The bandit's sickle was raised.
Then it clattered to the ground, slick with blood.
In the blink of an eye, the masked figure had moved—too fast, too smooth. One moment he had been standing at the door, cloaked in darkness. The next, his blade gleamed beside the bandit's throat. Not a breath later, the man crumpled, eyes wide with shock as blood spurted in a clean arc.
A gurgling sound escaped his mouth. Then silence.
The others froze.
"What—?"
"W-Was that—?"
No one had seen the attack. No one had even seen the figure draw his sword.
But now, the pool of blood beneath their companion was spreading.
"Monster!" one of them shouted, lunging forward with a dagger in each hand.
The masked man didn't flinch.
The twin daggers slashed through the air—fast, precise.
But they met nothing.
The attacker's eyes widened. His target had vanished.
Too fast!
He turned—
Too late.
A hand gripped the back of his neck.
Steel sliced across his ribs from behind.
