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

The air inside the arena was thick with tension. The stone walls absorbed sound, making every movement, every breath feel louder. Torches flickered along the edges of the chamber, casting wavering shadows across the floor.

My opponent stood across from me, rolling his shoulders, stretching his neck. He was lean, muscular, and had the look of someone who had done this countless times before. His black tunic clung to his form, and in his right hand, he twirled a sleek dagger effortlessly.

The woman who had taken my name, the guild’s apparent overseer, leaned back in her chair just outside the ring, watching with an unreadable expression.

“The rules are simple,” she said, her voice cutting through the still air. “Win.”

That was all she offered.

I rolled my wrists, feeling the comfortable weight of my concealed weapons against my skin. Knives, throwing cards, my body itself—all weapons. I didn’t need a long explanation.

The man smirked. “Don’t worry, little girl. I’ll go easy—”

I moved.

The moment his mouth opened to finish the sentence, I was already upon him.

His dagger came up, a sharp flash in the dim light, aiming for my ribs. I twisted, feeling the blade graze against my tunic as I spun past him, my foot snapping up to strike his wrist. The dagger flew from his grip, clattering to the ground.

His eyes widened—more from shock than pain.

I didn’t give him time to recover.

I was behind him in an instant, my elbow slamming into the back of his head. He staggered, but to his credit, he didn’t fall. Instead, he dropped into a low stance, sweeping his leg toward mine in an attempt to knock me down.

I jumped, flipping over his strike, landing just as he lunged for his dagger.

Bad move.

Before his fingers could grasp the hilt, I brought my foot down hard, pinning his wrist to the ground. He snarled, trying to yank it free, but I pressed harder. The bones in his wrist creaked under the pressure.

His other hand shot toward his belt, reaching for a second blade.

I was faster.

I drew a throwing card from my sleeve, flicking it between my fingers until its edge rested against his throat.

“Yield,” I said, my voice quiet but firm.

His body tensed, his muscles coiled as if preparing for one last desperate attempt.

I applied just a bit more pressure with the card. A thin red line appeared on his skin.

He stilled.

The overseer clapped slowly from her seat, the sound echoing through the chamber.

“Impressive,” she said. “You’ll fit right in.”

I removed my foot from my opponent’s wrist and stepped back. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his arm as he pushed himself up. His expression was unreadable, but there was no anger in his eyes—only acknowledgment.

“Not bad,” he muttered before turning on his heel and walking off without another word.

I turned toward the overseer, waiting.

She smirked. “Welcome to the Assassin’s Guild, Seraphis.”

She tossed something toward me—a small, dark emblem. I caught it easily, examining it. A dagger carved into obsidian, with a single red gem embedded in the hilt.

“F-rank,” she said. “Everyone starts there. Ten missions, and you’ll move up.”

I clenched the emblem in my palm.