Darkness had followed him ever since he was a child, he had never been able to escape it. That remained true as he looked down at the blade of his knife, its steel reflected the dancing light of a distant fire. He himself was cast in the shadow of a wooden carriage he leaned against. His eyes met the dirt, they had been in a staring contest for the better part of an hour by then and for some reason, it refused to give up. His free hand traced the wheel of the carriage he leaned against. The same carriage he had spent the past month and change guarding.

It belonged to a local Baroness, the lady of Delva, Erina. She was a subject of the southern King, though not of a large enough house to be too relevant in local politics. Six weeks ago, Argo had begun this mission, it had been a drag to work his way into her trusted guards, even more so to not reveal himself immediately. He turned the handle of his blade in his hand before sheathing it, he would kill her soon.

He pushed off from the carriage and moved through the makeshift camp that the other guards had established before nightfall. He neared the fire where some fifteen guards sat, their lady had fallen asleep giving them the only reprieve from her orders that they would get all day. As he moved, he silently repeated the words of his master. They had become like a mantra to him. Never blow your cover. Even if it would be so easy to slip into her carriage whilst she rested and slit her throat. He could never blow his cover, not until every witness had been dealt with. Those words had been consistently echoed to him ever since he was a child, be it from his master, Galli or Ginny. One's cover was as strong a suit of armour as one could find. This held true in every facet of life, if a lover only seeing your good side maintained the relationship. If a captor thought you to be a lord they wouldn’t kill you, the ransom would nearly always be worth more than their blood. Lady Erina knew this to be true, it was why she had hired so many guards, no one spared an expense when it came to their life. For this reason, he held to his cover, it kept him safe even whilst he was surrounded by fifteen armed men. 

“Hey Felic, come take a seat.” A fellow guard called out to him as he grew close to the fire. He held a mug in his hand, filled near to the brim with ale. He nodded, he couldn’t be seen breaking character this close to the kill, broken armour was more deadly than being without it, cover only maintained use when it wasn’t questioned. This knowledge had been drilled into him every day spent with his master. Every time he failed to hold true to his character, be it when training or on a mission he was reminded of its importance, permanently with a scar along his back to show it. He took his seat on a stretch of log next to the guard. “Here, have a drink.”

“No, no. I can’t, thanks for the offer though.” He responded to the kind guard, Argo knew he had to be sober for tonight. He had been making sure that ‘Felic’ was not a man who often drank, since starting to travel with these guards only once had he drunk and it had been at the behest of the Baroness herself.

“All good.” He took the drink he had been offering Argo and took a swig from it. “You got any work lined up for after this job?”

“Only a small one.”

“Need any other people to work with you?”

“No. Sorry, it's a one person job.” He stopped speaking and a silence brewed between the two of them. He knew the rules of being an assassin. The first that his master had deemed him worthy of knowing was to never get attached. Not to those you had to kill, not to the other assassins, not even to him. Argo could not befriend anyone in this camp. Attachment is weakness.

“Fair. Do you have any family in Serv?” The city they were escorting Lady Erina to. She had gone to the capital, representing her family in their play to be raised from their rank of Barons to Viscounts. She would be long dead before she learnt if her efforts were successful. Argo turned his head to the kind guard and lightly shook his head, he could feel his heart melting, he couldn't allow that to happen. Under no circumstance could he let himself fail this mission. His permission to track the man responsible for the death of his parents was contingent upon his success. “Ah, I have a wife and daughter there. She's still young, broke my heart to come on this mission in the first place. But Lady Erina pays so well that I could hardly turn her down. Hopefully, she hasn’t forgotten my face by now.”

The guard wiped away a mock tear. A smile quickly came over his face, his cheeks flushed due to having drunk one too many ales. Argo was left looking at him, smiling, the guard's energy was infectious. He found himself wanting to warn the man, yet as that thought entered his mind he could hear his master telling him to ‘never get close with a target’. Could he really do this though? A Baroness? A noble who profited off of the suffering of their people was more than deserving of his blade. But the man before him was a simple guard who sought to make money to support his family. “How young is she?” He cursed himself as soon as he asked the question.

The guard's face brightened immediately and he sat up straight. “Nearly two, she just started speaking when I left home. She’s the cutest little thing. I’d told Maria that I wanted to have a portrait made of her for her first birthday. But she convinced me not to, the girl would grow up too fast.”

“A smart wife you have there.” Why was he speaking to this man? He should simply get up and walk away. All he had to do was say he had to piss, let the conversation die, insult his mother. Anything would be better than continuing to speak with this man.

“The smartest. You should see what she writes sometimes. Crafts stories like it's second nature to her. Been doing it since we were kids.”

“So you’ve known each other for a while then?” A part of him thought long buried, held to the conversation. It could be his way out, his escape. Seven years it had been since he escaped from those bandits. Seven years since he had met his master. Seven years since he had begun to track the man responsible for his parent's death. He lightly touched the knife sheathed to his hip, it had grown so heavy. He cleared his mind of doubt, he only had one path forward.

“Yeah, we grew up together. Always causing some form of trouble, though I hope our girl doesn’t get up to too much mischief.”

“I’m sure she'll be perfectly behaved.” With that, the guard smiled, took a swig of the ale in his hand and then let the conversation slowly fade with the crackling embers of the fire. It wouldn’t be much longer now, perhaps he should tell the guard to flee whilst he still had a chance. The man simply wanted to get back to his daughter. “Sorry to ask this, but what's your name again?”

“Seriously Felic? I’m Dalton. We’ve been working together for a month now.”

“Yes yes, I just pulled a blank.” He said with a face that intentionally gave away the face he was lying. Dalton eyed him. “Fine. I’m just really bad with names.” 

Dalton let out a hearty chuckle. Maybe just this once he could. His master had always said rules were made to be broken, perhaps this was an example of it. Though he had said that in the context of work when slitting the throat of a guard who had blocked their way to their target's room. Still, he knew he could save this man, he didn’t know the rest of the guards, killing them would be easy. The Baroness even easier. But Dalton? He knew him, he knew of his family. Maybe letting him go would be the best option. The two remained seated in quiet for a good while longer, eventually many of the other guards who sat around the campfire began to doze off into a comfortable sleep.

“Dalton?” He had made up his mind, he was going to save him. Tell him to run into the forest, to not turn back no matter what he hears. He knew in his pocket he had a good few gold crowns, he could give them to Dalton to take back to his parents. It would set back his savings for his journey, but still.

“Yeah Felic, what is it?”

“Stay quiet. No one else can hear what I’m telling you.” Dalton opened his mouth as if to question what Argo was going to say. Argo’s own mind was submerged in the memories of his work with his master. Of how he had been taught forms with knives, and been lectured on how best to kill something be it animal or human. He remembered the distinct smell of iron on his hands after his first kill, it was an image that was branded into his mind, he would never forget it. That blood was something that would never leave them, it had long since stained his soul. Never could he forget how that first man twitched when the knife slid through his heart. Never could he forget the sight of the warmth fleeing somebody as they died, their eyes glossing over. “I’m sorry.”

“What about?” His mouth was left hanging open, any other words he would have spoken died in his throat, suppressed by the knife which had pierced through it. He looked at Argo with wide, tearful eyes as blood began to leak down his throat towards Argo's hand, staining them red. Argo deserved worse, what he had done was unforgivable. One day his actions would catch up to him, he was more than aware of that. One should never kill without acknowledging that they themselves will die. His master had made sure he knew that before he took his first life, and he had been reminded of it every kill since. He chose to walk this path all those years ago when his master had first offered him a blade. He could've given up on the revenge he so desperately needed to exact. Forgive the man who stole everything from him. But that was a path far too difficult for him to walk down. Dalton spasmed, his left hand raising into the air before falling to his side. He went limp against the blade in his throat, he had died.

Argo ripped the knife from his throat. His mind filled with thoughts of the daughter and wife who would never see their father and husband again. Alarm rose throughout the camp, yet as those few who were still awake looked towards where Argo stood, over the husk which once carried Dalton’s soul, they realised what had happened. There were five left standing amongst a group of fifteen, The others had drifted to sleep, Argo's poison had kicked in. Argo had known this was how the night would go from the start, he only regretted that five people were still awake to suffer through their deaths.

“Throw down your weapons and I will kill you painlessly.” His voice was laced with sorrow, Dalton hadn’t deserved that. All he could do was hope that the poison had taken enough of an effect to mute the pain of his blade.

“Yeah, right man. It's five on one, do you really think you can win?” The poor fool. Perhaps if these were trained soldiers Argo may have found difficulty. He reached down, grabbing the sword tied to Dalton’s waist. He muttered a silent apology under his breath, yet another sin to add to his listless tally of regrets. One should never rob from the dead, it shows the greatest disrespect.

“Do you?” Argo spoke, his voice devoid of emotion. The embers of the fire illuminated the silhouettes of all who were present. However, as it struggled for life it provided moments where the only illumination was the young crescent moon overhead and the infinite stars of the sky. Argo reached for the cloak pin by his throat and clipped it off. The green cloak fell behind him, drifting in the breeze of the night. His jet black hair faded into the dark sky behind him. The five men, when given light by the dying fire, would be able to see his dark green eyes, devoid of even the flame's light. He would never be able to escape the darkness.

The butcher was over fast, the first man ran towards him screaming, his greatsword raised overhead. If he was a soldier perhaps he would've thought to defend himself or attack in a well guarded group. However he wasn’t, and so as he drew close Argo launched forward, his knife biting into the man's neck and dropping him quickly. Blood sprayed across his shirt. The man who he had attacked lay on the floor gagging. Argo’s cut had not been deep enough, the man would drown in his own blood. He had no time to kill him now, to give him mercy.

The next attack came from a pair. These two were smarter. It was still not a smart decision and they each were quickly felled. A strike with Dalton’s sword to one of their hands disarmed him whilst a knife into the heart killed the other. With a quick slash, the man who had lost his hand lost his head. 

The final two, having seen the display of their friends, did the smartest thing. They turned and ran. A knife thrown to the back of the neck dropped one of them, and the other tripped over his friend's corpse. He tried to crawl away, yet Argo descended upon him, thrusting Dalton’s sword through the back of his skull. The man spasmed for a short moment before stilling, leaving Argo standing atop his dead body, shaking ever so slightly.

He pulled the sword free, his hands shaking slightly, nerves rampant from the fight. Despite his conflicted emotions, he went throughout the camp, stabbing each guard through the neck, killing them where they slept. It was a mercy, though not one that eased Argo's mind. However, it was necessary to leave none alive to have his master's assent to track down that man. For that, he would do anything. He had long since accepted himself as a true monster.

After making sure that all the men were dead Argo moved towards the carriage. One person left. The door was unlocked, he let himself in and was surprised to see the Baroness sitting up on her bed. 

“So you have come for me then?” The woman seemed regal even in the face of her imminent death. How odd, for one to display such greed throughout her life only to finally display the nobility they should have embodied as they met their end.

“Yes, yes I have. Do you have any final words? Simple requests?”

“Who sent you?”

“I do not know.”

“Do you work with Person?”

“I've never heard of him.”

“Very well then, you may do with me as you wish.” 

A short moment later Argo was stuffing her head into a simple burlap sack. His master would want proof. 

A deep inhale, a deep exhale. Argo stilled his fast beating heart and stepped out of the carriage. In the distance the sun had begun to rise, casting the sight of the butchering in a golden hue. A horse, the one who was leading the carriage, neighed, having just now woken up. Argo quickly realised that would be his method of return. He only had one order of business left to carry out. He moved towards a fresh patch of grass and began to dig. He dug until his nails had been filed away and then continued to dig more. Only when it was deep enough to fit someone did he move to where Dalton lay, pale and dead on the floor. He moved Dalton into the hole, filled his grave and struck his blade into the ground as a grave marker. “I truly am sorry.”

He turned to the horse and was quickly on his way from the site.