“Guess we did a little too well,” Jaycee mused.

Ahead of them stood the man he had identified as Alessio, his ashy-blonde hair a disheveled crown against the backdrop of the crowd. Jaycee caught Alessio’s gaze just before vanishing; the ease with which he pinpointed them in the throng sent a shiver down Jaycee’s spine. This man was far from ordinary, possessing skills that rivaled those of a certain fan-wielding maniac.

“Kyla, I think he’s looking our way.”

“Really? Do I look okay?”

Seriously? Was now really the time for that?

“We should probably go meet up with Alec,” he suggested, sooner rather than later.

He instinctively felt that taking down Alessio and his group would require more than just Kyla and himself. The smart move would be to regroup, yet Kyla, standing beside him, remained steadfast. Her hand reached for the knives at her hip, her grip fixing around the handle.

From the advancing soldiers, it was clear they would have to battle their way out. The gamblers quickly scattered as the military unsheathed their weapons.

The casino, once alive with activity, now stood eerily silent, stirring an odd sensation in his stomach. He gripped his sword, eyes fixed on the approaching foes. The sweat on his palms betrayed his anxious mind, as nerves threatened to overwhelm him.

“Alright, Sicarii, I’m counting on you. Remember, we need you to stay alive. Alec will have my head if anything happens to you.”

Was this meant to be an inspiring speech? Was her concern for him genuine, or was she worried about Alec’s reaction if Jaycee didn’t make it?

Time for thought had run out; soldiers were advancing, weapons drawn. A sword hurtled towards him, but he leapt back, narrowly evading the attack.

Jaycee charged at the soldier, parrying his downward strike and delivering a swift kick to his abdomen. The celebration was short-lived, as another assailant appeared immediately after. Kyla intervened, her twin knives halting the incoming blade. With a forceful push, she repelled him and dodged yet another weapon lunging towards her.

The scene was tumultuous. Jaycee pushed forward, deflecting another sword that swung dangerously too close for comfort. The piercing screech of clashing metal grated on his nerves, a stark reminder of past events that had haunted his nights.

Before him, two soldiers attempted to stop his advance. Spotting a chance to break free, he squeezed through the gap between them. Behind him, Kyla’s curses and jeers filled the air. The soldiers’ frustration was palpable, outmatched as they were by a girl half their size. As Jaycee contemplated this, an arrow narrowly missed his cheek, its speed almost rendering it invisible.

Alessio stood less than ten feet away, his bow ready and feet shoulder-width apart. He slightly lowered his weapon as his other hand reached for an arrow in his quiver. The air around him grew cold. Behind him, Jaycee could hear the distant clash of weapons.

“You won’t let us pass, will you?” asked Jaycee.

“You’re under arrest,” Alessio declared, positioning his bow. “Stand down, or I’ll be forced to shoot.”

The first arrow took him by surprise, but he would be prepared for the next. Archers, familiar foes from his assassin days, were swift and precise, yet not without their own weaknesses. Intercepting the arrow would grant him a chance to counterattack. Despite the risk and his dulled skills, it was his only opportunity to gain the upper hand. Their survival was at stake.

Behind him, Kyla was already engaged; the weight of their escape rested on him—a potential addition to his burdens, another regret in case of failure.

“Are you sure we can’t we talk this out?”

“No, your kind doesn’t warrant sympathy,” Alessio declared, pulling the bowstring taut as he took aim.

“Alright, then tell me: why collaborate with the Fioma military? I was under the impression that Sheol despised them. They’ve slaughtered many of your people, so why extend kindness to them?”

“What?” Alessio paused. “I’m not—never mind. It’s irrelevant. I won’t allow Alec to manipulate you for his own gain, so you have to die. No hard feelings.”

With peace talks clearly out of the equation, and with solely on experience and muscle memory on his side, Jaycee raised his sword. He positioned it to shield as much of himself as he could, knowing that if he could follow the arrow’s path, he would survive.

Just as Alessio appeared ready to fire, a deafening explosion shook the ground, throwing them off balance and onto the ground.

The building trembled, and smoke quickly engulfed the room; lights flickered and swung chaotically overhead. Dust swirled as tables overturned and paintings plummeted. Outside, the faint sound of screams filtered in, overshadowed by the persistent ringing in Jaycee’s ears.

What on earth just happened? With what little strength he had remaining, he staggered. A swift look at his arms revealed several fresh cuts. Those would have to wait. His eyes searched the vicinity for Kyla, but she was absent within the confines of his limited sight. The moans of Alessio’s men filled the eerily silent building.

Alessio, their leader, lay sprawled on the ground, just a few feet from Jaycee’s position. The force of the blast had likely hurled his bow across the room, leaving his arrows strewn about him.

This was his chance to kill him.

Jaycee’s gaze fixed on his blade, which had slipped from his grasp during the explosion. It lay near Alessio, who either hadn’t noticed it or chose not to seize it. A deep cough convulsed Alessio’s frame as the smoke filled his lungs.

This was Jaycee’s moment to act.

Before he could decide on his next move, a strong grip seized his wrist, stopping him.