As dusk fell, Kaelan expanded his awareness throughout the docks, establishing a perimeter of insect scouts that extended his range as far as possible. Every beetle, fly, spider, and ant within five blocks was now part of his surveillance network, with relays positioned to alert him to any suspicious movement.
He paid particular attention to the west dock, where Oros Henar's warehouses were located. Through patient observation via his insect spies, Kaelan began building a picture of his adversary's operation—noting guard rotations, identifying key personnel, mapping entry points and potential vulnerabilities.
Three consecutive nights passed without incident. Kaelan maintained his vigil, sleeping in brief intervals while either Gray Flea or Three Spear stood watch. During the day, he divided his time between overseeing warehouse operations and remotely monitoring his silk production through specialized insects he'd stationed at his residence.
On the fourth night, as a crescent moon hung low over the harbor, Kaelan's patience was rewarded. His insect sentries detected movement on the warehouse roof—careful, deliberate movement that spoke of training and intent.
Through the compound eyes of a dozen flies, Kaelan observed a masked figure sliding down a rope onto the narrow alley behind the warehouse. The intruder wore dark clothing and carried multiple weapons—a curved dagger at his belt, what appeared to be throwing knives strapped to his thigh, and a small crossbow secured to his back.
"We have a visitor," Kaelan murmured to Gray Flea, who stood watch nearby.
Gray Flea nodded once, moving silently to alert Three Spear, who dozed on a pallet nearby. The younger warrior came awake instantly, reaching for his spear without a sound.
"Capture, not kill," Kaelan instructed quietly. "I want information."
Both former Unsullied nodded their understanding, taking up positions on either side of the rear entrance. Kaelan, meanwhile, gathered his swarm—thousands of insects streaming from hidden crevices throughout the warehouse, forming into ordered groups according to his mental commands.
As the intruder approached the rear door, lock picks already in hand, Kaelan struck. A wave of insects surged forward—
Flies and mosquitos swarmed the assassin's face, focusing on eyes, nose, and mouth. Scorpions and large spiders targeted exposed skin on hands and neck, not to sting but to create distraction and panic.
The assassin's training was evident in his initial response—despite the shock of the insect attack, he maintained enough composure to reach for his weapons. But that composure shattered when a particularly large desert scorpion ran up his arm and positioned itself at the vulnerable juncture of neck and jaw, stinger poised.
The momentary paralysis was all Gray Flea and Three Spear needed. They burst from their positions, moving with the fluid grace particular to Unsullied training. Three Spear swept the assassin's legs while Gray Flea disarmed him with brutal efficiency. Before the intruder could recover, he found himself pinned to the ground, a spear at his throat and his weapons scattered.
"Bring him inside," Kaelan ordered, dispersing most of the insect swarm but maintaining control of the scorpions as an additional deterrent.
The assassin struggled briefly as the warriors dragged him into the warehouse, but froze when one of the scorpions crawled onto his chest, mandibles clicking mere inches from his face.
"Secure him to that post," Kaelan directed, indicating a sturdy wooden beam near his sleeping area. As the Unsullied bound the intruder with rope, Kaelan approached slowly, studying their captive with clinical detachment.
The man was lean but muscular, with the dark complexion common to Summer Islanders. When Gray Flea removed his mask, he revealed a face marked by a single thin scar that ran from temple to jaw—a distinctive feature that would make identification easy if needed.
"Comfortable?" Kaelan asked mildly, once the assassin was securely bound.
The man spat on the ground but said nothing, his eyes burning with hatred.
"I'm going to ask you some questions," Kaelan continued. "How you answer will determine whether you leave here alive." He gestured toward the scorpions that now perched on crates nearby, their stingers raised aggressively. "My friends here are quite venomous. One sting might not kill a man of your size, but three or four? A most unpleasant death."
"I tell you nothing," the assassin snarled, his accent confirming his Summer Islands origin.
Kaelan sighed theatrically. "That's disappointing." He made a subtle gesture, and one of the scorpions began crawling toward the bound man, moving with deliberate slowness up his leg.
The assassin's eyes widened, but he maintained his defiant expression.
"Who sent you?" Kaelan asked.
Silence.
The scorpion continued its journey, now at the assassin's knee.
"Was it Oros Henar of the Spicers Guild?"
A flicker of recognition crossed the man's face before he could suppress it.
"Ah," Kaelan nodded. "So it was Henar. What were your instructions? To kill me? Burn another warehouse?"
The assassin's mouth remained firmly shut, but perspiration had begun to bead on his forehead as the scorpion reached his thigh.
Kaelan directed a second scorpion to begin climbing the man's other leg, while simultaneously sending a large spider toward his face. The combination proved too much for the assassin's composure.
"Stop!" he gasped as the spider dangled inches from his nose, its fangs clearly visible. "I will speak."
Kaelan halted the insects' advance but kept them positioned threateningly. "Wise decision. Now, who sent you?"
"Henar," the assassin admitted, his voice taut with fear and anger. "Oros Henar paid for your death."
"How much?" Kaelan asked, genuinely curious.
The assassin looked surprised by the question. "Two hundred honors. Half now, half when complete."
"Insulting," Three Spear muttered from where he stood guard. "Good assassin costs minimum five hundred."
Despite the tension of the moment, Kaelan had to suppress a smile at the younger Unsullied's professional critique. "Indeed. It seems Henar doesn't value my life very highly." He refocused on the prisoner. "What else did he tell you? About me, my operation?"
"Only that you threaten his business. That you use... unnatural methods." The assassin's gaze flicked meaningfully to the insects still poised on his body. "I see now he spoke truth about that."
"What else does he know about my 'methods'?"
The assassin shook his head. "Nothing specific. Only rumors that you have some way to keep vermin from warehouses that others cannot match."
That was something, at least. Henar suspected Kaelan had unusual resources but didn't know their nature or extent. The element of surprise remained on their side.
"And how were you to report your success?" Kaelan pressed. "How would Henar know to pay the remainder of your fee?"
"His steward visits the Red Feather tavern each evening," the assassin replied. "I was to leave a white stone on the third table from the door when the deed was done."
Kaelan nodded thoughtfully. That information could be useful.
"One last question," he said, leaning in closer. "How many others like you has Henar hired?"
The assassin hesitated, and Kaelan made a small gesture that sent the spider creeping closer to the man's face.
"Two!" the prisoner gasped. "Two others. One already tried and failed—the fire-setter. I am second. If I fail, third will come."
Kaelan exchanged a glance with Gray Flea, whose expression remained impassive but whose eyes reflected understanding of their predicament. A problem that wouldn't end with this one assassin.
"Thank you for your honesty," Kaelan said, straightening up. "You've been most helpful."
Relief washed over the assassin's face. "You will release me now?"
Kaelan studied him silently for a long moment. The pragmatic choice was clear—a living assassin would simply try again, or worse, return to Henar with detailed information about Kaelan's abilities. But the idea of cold-blooded execution still troubled him, a remnant of his previous life's morality struggling against the harsh realities of his current world.
"What would you advise?" he asked, turning to his guards.
"Kill him," Three Spear said without hesitation. "He has seen your power. Will tell others if freed."
Gray Flea nodded agreement. "Mercy to enemies is seen as weakness. Weakness invites more attacks."
The assassin's face drained of color as he realized his fate was being decided. "I can serve you!" he blurted desperately. "I have skills. Information about Henar, his allies. Please—"
"You switched loyalty quickly," Kaelan observed. "Why would I trust someone who betrays an employer so easily?"
He turned away, wrestling with his decision. This wasn't Earth, with laws and a justice system. This was Qarth—a city where power was the only true protection, and mercy was often repaid with betrayal.
"I will do it," Gray Flea said quietly, reaching for his dagger.
"No." Kaelan's voice was firm as he turned back to face the bound assassin. "If this is to be done, I'll do it myself."
He took the spear from Three Spear's hands, testing its weight. If he was to survive in this world—to build something meaningful amid its brutality—he couldn't delegate the hard choices to others. The responsibility had to be his.
"You understand why this is necessary," Kaelan said to the assassin, not really a question.
The man's eyes were wide with fear, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. Professional killers understood the risks of their trade.
"Quick, then," the assassin requested, his voice barely above a whisper. "As you would want for yourself."
Kaelan positioned the spear carefully, finding the spot where it would pierce the heart directly. One thrust, properly placed, would end it instantly.
"Look at me," he instructed, wanting to see the man's eyes—to acknowledge the humanity they were both sharing in this terrible moment.
The assassin raised his gaze, fear mingling with a strange dignity in his expression. Kaelan drew a deep breath, centered himself, and drove the spear forward with all his strength.
The weapon struck true. The assassin's body jerked once, his eyes widening in shock and pain before gradually dimming. Blood spread across his tunic, startlingly bright in the lantern light. Then he slumped forward against his bonds, life extinguished.
Kaelan stood motionless, the spear still in his hands, blood dripping slowly onto the warehouse floor. He had taken a life—deliberately, calculated, not in the chaos of self-defense or the heat of battle, but as an execution. The weight of that decision settled over him like a physical burden.
"It was necessary," Three Spear offered, perhaps sensing Kaelan's internal struggle.
"I know," Kaelan replied quietly, finally relinquishing the spear. "Dispose of the body somewhere it won't be found immediately."
As his guards moved to carry out his orders, Kaelan walked to the small washing basin in his makeshift quarters. He scrubbed the blood from his hands methodically, watching the water turn pink, then red.
This was Planetos, not Earth. Different rules applied here. Survival required adaptation, even to things that once would have seemed unthinkable.
He dried his hands on a cloth, his mind already turning to the next step. The assassin's death solved an immediate problem, but Henar remained a threat—one that would soon realize his second attempt had failed and send a third.
The information about the Red Feather tavern and the white stone signal provided an opportunity. If Henar's steward expected such a message...