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

The hunter had returned.

I spotted him at dusk, moving through the underbrush with the same careful precision as before. He wasn’t searching randomly—he knew someone was here.

Which meant I had a decision to make.

He couldn’t be allowed to report back.

Perched in the treetops, I watched as he crouched near the same patch of disturbed earth. His fingers traced the faint impressions of my footsteps, his brows furrowing.

I tensed, fingers brushing over my cards. I could take him out now. A quick, silent strike.

But I hesitated.

Something was off.

His movements were precise—too precise. This wasn’t some random mercenary fumbling through the woods. He knew what he was doing.

A trained hunter.

Which meant he wasn’t alone.

I scanned the area, my senses stretching outward. The rustling of leaves, the subtle shift of the wind—then I caught it.

Another presence.

Two more figures, hidden just out of sight.

So, this was a trap.

I smirked.

Good.

I faded into the shadows, shifting my position silently. If they wanted to play hunter and prey…

They were about to learn what real predators looked like.

I circled wide, approaching from behind. The first man remained focused on the tracks, unaware of my presence. The other two were positioned nearby, watching.

I targeted them first.

With a flick of my wrist, my cards shot forward, striking true. One embedded in the first man’s neck before he could react—silent, efficient.

The second turned, eyes widening—too late. My second card buried into his chest, a choked gasp escaping his lips before he collapsed.

The leader tensed, his hand flying to his sword—only to freeze as I stepped into view.

“You were looking for something,” I murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Congratulations. You found it.”

He moved fast—blade flashing toward me. But I was faster.

I dodged, my body twisting effortlessly. His follow-up strike never landed—I flicked my fingers, sending a card slicing through the tendons in his wrist. His sword clattered to the ground.

He staggered back, eyes wide, clutching his useless hand.

I stepped forward, tilting my head. “Who sent you?”

He glared, lips pressed tight.

I sighed. “Wrong answer.”

With a flick of my hand, an illusion shimmered into existence. His own reflection—only, this one wasn’t standing. It was sprawled on the ground, blood pooling beneath it, eyes vacant.

His breath hitched.

Good.

I crouched beside him, voice soft. “Tell me what I want to know… or I’ll show you just how real illusions can feel.”

His resolve cracked.

And just like that, the real hunt began.