10:00 PM.
The Head Office of Biswas Palace.
Habib Biswas sat upon his seat of honor. The table before him was laden with a feast fit for a king—dishes of various delicacies, still steaming with heat.
The room was a testament to luxury. Intricate woodwork adorned the walls, and on one side stood a massive bookshelf, towering twice the height of a man.
Despite the opulence, Habib Biswas's mood was foul. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the table—Tick... tick... tick...—a testament to the sleepless nights he had endured preparing for this very moment. Tonight was crucial.
Suddenly, a knock on the door.
"Come in..."
Ten figures glided silently into the room. Their bodies were shrouded in black Haori[1], their faces hidden behind masks. Not a wisp of their identity was visible.
In unison, they bowed deeply. "Subordinates pay their respects to the Family Head..."
Seeing them, a sliver of a smile finally cracked Habib's wrinkled face.
"Listen," he said, his voice grave. "Tonight's mission is not simple. This secret meeting is a threat to many families. They could declare war on us tonight."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"Your task is to safely escort Sukumar Talukdar, Mansi Delal, Monir Chaprashe, and Foysal Ahmed to this location."
Then, his tone hardened into cold steel.
"If a situation arises where your own lives are at risk—flee. And if their lives are at risk... let them die. Remember, your lives are more valuable to me than theirs."
The ten assassins breathed a collective sigh of relief. At least they were not being sent as sacrificial lambs.
"If you complete this small mission successfully, each of you will receive 5,000 Contribution Points. And if you display exceptional skill on the field, the reward will increase."
Habib glanced at the clock. It was past 10:15 PM.
"Now go..."
"Subordinates take their leave..."
With those words, they dissolved into the shadows, vanishing as if they had never been there.
Habib Biswas looked out the window at the Crimson Moon and muttered to himself,
"Tonight will be bloody... just as bloody as the Crimson Goddess herself."
✦✦✦
11:00 PM.
The 'Shadow Council' Room of Forazi Manor.
This secret chamber was a palace of darkness. In the center stood a round table made of ebony wood, around which sat the three stars of the Bhola Sadar Underworld—Labib Forazi, Miyoku Cheng, and Zidan Hossain.
Scented candles burned on the table, their soft light casting a mesmerizing illusion over Lady Miyoku Cheng.
Her presence alone made the air heavy with a strange, hypnotic power. Her skin was like flawless porcelain or milk-white marble, glowing faintly even in the dim light.
Her eyes were unlike the women of this region; they resembled the sharp gaze of a Phoenix—slightly slanted, elongated, and deep black. In that gaze lay the mysteries of a thousand years of the Orient.
She wore a blood-red silk robe embroidered with golden dragons. In her hand, she held an ornate fan, with which she fanned herself in slow, rhythmic motions.
Her lips were red as ripe cherries, but her smile held a toxic sweetness. She was like a blooming orchid—beautiful to behold, but deadly to touch.
"Should we not unleash the hunting dogs now? It is past eleven. My sixth sense tells me they have already dispatched their forces," Miyoku said thoughtfully, bringing the silk fan to her lips. Her voice had a melodic chime, like the sound of breaking glass bangles.
Labib Forazi sipped his expensive drink and smiled faintly. "Do not be so impatient, Lady Miyoku. The prey has only just left its burrow. It will take time for them to return..."
Zidan Hossain had been silent in the shadows until now. He shifted his massive frame. "Then the plan remains unchanged? We will ambush them. A three-pronged attack from three sides. There will be no escape route."
The fire of greed lit up in the other two's eyes. Miyoku snapped her fan shut and placed it on the table. The sound was like the cocking of a pistol trigger.
"Excellent," Miyoku said, cruel joy in her phoenix eyes. "We will corner them and push them toward their territory. Then, seizing the opportunity, we will capture one or two of their 'Resource Zones'. I have had my eyes on the Talukdar's northern mines for a long time..."
They laughed in unison. The sound seemed to make the candle flames tremble. Maids brought in dinner and fruits. Picking a grape, Zidan Hossain suddenly changed the subject.
"Lady Miyoku, what news of the 'Disgrace' of the Ahmed Family... Ruhan? To survive this long with a Soul Mastery lower than a dog... isn't it a strange joke of nature?"
Miyoku Cheng toyed with a fruit knife in her porcelain hand, a smirk playing on her lips. A smile so enchanting it could stop a weak man's heart.
"Perhaps..." she stabbed the knife into a fruit, "he is his father's most beloved, yet most useless pawn. Like a wingless bird—unable to fly, just waiting to fall from the heights..."
They burst into laughter again, clinking their wine glasses. They did not know that the pawn they thought was a 'wingless bird' was preparing to shatter their carefully built empire tonight.
✦✦✦
1:45 AM.
Habib Biswas's ten 'Elite' assassins split into two groups and completed their tasks.
Two remained on guard at the border, while the remaining eight went in to collect the invited Elders—Sukumar Talukdar, Mansi Delal, Monir Chaprashee, and Foysal Ahmed—and began the return journey.
On the way back, just two kilometers from the border of the Biswas Family—on a narrow earthen road winding through the forest—disaster struck.
At first, there was no sound. Only the chirping of crickets suddenly ceased.
The experienced Monir Chaprashe froze. His pupils contracted.
"Ambush!"—Before his roar could finish, three massive balls of fire tore through the darkness.
"Ember Burst Spirit!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Massive explosions shook the earthen road. The raging flames lit up the night sky like day. Two 'Rank 5' guards on the Biswas side were incinerated before they could comprehend what was happening.
A bloody, unequal war began.
Twenty-five masked 'Rank 5' Masterers from the opposing side surrounded them from three directions. Their bodies radiated colorful auras—fire, water, wind, and lightning.
The remaining six guards rushed to protect the leaders. But the enemies outnumbered them three to one.
One enemy Masterer stepped forward, lightning crackling in his hands.
"Thunder Fang Spirit!"
He slashed his hand through the air. A wolf made of lightning descended from the sky. Before the guard could move, the wolf bit into his neck.
CRACK!
The guard's body went limp from the electric shock, and the air grew heavy with the smell of burning flesh.
The situation was spiraling out of control, but the leaders showed no fear. Only annoyance and anger.
Sukumar Talukdar frowned as a drop of blood splattered onto his expensive clothes. He waved his hand, conjuring a "Dust Veil Spirit" in front of him.
A layer of dust obscured him from view. He spoke calmly,
"Amateur! Why are Habib's men so weak?"
Mansi Delal rubbed a ring on his hand. "Water Shell Spirit." A sphere of water surrounded him, turning the enemy's fire arrows into steam. There was no fear in his eyes, only calculating cunning.
But Foysal Ahmed? He was new. This was his first time on a battlefield. He was trembling with fear, but Monir Chaprashee pulled him behind his back.
"Stand straight, boy! You are Ahmed blood, not a coward!"
Monir Chaprashee launched his own attack. He placed his hand on the ground.
"Quake Pulse Spirit!"
The earth cracked and shattered. Sharp stone spikes erupted from the fissures. Three enemy Masterers lost their balance.
But the enemy's strategy was different. They didn't want to kill the leaders; they wanted to eliminate the guards.
"Air Claw Spirit!"
Invisible blades of wind whistled through the air.
Three more guards on the Biswas side were sliced in half. Blood flooded the ground.
A lightning raid of mere minutes.
Seven out of the eight escort guards were dead. Only one survived, one of his arms severed from his body.
The two guards waiting at the border were still intact; they rushed forward to provide cover.
The enemy leader, instead of striking the final blow, gave a signal.
"Bolt Dart Spirit!"
Ten enemies simultaneously fired bolts of lightning from their hands—not at the leaders, but at the road behind them. A massive wall of dust and smoke erupted.
The last surviving guard gasped, "Lord, they are heading towards our Resource Zones... they have left the path open."
The leaders understood. This was their chance.
Sukumar Talukdar dusted off his clothes and said, "Let's go. Habib will have to answer for this weak security."
They activated their final resort—"Flash Step Spirit".
In the blink of an eye, their bodies blurred, and racing ahead of the wind, they entered the Biswas Palace through a secret back door.
Meanwhile, the fifteen enemies split into three groups and advanced towards the three Resource Zones of the Biswas Family. The looting began.
Suddenly—
Directly above the Biswas Palace, something exploded silently in the sky. There was no sound, no fire. Only the pressure of the air shifted.
In an instant, the entire palace area was blanketed in a Light Green Mist.
This mist was not ordinary. It spread over an area of nearly one kilometer. Inside the mist, time seemed to freeze. Those who looked at it felt as if they were spinning counter-clockwise against the flow of time.
Habib Biswas looked out the window and sighed deeply. There was no fear in his eyes, only the shadow of profound thought.
"So the rumors were true... he really possesses a Rank 3 'Time Path Spirit'..."
Sitting before him, the four guests (Sukumar, Mansi, Monir, Foysal) and the three surviving guards were still trembling from the adrenaline of battle.
Monir Chaprashee said grimly, "But this mist cannot enter the palace. It is just floating outside. So what is the point of all this drama? Is he trying to scare us?"
Habib Biswas turned to them. His gaze was calm, but hard as stone.
"Fear? The Elders of Shitapur do not know fear, Monir. We only wait for the right time."
He stood up.
He walked towards the massive bookshelf. He pressed a specific book, then moved it to another spot. In this manner, he moved a total of 23 books, 23 times. Each movement followed a specific rhythm, a specific rule.
Suddenly, the room shook.
Rumble-Rumble-Rumble!
The bookshelf split down the middle into two halves. A dark, long tunnel was revealed. Torches on either side of the path lit up one by one.
Habib Biswas looked back. A smile of excitement played on his lips.
"Come, friends... let us begin the most iconic moment in our clan's history. What we see today will change the history of Shitapur forever."
[1]Haori: A traditional Japanese short coat or jacket worn over a kimono. It signifies formality as well as the wearer's status, taste, or group identity.
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