The twin moons cast silver beams through the narrow window of Cedric's dormitory, painting jagged patterns across the wooden floor. He lay still on his cot, one hand resting on the dagger beneath his pillow—not asleep, but waiting. The shadows in the corner of his room had been wrong since sundown. Too deep. Too still.
Then—a whisper of steel on leather.
Cedric's eyes snapped open just as the first assassin materialized above him, a curved blade flashing downward.
He rolled left, the dagger slicing through his blanket instead of his throat. In the same motion, his own blade found the assassin's neck, punching through soft tissue with a wet crunch. The man gurgled, collapsing onto the bed as dark blood soaked the sheets.
"Eight more," a voice hissed from the darkness.
Cedric didn't hesitate. He kicked the dying assassin's body toward the door, creating a momentary obstruction, then launched himself through the window. Glass shattered as he hit the courtyard below in a controlled roll.
The Dance of Blades
The night air was cold against his skin as Cedric summoned his spear and sword from spatial storage, the familiar weight settling into his hands. The courtyard—open, moonlit, with no cover—was the perfect battleground. No shadows to hide in. No tricks. Just skill.
The assassins emerged like ghosts from the dormitory, their forms clad in tight-fitting black leather, faces obscured by featureless masks.
First Engagement:
Two attackers came at him simultaneously—one high, one low.
Cedric's spear deflected the overhead strike, metal screeching as blades clashed.
His sword lashed downward, biting deep into the second assassin's thigh.
A brutal kick sent the wounded man stumbling into his companion, disrupting their rhythm.
Second Wave:
Three more converged, their movements perfectly synchronized.
Cedric spun his spear in a wide arc, forcing them to scatter—
Then lunged forward, his sword tip finding the gap in one assassin's armor beneath the arm.
The man gasped as steel pierced his lung, but Cedric was already moving, yanking the blade free in time to parry a dagger aimed at his kidney.
Blood slicked the cobblestones underfoot.
The remaining five adjusted their tactics, fanning out to surround him. One—taller than the others, with a jagged scar running along his forearm—spoke in a guttural tone.
"You fight well... for a noble's pet."
Cedric didn't respond. His breathing was steady, his grip unwavering.
The scarred assassin signaled, and the others attacked as one.
From the left: A whip-thin blade aimed for his ribs.
From the right: A spiked chain lashed toward his legs.
From above: One assassin leaped, twin daggers poised to strike downward.
Cedric ducked the chain, letting it wrap around his spear instead—then yanked hard, pulling its wielder off balance. His sword intercepted the thin blade, steel singing as it deflected the strike.
But the aerial attacker was too close—
Until Cedric's shadow moved on its own.
A tendril of darkness shot upward, impaling the leaping assassin through the chest. The man's scream was cut short as the void consumed him whole, leaving nothing but a fading wisp of black smoke.
The remaining assassins froze. Even the scarred leader took a step back.
Cedric didn't wait for them to recover.
He attacked.
To Be Continued
The fight raged on, steel clashing against steel, blood mixing with sweat under the pale moonlight.
Cedric's spear became a blur, its shortened shaft allowing for rapid thrusts and deflections.
His sword moved like liquid, each slash precise, each parry calculated.
His shadow writhed at his feet, lashing out at any who dared come too close.
But the assassins were not amateurs. They adapted, pressing him harder, their blades finding openings—
A shallow cut across his shoulder.
A deep graze along his hip.
And then—just as Cedric prepared to finish the scarred leader—a new presence entered the courtyard.
A figure clad in white, their face obscured by a golden mask, stood atop the dormitory roof.
"Enough," the figure commanded, their voice echoing unnaturally.
The assassins immediately disengaged, fading back into the night as quickly as they had come.
Cedric didn't lower his weapons. His chest heaved, his muscles burned, but his focus remained locked on the masked observer.
The figure tilted their head, then vanished—leaving behind only a single black feather drifting slowly to the ground.