Rebirth in a Favorite RPG

The snow crunched under Jon's and the assassin's feet. Luminar's flames illuminated the white scenery like a stage for an inevitable duel.

Jon breathed deeply, vapor escaping his mouth in warm clouds. In front of him, the hooded figure held his dagger low, his body leaning like a wild animal about to pounce.

The silence was broken by a single movement.

Fwsshh!

The assassin advanced like an arrow, the energy in his mana channels suddenly flowing to his left arm. Jon watched every detail carefully.

'The energy is accumulating... a wide arc coming from the left.'

The Mystic Eyes shone, revealing every nuance of the flow. It wasn't just the concentration in the arm: there was also an extra intensity in the muscles of the right leg, the supporting foot carrying strength. The blow was a feint, quick, precise, seeking the perfect opening in the neck.

Clang!

Jon raised Luminar at the exact instant, the steel meeting the short blade. The flames spread, forcing the enemy to retreat. Without losing time, Jon moved his other hand in a quick gesture.

Fwoooshhh!

A blade of wind was conjured, cutting through space with brutal speed. The assassin's eyes widened, not expecting such sudden magic in a counter-attack. The gust hit him in the shoulder, tearing part of his cloak and opening a cut that burned as if the icy air had turned to acid.

"Khhaaahh!"

He stumbled back, but quickly recovered. His breathing sounded heavy inside the mask, while his eyes flashed with hatred.

"You... are not just a commoner."

Jon spun his sword, scattering flaming sparks across the snow-covered ground. "And you shouldn't underestimate your opponent."

The provocation worked. The assassin attacked again, this time alternating the flow of mana in confusing patterns. Sometimes in the right arm, other times in the left, simulating movements to mislead.

But the Mystic Eyes were not deceived.

'He concentrated energy in his legs. He's going to fake a fall and then spin with the dagger.'

Jon was already in motion when the assassin attempted the feint. He blocked with Luminar, and the flames bit into the enemy's steel. At the same instant, a diagonal cut was launched, the flaming blade passing close to the hooded figure's chest.

Shhhraaahh!

A cry of pain echoed as the skin opened in a red line, cauterized instantly by the magic fire. The wound didn't bleed, but the pain intensified tenfold.

The assassin took two steps back, his knees trembling. He still tried to maintain his composure, but Jon noticed. The mana lines betrayed hesitation. The energy no longer flowed with conviction; it wavered, dispersed, unfocused.

'He's thinking of running away.'

A sneer crossed Jon's face. "Want to run away now? Humph..."

The disdainful tone irritated the enemy, who advanced in desperation. But now it was no longer the same balanced duel. Each attack was repelled with precision, each counter-attack elicited new muffled cries.

Clang! Shhhraahh! Clang! Fwoooshhh!

Each time Luminar cut, the flames cauterized the flesh, spreading unimaginable pain. Black scars multiplied across the assassin's body, who lost strength with each passing moment.

"Your body's resistance is already dissolving," Jon commented coldly, his sword in a firm position. "Every wound I open increases your pain. Every blow reduces your chances. Will you really continue?"

The hooded figure gasped, his hands trembling. Still, he attempted one last attack, investing all his remaining energy.

Jon let the smile disappear. His eyes burned, the mana lines showing the movement in slow motion. The enemy's arm twisting for a cut to the abdomen. The supporting foot tensed to give the final impulse. The energy gathered at a single point in the body.

'Last attempt.'

With a precise spin, Jon dodged his body, raising Luminar in a wide arc. The flaming blade met the dagger and threw it far away.

Clang! Crraashhh!

The assassin's weapon flew, embedding itself in the snow three meters away. The impact left him vulnerable.

Fwsshh!

Jon's sword cut the enemy's chest laterally, eliciting a visceral scream.

"Khhaaahhh!"

The assassin fell to his knees, gasping, his eyes wide with pain that consumed every fiber of his body.

Jon walked up to him, Luminar's fire reflecting in his eyes. "I think this is a great place for your tombstone."

He raised his sword. The sound of the fire intensified, roaring like a dragon eager for the last flame.

The hooded figure tried to move, but his strength had run out.

Jon breathed deeply, the cold air burning in his lungs. The wind carried the sparks around, transforming that snowy field into a stage of judgment. And at that instant, his every movement, every word, every flame of Luminar was a sentence.

Jon raised Luminar, the flaming blade crackling as if the air itself was afraid to touch it. The assassin, kneeling before him, still tried to breathe, but the sound was weak, irregular, as if each breath were his last.

The dark eyes behind the mask reflected only despair.

"You lost," Jon said in a low, almost solemn tone. "And this will be the price of your choice."

Fwoooshhh!

The sword descended in an incandescent arc. The fire consumed the cut with violence, passing through the assassin's body without leaving room for resistance. The muffled scream was lost in the icy air, and soon only silence remained, interrupted by the crackling of the flames.

The hooded figure fell forward, the snow beneath him stained with black marks, cauterized by Jon's own blade. The body no longer moved.

Jon breathed deeply, cleaning his sword before slowly sheathing it. The smell of burning mixed with the biting cold of the mountains, creating a heavy atmosphere. For a moment, he just stood there, observing the corpse. There was no satisfaction, only the certainty that it was inevitable.

"You shouldn't have accepted this mission."

With firm steps, Jon knelt beside the body. He began to search the enemy's clothes cautiously, each pocket and secret compartment revealing short knives, small vials of poison, and a pouch with six emerald-colored coins.

'Six hundred thousand Tils!' Jon was surprised. But amidst the items that fell from the assassin's inventory, something caught his attention.

A carefully folded envelope, sealed with dark wax. In the center, a black palm stamped the paper, the cold and unmistakable symbol of the assassins' guild.

Jon broke the seal and opened the letter. The words were few, but each one weighed like lead:

"Eliminate Jon Woodmoon. 15 years | Level: 25 | Value: 1,000,000,000

Requester: Nolan."

For an instant, Jon's mind went blank. Then, a cold smile appeared on his face.

'Nolan... so you don't just hate me. You fear me.'

He folded the letter and put it in his inventory, along with the envelope. It was clear proof, a piece he could use in the future.

It was at that instant that the blue system screen shone before his eyes.

DING!

Survival Mission Completed.

Performance: S

Reward: Status Points +10 | Passive Skill Unlocked — Assassin (Beginner) | Experience: 49764 | You leveled up: 26

Jon's heart beat faster at the notifications. A new smile crossed his face, but not of arrogance. It was a mixture of relief and excitement.

"That was... better than I expected."

The snow fell silently again, as if the mountain itself accepted the end of the intruder who dared to challenge that icy field. Jon put away Luminar, cast one last look at the inert body, and walked away, leaving behind only burnt marks in the snow and the smell of ashes.

Each step was heavier, but also more confident. Now he knew clearly: he had enemies who were moving in the shadows, and Nolan had taken the first step.

Jon raised his hood again, the cold wind hitting his face.