The assassins never stopped coming. Though Serik trained every day, pushing his young body harder than any normal child could endure, he remained blissfully unaware that danger circled him again and again in the shadows. Jons made sure of that. The butler fought a silent war alone.
The first assassin arrived two weeks after they settled into the house. Jons was sweeping leaves in the small yard when he heard the faintest shift in the air. The assassin approached the Living room window from behind, steps calculated, breath held, a knife ready in his palm. Jons continued sweeping as if nothing was wrong.
When the assassin leaned toward the window to look inside, Jons said quietly, "You are standing on my herbs."The man froze—and in the same second, the gardening spade left Jons' hand and buried itself in the assassin's throat. The man gagged once, fell, and went still. Jons approached and whispered, "Do not return," as though the corpse could hear. He carried the body behind the shed and buried it before Serik woke.
A month later came a man in a crisp white suit. He knocked politely on the front door. Jons opened it. "Good evening, sir," the assassin said smoothly. "Is the child home?""No," Jons replied with a polite bow."Ah," the man smiled, "then you won't mind if I come in.""I do mind," Jons answered softly."Oh? And what will you do about it?" The man flicked his wrist, a slender blade sliding into view.Jons sighed. "This." He stepped forward, tapped the man lightly on the neck, and the assassin's eyes widened as he collapsed. "Forgive the discourtesy," Jons added, closing the door.
The third assassin came disguised as an herbalist, wearing a warm smile. "Free samples!" she chirped. "Good for children." She placed a packet on the table and attempted to slip a vial of poison into the teapot. Jons caught her wrist mid-motion."Bold," he murmured.Her smile vanished. "You saw that?""I see everything in this house."She lunged with a needle.Jons moved once, fast and precise.She fell."Poison is beneath a professional," he said before carrying her away.
The fourth assassin was patient, lurking in a tree overlooking the yard, watching for days. Jons knew he was there from the moment he arrived. When the man finally descended, knives ready, Jons stood beneath him."Your breathing is too loud," Jons commented.The assassin stiffened. "How long… how long did you know—""Long enough to be disappointed." Jons yanked a rope attached to the branch, sending the man crashing down. "Goodnight." A single strike ended him.
The fifth attempt came from three assassins acting as a coordinated unit. One crept along the roof, one approached the side window, the third moved toward the back door. Jons stepped into the alley behind the house, hands gloved, posture prim and formal."Gentlemen," he said, "this is private property.""Move," one assassin hissed."No," Jons replied simply. They attacked all at once." Left foot too heavy," Jons noted as he dodged."Slow shoulders," he told the second as he countered."You lack discipline," he whispered to the third as he threw him to the ground.Minutes later, three bodies lay still. Jons removed his gloves and burned them.
The sixth assassin nearly reached Serik's room. He climbed the wall silently, hooks on his boots, breaths controlled. He peered into the room where Serik slept peacefully. A single thrust of the blade would finish the job.Before he could strike, a hand seized his ankle. He looked down and saw Jons hanging with one hand from the window frame below him."Good evening," Jons said in the calmest voice imaginable."W-What are—"Jons jerked sharply, snapping the man's leg, then twisted again. The assassin fell silently into Jons' waiting arms. "You should not climb other people's homes," he said as he laid the body down.
The seventh assassin was barely older than Serik, shaking as he held a dagger toward Jons."P-Please," the boy stammered. "I don't want to hurt anyone… they forced me… if I fail—"Jons looked at him quietly. "Put the weapon down," he instructed. The boy dropped it immediately."Run," Jons said. "Do not look back."The boy did exactly that. Jons let him go.
Every few weeks, someone new came to kill Serik. Some skilled. Some foolish. Some terrified. None survived except the one Jons spared. Bodies disappeared into the earth, tools were burned, clothes were washed clean of blood, and the quiet home returned to stillness each morning. Serik trained, slept, laughed, and struggled without ever knowing how many times death reached their doorstep.
Jons never told him. The boy needed strength, not fear. Peace, not burden.
Serik's training continued like nothing happened, and the assassins became little more than shadows erased before sunrise.
"Hmm, maybe it is time for some experience." Jons looked out of the window at the street and thought 'These assassins are not that strong or skilled, atleast now they will serve a purpose.'