiftly, melting back. But before he could regroup, Lilith, who had been a silent spectator, acted. Her fingers twitched almost imperceptibly. From the shadows near the retreating assassin’s feet, nearly invisible strands of Sovereign Silk shot up, not to ensnare, but to tangle and trip. At the same instant, she cast a minor psychic illusion—a brief, disorienting flare of phantom movement from the opposite direction.

The assassin, already off-balance from his failed strike and the sudden resistance at his feet, instinctively flinched away from the illusionary threat, his footing faltering completely.

The third assassin, observing from a distance, saw his comrade’s staggered movement and cursed under his breath. ’An illusionist?I didn’t expect them to be able to use such advanced mental techniques.’ He made a sharp, cutting gesture with his hand, muttering a quick incantation. A pulse of greyish light washed over the tangled assassin, a Dispel Magic effect meant to break enchantments and clear the mind.

The effect shattered Lilith’s simple illusion instantly, and the Sovereign Silk lost some of its magical rigidity, allowing the tangled assassin to tear free with a grunt. But the momentary distraction was all Adam needed.

As the third assassin finished his dispelling chant, Adam was already upon him. He didn’t use a flashy skill. He simply closed the distance with a speed that blurred his camouflaged form and delivered a devastating, closed-fist punch to the man’s sternum.

There was a sickening crunch. The assassin’s eyes bulged, all the air leaving his lungs in a soundless wheeze as he was lifted off his feet and slammed into the alley wall, slumping down, unconscious or worse.

Lilith didn’t give them a moment to breathe. As the two remaining assassins regrouped, a wave of psychic pressure, sharp and invasive, slammed into their minds. Mind Spike wasn’t a visible attack, but its effect was immediate. Both men staggered, their hands flying to their helmets as a spike of pure mental agony shattered their focus, disrupting their stealth techniques and making their forms flicker erratically.

Adam was already moving. Mirage Cascade turned him into a series of afterimages. One moment he was five paces away, the next he was in front of the disoriented pair, fists swinging in brutal arcs.

The assassins, trained to superhuman levels, reacted on drilled instinct alone. They twisted away, but not cleanly. Adam’s first punch clipped one on the shoulder, spinning him around with the sound of crunching bone. The second kick aimed at the other’s ribs was narrowly avoided, the assassin bending backward impossibly far before rolling away, his breathing ragged.

’We can’t win this,’ the wounded assassin thought, pain and clarity mixing in a cold rush of fear. He shot a look at his companion. ’We need to disengage. Now!’

The other gave a sharp, almost imperceptible nod of agreement. They were outmatched.

“You think I’ll let you run?” Adam’s voice was a low growl as he closed in again, his crimson eyes glinting in the dark. He raised a hand, dark energy beginning to coalesce around it for a finishing blow.

CLANG!

A massive, two-handed greatsword intercepted Adam’s strike, the force of the parry sending sparks flying and forcing Adam to take a step back. A towering figure now stood between Adam and the assassins, his armor gleaming dully under the emerging moonlight. It was Gareth, the Captain of the Duke’s Guard.

Behind him, the clatter of boots on cobblestone grew louder as a full squad of the Duke’s soldiers rounded the corner, lanterns held high, flooding the alley with light and surrounding the scene.

“Disturbing the peace of the night is unforgivable,” Gareth boomed, his voice hard and official. He glared at Adam, his gaze sweeping over Lilith’s camouflaged, unsettling form. “Have you not read the town’s ordinances? No brawls, no unsanctioned use of abilities after curfew.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his tone level. “We were apprehending stalkers who were watching our inn. They attacked us first.”

While Adam was speaking, the less-injured assassin saw his chance. With Gareth’s attention on Adam, he bit down on something in his mouth, and his body seemed to dissolve into a pool of inky shadow, sliding rapidly along the ground towards a sewer grate.

“He’s getting away!” one of Gareth’s subordinates yelled, pointing.

“After him! Apprehend that man!” Gareth barked, not taking his eyes off Adam.

Three guards broke off, giving chase. The wounded assassin, however, slumped against the wall, was quickly surrounded and restrained by the remaining soldiers. He offered no resistance, his head bowed.

Adam watched, a frown deepening on his face, as the Duke’s own soldiers efficiently restrained the wounded assassin. The scene was wrong. It felt staged. If these men were Arkwright’s agents, why would his captain be apprehending them so publicly?

“Hold on,” Adam said, stepping forward. “Don’t take him. I need to confirm something first.”

“That is not possible,” Gareth stated, his voice an immovable wall of procedure. “This is now a matter of city security and falls under our jurisdiction. Outsiders should not interfere with an official investigation.”

“We have the right to know!” Adam’s voice grew sharper, edged with a heat that had little to do with fire. “We were the ones being watched, the ones attacked in your supposedly safe town’s streets! I thought a Duke’s territory would be secure against such blatant stalking and assault.”

Gareth’s eyes hardened. “Security is maintained through order and law, not through vigilante actions in dark alleys. Your ’rights’ end where you breach the peace. You will have your statement taken, formally.”

Lilith’s smooth, cool voice cut through the tension. “Captain, surely you can see the inefficiency. We have already incapacitated the threat and can extract the relevant information far more… swiftly. Your bureaucracy will only delay and potentially lose the trail.”

“This is not a debate,” Gareth replied, his patience visibly thinning. “You are guests here, and you will comply with our laws. Your methods hold no authority in Oakrest.”

The back-and-forth continued, Adam’s frustration mounting with each of Gareth’s rigid rebuttals. The red in Adam’s eyes seemed to glow brighter. His muscles coiled subtly, a predator’s instinctive preparation for a fight when words failed. The thought of these men taking away his only lead, his only chance to find out who was targeting them and why, was unbearable.

Gareth noticed the shift instantly. His own hand dropped to the hilt of his greatsword, his stance widening slightly. “Do not be foolish,” he warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “Stand down.”

The standoff was broken by a shout from one of the guards kneeling beside the assassin Adam had punched earlier. “Captain! This one… he’s dead! Bite mark on his gum, some kind of poison capsule.”

Gareth swore under his breath. “Check the other one! Now!” he ordered, though he didn’t take his eyes off Adam.

Another guard roughly checked the restrained assassin. “No pulse, Captain! He’s gone too. Same method, must have crushed it when we grabbed him.”

’Damn it!’ Adam’s fist clenched so hard his knuckles cracked.

Just as the frustration threatened to boil over into action, Lilith’s smooth, melodious voice cut through the tense silence—spoken aloud, for all to hear.

“Captain,” she said, her crimson eyes fixed on the limp form of the second assassin. “Your men’s examination seems… hastily concluded. While his pulse is expertly suppressed to mimic death, the subtle tension in his jaw and the controlled, shallow rhythm of his diaphragm suggest a conscious effort to maintain the facade. A living man pretending to be a corpse. A pathetic attempt, really.”

Every word was crystal clear, meant to be heard. Meant to provoke.

Adam’s gaze snapped to the assassin. Gareth and his guards stared at Lilith, then at the “dead” man.

The assassin, hearing his ruse dissected so clinically and publicly, couldn’t maintain perfect control. A minute, involuntary flinch betrayed him—a tiny tightening around his closed eyes, a hitch in the supposedly non-existent breath.

’She knows! How does she know?!’ Panic screamed in his mind, shattering his discipline.

“He flinched!” one of the younger guards blurted out, pointing.

Gareth’s expression turned thunderous. “Check him again! Now! And ensure he cannot bite down on anything!”

This time, the guards were ruthless. They forced the man’s jaw open, finding and removing a shattered poison capsule from between his back teeth. A firm check at his neck, pressing deeper, found the faint, thready pulse he was desperately trying to stifle.

“He’s alive! He was faking!” the guard confirmed, roughly hauling the now-struggling assassin upright.

In an instant, they had him secured anew—gagged, bound, and thoroughly searched for any other means of self-destruction.

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