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

The air inside the Assassin’s Guild was thick with the scent of blood, ale, and whispered secrets.

I sat in the dimly lit hall, sharpening my blades, when the Guildmaster called for me again.

Another mission. Another target.

This time, it was a fortress.

He spread out a crumpled map on the table, his fingers tapping against a black mark near the borderlands.

“Blackthorn Keep,” he said. “Used to belong to a noble house. Now, it’s a bandit stronghold.”

I examined the map. The castle was half-ruined, its outer walls crumbling, but the inner keep was intact. A perfect defensive position.

“How many?” I asked.

“Fifty men. Maybe more. Their leader—Gregor the Red.” The Guildmaster’s lips curled in distaste. “A war criminal turned bandit lord. A sadistic bastard.”

“And the job?”

“Kill him.” He leaned back. “Kill them all, if you can.”

I smiled.

I could.

Into the Ruins

The journey to Blackthorn Keep took two days. The road was dangerous, crawling with patrols and scouts.

But I was a shadow.

By the time I reached the outskirts of the fortress, it was night.

The castle loomed ahead, its broken towers stabbing at the sky. Torches lined the walls, casting flickering shadows over the ruined stone.

From my vantage point on a nearby ridge, I counted the sentries.

Six on the walls. Three in the watchtowers. More at the gates.

I exhaled slowly. Easy targets.

I reached into my coat, pulling out a deck of cards. Not ordinary playing cards—my weapons.

I flicked one into the air, then another, and another. They rose, catching the faint moonlight as they hovered, spinning.

I closed my eyes.

Focused.

And then—

I saw through them.

The Sniper in the Dark

The world shifted. My vision no longer came from my own eyes but from the floating cards.

From above, I had a perfect view of the fortress. Every enemy. Every weak point.

I took a breath—then I struck.

The first card whipped through the air, slicing across a sentry’s throat before he could scream.

The second. A clean shot to the forehead of a watchtower guard.

The third. A razor-thin cut across the jugular of a man standing near the gate.

One by one, they fell.

By the time the last tower guard collapsed, the fortress was already losing its eyes.

And they had no idea.

I moved.

Silent Infiltration

With the outer guards eliminated, I slipped through the ruins, sticking to the shadows.

Inside the walls, bandits gathered around fires, drinking, laughing.

They didn’t know death was already among them.

I climbed the stonework, reaching a balcony overlooking the keep’s main hall.

Gregor the Red sat inside, a massive man with brutal scars and wild eyes. He feasted like a king of filth, surrounded by his men.

I narrowed my eyes.

Then, I dropped two more cards into the air.

The moment they reached height—

I struck.

A Storm of Blades

The first card pierced a bandit’s eye, embedding itself in his skull.

The second ripped through another’s throat.

Screams erupted.

The room exploded into chaos.

I leapt down, landing amidst the panic, blades flashing.

A man swung an axe—I ducked, severing his knee. He fell, shrieking.

Another lunged with a spear—I redirected it, sending it into his ally’s chest.

My cards spun around me, slicing through flesh like whispers of death.

Within moments, half the room was dead.

Gregor the Red roared, grabbing his massive two-handed sword.

“Cowardly bitch!” he bellowed, charging at me.

I smiled.

Let’s dance.

The Fall of Gregor the Red

His blade came down like a hammer, splitting the ground where I had stood seconds before.

I moved—light as air, fast as lightning.

A flick of my wrist—a card slashed his cheek, drawing blood.

He growled. Swung again. Faster. Stronger.

But I was faster.

I danced around his strikes, my playing cards circling like predatory birds.

Then—I saw it.

His mistake.

A heavy swing—too wide, too slow.

I stepped in.

My blade flashed.

His head hit the floor before his body even fell.

Silence.

Then—

The last of his men fled.

I let them run. Let them spread the fear.

Blackthorn Keep belonged to the dead now.

I turned, stepping over Gregor’s corpse, and picked up his severed head.

Time to return to the Guild.