Chapter 63: The Assassin Shows No Mercy

Only three remained. A mage. An archer. And the commander.

And the darkness watched them.

“Shit… how the hell did this happen?!” the one-eyed leader roared. His voice cracked under the weight of panic, blood running in thick streams down his jaw.

The air stank of blood, steel, and rain.

The archer spun, eyes wide, trembling. “I’m done! Screw this!” He bolted, boots slipping in the mud as he vanished into the trees.

“Coward!” the commander spat, but his voice was strained—rage drowning beneath fear.

Then a scream. Not the scream of someone escaping. The scream of prey. Something dragged him into the dark. Something fast. Something that didn’t miss.

The mage swallowed, chest heaving. The commander turned on him, wild-eyed. “Burn your mana. Light up the whole damn forest!”

The mage hesitated. “W-we should run. It’s almost midnight.”

“No.” The commander’s jaw clenched. “We kill the boy.”

Thunder shattered the sky. Lightning flashed through the canopy, warping the forest into a landscape of twisted shadows.

Then—footsteps. Soft. Deliberate. Not charging. Not fleeing. Circling.

Hunting.

The boy wasn’t escaping. He was playing.

“You scared, brat?!” the commander shouted, turning in circles. But his hands shook. His voice trembled. He’d seen those eyes. Eyes that didn’t see a man. Only prey.

Another step. Closer. Measured.

Then—a shadow burst from the trees.

“FIRE!” the commander roared.

The mage raised his staff and unleashed lightning. The explosion tore through the clearing, shattering mud and root, throwing sparks into the air. A figure was hit—flung back, limp.

The commander’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Got him.”

But then—

“No… the system didn’t notify a kill—”

The mage didn’t finish. A cold hand clamped around the back of his neck. Steel slid clean across his throat. Effortless.

His breath caught. Blood sprayed. Eyes widened in disbelief. And then—collapse. Limbs folding. Silence.

“Shit!” The commander spun.

Too slow.

The boy was already there.

A dash. A fist drove into his face. His body lifted, slammed into a tree. He gasped—chest crushed—tried to raise his sword.

Pain.

A slice. Clean.

He blinked. And watched his own hand fall to the dirt—fingers still locked around the sword hilt. His scream tore out, raw, animal, broken. Blood gushed from the severed stump.

Another impact. A knee crushed into his ribs, pinning him against the tree. One blade pressed to his throat. The other slid between his teeth, metal scraping against his tongue.

The boy leaned in.

No rage. No glee. No cruelty.

Just silence. Just judgment.

Behind him, something moved. Bones. A skeleton with a sword in hand. A knight of death, standing guard.

The commander froze. Chest trembling. Breath shallow. “Please…” he rasped. “I—I’ll give you everything. Just… let me live.”

Luke said nothing.

The blade at his throat pressed harder. A bead of blood welled—thin, red, trembling against the steel.

Their faces were inches apart. Locked.

But Luke’s eyes weren’t human. Not anymore. Cold. Merciless. Hollow.

“How many of you are there?” His voice was quiet. Controlled. Sharp as the knife.

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The commander blinked, stunned. “W-what?”

“How many.” The blade twisted—just a fraction.

“Is this all of you?” Luke asked again. Calm. Steady. “Or is there a camp?”

The man hesitated. Luke’s expression didn’t change.

“Twenty-three!” he blurted. “We—we were twenty-three total! You killed nine! Th-thirteen more are back at camp!”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

The punch shattered his thoughts. His skull hit the tree. Before he could breathe—another hit. Harder.

“I swear! I swear to God!”

“Where’s the camp?” Luke’s voice didn’t waver.

“Check… check the mage’s bag,” the man gasped, coughing blood. “It’s all there… map… supplies… everything… just—just let me go! I’ll disappear. I won’t tell anyone…”

Luke didn’t answer.

“Take my gear,” the man sobbed. “All of it. Yours.”

No response.

The blade slid in. Clean. Precise.

His hands shot to his throat—reflex, futile. Blood mixed with rain. His body trembled. Twitched. Then fell.

And the last thing he saw… was the dark that ended him.

[You have slain a Human – Lvl 6 (Warrior – Lvl 12)]

*Your class [Demonic Assassin] has reached Level 11! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)*

**[You have reached Level 6! Half-Demon (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

**[Princess Charlie has reached Level 4 – Skeleton (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

The rain poured harder. Thunder cracked above.

[Soul Fragments Gained: +8]