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

The dim candlelight flickered against the aged stone walls of the Guildmaster’s office as I stood before his desk, arms crossed. The air smelled of parchment, old ink, and faint traces of blood—a mix of history and violence that clung to the Assassin’s Guild like a second skin.

The Guildmaster leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes watching me with an expression that was far too amused for my liking.

“So,” I said, narrowing my gaze. “You’re telling me the king himself handed this job to you?”

He smirked. “That’s what I said.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Why would the King of Eldoria personally request that an assassin’s guild deal with a rogue mage? That sounds like something his knights should handle.”

The Guildmaster exhaled, tapping his fingers against the desk. “They’re busy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “With what?”

He chuckled, leaning forward. “Do you really think the kingdom only has one enemy? The knights are handling… other matters.” His gaze sharpened. “And this is no ordinary rogue mage.”

I tilted my head slightly, curiosity sparking. “How bad are we talking?”

His smirk vanished. “He wiped out an entire village. Men, women, children—slaughtered without mercy. Burned the land to ash.”

A slow silence settled between us.

I tapped my fingers against my arm. “Any idea why he did it?”

The Guildmaster exhaled, rubbing his temple. “No one knows. Some say he was a war mage who went insane. Others claim he found something he wasn’t supposed to and decided to erase all witnesses. What matters is that he’s out there, still alive, and the King wants his head on a pike.” He pushed a parchment toward me. “That’s where you come in.”

I glanced at the paper, scanning the details. Name: Azrael Thorn. Location: Unknown, last seen near the Ruined Temple of Vel’Drath in the eastern mountains.

“Bring back his head,” the Guildmaster said simply.

I folded the parchment and slid it into my belt. “I’ll handle it.”

Then, just as I turned to leave—

“You know,” he mused, tapping his chin. “I figured I should send my best for this one.”

I frowned. “That’s the only reason you gave this to me?”

He smirked. “Well, that and I thought of you.”

I gave him a deadpan stare. “I don’t like you like that.”

The Guildmaster burst out laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

For a solid five seconds, I just watched as he clutched the desk, gasping for breath.

“Gods—Seraphis—you didn’t—” He wheezed. “I didn’t take you for a comedian.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re wasting my time.”

He wiped his eyes, still grinning. “Go on, then. Let’s see if you come back with another trophy for the guild.”

Tracking the Rogue Mage

I left the guild that evening, donning my newly crafted White Raven attire. The fabric moved with me, silent as the wind, the white raven insignia glinting faintly in the moonlight.

Tracking a mage wasn’t the same as tracking an ordinary target. Mages left traces.

I started at the last known village—or what was left of it.

The ground was scorched black, the buildings nothing more than charred skeletons of wood and stone. Ash clung to the air, the scent of burnt flesh still faintly lingering.

I crouched down, running my fingers through the earth. There were no survivors. Not a single soul.

But there were signs of movement.

Footsteps. Deep imprints. Someone had walked through here recently.

I followed the tracks into the woods, moving swiftly, my senses sharp. The deeper I went, the more the air shifted. It was thicker. Heavier.

Magic.

I could feel it—like a faint vibration against my skin. Residual energy.

The rogue mage was close.

I climbed onto the higher ground, perching myself on a thick tree branch. From here, I could see the faint glow of blue firelight flickering in the distance.

Bingo.

The Ruined Temple of Vel’Drath.

I narrowed my eyes, pulling out one of my metal playing cards. With a flick of my wrist, I sent it up into the air, closing my eyes and focusing.

The moment my mind connected to it, I could see through its perspective.

It soared through the night sky, drifting above the temple ruins. The mage was there, seated before a blue-flamed brazier,

Azrael Thorn.

I counted four other figures nearby—mercenaries, likely hired for protection.

Too bad they wouldn’t live long.

I flicked my wrist, and the card dove.

Slice.

A mercenary dropped, his throat slit before he even knew what hit him.

The others reacted, drawing weapons—too late.

Another card. Another kill.

Within seconds, the mercenaries were dead.

The mage stood slowly.

“You’re an assassin.” His voice was smooth, eerily calm.

I leaped down from the tree, landing in a crouch. Silent. Deadly.

His piercing golden eyes met mine. “And here I thought they’d send the knights.”

“They were busy,” I said simply, straightening. “So they sent me instead.”

He chuckled. “How considerate of them.”

Then, without warning—he attacked.

A wave of blue fire erupted from his hands, tearing toward me.

I moved instantly.

Ducking. Rolling. The heat seared the air where I had just been.

He moved fast. But I was faster.

I sent three cards flying. Two he blocked with a sudden barrier of flame. The third nicked his cheek.

His eyes flickered with amusement. “Not bad.”

I wasn’t here to impress him.

I flicked my hand again—this time, the cards multiplied. Ten. Twenty. Fifty.

His smirk faded.

They rained down like a storm.

He raised his hands to conjure another flame, but my fastest card had already sliced through his fingers.

He screamed.

I didn’t stop.

I closed the distance, flipping over his next attack, landing behind him—blade to his throat.

“You should’ve stayed hidden,” I murmured.

With one swift motion, I sliced.

Blood spilled, his body crumbling into the dirt.

I crouched down, gripping his hair. With one precise motion, I severed his head from his shoulders.

The blue flames around us flickered… then died.

I stood, wiping the blood from my blade.

Job complete.

Back to the Guild

When I walked into the Guildhall with Azrael’s head in hand, the room went silent.

The Guildmaster, seated at his usual spot, let out a slow whistle.

“Well,” he mused. “That was fast.”

I tossed the head onto his desk.

He glanced at it, then back at me. “Was he as dangerous as they said?”

I met his gaze. “Not to me.”

The Guildmaster chuckled. “I should’ve bet money on you finishing that fast.”

I smirked. “Next time, put your gold where your mouth is.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “Welcome back, White Raven.”