Chapter 1115: The Forgotten Palace [Part 2]

Chapter 1115 – The Forgotten Palace [Part 2]

Thirty minutes had passed.

A respectable CFO should be skilled in financial forecasting, hostile acquisitions, quarterly reports, tax avoidance with legal perfume, and telling department heads that "urgent" did not mean "my lack of planning deserves your overtime." A respectable CFO should not be gliding through a forgotten palace as a half-spiritual shadow, dual daggers drawn, preparing to silently murder royal guards.

Yet here he was.

Lux Vaelthorn.

Former Hell CFO.

Part-time assassin.

Apparently bullshit had a taste for sexy creatures.

And because Lux was, tragically, very sexy, bullshit had subscribed to him like a premium service.

The corridor ahead breathed cold.

The kind that crawled under the skin even when the skin was only a spiritual suggestion. Broken statues lined both sides, their faces scraped away, crowns cracked, hands missing. Some had wings. Some had horns. Some had both. Whoever built this palace had not been decorating with aesthetics alone.

Now the ceiling had collapsed in several places, exposing a black sky with no stars. Dust floated in the air without falling. Ancient banners hung from shattered beams, torn into strips, moving though there was no wind. Somewhere far deeper inside, something like a chain dragged once.

Cyrinne moved beside him, her body half-shadow, half-green shimmer. Her dress did not rustle. Her steps made no sound. In this form, she looked less like a noblewoman and more like the dangerous idea that noblewomen had teeth.

She glanced at him.

Lux glanced back.

No words.

They had already said enough.

Six guards waited before the sealed door at the end of the corridor.

But before them, there were patrols.

Two crossing from left to right through the broken arch. One lingering near a collapsed fountain. Another above, perched on a half-broken balcony with a crossbow of black bone resting against his shoulder. More beyond, if the faint movement of shadows meant anything.

Which it did.

Lux hated competent enemies.

Incompetent enemies were relaxing. They shouted. They charged. They wore obvious armor and died with educational value.

Competent enemies forced him to work.

Tragic.

He lifted two fingers.

Cyrinne’s eyes followed his signal.

One above first.

Then fountain.

Then patrol.

She nodded once.

Lux disappeared.

Not with teleportation.

Teleportation made ripples. Tiny ones, yes, but enough for wards or trained guards to notice if the wrong person looked at the right second. Instead, Lux stepped into his own shadow and let his body flatten against the broken wall like ink spilled across stone. His dual daggers slid into his hands silently, short, curved blades formed from condensed Greed and Lust, black at the center, gold along the edge, red where the light should have been.

The balcony guard shifted.

Lux moved up the wall.

His shadow crawled, and he followed it, body angled close to the stone, one hand touching the cracks, boots landing where broken carvings gave him grip. A normal person would have slipped. Lux was not normal. He had once crossed a collapsing contract vault while holding three ledgers, two lawsuits, and one cup of coffee.

This was similar.

Less paperwork.

More murder.

He reached the balcony’s underside, then hooked his fingers around the edge and pulled himself up in one smooth motion.

The guard turned.

Too late.

Lux’s left hand covered his mouth. His right dagger slid beneath the edge of the helmet, not cutting flesh first, but severing the spiritual alarm node hidden behind the jaw. The guard stiffened. No cry. No flare. Lux twisted, stepped behind him, caught the man’s weight against his chest, and lowered him gently to the balcony floor.

Clean.

The dagger’s gold edge drank the alarm rune before it could pulse.

Lux looked down at the body.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Bad workplace assignment."

He dragged the guard behind a fallen statue and pressed two fingers to the armor. Greed threads crawled over the body, forming a dull shell of shadow that blended into the ruin. Not invisible. Better. Uninteresting. Anyone glancing over would feel the urge not to care.

Luxury stealth.

Very underrated.

Below, Cyrinne handled the fountain guard.

She did it with style, because of course she did.

She crossed the open floor while the guard’s back was turned, then split into two reflections. One walked past him in plain sight, green shimmer flashing at the edge of his vision. He snapped toward it. The real Cyrinne appeared behind him, fingers touching the back of his neck.

He froze.

His eyes filled with envy.

That was her trick. She did not stab the mind. She showed it what it wanted most, then made it chase the image inward until the body forgot to stand.

The guard sank to his knees.

Cyrinne caught his chin, leaned close, and whispered something Lux could not hear.

The man collapsed silently.

Lux dropped from the balcony like a shadow cut loose. His boots touched the floor without sound.

Cyrinne dragged the unconscious guard behind the fountain.

Lux raised a brow.

Her lips curved. "What?" she whispered. "Not all of us solve problems by stabbing the invoice."

"You killed his nervous system."

"Coming from a man carrying dual daggers to a ghost burglary?"

Lux had no answer.

They moved again.

The patrol approached.

Two guards. One taller, one broader. Their route took them past the broken arch every twenty seconds. Their eyes scanned opposite directions. Good coverage. They walked far enough apart to avoid being taken down by one strike, close enough to assist if attacked.

Professional.

Lux hated them more.

He crouched behind a fallen pillar and watched their rhythm.

Step. Pause. Look.

Step. Turn. Shift grip.

Step. Pass.

Cyrinne leaned close enough that her shoulder brushed his. Her voice was barely breath. "Two together. Can you take both?"

"Yes."

"You sound insulted."

"I am insulted by the inconvenience."

Cyrinne’s smile flashed in the dark.

Lux waited.

Patience. Timing. Breath. Assassin work was accounting with bodies. Every second had value. Every movement had cost. Every mistake compounded interest with blood.

The guards reached the arch.

Lux threw one dagger.

It spun once, only once, a black-gold crescent slicing through stale air. The blade struck the taller guard’s throat rune, not the throat itself, but the little sigil beneath the collar that connected him to the palace alarm grid. The rune died without light.

Before the guard registered impact, Lux was already moving.