We didn't make it three streets from the tea house before I felt it—
That pressure in the air.
Like the space around us had grown heavier, as if something unseen had just taken aim.
"Ryn," I murmured.
"I feel it," she said.
Loran's hand slid to his sword. "Tail?"
"Not a tail," I said. "An ambush."
The street ahead narrowed into a crooked stretch between leaning buildings, torchlight flickering at either end. Too perfect for an attack.
I slowed, letting my senses stretch. At C-rank, my perception was sharper now—edges of sound, faint fluctuations in the mana around me. Something was moving above, darting between rooftops.
Then it dropped.
A shadow slammed into the cobblestones ten paces ahead, cracking the stone beneath its boots. The figure straightened—tall, lean, and wrapped in armor the color of dusk. A steel mask covered the lower half of his face, and in his hands was a glaive, its blade glimmering with faint, sinister runes.
"Iron Fang," Ryn whispered.
I knew the name. A Council Hunter. Not as infamous as Rhea, but in some ways more dangerous—he wasn't sent for messy intimidation. He was sent to erase problems without leaving corpses for the Watch to find.
"Kael Veylan," the masked man said, voice muffled but cold. "Councilor Dareth sends his regards."
I stepped forward. "Tell him I'll return them in pieces."
He didn't respond. He just moved.
One moment he was standing still, the next his glaive swept toward me in a blur. The force behind it was monstrous, the air splitting with a crack. I barely brought my sword up in time, the impact jolting through my arms and sending me sliding back across the street.
Fast.
He was already pressing forward, every strike chained to the next. The glaive's reach was longer than mine, its arc forcing me to move or die. Steel screamed as we clashed again, sparks snapping in the dark.
Behind me, Ryn started to move, but I shouted, "Stay out of it!"
This was mine.
I shifted my stance, letting his next sweep pass an inch from my ribs before stepping inside his reach. My blade carved toward his side—but he twisted, the haft of the glaive slamming into my arm with bone-rattling force.
Pain flared, but I didn't retreat. I caught his next thrust on the flat of my sword, angling it so the point slid past instead of punching through. My counter was a low sweep for his legs, but he vaulted over it with impossible speed, landing behind me.
His glaive cut for my spine—
I dropped, rolling forward, coming up low. Mana surged into my blade, its edge shimmering as I spun into an upward slash.
Steel met steel in a flash of light, the impact driving us apart.
The street around us was silent now—every onlooker had fled. Only the sound of our weapons and my heartbeat filled the air.
Iron Fang tilted his head slightly, as if reassessing. "Better than expected."
I grinned. "Not even warmed up."
I surged forward, my mana flow sharper now, feeding into speed. His glaive intercepted me again, but this time I stayed close, turning each parry into a step inward. The glaive was lethal at range—but suffocating for him at arm's length.
His elbow snapped toward my face; I caught it on my shoulder, ramming my hilt into his chest. The impact staggered him half a step, enough for me to cut low. My blade scraped across his thigh armor, not deep but enough to leave a mark.
He retaliated with a sudden burst—mana flaring as he spun, the glaive sweeping in a deadly, spiraling arc. I leapt back, but the edge still kissed my cheek, warm blood sliding down.
We circled, breathing hard.
"Last chance," he said. "Walk away, and I leave you breathing."
I spat blood on the stones. "You first."
He came again, faster now. I felt the strain in my arms as each blow rattled through me, forcing me to give ground. But in that barrage, I caught the rhythm—the faintest hitch when he shifted from high strikes to low.
The next time it came, I moved in that heartbeat of hesitation. My blade flashed up, knocking his glaive high, and I drove my shoulder into his chest. We crashed into a wall, and before he could recover, I brought my sword down in a two-handed strike.
Mana roared through the blade, smashing into his shoulder guard and tearing through the joint. The glaive clattered to the stones.
He staggered back, one arm limp, breath ragged through the mask. I leveled my sword at his throat.
"Tell Dareth," I said, "next time he sends someone for me, make sure they're ready to die."
His eyes burned with fury, but he said nothing. He turned and vaulted up the nearest wall, vanishing into the shadows above.
I lowered my sword, the ache in my arms settling into a deep throb. Ryn and Loran moved to my side.
"You should've finished him," Loran said.
I shook my head. "No. He'll carry the message better than I could."
Ryn smirked. "You know this means Dareth's going to escalate."
"That's the idea," I said.
Because the more Dareth threw at me, the more openings I'd have to dismantle his power piece by piece—until nothing stood between me and Aric.