Chapter 40 – Whispers of the Unseen
The scent of blood lingered in the air. The bodies of assassins lay scattered across the cobblestone road, their lifeless forms illuminated by the flickering glow of nearby street lamps.
Leonhardt Valerian Everhart stood amidst the carnage, his ashen-black hair slightly tousled from the brief battle. His fiery red eyes, laced with golden flecks, remained locked on the distant rooftops—on the spot where the unknown figure had disappeared.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ser Rowan, his sword still glistening with fresh blood, approached him cautiously. His sharp, battle-hardened gaze swept across the surroundings before returning to Leonhardt.
"Young Master," he spoke, voice steady but laced with tension. "Are you hurt?"
Leonhardt did not answer immediately. He barely spared the knight a glance before stepping over the corpses, his focus entirely elsewhere.
Hurt?
How laughable.
To be harmed by mere assassins—such a thought was an insult.
Instead of responding, Leonhardt knelt beside one of the fallen assassins, his fingers brushing against the emblem stitched into the man's cloak.
A snake coiled around a sword.
Familiar.
And troublesome.
Ser Rowan followed his gaze and his expression darkened. "That insignia… it's the mark of the Serpent's Fang."
Leonhardt remained silent, deep in thought.
The Serpent's Fang—an infamous assassin organization, notorious for their discretion and near-untraceable movements. They never failed a contract, and they only accepted high-profile targets.
If they had been sent after him, it meant one thing—someone powerful wanted him dead.
And they were willing to risk everything for it.
A New Enemy in the Shadows
Leonhardt stood, his small frame seeming far too composed for a boy who had just survived an assassination attempt. His mind worked rapidly.
Who could it be?
The imperial family? No. The emperor had no reason to make a move against him now.
The nobles? Possible. Many harbored envy and fear toward House Everhart. But hiring the Serpent's Fang was a dangerous gamble.
Or perhaps…
His eyes flickered with something unreadable.
Was this a test?
Was someone trying to gauge his strength?
The mysterious figure who had watched from the shadows—it was him that Leonhardt was truly interested in.
This was not an ordinary attempt on his life. It was a message.
And he had received it loud and clear.
The Return to the Grand Dukedom
The carriage ride back to the Everhart estate was eerily silent. Ser Rowan remained on high alert, but Leonhardt, as always, appeared indifferent.
Inside, he replayed the battle in his mind.
Every movement. Every strike.
The assassins were skilled—but not enough. They were not meant to kill him. They were meant to test him.
His fingers tapped lightly against the hilt of his dagger.
Whoever it was, they had underestimated him.
And they would pay for it.
When the carriage finally reached the gates of the Everhart estate, the guards tensed at the sight of blood on their young master's clothes.
"Summon my father," Leonhardt ordered, his voice cold. "Now."
The guards hesitated for only a second before rushing inside.
Leonhardt stepped down from the carriage, his red eyes gleaming under the moonlight.
Tonight, he had been marked as a target.
But soon, the hunter would become the prey.
Because there was one thing the fools who stood against him did not understand—
A god does not fear shadows.
He consumes them.