The World Is Mine For The Taking

I swung relentlessly, my blades cutting through the air in a storm of steel, each strike aimed at tearing through him. With every motion, I felt like I was clawing my way toward some kind of breakthrough, some fragile chance that I might actually defeat him. But the more my blades clashed and scraped, the clearer it became that no matter how hard I fought, the gap between our abilities wasn't shrinking—it was stretching further and further apart. Each strike only hammered in the reality that this fight was hopeless for me, that I was being forced to realize just how powerless I truly was against him.

"Guh, useless…!" Lord Cross's voice cracked from behind me. I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye as he staggered, clutching his trembling body before trying to bolt away like a cornered rat.

But before he could even take two steps, an arrow cut through the air with a sharp whistle and buried itself into the ground in front of him, blocking his path.

"You think you can just run after doing something like this to us?" the wife shouted, her voice filled with rage and disgust.

"Hiii…!" Lord Cross shrieked, his knees buckling, his legs giving out beneath him as he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

But I couldn't spare him another glance. My fight with Christopher Faust swallowed my focus completely.

The harder I pushed, the clearer it became—the distance between us wasn't closing, it was widening like a canyon. Each move I made, each skill I'd trained my body to execute flawlessly, broke apart against him like waves crashing uselessly against a cliff. I couldn't even leave a scratch on him. Years of training, nights spent grinding my body to its limit so that every assassination technique I knew would be executed without flaw—it all felt like empty practice now. In this situation, everything I had was useless.

It was maddening.

He wasn't even trying. I could feel it. The way he moved, the casual ease in his steps—it was like he was simply playing with me. Every time I swung, he slipped away effortlessly, as if my blades were nothing but toys. It felt less like fighting a person and more like hacking at air and there was no substance as well as no weight.

No—worse. It was like striking against a mountain made of stone, one so vast and unyielding that the idea of breaking it was a joke. Impossible, even.

I forced myself to move faster, my muscles screaming, my lungs burning—but in that exact moment, he moved faster too, so much so that it warped the flow of the fight. It was bizarre—unnatural even—that despite being the one to accelerate, it felt like I was the one left chasing him.

That's when it hit me. Every time I moved faster, he matched me in perfect sync. He wasn't going faster on his own—he was mirroring me, deliberately, matching my pace to the exact fraction of a second so that no matter how much I tried, I'd never feel ahead of him. Was he refusing to let me take the lead? Or was he just toying with me, testing me, finding the limit of my body and dragging me along just to see how far I could push before breaking?

The thought made my blood boil. It felt like every teaching Lady Leonora had drilled into me, every lesson I'd treasured, was being mocked to my face.

But anger couldn't change the truth. No matter how furious I was, the reality was that I couldn't do anything to him. He was too strong.

I felt it creeping in now—the heaviness in my chest and the burn in my muscles. My stamina was bleeding away, every ounce of strength trickling out no matter how much I tried to hold it in. The exhaustion I'd been trying to push aside finally clawed its way up, weighing me down.

"Even with the minimal movements you've been making to conserve your stamina," he spoke with calm certainty, "once you exert yourself beyond reason, the body will always give out eventually. It's only natural that you'd feel it sooner or later. But still—" his eyes narrowed, a flicker of approval in them, "I'll admit, I'm impressed by your grit. Most assassins would've been crushed by the aura I emit long before reaching this point. Yet you've endured. That's probably why Leonora put her trust in you."

"I said… put a Lady before her name!" I roared, fury exploding in my chest as I launched myself at him once more, blades gleaming.

He sighed. "Well… I've had enough of this. It's getting boring now."

My twin blades sliced through his body cleanly. A smirk curled on my lips—finally. But in the same breath, dread hit me. There was no resistance. I didn't feel any weight. I didn't feel the flesh. It was like cutting through mist.

My heart sank. It wasn't him.

It was just an afterimage. A trick.

I whipped around desperately, but my reaction came too late.

"You're good," his voice came from behind me, smooth and calm. "I commend you."

Then pain exploded at the back of my neck as his hand struck, and the world collapsed into blackness. My consciousness was ripped away in an instant.

***

Leon's POV

I looked down at the unconscious assassin lying at my feet, her body sprawled, her face slack with the forced sleep I'd dropped her into.

She was good—very good, actually. Not flawless, not polished enough to call truly exceptional, but she had potential that shone like a flame in the dark. Her movements were sharp, her techniques mastered to perfection, but in a way that felt… bookish. She fought as though she had memorized her skills from a manual and practiced them until her body became a copy of the page. But even that—done so well—was dangerous.

If she expanded her repertoire, learned beyond the confines of what she'd been taught, she could become a serious threat. I could even see it—if she grew stronger, there might come a time when not even Bernadette could compare to her.

If Leonora ever became my enemy, then I'd need to reinforce the shadows, prepare for someone like this assassin. Because letting her grow unchecked would mean dealing with a nightmare later.

"Now then…" I muttered, turning my eyes slowly toward Lord Cross. "Why don't we have a little chat first?"

He looked at me, his face twisted in sheer terror, his fear impossible to hide. His body shook so violently that it was almost pitiful. That was how terrified he was in that moment.