The echoes of the orchestral music from the Great Hall of Castle Graymore slowly faded into a haunting silence, replaced by the oppressive stillness of the west wing corridors. The grand banquet celebrating Faris's breakthrough had finally drawn to a close, leaving behind a lingering scent of expensive wine and the hollow remnants of an opulence that now felt strangely vacant.
The light from the mana crystals embedded in the stone walls dimmed automatically, casting long, serpentine shadows across the cold marble floors—shadows that seemed to writhe as if possessed by a life of their own.
Razzaq Graymore walked alone toward his room. Clara had just excused herself to fetch warm water from the kitchen, while Alya was still held up in the hall, seeing off the last of the Ravenshade family. Razzaq's small footsteps produced almost no sound—a carryover habit from his previous life as Ki Bungkuk Jagad, a man who had always been wary of every inch of ground he trod.
Suddenly, Razzaq stopped.
His spiritual senses, tempered through centuries of occult practice in Nusantara, flared with an instinctive alarm. In this hallway, which should have been heavily guarded, he felt an unnatural void. There were no heartbeats from the sentries. Instead, he sensed a razor-sharp killing intent and the faint, metallic scent of iron—the smell of blades recently drawn from their sheaths.
So, it is true. This banquet was the opening they were waiting for, Razzaq thought with chilling detachment.
From behind the darkness of the gothic pillars, five figures emerged in perfect unison. They were clad in void-black garments designed to absorb light, covering their entire bodies save for eyes that radiated a cold, murderous resolve. Their leader stepped forward, clutching a long dagger enveloped in a vibrating, deep blue mana. He was a Rank 5 Knight—a Blade Infuser.
In the world of Norvane knights, Rank 5 was the threshold where mana was no longer just a physical reinforcement; it could be unleashed as lethal energy strikes. A skilled Rank 5 knight was capable of assassinating even a Rank 6 if they executed a flawless surprise attack.
"How unfortunate... the defective third son of Graymore must die on such a beautiful night," the assassin's voice rasped, filled with absolute certainty. To him, killing a seven-year-old child without mana was a task easier than slicing bread.
Razzaq narrowed his eyes, feigning a retreat with trembling steps. "Who... who are you? Why are you here?"
"We are the shadows that will erase this family's stain," the assassin replied, raising his blade. Mana coalesced around the metal, producing a sharp, high-pitched hum. "Do not worry, boy. This will be very quick."
Razzaq continued to back away until his small frame touched the wall in the darkest corner of the corridor—a place where the dim mana light could not reach. The corner of his lip twitched upward—a smile that remained invisible to his pursuers.
"You have misjudged your prey," Razzaq whispered.
His tiny hands formed a series of complex mystical seals before his chest. He did not draw mana from the atmosphere of the Asyama continent; he summoned energy from the primordial depths of his own soul.
"Art of Soul Purification: Sinden Sari! (Ajian Pangruwatan Sukma: Sinden Sari)"
Instantly, the temperature in the corridor plummeted to sub-zero. The lingering scent of noble perfumes vanished, replaced by the fresh, coppery tang of blood and the suffocatingly sweet aroma of Frangipani (Bunga Kamboja)—the scent of death from the graveyards of Nusantara.
As he recited the mantra, Razzaq's mind drifted to the folklore that had birthed this entity. In Nusantara, she was known as the Kuntilanak. She was the manifestation of a woman who had died during childbirth—a soul trapped in an eternal cycle of pain and unquenchable vengeance.
The myths told that her beauty was merely a mask; behind her long, silken black hair was a gaping hole in her back, symbolizing the emptiness of her soul. The only way to subdue her was to drive a nail into the nape of her neck, but here, under Razzaq's command, she was a predator without equal.
"Hihihihihihihihi...."
A high-pitched, warbling laugh shattered the silence, crawling along the walls and piercing directly into the eardrums of the assassins. It was not a human sound. It was a laugh filled with madness, longing, and a primal thirst for life.
The assassins froze. Their mentalities, trained to face even the most ferocious monsters, suddenly crumbled under the weight of that sound. It was the Laugh of Death, a mental assault that shredded the central nervous system's focus.
From the shadows behind Razzaq, the entity materialized in her true form.
A woman in a long white gown that swept across the floor, looking as if it were woven from graveyard mist. Her jet-black hair was long and unkempt, waving unnaturally as it obscured most of her pale, ashen face. But the most terrifying feature was her eyes—a pair of glowing red orbs that burned in the dark, staring at the assassins with a pure, unadulterated lust for slaughter.
This was Sinden Sari, Razzaq's A-tier Kuntilanak Khodam.
Sinden Sari floated forward slowly, her long, obsidian-black claws glinting as she touched Razzaq's chin with a strangely possessive gesture.
"Oh... my tiny, adorable Master... why are there filthy flies disturbing your sleep? Hihihi!" Sinden Sari whispered, her voice sounding both melodious and horrific. Initially, she had expected to meet the stooped and ancient form of Ki Bungkuk Jagad, but seeing the tiny Razzaq had awakened a bizarre, yandere-like protective streak within her hollow heart.
"Finish them, Sari. Leave not a single sound," Razzaq commanded flatly.
The leader of the assassins, the Rank 5 knight, forced his body to move. "What kind of sorcery is this?! Die, you lowly wraith!"
He unleashed a Blade Infusion technique—a mana strike capable of cleaving through plate armor in an instant. The blue energy sliced through the corridor toward Sinden Sari.
Srettt!
The energy strike passed through Sinden Sari's body without leaving a single mark, as if she were mere smoke. The knight's eyes widened in shock. In the Asyama continent, mana attacks were supposed to be able to touch astral entities, but Sinden Sari originated from an entirely different energy system.
"Mine... do not touch... hihihi!"
Sinden Sari moved. She did not run; she vanished and reappeared directly in front of one of the assassins. Before the man could even scream, her black claws had torn through his throat, decapitating him instantly. Blood sprayed against the stone walls, but Sinden Sari only laughed louder, dancing amidst the crimson rain.
The slaughter was brutal yet strangely quiet. One by one, the assassins fell to claw wounds that defied logic. Their sturdy armor was shredded like paper before Sinden Sari's nails.
"My Lord... I am truly disgusted by this particular spirit. She is far too flirtatious with you," Nyi Roro Kidul's voice echoed in Razzaq's mind with a cynical edge. As the highest authority, the Queen of the Seas felt her Master's dignity was being compromised by Sinden Sari's behavior.
"Hihihi... The Great Queen shouldn't be jealous; I am merely pampering our little Master," Sinden Sari replied internally, still joking even as her hands were busy ripping the heart out of the penultimate assassin.
The lead assassin, the Blade Infuser, now slumped weakly against the floor. All his comrades had been reduced to shapeless piles of meat. He stared at Sinden Sari as she approached, cold sweat soaking his entire body. He realized that before this creature, the Rank 5 status he was so proud of was nothing more than a joke.
Sinden Sari grabbed the man's hair, pulling his face close to hers. Her red eyes burned into his. "My adorable Master wants you to be silent forever... hihihi!"
Krakk!
With a casual flick of her wrist, she snapped the neck of the Rank 5 knight.
The corridor returned to silence, save for the sound of blood dripping onto the marble. Razzaq stepped out from the shadows, gazing at the corpses without a shred of pity.
"Good work, Sari," Razzaq said.
Sinden Sari immediately approached him, kneeling and attempting to stroke his head with the back of her pale hand. "Oh Master... may I have a reward? I wish to be stroked by this cute form for just a moment... hihihi!"
Razzaq sighed, forced to give a brief pat on his spirit's head before commanding her to return to the soul realm. Sinden Sari vanished with a lingering, satisfied laugh that echoed faintly in the air.
Razzaq quickly recited the Art of Dissolution (Ajian Penglarung). He erased every trace of Nusantara's mystical energy from the hallway so it could not be tracked by the kingdom's mages. He ensured there was no evidence or identification on the assassins' bodies that could link the attack to any specific faction.
Minutes later, the sound of heavy boots and panicked shouts began to echo from the other wing. Faris and Count Ragil appeared at the end of the corridor, their swords already drawn.
When they reached the scene, they froze.
Faris's face turned white, while Count Ragil, a Rank 7 Flow Master, felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. They saw the assassins lying in a horrific state—throats torn open and armor shredded as if by a wild, bloodthirsty monster.
"What... what happened here?!" Faris cried out, his voice trembling violently. Cold sweat poured down his temples as he looked at the Rank 5 leader, whose neck had been snapped as if it were nothing.
They looked toward Razzaq, who was huddled in the corner, his face pale and his body shaking (a flawless performance).
"R-Razzaq? Are you alright?" Ragil approached, his usually booming voice sounding shaken. He checked his son's body but found not a single scratch.
"Father... there was a monster... the monster laughed..." Razzaq murmured with a voice intentionally laced with trauma, his eyes staring blankly at the corpses.
Ragil turned back to the bodies. As a high-tier knight, he tried to sense any residual mana in the room. But he found nothing. No traces of spellcasting, no elemental residue. All he felt was a lingering, alien chill and the suffocating scent of frangipani flowers that made his heart race with a primal fear.
What power is capable of slaughtering five professional assassins, including a Blade Infuser, without expending a single drop of mana? Ragil thought. He felt a shiver of dread. It was as if a primordial entity had just passed through his castle.
That night, Castle Graymore was placed under the highest state of alert. However, inside his room, Razzaq Graymore slept peacefully. He had secured his position as the "lucky, weak child" while planting a seed of profound terror in the hearts of his own family.
Far away, in the dark corners of the Norvane underworld, a candle flickered and died. A contract had failed, and the shadows were beginning to whisper a name they had long forgotten.