Chaos erupted inside the inn's small dining hall. Yet not a sound slipped through its walls. Outside, the moon hung over the quiet town, cold and distant. People strolled past the inn, unaware—still visiting shops, still laughing.
A kitchen knife grazed past his face, carving a shallow line along his cheek. The bartender was already reaching for another when a kick slammed into Noah's back, breaking his focus.
He let out a hollow gasp, boots scraping against the floor as he caught his balance.
'Hell… This is hell.'
He'd meant to test their skill first—but the plan died with the first strike. Then came another, and another.
Their intent was clear—capture, not kill. Still, Noah could tell they were killers holding back, not kidnappers by profession.
One lunged low with a fork aimed for his gut; another waited to slice at his neck if he dodged. The rest circled, readying another coordinated strike.
Noah smirked through the blood and sweat. 'How brutal, all these people to take down little me. I'm honored.'
Instead of blocking, he let his body go loose, collapsing backward. His legs slid beneath him, smooth and sinuous—like something unseen had pulled him aside.
Momentum carried the first attacker straight into his ally. The punch meant for Noah cracked against the other man's temple, followed by the fork stabbing into his side.
Another came from the right, jabbing fast. Noah ducked, drove his elbow into the man's ribs, and felt the sharp give of bone beneath his strike.
The next dropped low for a takedown. Noah matched his level—then snapped a knee up into his nose. Bone crunched, and the man collapsed.
They came in waves, strikes darting for every opening. Noah weaved through them, parrying, sidestepping, breath quick and steady beneath the stifling heat.
In the corner, Leon observed the fight with a careless look. While most of the assassins were busy, a few remaining ones surrounded Leon, ready to strike if he moved even slightly.
Maybe it was that calm—the quiet promise of what would happen if they touched him—that kept their focus on Noah instead.
Noah slipped past another strike and steadied himself. Sweat blurred his vision, but the assassins were faltering now—breaths ragged, rhythm broken.
The door was within reach, yet felt impossibly far.
'I can't leave—there's a chance innocent people might get caught up in this.'
His gaze swept the room, hunting for anything he could use. But fighting in an enclosed space was slowly taking a toll on him.
'How are they still sleeping?'
Leon's earlier outburst and the chaos that followed should've woken the entire inn—yet not a single door creaked open.
He wiped his right cheek. 'It's shallow.'
Noah steadied his stance. Across the room, Leon sat as if watching a rehearsal—calm, unblinking, untouched by the storm.
Suddenly, the air inside shifted slightly. It got denser, making it harder to breathe.
Noah started to sweat profusely. 'No—Novice adepts?! Five of them?!?!'
The assassins began to circulate Aether—their bodies trembling with gathered force. Whatever skill Noah thought they had before now seemed meaningless.
The one in front lowered his stance, veins pulsing beneath his sleeves as his muscles swelled.
At the back, another gripped a knife from the table, his hawk-like eyes tracking Noah's every move. It looked like he was the leader of the group, coordinating their attacks to corner Noah constantly.
The other three armed themselves with whatever they could reach—waiting for the signal.
Noah gave a breathless laugh. "Well… isn't this just perfect."
He knew their Disciplines now—and that only made things worse.
The foremost person was of the Kinetist Discipline, while the three behind him were of the Bladeflow Discipline, similar to him. But they were the least of his problems right now. Because the one at the very back appeared to be of the Sentinel Discipline.
Kinetist Discipline was centered around momentary bursts of strength, making a warrior capable of shattering the armor with ease if used correctly. On the other hand, Bladeflow Discipline was more about speed and precision, giving its user the upper hand in most one-on-one duels.
On the other hand, the Sentinal Discipline didn't focus on physical strength much. Instead, it helped anticipate enemy tactics and coordinate troops.
Right now, he wasn't facing five Veteran Adept individuals. He was facing a unit led by a person with the discipline most suited for leadership.
The room fell still for a heartbeat. The creak of the floorboards, the faint tremor of drawn Aether—the only sounds left.
His breath steadied as he drew in Aether. It spread through his limbs, cold and sharp, burning away the haze. The pressure lifted; the fear thinned into focus.
His erratic thoughts came to an abrupt stop.
The frontman lunged—floorboards splintering under the burst. In a blink, he was before Noah, both fists drawn back for a crushing strike.
His forearms swelled grotesquely, like twin cannons about to fire.
But for Noah, his movement looked much slower. The entire room seemed to slow—every flicker of motion stretching into clarity.
Every heartbeat, every hollow breath, every twitch in the enemy's muscles—Noah heard it all, or rather, felt it all. He couldn't discern them all, but he was at least able to do so for the people in his immediate vicinity.
A dozen invisible needles pressed into his skin—the weight of their killing intent made manifest.
His gaze slipped past the brute before him—locking onto the man at the far end.
'I need to take him first.'
Noah slipped past the first man—only to catch the glint of steel from behind. Another one. A hidden strike.
The steak knife whistled through the air, chasing after its target. But by the time it reached its destination, Noah was nowhere to be found.
The Kinetist's delayed strike came crashing down instead. A burst of wind tore through the room, shattering the weakened wall in a single roar.
Dust filled the entire room, blinding everyone for a heartbeat. But the Sentinel's eyes didn't waver. His perception pierced through the haze, following the faint distortions in the air.
He scanned the entire room with his eyes until a strange feeling caught his attention. He jerked his head upward.
"He's above."
Just as he shouted, Noah shot out of the heavy dust right in front of the leader. The broken glass of an Aether lamp grasped tightly in his hands.
But unlike their leader, the other two were quick to adapt. They struck while he was still midair, aiming for his vital parts.
He couldn't evade, not midair. So he chose not to. One blade tore his shoulder, another sank into his side—but his hand never faltered.
The shock in their eyes came too late.
But still being in motion, Noah landed right in front of their leader. Seeing up front, he realized it was the waiter that had served them just a moment ago. The same man who'd smiled and served their drinks. His eyes met Noah's mid-motion, already tracking, yet too late.
Squish…
The glass sank deep into his chest, tearing through flesh and bone. The man's gaze fell to the wound, then to Noah's trembling hands.
Gurgle… Cough—
The man gagged, blood spilling down his chin. Instead of letting go, Noah's grip tightened even further—he drove the glass deeper until resistance gave way.
As his lifeless body fell down, blood pooled around the wound, slowly soaking his clothes and dripping on the floor.
Noah stood frozen, watching the last flicker of life fade beneath his hand. A hollow coldness settled in his chest.
A morbid feeling enveloped him.
He'd trained to fight, not to kill. The weight of it hit him like a second blow—he couldn't tell if the tremor in his hands came from pain or guilt.
His emotions were twisting out of control as he lost sense of how it had ended this way.
Thwack—
A dull crack at the back of his skull. Sound folded in on itself, the world shrinking to a ring in his ears.
His body hit the floor before he even realized he'd fallen.