With the unknown fluid jar gripped tightly in his hands, Levon took a deep breath and turned away from the battlefield. The assassination had been successful, though not the conclusion. There was no time to dwell—his next task awaited him.
"Hayaah!" Levon shouted, attempting to leap forward—but instead, he collapsed face-first onto the ground.
"Nahhh, this fatigue gain..." he groaned, lying still, exhaustion weighing him down. "May god bless me, so I never have to use these damn swords again."
As he lay there, motionless, his mind drifted back to the days he used to climb mountains, practicing tirelessly with his wooden sword, honing the art of swordsmanship. That day was carved into his memory—the day he had woken from slumber and prepared himself. Twin short swords strapped to his thighs, a weighted sphere attached to a rope, a harpoon, and his lightweight blackish leather armor. This day was of great importance.
Since ancient times, his family had served as protectors and assassins to the royal house of Taketsuru, who had authority over multiple provinces of Japan for centuries before stepping into the modern era. Unlike monarchies of the past, the Taketsuru dynasty had been elected by the common people, their reign legitimized through trust rather than inheritance. Their rule had ended, but their existence had not. Even in the modern era, the royal house of Taketsuru was still somewhere hidden, away from the eyes of the masses, known only to their most faithful assassin servants.
With pride, Levon Blackthorn—the 17th successor of his clan—stepped past the threshold of his well-furnished house. Everyone had to adapt to change to avoid perishing. Why not?
His massive five-story house stood in the desolate region of Kurohama Valley, an isolated expanse shrouded in perpetual mist. The terrain was unforgiving, the land untouched by civilization, making it the perfect refuge for those who lived in the shadows.
Levon dashed towards the training facility nestled deep within the dense Aokigahara Forest, almost a kilometer from his residence. The whispering wind accompanied his strides, the cold air biting at his skin. Suddenly—
Fwip!
A metallic lotus attached to a steel rope sliced through the air, whizzing past his ear. Instinct took over. Levon leaped, landing deftly on the taut wire of the weapon, using its momentum to propel himself forward. His hands, honed by years of discipline, moved in a blur. In a circular motion, his short swords flew from their scabbards, intercepting two—no, three—more incoming projectiles.
Then, without warning, the lotus beneath his feet was yanked from under him. The abrupt force sent him plummeting. He twisted midair, realigning his trajectory, and increased his speed toward the entities targeting him.
"Thwack!"
His boot landed on a patch of thick underbrush. A split second later, the ground gave way—an enormous pit lay beneath him, a silent predator awaiting its prey.
Reacting instantly, Levon hurled his spear toward a nearby tree. The weapon struck firm, anchoring itself just in time. He lunged, using its shaft as leverage, and vaulted out of the trap. He landed on solid ground, his breath steadying.
Before him stood a lone figure.
The previous successor of the clan.
His father.
The 16th successor of the Blackthorn lineage.