"An abandoned dock? That's certainly a good spot."
Leonard chuckled.
"Why do you say that?" Caesar asked curiously.
The ritual was over, and they were cleaning up the scene, making sure everything looked untouched. Otherwise, Mr. Pond, who would come to work the next day, might notice something strange.
"Think about it—no one usually goes there, so we can do things without worry. And the setting's perfect too; with boats swaying on the water, doesn't that set the mood?"
Leonard explained, the gas lantern in his hand swinging back and forth like a boat in the tide. The light cast his shadow across the wall, swaying with him. The Sleepless Pathway possessed excellent night vision, so the lantern was mainly for Caesar's sake.
Your imagination is really something.
Caesar was speechless. He carefully put away the blood-stained map, rubbing his fingertips out of habit. Strangely, there was no pain—the cut had already vanished. The same thing happened the last time he performed a ritual for Old Neil. For some reason, his wounds always healed far too quickly.
According to Nighthawk records, the higher Sequences of the Secrets Suppliant Pathway had authority over flesh and blood. Could that be why?
Whatever. It's better than not healing at all.
Pushing the thought aside, Caesar asked, "So what now? Retreat, or check it out?"
"Of course we check it out. Unlike us, they won't bother cleaning the scene. We might even find physical evidence."
"Ugh. Then I'd rather not look."
Caesar muttered with disgust, pulling open the office door.
Whoosh!
Steel flashed from the darkness outside.
A chill shot through his chest.
Pfft.
The sound of flesh tearing.
Caesar looked down in disbelief—a dagger had buried itself deep into his chest. The force behind it drove him backward, and he collapsed onto the floor.
Bang!
As his body hit the ground, Leonard's furious roar split the air.
"Caesar!"
His eyes went bloodshot. Just a second ago, they had been joking—and now Caesar lay stabbed at his feet. The attacker was a slender figure, cloaked and hooded, who had seized the moment the door opened to strike with deadly precision.
The ambush was so sudden Leonard barely had time to react. Rage surged through him—he lunged forward and lashed out with a savage kick, the darkness amplifying his strength until it whistled through the air.
But the Assassin retreated like a feather in the wind, dodging effortlessly. He glanced once at Caesar, once at Leonard, then turned to flee.
"The stars burn with my wrath; the night wind is my elegy."
Leonard's voice followed, deep and magnetic, a hymn that carried both sorrow and tranquility. The corridor seemed to hum with his words. The Assassin staggered, his steps faltering as his dagger hand trembled, head bowing as though drifting into a dream.
Then, with a sharp motion, he stabbed his own arm.
"Ugh!"
The burst of pain jolted him awake. He forced himself to run faster, tearing toward the end of the corridor.
"Damn it!"
Leonard pulled his revolver and fired.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire thundered through the hall, muzzle flashes tearing at the darkness.
But the Assassin didn't slow. He crashed through the window and leapt into the night, vanishing into the shadows below as if the third-floor drop were nothing. Leonard grit his teeth but didn't follow. He spun and rushed back to Caesar.
Caesar lay sprawled on the floor, chest heaving. Pain seared him with every breath, but beneath it came another sensation—his flesh was writhing, muscles and tissues stirring as if alive, eager to mend themselves.
The bleeding stopped. Torn organs shifted back into place. Fibers of muscle stretched and laced together. Tissue knit itself closed.
"Caesar! Caesar!"
Leonard's frantic voice echoed, and footsteps pounded closer. He froze when he saw the sight before him—Caesar's wound sealing on its own, flesh crawling back together.
Caesar winced, struggling to sit up. Leonard stared wide-eyed, his face pale with disbelief.
"You are…"
"Stop gawking and help me up." Caesar extended his hand. "If I hadn't opened the door first, you'd be the one bleeding out."
Leonard hesitated, then grasped his hand and hauled him upright.
"Damn, that hurts…" Caesar gritted his teeth as the motion pulled at half-healed flesh, his shirt torn and soaked in blood.
"Are you… are you really alright?" Leonard asked cautiously.
"Oh, I'll live," Caesar muttered, glancing at the ragged wound still knitting itself shut. "Did you catch him?"
"No." Leonard shook his head, ashamed. "I thought saving you was more important. I just fired to scare him off."
"That's fine. Chasing him wouldn't help if I died here."
Caesar nodded, then frowned. "That person's skill wasn't ordinary, was it?"
"To hold off me and escape? Definitely a Beyonder," Leonard confirmed grimly. "And he came because we entered the manager's office."
The implication was clear—this wasn't just about a tryst. Something deeper was hidden here.
"Quick, we need to get to that abandoned dock. There has to be a secret there!"
The two hurried out. Blood on the corridor floor caught Caesar's eye—a smear, probably from a grazed wound when Leonard fired. He crouched, collecting some into a vial.
Damn it… stabbing me with a dagger? You'll regret that.
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