Lucien's eyes swept the room, every muscle in his body coiled tight as steel wire.
Cédric slumped against the wall behind him, one hand pressed against the wound in his abdomen, blood seeping between his fingers. His breathing came in shallow gasps.
"Stay down," Lucien said quietly. "Don't move."
"Lucien..." Cédric's voice was weak. "I can't... I can't open the subspace. Something's blocking it."
Lucien's jaw tightened. Of course. Whatever attacked them wasn't just invisible... it had prepared the battlefield.
The air in the room felt wrong. Oppressive. Like standing inside a predator's mouth.
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, forcing himself to breathe. Focus. Listen. Feel.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The ventilation system wheezed softly through the grates. But beneath it all... there was something else.
A whisper of fabric.
The faintest disturbance in the air.
Lucien's eyes snapped open.
There.
He moved.
His fist shot out toward what seemed like empty space... and connected with solid flesh. The impact rang through the room like a hammer on an anvil.
For a split second, the air shimmered. A figure flickered into view: tall, wrapped in dark cloth, face hidden behind a featureless mask. Then it vanished again.
But Lucien had felt it. The weight. The density. The presence.
"You're not invisible," Lucien said, his voice calm and cold. "You're just... bending light."
Silence.
Then, from somewhere to his left, a voice answered low and distorted.
"Clever. But knowing doesn't help you, Templar."
Lucien spun, but the voice had already moved. It echoed from multiple directions at once, bouncing off the walls.
"How many are there?" Cédric gasped.
"One," Lucien replied immediately. "He's using the acoustics to confuse us."
Another whisper of movement... it was behind him this time.
Lucien dropped low, feeling the blade slice through the air where his neck had been a moment before. He twisted, sweeping his leg in a wide arc.
His boot caught something solid. The figure stumbled, visible for half a second before disappearing again.
"You fight well without your weapons," the voice mocked. "But you're already dead. You just don't know it yet."
Lucien straightened slowly, eyes scanning the room. His hands were empty. No sword. No dagger. Nothing but flesh and bone.
But he'd fought with less before.
"Cédric," he said quietly. "How long until you can access the subspace?"
"I don't know... the interference is too strong. Maybe... maybe five minutes?"
Five minutes.
Lucien exhaled. "Then I'll buy you five minutes."
The air shifted again... a pressure change, barely perceptible.
Lucien moved purely on instinct, twisting aside as another blade materialized from nowhere, slicing a thin red line across his cheek.
Blood dripped onto the floor.
The assassin laughed. "First blood. How many more cuts before you fall, I wonder?"
Lucien didn't answer. He was counting.
One strike from the left. One from behind. One from above.
The pattern was forming.
The next attack came from the right... predictable now. Lucien caught the assassin's wrist mid-thrust, yanking hard. The figure flickered into view, struggling to pull free.
"Got you."
Lucien drove his knee into the assassin's ribs with brutal force. Bone cracked. The figure gasped and vanished again, but Lucien heard the stumble, the ragged breath.
Wounded. Good.
"You're slower now," Lucien said. "I can hear it."
The voice came back, angrier this time. "You think you've won? I've killed stronger men than you !"
"Then you should've killed me when I was sleeping," Lucien replied. "Now you've given me time."
Another attack... desperate, wild. Lucien sidestepped, grabbed the assassin's arm, and twisted. The snap of a breaking wrist echoed through the room.
A scream... raw.
The figure appeared fully this time, staggering backward, clutching his mangled hand. The mask had fallen away, revealing a young man's face, pale and twisted with pain.
Lucien advanced, his shadow stretching long across the floor under the harsh lights.
"Who sent you?" he demanded.
The assassin spat blood. "You think I'll tell you? You think any of us will?"
"Us?" Lucien's eyes narrowed. "How many?"
The man's lips curled into a bitter smile. "More than you can count, Templar. We've been waiting centuries for you."
Before Lucien could respond, the assassin's eyes rolled back. Foam bubbled at his lips, and he collapsed to the floor, convulsing.
"Poison!" Cédric shouted.
Lucien dropped to his knees beside the dying man, but it was already too late. The assassin's body went rigid, then still.
Dead.
Lucien stared at the corpse, frustration burning in his chest. Another one. Another dead end.
"Lucien..." Cédric's voice was strained. "The subspace... it's opening. I can feel it."
Lucien looked up. The black aperture was forming in the air, slowly, shakily. His swords began to materialize, their hilts emerging from the void.
But before he could reach them, the door to the interrogation room burst open.
Inspector Mazen stood in the doorway, flanked by armed agents, their weapons trained on Lucien.
"Don't move!" Mazen barked.
Lucien froze, hands raised slightly.
Mazen's eyes swept the room and the dead assassin, the blood on the walls, Cédric slumped against the corner.
His expression didn't change.
"Restrain him," Mazen ordered coldly.
"What?" Cédric tried to stand. "He saved my life! That man attacked us!"
"And yet," Mazen said, stepping over the corpse without a second glance, "the only one left standing is him."
Lucien's eyes locked onto Mazen's. There was no surprise in the inspector's gaze. No shock. No confusion.
Only expectation.
He knew.
Lucien's hands slowly lowered. His voice came out quiet, laced with something dangerous.
"You let him in, didn't you?"
Mazen smiled faintly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"The room was sealed. The wards active. No one could've entered without clearance." Lucien took a step forward. "Someone gave him access."
The agents tensed, fingers tightening on their weapons.
Mazen didn't flinch. "Careful, Mr. de Mireval. You're already in enough trouble."
"Am I?" Lucien's voice dropped lower. "Or are you?"
For a long moment, neither man moved.
Then Cédric's voice cut through the tension.
"Inspector Mazen." Cédric pulled himself upright, blood still staining his shirt. "I'm filing an official report. This was an assassination attempt on an Association representative. The Hunter's Guild Council will hear about this."
Mazen's smile faded. "You're in no position to make threats, Mr. Elessa."
"Maybe not," Cédric replied, pulling out his phone with a shaking hand. "But I've already sent the footage."
Mazen's eyes widened just a little.
"Footage?"
Cédric held up his phone. On the screen, the entire fight played out in grainy black-and-white. The invisible assassin. The poison. Everything.
"Emergency protocol," Cédric said with a weak grin. "My phone records automatically when I'm under duress. And it uploads to a secure server in real-time."
Mazen's jaw clenched.
Lucien watched the inspector's expression shift, from confidence to calculation. The man was weighing his options.
Finally, Mazen stepped back.
"Lower your weapons," he ordered the agents.
They hesitated, then obeyed.
Mazen turned his cold gaze back to Lucien. "This isn't over..."
"No," Lucien agreed. "It's not."
Mazen left without another word, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
The moment he was gone, Lucien rushed to Cédric's side.
"You need a healer. Now."
"Already called one," Cédric wheezed. "She'll be here in... in a minute."
Lucien helped him sit down properly, pressing a clean cloth against the wound. "You should've told me you had that protocol."
"Would've ruined the surprise," Cédric said, then winced. "Ow. Don't make me laugh."
Despite everything, Lucien smiled faintly.
A few minutes later, a healer arrived... an older woman with kind eyes and steady hands. She knelt beside Cédric, her palms glowing with soft green light.
"You'll be fine," she said gently. "The blade missed anything vital."
Cédric let out a long breath. "Thank God."
Lucien stood, retrieving his swords from where they'd fully materialized. He strapped them across his back, feeling their familiar weight settle into place.
"Lucien." Cédric's voice was serious now. "That man... he said they've been waiting for you."
Lucien nodded slowly. "I heard."
"What does that mean?"
Lucien stared at the dead assassin's body, his mind racing.
Centuries. They've been waiting centuries.
He didn't have all the answers yet. But one thing was clear:
Whatever he'd been searching for... it had been searching for him too.
And it had just found him.