CHAPTER 14: CHAPTER14-THE SLAUGHTER BEGINS

Unnoticed, the sky had darkened completely, and night draped itself over the land.

Around the perimeter of Nock’s castle, guards patrolled as usual, their boots echoing across the cobblestones. Yet in the next instant, something unnatural occurred. Every man halted, frozen in mid-step, and then, almost simultaneously, their heads toppled from their shoulders, rolling across the ground like discarded fruit.

Eighteen Elemental Assassins had entered the estate, silent as shadows, leaving no trace behind. None had seen them come. None had even heard a whisper.

Their division of labor was precise, practiced, and merciless. Four of them remained at the gates, their blades ready to cut down any fool who attempted to flee. The remaining fourteen slipped noiselessly into the depths of the castle itself, moving like phantoms through corridors and courtyards.

Nock, as the Minister of War, had taken great measures to secure his estate. His guards were numerous, vigilant, and well-trained. But even so, they never saw the Assassins coming. Not a single cry was raised until it was far too late.

In the hidden corners of the night, countless guards fell where they stood, cut down in silence. One by one they collapsed, blood spreading dark across the flagstones. No alarm bells rang. No clashing of steel echoed. Only the soundless fall of corpses testified to the massacre.

Ten minutes passed before the stillness was broken at last by a piercing scream. It echoed through the castle halls, shattering the illusion of safety.

The residents of the castle—the servants, attendants, and kin of Nock—finally realized that something was horribly, terribly wrong. By the time they noticed, however, it was already too late.

The guards were gone. Every last one. Their bodies lay butchered, piled into grotesque arrangements. In the great hall of the castle, corpses and severed heads had been stacked into a grisly mound, a mountain of the dead.

When word of the horror reached Nock, he hurried to the hall under the protection of his personal guard.

The moment his eyes fell upon that dreadful sight—the mountain of slaughter, the lifeless faces of his men—his expression twisted. His fury darkened his face to the color of ash.

"What in the hells has happened here?!" he roared. "Who has done this? Who dares to butcher my men?!"

His voice thundered through the chamber, demanding answers, demanding reason where none could be found. But the servants, trembling and weeping, could offer no response. Some of them, driven mad by fear, turned and bolted, rushing desperately toward the exits in a blind frenzy.

The sight made Nock’s jaw tighten—but then he froze.

For as the servants fled, their bodies reached a certain point in the hall. And there, without warning, their heads separated cleanly from their necks. Blood sprayed in crimson arcs as each fell lifeless to the ground.

The only trace of their killers was a faint stirring of the air, a breeze brushing past as if mocking them all.

Nock’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched his household descend into carnage. The castle became a charnel house, the stench of fresh blood saturating the air. The floor glistened dark red, slick beneath the feet of the terrified survivors.

Several of his most loyal guards, seeing their lord, rushed forward to stand at his side. They had scarcely taken two steps before their heads were lopped clean off, tumbling to the floor.

"The wind..." Nock whispered, his pupils shrinking sharply. He had noticed it now—the pattern, the fleeting sign. It was not blades he saw, but currents of air, sharper than steel.

His instincts screamed, and in the same breath he summoned his inner energy. He was no stranger to blood. He had risen from the rank of a mere soldier to the highest office of War Minister through carnage and cunning. Countless lives already stained his hands. He was no stranger to death, and he was not one to cower.

Snarling, he strode out of the hall, intent on hunting down these unseen assassins. But when he stepped into the courtyard, his breath caught.

What greeted him was devastation.

Everywhere, the bodies of his kin lay strewn across the ground. His wives, his concubines, his children, his brothers and sisters, even his aging parents—all of them had been decapitated. Their lifeless corpses sprawled in pools of blood, faces frozen in horror.

Nock’s body trembled violently. Rage and grief surged through him like fire and poison entwined. His teeth clenched, his features twisted with fury until his face became a mask of pure madness.

Around him, the few remaining guards pressed in tight, their faces pale, eyes darting toward every shadow.

"My lord, are you unharmed?" one of them asked, though his voice quavered.

"Who is doing this?!" another cried.

Nock’s throat burned as he bellowed, voice hoarse yet filled with uncontainable wrath.

"It is the ghosts! It must be them!"

"They are unseen, untouchable, yet they kill with ease! Too many of our number have already fallen to these specters!"

His fury boiled over. "So this is the so-called ghost!"

He drew his sword with a roar, swinging it with all his might. The blade tore through the air, unleashing a torrent of sword energy. The currents surged outward, cutting across the courtyard in wide arcs, striking walls and statues alike.

Nock’s plan was simple—if the killers could not be seen, then he would cover the space in indiscriminate strikes. He would force them into the open.

But scarcely had the light of his sword faded when screams erupted behind him. He whirled, eyes wide, only to see his guards collapsing one by one, their heads severed mid-scream.

"Damn you!" Nock howled. His voice cracked with desperation. "Whoever you are, come out! Face me! Do you dare to fight me openly? Or are you nothing but rats skulking in the shadows?!"

His rage spiraled into madness. He longed to lay eyes upon his enemy, to clash steel against steel. But no matter how he raged, no matter how he searched, there was nothing.

"Lord Nock, we must retreat!" one of the few survivors pleaded. "We cannot fight them! Not like this!"

The last of his guards formed a barrier around him, guiding him deeper into the castle. They knew that only one hope remained: to reach that man. Only in his presence might they have a chance of survival.

Even so, as they fled through the corridors, men continued to fall, struck down by unseen blades.

The castle had become a vision of hell. Every wall dripped with blood. The air reeked of iron and fear.

But at last, Nock reached the innermost chamber. Before the great doors stood two young men in ornate robes, both frowning at the sight of him.

Nock wasted no time on dignity. He collapsed to his knees, pounding the ground, his voice breaking into a desperate cry.

"Butler Brown! Save me, I beg you!"

The two young men began to sneer at him, their lips parting to chastise his pitiful display. But before they could speak, their eyes widened.

Behind Nock, his remaining guards were dying in droves. One after another, their heads fell from their shoulders, rolling across the blood-slick stone.

The Elemental Assassins showed no mercy, no hesitation. Their orders were absolute: annihilate Nock’s bloodline, leave none alive. All who dwelled within these walls were marked for death.

Even as Nock groveled at the chamber doors, the slaughter did not pause.

Then, suddenly, the air changed.

A surge of overwhelming energy pulsed from within the chamber. It was so vast, so potent, that the doors themselves exploded outward in a thunderous blast. The entire castle quaked under its force.

From within, a figure emerged, each step carrying with it waves of raw power that rolled across the courtyard. The very air seemed to tremble around him, bending to his will.

The assassins’ unseen winds faltered, stilled for the briefest of moments.

The two young men instantly turned, bowing low with reverence.

Nock lifted his bloodshot eyes, as did the last of his shattered guard. All of them fixed their gaze upon the newcomer.

A subtle aura of energy radiated around his form, circling him like a mantle. For those with trained eyes, the truth was obvious: this was no ordinary man.

Only those of Expert Rank could project their energy beyond their bodies, controlling it at will.

Butler Brown had broken through. He had ascended.

His cold gaze swept across the courtyard, pausing upon the kneeling figure of Nock and the ruin spread behind him. Blood, corpses, and horror lay in every direction. His frown deepened. Closing his eyes briefly, he extended his senses, probing the space with his new power.

And yet—nothing.

He found no trace of the killers. No disturbance, no ripple, not even a hint of the presence that had slain so many.

Impossible. With his strength, he should have detected something. Anything. Yet the shadows mocked him with silence.

Nock, meanwhile, had begun to recover his breath. His mind cleared, his fury narrowing to a razor’s edge. In his thoughts, a single name blazed with certainty.

His lips twisted, his voice trembling with rage.

"Aurek. It’s you!"