Night had fallen, but in this part of the city, it was brighter than day. The Hao Pavilion was a beacon of light and ambition, a thirty-story tower of indulgence that pierced the night sky. Lavish and impossibly bright, its glowing lanterns and enchanted lights could be seen from several blocks away, a dazzling monument to the city's newly organized vice.
Sebas stood on the highest public level, the 30th floor. He walked to the polished brass guard rail, looking down into the building's heart. A massive, cylindrical atrium, a dizzying drop, formed the core of the Pavilion, allowing every patron to see and be seen. It was a masterpiece of social engineering, designed to stoke the fires of envy and ambition. Looking up, customers would feel a pang of jealousy for the luxury they had yet to attain. Looking down, they would feel a smug satisfaction for the station they had already achieved.
From his vantage point, the entire hierarchy of the city's nightlife played out below him like a grand, multi-layered opera.
On the lowest levels, the first through fifth floors, was the Public House. It was crowded, loud, and boisterous, a cacophony of laughter, music, and clinking glasses. Here, minor merchants and off-duty laborers rubbed shoulders with curious students, all nursing cheap ale and enjoying the spectacle. A stern-faced woman, Madam Shelara, kept a watchful eye, ensuring no fights broke out and that everyone paid their tab.
Higher up, on floors six through ten, was the Merchant's Lounge. The music was softer, the seating more plush. Successful guild members and minor city officials conducted business in hushed tones, their conversations punctuated by the smooth clinking of expensive wine glasses. Here, Madam Viviane, a woman with a keen ear for gossip, moved gracefully between tables, ensuring her high-paying clients were well-cared for. Sebas could just make out a snippet of conversation: "...the new Watch Commander is shaking things up. Bad for 'business'..."
The Gilded Cage, floors eleven to fifteen, was a realm of pure opulence, where whispers and secrets were the currency of choice. Wealthy traders and disgraced nobles bought the company of exquisitely dressed courtesans, their laughter a delicate, practiced sound. The madam here, Isabelle, was known for her absolute discretion.
And so it went, higher and higher. Each set of five floors was its own self-contained kingdom, managed by its own 'Madam', each more refined and exclusive than the last. Sebas's eyes drifted over it all, the grand, glamorous facade that hid a web of information gathering. He saw a group of well-dressed merchants on the 17th floor, laughing and pointing down at a former colleague on the 12th. He noted two noblewomen on the 21st, whispering behind their fans as they watched a wealthy shipping magnate try to impress a courtesan on the 25th floor.
His own silent figure, a veiled silhouette leaning against the railing of the highest, most exclusive floor, had not gone unnoticed. The highest-paying customer at that moment was the magnate on the 25th floor. The top five floors—the Imperial Suites—had never been opened to the public, their very existence a tantalizing mystery. The sight of a lone figure on the 30th floor had already started whispers on the floors below. Who was he? The owner? A guest of unimaginable importance?
His observation complete, Sebas stepped back from the railing, melting back into the shadows. He walked to a discreet, unmarked door at the back of the floor and ascended a hidden staircase. He emerged into his personal office on the secret 31st floor, the true, unseen peak of the tower, leaving the symphony of desire and envy to play out below him.
In his private office on the secret 31st floor, Sebas read through the day's intelligence reports, the city's myriad secrets laid bare on the papers before him. One particular report held his attention.
"The Evercrest nautical situation is still not calming down," he mused aloud. "It seems there is more to this situation than simple anti-piracy patrols."
From a kneeling position on the floor, Misela, his dutiful lieutenant, spoke. "Master," she said, her voice a respectful murmur. "One of the sailors at the docks had a loose tongue after a few drinks. He mentioned that the heightened security is a direct command from the highest level of the naval headquarters."
Sebas placed the report down. "Hmmm. The Fleet Admiral himself, you say?"
"Yes, Master," Misela confirmed. "The sailor said they are preparing to ensure the smooth and safe arrival of an 'important guest'."
"Expand our bugs around the main harbor," Sebas commanded, using their term for their network of low-level informants. "I want to know every ship that comes and goes, every new face on the docks. The beggars, the dockworkers, the tavern wenches—double their pay if you must."
"It can be done, Master," Misela said without hesitation.
Sebas looked at her, his veiled gaze seeming to pierce right through her. "Is there something else you wish to tell me, Misela?"
She bowed her head slightly. "I only wish to inform you, Master. One of our bugs in the slums reports that The Cardinal Wolves have been preparing to move their base of operations. It seems they will be sending some of their men to our Pavilion soon, to 'test the waters'."
"Alright," Sebas said, a note of finality in his voice. He stood up from his desk. "I suppose I will do the bug hunt myself tonight."
Misela simply bowed her head lower. "Have a fulfilling hunt, Master."
Sebas walked to the grand, floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the dazzling city. He didn't bother to unlatch it. With a soft, almost inaudible push, the reinforced glass swung open into the night. He stepped out onto the ledge, then simply dropped into the darkness, a silent, falling shadow against the bright lights of the tower.
Misela rose, walked to the window, and gently closed it, a serene, confident smile on her face.
…
Sebas moved like a ghost across the moon-drenched rooftops of the merchant's district. He was a man on a mission, and his mission was to intercept an assassination. He arrived at the target location—a lavish manor house—and melted into the shadows of a towering chimney, his eyes fixed on a third-story balcony.
He didn't have to wait long. Two lithe figures, half-elves, scaled the manor's ornate stonework with a silent, practiced grace. The half-moon, the only significant light in the night sky, cast their climbing forms in sharp, fleeting silhouette. They slipped over the balcony railing and into the wealthy merchant's son's bedroom.
The female assassin went first, a shadow within shadows. She moved from corner to corner, her senses attuned to the slightest sound, the smallest shift in the air. After a moment, she gave a single, sharp nod. The room was clear.
The male assassin moved with a brutal, liquid swiftness. He was at the bedside in an instant, one hand clamping over the sleeping young man's mouth, the other drawing a wicked-looking dagger across his throat in a single, smooth motion. A spray of hot blood arced through the air, splattering across the silken bedsheets and the ornate headboard.
The job was done. But their professionalism ended there.
The woman immediately went to a large dresser, rummaging through the drawers and pulling out handfuls of jewelry and gold coins. "Brother," she whispered urgently, "hurry up, help me with this."
The man joined her, and they began hurriedly stuffing the valuables into a leather satchel.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sound was soft but crisp, cutting through the silence of the death-filled room. Both assassins froze, dropping into defensive crouches, their daggers flashing in the moonlight.
A figure stood on the balcony, perfectly framed by the glowing half-moon behind him. It was Sebas. He stopped clapping. "Excellent work," he said, his voice a calm, conversational murmur. "Truly."
The two assassins were on high alert, their eyes darting around the room, assessing their new opponent, searching for an escape route. "Who the hell are you?" the woman hissed.
"You're not his butler," the man added, his voice a low growl. "Are you the head merchant's man?"
Sebas chuckled softly. "No, no. I am not his butler." He stood with a relaxed confidence that was more unnerving than any threat. The assassins could tell this man was either incredibly powerful or ready to die.
"Are you here to capture us?" the man asked.
"Capture you? No, no…" Sebas replied, taking a single, unhurried step into the room. "I am here because of your reputation. Though, I must admit, I am now forced to reassess my information."
"What's that supposed to mean?" the woman demanded, her grip tightening on her dagger.
"I require individuals of a certain talent," Sebas explained. "You two move well. You kill... adequately... but it needs improvement." He looked directly at the woman. "And you made a mistake."
"What mistake?" she spat.
"Calling your partner 'brother' in the middle of a mission, for one."
The male assassin sneered. "It's not a mistake if the only one who hears it ends up dead."
In a swift, coordinated motion, they attacked. The man lunged low, aiming for Sebas's legs, while the woman sprang from a nearby table, her dagger arcing down from above.
"Tsk," Sebas clicked his tongue.
He didn't move from his spot. As their daggers were about to reach him, his hands shot out with impossible speed, catching both of their wrists in an iron grip. "Second mistake," he said calmly, stopping their assault dead. He twisted, using their own momentum against them, and slammed them both hard onto the wooden floor.
He continued his critique as if there had been no interruption. "You are impatient when being criticized. That tells me you have a temper. And if I know this, then any experienced hunter will know this too. You may be killers, but you are also prey."
He crouched down, looking at the two half-elves groaning on the floor. "Let this be your first lesson," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper. "You do not need to trust me. You need to obey me."
He then let out a sliver of his true power, not as an attack, but as pure, unadulterated intimidation. The air in the room grew heavy, a suffocating pressure that seemed to choke the very moonlight.
He then smiled, a serene, terrifying expression. "...Because those who do not... tend not to live very long."
…
Sebas made his way back to the Hao Pavilion, his mission complete. He bypassed the opulent upper floors, descending deep into the building's foundation, to the secret basement level. Here, there was no music or laughter, only the rhythmic thud of bare feet on padded mats and the sharp kiai of children's voices.
The basement had been converted into a spartan but immaculate dojo. In the center of the room, Ren and Liane, the twin assassins, were drilling a group of a dozen or so orphan children in the basics of martial arts—stances, blocks, and simple strikes.
Sebas watched from the doorway for a moment. He looked at his own hand, clenching and unclenching it. 'Let's hope Master Zero's next Gacha pull can get me a more valuable card,' he thought. 'Something to properly teach these children.'
Ren, the male twin, noticed him and immediately stopped the training, bowing low. "Master."
"How is your assessment?" Sebas asked, his voice soft but carrying easily across the room.
"They are good, Master," Ren replied. "They learn quickly. But I doubt their raw physical gifts alone will give them the edge they need to survive."
Sebas raised a hand, palm up. "Do you know this?" he asked.
Ren, Liane, and all the children watched as Sebas's hand began to glow with a soft, steady blue aura. The light was not aggressive, but it hummed with a palpable, contained power.
Ren and Liane both stammered, their professional composure completely shattered. "An... an Aura Knight?" Ren whispered in disbelief.
"No," Sebas corrected, the blue light fading as quickly as it had appeared. "This is Qi. An internal energy. And all of you," he said, his gaze sweeping over the wide, astonished eyes of the children, "have the potential to wield it. That is why you are here."
A wave of shock rippled through the dojo. Not only had they just seen a power that rivaled the legendary Aura Knights, but this strange, powerful butler was now telling them that they, a group of street orphans, could possess it too.
Then, a small, bruised boy, no older than ten, stepped forward from the line of children. There was a fresh cut on his cheek and a defiant look in his eyes. He looked directly at Sebas. "If we learn this power," the boy asked, his voice clear and unwavering, "will you let us do whatever we want with it?"
Sebas's brow raised slightly, a flicker of interest in his veiled eyes. "Yes," he replied. "As long as it does not hinder this organization."
The boy's eyes burned with a sudden, fierce conviction. He dropped to his knees, his forehead touching the mat in a deep, respectful bow. "Then I will do anything you tell me to," he declared.
Sebas walked over and placed a gentle hand on the boy's head. "What is your name?"
The kid looked up, his small face a mask of fierce, unshakeable determination.
"Kai," he said. "My name is Kai."
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**