"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin"

The silence stretched between us, heavy and tense. The Broker’s smile remained, but I could see the wheels turning behind his amber eyes. He was no fool—he knew I wasn’t here just for conversation.

Still, he leaned back, utterly at ease despite the bodies littering the floor around us.

“The job is simple,” he said. “For someone like you, at least.”

I tilted my head, keeping my expression neutral. “Enlighten me.”

He folded his hands. “There’s a noble. A very problematic one. House Draymoor.”

That name sent a flicker of recognition through me. Draymoor. A powerful merchant family with deep ties to the underworld. Ruthless, cunning, and filthy rich.

“They’ve been making moves in the city,” The Broker continued, his voice silky smooth. “Deals that are dangerous for certain… interested parties. Someone wants them handled. Permanently.”

Assassination. Of course.

I leaned against the table, feigning interest. “And why should I care?”

He chuckled. “Because the pay is astronomical. Enough to set you up for life.”

I raised a brow. “And why don’t you just hire your own people?”

The Broker sighed. “Unfortunately, House Draymoor has protections against my usual methods. But you…” He gestured toward me, eyes gleaming. “You’re something special. And let’s be honest—you didn’t come here just to ask questions, did you?”

I smirked. “No. But it’s cute that you think I’d take a job without knowing who’s behind the hit.”

The Broker’s expression didn’t falter. “I thought you might say that.”

He slid a folded parchment across the table.

“The details. Take a look. If you’re interested, we can discuss payment.”

I reached for the paper—but in reality, I was already weaving my magic.

The Illusion That Feels Real

Illusion magic is a delicate art. Most casters can create minor deceptions—disguises, false images, fleeting mirages. But my illusions were different.

They didn’t just look real. They felt real.

Sound. Smell. Touch. Even the way emotions played out within the spell—I controlled it all.

As I unfolded the parchment, I let the spell seep into his mind. A subtle whisper in his thoughts, an imperceptible shift in his perception of reality.

To The Broker, nothing changed.

He still saw me reading the contract. Still believed I was considering his offer.

He would feel the wooden texture of the table beneath his fingertips. Hear the distant echoes of footsteps outside the warehouse. Even the damp scent of the harbor air would remain untouched.

Except now… he would think he was still in control.

And that was his biggest mistake.

The Truth Slips Free

I played my part well. My fingers tapped absently against the parchment as if considering. Then, I let out a soft chuckle.

“This job,” I mused. “Sounds personal.”

The Broker tilted his head. “All business is personal, in the end.”

I let the illusion tighten its grip.

To him, time continued as normal. The conversation unfolded in a way that seemed natural. He wouldn’t notice the falsehood woven around him.

Not yet.

I sighed, feigning reluctance. “If I do this, I need information. Who put the hit on Draymoor?”

The Broker hesitated.

My magic pushed just a little harder.

“House Veylin,” he said at last. “They want Draymoor gone before he completes a trade deal with the Western territories.”

Veylin. Another noble house. One that had been oddly quiet in recent months.

I filed that information away. “And what’s in it for you?”

The Broker smirked. “Let’s just say House Draymoor owes me debts they refuse to pay. Killing them off clears the slate.”

Typical. Nobles using assassins to settle debts they couldn’t handle themselves.

I gave him a slow nod. “Fine. I’ll take the job.”

And just like that—the illusion ended.

The Broker blinked.

His eyes widened in confusion as he realized—too late—he had never actually handed me the contract.

He had never even spoken to me about House Veylin.

His mind tried to process the truth.

I smiled. “Thanks for the information.”

And then, before he could react, I slashed my dagger across his throat.

The End of The Broker

Blood sprayed across the table.

The Broker gurgled, hands flying to his neck as he stumbled back. His amber eyes, once so full of cunning, were now filled with shock.

I watched dispassionately as he sank to the floor, his silk robes darkening with crimson.

His mouth moved soundlessly. Maybe he was trying to curse me. Maybe he was just begging for more air.

It didn’t matter.

I wiped my blade clean on his sleeve.

Footsteps outside. His men would notice something was wrong soon.

I had what I came for. Time to disappear.

With a flick of my wrist, my playing cards whirled through the air, slicing the lanterns.

Darkness swallowed the warehouse as I slipped out through the second-story window, vanishing into the night.

Returning to the Guild

By the time I reached the Assassin’s Guild, the city was already stirring awake. Merchants setting up stalls. Guards patrolling the streets. Another day, another set of secrets being bought and sold.

I passed through the concealed entrance of the guild, nodding at a few familiar faces before heading straight for the upper chambers.

The Guildmaster was waiting.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Well?”

I tossed a bloodstained coin onto his desk. “The Broker’s dead.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“House Veylin is behind the hit on Draymoor. They want to stop a trade deal.”

The Guildmaster exhaled. “Veylin, huh? Those bastards never play fair.”

I smirked. “Neither do I.”

He chuckled. “Good work. I’ll have our informants dig deeper. In the meantime, get some rest.”

I turned to leave—then paused.

There was a weight in the air. A tension I hadn’t noticed before.

I glanced back. The Guildmaster was still smiling. But his fingers drummed lightly against his desk.

He knew something he wasn’t saying.

I narrowed my eyes. “What else?”

A pause.

Then—

“There’s been a bounty placed on you.”

I stiffened. “By who?”

His smile faded.

“House Draymoor.”