A man entered the inn. He was dressed in leather trousers and a jerkin, over which he wore a light chainmail shirt. A sword hung from his belt. It seemed more for show than for combat, as the rather ornate hilt and scabbard suggested. He walked up to the bar and ordered a glass of wine. A rather large group of people entered the inn. Each wore full armor and a sword at their belts. Some even carried a dagger. They sat down at empty tables in the corner. Finding a seat wasn't a problem, as the inn was almost empty. Seven of them. One had a quiver of bolts on his back. He had a scout and crossbows. One of them nodded faintly to the man at the bar. He replied. Then he looked at the figure hidden in the darkest corner of the inn. He was entirely shrouded in a black cloak. His face was hidden by a deep hood. The man finished his beer and slowly walked toward the hooded guest.
"Hello.
" "Hello."
"May I sit down?
" "Yes." But before the man could settle into the chair, another word could be heard from beneath the hood. "I don't understand why you want to sit at this particular table, when there's so much empty space in the entire inn.
" "You know, I'm looking for someone to talk to.
" "There's a rather cheerful group sitting right next to them, why don't you join them?" The words didn't match the sight, however. Unfriendly murmurs could be heard from the group seated there, and none of the armed men were smiling. The word "cheerful" didn't fit, so it wasn't appropriate here. The innkeeper's wife, anticipating what was about to happen, went to the back. The man, halted mid-movement over the chair, rose to a standing position again.
"Thank you," the hooded man said.
"For what? I haven't made a decision yet.
" "However, I request that you leave me alone with my thoughts. Thank you.
" "What are you thanking me for again? I still prefer to sit here.
" "However, I insist on moving on to another table."
"I won't grant that request.
" "If 'this' table has so endeared you to me, I'll change seats," the hooded man said, already certain the man was simply trying to provoke him. He stood up, but the man blocked his path with a single step. Their faces were now very close together, but the one with the ornately decorated sword was visibly shorter. But at least he was taking care of himself. The hooded man was pleased about this, because he'd been in situations where some of the tavern's "robbers" made their presence known within a few meters. He yielded to them then, not wanting to have any closer contact. Unfortunately, he usually did.
"I'd like to talk. Please sit down.
" "Why?" The hooded man accepted the offer, knowing he couldn't avoid it. At that moment, the entire group of armed men rose. "Oh, I see you gentlemen know each other.
" "Yes. Is that interfering with anything?"
"No. Under no circumstances.
" "Then please sit down.
" "I don't feel like it anymore. You know, it's late. I'll go to my room.
" "Are you in a hurry?
" "Yes.
" "I'll get to the point then." He raised his fist to strike, but the hooded man was faster. He grabbed his hand and twisted it at an unnatural angle. The shorter man, with a grimace of pain on his face, tried to strike him with his other hand. He didn't have time, however, as a simple yet powerful blow to the chin knocked him to the ground. During the fight, the hood fell from the head of the man forced into a fight, revealing the face of a man no older than twenty-five, with close-cropped hair. The white hair and red irises of his eyes were riveting. Sensing what would happen, the armed men immediately reached for the sword lying on the lava where he sat. The fight began. Not so much a fight, but a parrying of the blows of the overwhelming number of opponents. The white-haired man, however, was doing quite well. He jumped onto the bench, separating the opponents with a table. The one with the crossbow was about to shoot. The dagger struck him in the shoulder. The crossbow, released from his hand, struck the ground and fired on its own. And it hit. Except, it hit the wrong person. Another opponent, headfirst. The next one who aimed at him landed on the ground, bleeding profusely, where his nose had once been. This usually happened after a blow with a chainmail gauntlet. The man whose temple had been struck by the pommel of a sword joined the fallen men. Three were still standing.
"Enough!" The man with the ornate sword interrupted the fight. "That's enough. He could have defeated you without using the blade of his sword." Three lay unconscious, if one wasn't dead, and the fourth was probably right-handed, as he wasn't eager to fight with his left, healthy hand. "Baron Drace von Kircho. I wanted to test your skills, Night Wolf. As you've probably already guessed, I have something to ask you. Shall we talk?" The white-haired man's gaze shifted to the swords of the three warriors, still standing ready for battle. The Baron reacted immediately, naturally. "And why are you standing there? Gather those here and tend to them. If you can't handle it yourselves, call the innkeeper. We'll pay her for it. Come on, you scum!
" "Fine," said Night Wolf, and sat down in the same seat as before, sheathing his sword and placing it beside him. The Baron sat opposite. The innkeeper was helping carry the unconscious outside.
"We need to get rid of someone. Standard payment?" the Baron asked.
"Plus five percent for the show of fighting." von Kircho wasn't surprised. He'd probably expected this. Or maybe even a larger payment?
"Fine. Are there any other percentage bonuses for... certain difficulties?
" "It actually depends on the type of difficulty. If the target is well guarded, plus five percent. He's someone important, another ten percent. I'll suffer quite serious wounds, ten percent."
"Well... That's one hundred and twenty percent for now. I hope the amount doesn't increase. Will the payment be the same?
" "As always.
" "When will you be ready?
" "Let's say... Tomorrow night. Is that okay?
" "Of course. I didn't even expect such a rush.
" "I don't like waiting long. Someone might catch wind of my intentions.
" "A good method for safe killing. Hehehe." The baron tried to joke. However, Wilk's face remained impassive. Von Kirch's expression fell. He was confused.
"Perhaps we should move on to my goal?" Wilk wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible. Probably before the innkeeper returned.
"Yeah, right. The most important things are left for last. So! Your goal is...
" * * *
As always, he took two-thirds of the payment upfront. He wasn't always trusted, but he was one of the best, after all. He was sitting in his room at the inn. He was no longer wearing the heavy chain mail that had previously protected his body. Now it lay under the bed. He wore only a black jerkin. The sword lay on the table. He had no intention of taking it. He wanted to do it quickly, without leaving any trace behind. And he wanted to leave as quickly as possible. He had a bad feeling. This place. This assignment. As if it were his last assignment. As if he were ending his life here. But his hunch almost never came true. He had learned to trust his mind and senses. This time would be different. The foolish oath he had made to himself at the very beginning of his professional "career" was to blame
.
He had no trouble opening the window. No one noticed him either. He gently jumped into the corridor and closed the shutters behind him. He went straight ahead and turned left. The Baron gave him the exact location of the room where his target was supposed to be sleeping. The fifth door on the north side. It was guarded. A faint light seeped from the room opposite, most likely a dying candle. The wolf quietly and slowly crept toward the source of the light. He stopped two meters from the door. Silence. No sound. As he tried to take another step, the light went out. He was about to flee, but something stopped him. Silence. No sound. No one moved, no one left the room, no one lit a new candle. Had the guard fallen asleep? When they discovered what had happened in the room they were guarding tomorrow, they would be screwed. He didn't care. He had a mission. And he intended to fulfill it. He gently leaned back against the doorframe. They were indeed asleep. There were five of them. Three kegs lay by the table. So they partied. He went to the door opposite. It was locked. He returned to the guard room. The keys lay among the cups and plates. They must have been bothering someone's butt after a few rounds. He opened the door and entered the room. Well, it was something to be envied. A royal chamber in the truest sense of the word. Four-poster boxes, the finest carpets, shelves full of books, two bedside tables, one on each side of the box. To the right of the bedroom was a door. A dressing room. The Baron either had good spies or better informants.
Standing up straighter, but still as quietly as possible, he approached the sleeping person in the bed. "I'll deal with this in a moment, and that's it." But mid-motion, he stopped his hands.
"He ordered me to kill the child! He said the target was the prince. That he stood in the baron's path to the throne. That it was just one assassination. That the king would die soon. That after the baron took power, I wouldn't have to kill, steal, spy, or kidnap for the rest of my life. Unless it was for my own use. Although they said I wouldn't need it anymore. I would wallow in luxury. The most important thing was that no more blood would be shed."
That was the main reason he'd decided to kill the prince. Finally, he wouldn't have to weigh his conscience down any further. One last time, and that was it. It was over. He could rest from this for the rest of his life. And here before him lay a child. Innocent. Weak. Unaware of danger. In short, defenseless. How could anyone raise a hand against such a person? He was still wavering. Between his happiness and killing this child, and the prince's happy life and his life in hiding. He would be pursued not only by those like him, incited by the baron, but also by those who disliked his cowardice. They would hunt him like a specially trained animal. He would never know peace, even if he killed every tormentor who tried to kill him. There would always be another. He couldn't imagine killing this child. At that same moment, he saw eyes focused on him, the whites of which were clearly visible in the darkness. Something had awakened the prince.
* * *
"So you're finished. You won't get anything more from me." Nothing more.
"So, what am I supposed to do?
" "Now you're on your own.
" "So that means..."
"So you've finished your apprenticeship with me. Now all you have to do is practice on your own. Develop your skills.
" "Will I also receive my name today?"
"Yes. Just like every Night One.
" "Master?
" "Yes.
" "And the final oath?
" "You'll swear too. Like everyone else.
" "Will the entire Higher Order be there?
" "Of course. You know.
" "But... I'm afraid.
" "You have no right to be afraid! You knew that! You know that now! Night Ones can't be afraid!
" "But...
" "What?
" "I'm nervous before the meeting with the Order. What will it be like? How will they judge me? You know I've completed every task. I've spied. I've stolen. I've kidnapped. I've murdered. That's not what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of leaving the place that has been my home until now.
" "Then don't be afraid. Because practicing your profession under our banner won't last long." You'll have to get used to it. And fear will only get in the way.
"How did I get here?... How did it all start?... Where's my family?... Why me?"
"Everyone asks themselves that question. And we don't choose just anyone. The strongest and healthiest children. I chose you for another reason, too. You stood out. Although we can't stand out. We're supposed to be ordinary. Blend in. But I chose you anyway.
" "But this job..." "If you can call it a job.
" "You could do any job now. Maybe you'd starve. With us, you've never been in danger of that. And now, though you'll be in danger often, you'll never be hungry or thirsty. You'll have enough to live on. Something to live on."
"Hmm...
" "Deal with it."
"What time will the ceremony begin?
" "That's what I was hoping for. The same time as always.
" * * *
- Cadet 106.
"Yes.
" "I solemnly declare that you are a Nightborn.
" "It's an honor.
" "You are given the name Wolf. A wolf is always loyal to his pack, he's fast, yet strong. He's deadly, but he can still be tender towards his young. Every Nightborn has the right to reach his true family. And for that, he needs a surname. For the trust you've shown us, your teacher will reveal your true name.
" "Thank you.
" "And now for the evaluation. We've received your teacher's reports. We spied on you ourselves, through the best Nightborn. Your exercises with the other cadets speak for themselves. Ten out of ten. We believe in you. We believe you'll join the Nightborn Elite, Wolf.
" "I'll try.
" "And now for the promise. Surely you know what to do when you're caught doing what you're doing?"
"Run as fast as you can, or die with dignity.
" "Yes. However, the Night Wolf tradition is an oath you will keep when your prey catches you red-handed. The one you want to kill. The one you are tasked with killing. What is your oath? Remember, you will be able to keep this oath yourself. No one but you.
" "It's difficult. I haven't had time to think about it.
" "We know. But you are capable. And smart. We know you will make the right... oath.
" "If the prey catches me... If the prey catches me carrying out my task, I will surrender myself to them. I will tell them what I intended to do and surrender myself. If necessary, I will die with dignity.
" "That's a very noble and... difficult oath to keep.
" "But it's also the best motivation for completing the task perfectly.
" "True. So! Night Wolf, time to leave the nest. Time to hit the road.
" * * *
"Hello. Who are you?
" "Hello. I'm a thief.
" "Yes?"
"Yes. I'm also a spy.
" "Really?
" "Really. And I'm also... a murderer.
" "What?
" "I'm a murderer. And I was sent here to kill you. But I don't want to anymore. I can't.
" "And?
" "What 'and'?" That's my code. That's what I swore to myself. And I intend to keep that oath. For the memory of my master.
" * * *
"Wolven.
" "Excuse me?
" "Wolven. You come from the north. Wolven is a northern name. And it means the same as its Night counterpart.
" "Oh yes. True."
"So! Night Wolf! I'm proud of you! I haven't had such a good student in a long time. And I don't know if any have surpassed you in skill. As a parting gift, I want to give you something. Your first weapon. Or rather, weapons.
" "But...
" "Yes?
" "This dagger! This sword!
" "Yes?
" "They are yours, master! And... They are beautiful!
" "And powerful. I am old, as you can see. I will remain a teacher for the rest of my life. These weapons will be of no use to me. A dagger will always find its owner, unless someone claims it. A sword, if you hold it in your hand, will take a fatal blow. Later, after a fight, it breaks as a sign that it has saved its owner. It can, of course, be repaired at a blacksmith's. But its magical properties are difficult to restore. Wizards don't like to simply use a spell that enhances a weapon so much. And the wizard who made this did so for the life I saved. So I ask you with all my heart." Don't lose these weapons.
" "Thank you, master!
" "You're welcome. Now! Farewell!
" "Far be it, master.
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