ON THE ROOF
I looked at the hooded figure, his daggers glinting malevolently in the moonlight, now standing before me. He was a professional, radiating a cold, predatory aura, yet my own smile only widened. Kill me? Not so easily, little shadow.
"Wait, wait," I said, my voice cutting through the tension with an unnerving calm. "Don't you think it was a little too easy for you to enter here? An eleven-year-old like me has noticed you. So what are the chances that the trained guards and cultivators of the Main Castle would not have? Don't you find it strange?" I watched him, gauging his reaction, planting a subtle seed of doubt in his mind, testing his confidence.
He looked around, his head swiveling subtly, a faint startle in his posture as his gaze swept over the seemingly empty rooftops and grounds. His eyes, though mostly obscured by his hood, narrowed as he assessed the situation, a flicker of suspicion finally igniting within him. Good. He's assessing. He's wondering if he walked into a trap, if he's the actual bait.
"Hahahaha!" I burst out laughing, a genuine, chilling sound of amusement that echoed across the silent rooftops. In that very instant, I moved. Using the same ethereal step technique my father had employed in our spar – a technique the System had subtly analyzed and partially replicated for me – I vanished from my original spot. In a blink, I reappeared a dozen meters away, perched lightly on a nearby gargoyle, a mocking silhouette against the pale moon. The assassin, startled and disoriented, was now completely lost, his head snapping this way and that, searching frantically for my original position.
It would not be fun killing him easily like that, I mused, observing his frantic, almost comical movements. What should I do to play with him? My mind raced, already formulating a cruel, protracted game of cat and mouse. The thrill of psychological torture was far more satisfying than a quick kill.
Then, an idea, sharp and wicked, ignited within me. I utilized my unique footwork technique, a variant of the Ryu family's main branch style, amplified by my nascent green aura. I moved like a flicker of moonlight, closing the distance instantly, appearing directly beside him. My hand shot out, not to kill, but to strike a pressure point near his neck – enough to render him unconscious, to capture him and interrogate him at my leisure. Information was more valuable than a corpse.
But he was good. He vanished, a blur of motion, just as my fingers brushed empty air. "I think I have played with you enough, kid," his voice rasped, now coming from my left, filled with a renewed sense of urgency and irritation at being toyed with.
I pivoted instantly, moving towards the source of his voice, but he was gone again. Another sound, this time from my right, confirmed his evasion. "This time you are quick," he muttered, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. "I cannot believe that you're just an eleven-year-old kid." His voice was sharper now, the surprise evident.
I moved swiftly to the exact center of the roof, a strategic position that offered no easy ambush points. Then, I laughed again, a sharp, confident sound that echoed under the vast sky. "I didn't expect you to be this good," I conceded, a calculated compliment designed to disarm him. "But do you still remember what I told you at the beginning? That Ryu Clan guards are not normal. And my father... he is also still at the castle. He would have noticed when you entered." My voice dropped, becoming a low, insinuating whisper, meant to unravel his confidence. "And if you are not dead... it means he is testing me again."
The assassin hesitated, his hidden face momentarily still. I could almost feel his mind churning, weighing the possibility. The silence stretched, tense and heavy, as he considered the implications of my words. The pride in his stealth was being chipped away.
"You are just bluffing," he sneered, though a subtle shift in his stance betrayed a flicker of genuine uncertainty, a crack in his professional facade. "Do you think I will believe you, kid? Nobody can notice me. I am very good at stealth. Even if he is the Head of the Ryu family, it doesn't matter. He will never notice me if I don't want to." He scoffed, trying to regain his professional composure, but the tremor of doubt was undeniably there. He lunged, appearing directly in front of me with terrifying speed, his daggers arcing through the air, a desperate attempt to end the psychological game and simply kill me. "Enough with the talk," he growled, his voice a death-laden hiss. "Now, let me just kill you quickly, then I can have a nice break."
He is good, I acknowledged internally, my mind already working overtime, dissecting his every move, every subtle tell. This wasn't just a fight; it was a complex, deadly puzzle that required more than brute strength. But I will have to use my brain more if I want to kill him. I closed the distance with him in an instant, a blur of motion. With some green aura gathered on my palm, I launched a punch towards his chest. It was obviously a fake attack, designed to draw his focus and create an opening. As his attention concentrated on my fist, I gathered all my aura onto my left leg, a powerful surge of green light causing my limb to glow faintly. I kicked, aiming precisely at his face, an immediate, brutal strike meant to incapacitate, not necessarily to kill outright.
He reacted with a surprising burst of speed, his left hand snapping up to stop my leg mid-air. His grip was like iron, unyielding. He looked directly into my face, his eyes, visible now through a slight parting in his hood, gleamed with a mix of surprise and grudging admiration. "Not bad, kid," he muttered, his voice less raspy, more analytical. "You are a rare talent. Green aura, hmm? Good. Face is good. Tall enough at this age. Good." He paused, his gaze lingering on my white hair, a strange, almost wistful expression flitting across his masked features. "I just don't like this white hair of yours. Never mind. I just hope that she likes it."
His final words, echoing the earlier ones, intensified the mystery. The implication of a third party, a "she" with an interest in my appearance, twisted the already complicated situation into something far more intricate. The assassin was not merely an assassin; he was a messenger, and a pawn in a game I was only just beginning to unravel.