Chapter 1120: The Forgotten Palace [Part 7]

Chapter 1120 – The Forgotten Palace [Part 7]

She nodded.

He pointed up.

She gave him a look.

That look said, ’You always choose the annoying target.’

Lux’s look answered, ’I am tall and tragic.’

Then he moved.

He did not step into the corridor. He went vertical.

His left dagger caught the crack between wall stones. His right hand found an old carved wing jutting from the relief. He pulled himself up silently, boots pressing against the wall, body angled like a shadow refusing gravity. The ruined stone bit into his palms. Dust brushed his cheek. His coat dragged once against a chipped edge.

He froze.

Below, one patrol guard turned.

Lux did not breathe.

Cyrinne made the faintest motion with her fingers.

At the shrine, one dead candle flickered green.

The patrol guard looked toward it.

Lux continued.

Up.

Across.

One hand, one dagger, one boot placed exactly where stone would not crumble. He moved above the corridor, body close to the wall, until he reached the ledge behind the hidden guard.

The guard sensed something.

Good instincts.

Bad timing.

He turned his head.

Lux’s hand clamped over his mouth from behind, while the dagger in his other hand slid under the helmet seam and cut the alarm rune first. Always the rune first. Killing the man without killing the signal was amateur work, and Lux refused to be an amateur murderer on company time.

The guard jerked.

Lux pulled him backward against his chest, twisted, and drove the second dagger into the spiritual joint beneath the ribs.

Fast.

Clean.

Silent.

The body sagged.

Lux caught the crossbow before it fell, hooked it under one arm, and lowered the guard onto the ledge behind the gargoyle. He turned the body sideways, tucked the boots behind fallen stone, and draped a torn banner over him.

Ugly hiding.

Effective hiding.

He looked down.

Cyrinne had begun.

The two shrine guards stared at something only they could see. Not frozen this time. Walking. That was dangerous and brilliant. Cyrinne had made them follow a false desire around the broken shrine, heads tilted, expressions hungry and sad.

Lux dropped.

He landed behind the first as the guard circled the shrine corner. One hand caught the man’s shoulder. The dagger kissed the collar rune. The second blade entered beneath the arm where armor opened for movement.

The guard folded.

Lux dragged him backward into the shrine alcove.

The second guard turned too soon.

His eyes widened.

Lux threw the left dagger.

It struck the wall beside the guard’s face, not him. The sound was soft, but the motion made the guard flinch away from the corridor instead of toward it. Lux closed the distance in two steps, caught the dagger hilt as he passed, pulled it free, and reversed it under the man’s chin.

Cut signal.

Cut breath.

Catch body.

Lower.

Hide.

Cyrinne slipped beside him and helped pull the second body behind the shrine. "Show-off," she whispered.

They moved again.

The middle patrol was harder.

Three guards, overlapping lines of sight, and one carried a small bell cage full of sleeping moths. If startled, he only had to shake it. Organic alarm system again. Lux genuinely hoped Kaelmor overpaid for those things.

Cyrinne pointed toward a broken side door.

Lux followed her gaze.

A small storage chamber, maybe. Half-open. Dark inside.

Kidnap first.

Kill inside.

Messy? No.

Practical.

Sometimes kidnapping was not mercy.

Sometimes it was just murder with better acoustics.

Lux nodded.

Cyrinne stepped into the patrol’s path, not fully visible, only enough for one guard to catch the shimmer of green at the edge of sight.

The bell-cage guard frowned.

"Did you see—"

Lux appeared behind the rear guard, arm wrapping around his throat, blade pressed flat against the alarm rune at his chest.

Not cut yet.

If the man spasmed here, armor would scrape stone.

So Lux dragged him backward, one hand over mouth, one dagger threatening the rune, body moving with controlled force. The guard kicked once. Lux shifted his weight, hooked the man’s ankle with his own boot, and turned the struggle into a stumble.

Into the side room.

Silent enough.

The moment they crossed the threshold, Lux cut the rune and ended him with one precise strike.

Outside, the bell-cage guard turned. "Darris?"

Cyrinne was already there.

She appeared at his side, touching his wrist lightly.

His pupils widened.

For half a second, envy ate him alive.

Not enough.

His hand tightened on the bell cage.

Lux came out of the side room low and fast.

He threw one dagger.

It spun through the dark and cut the cage strap.

The cage fell.

Lux reached it before it hit the ground, catching it by the metal frame inches above the floor. Inside, the moths stirred, wings trembling.

Oh, he hated bugs.

The last guard drew his blade.

Cyrinne caught the bell-cage guard’s throat with a shadow knife and pulled him into her chest, silencing him with elegant cruelty. Lux set the cage down gently, then pivoted as the last guard lunged.

Steel flashed.

Lux leaned back just enough for the blade to pass before his throat. Too close. The edge kissed a line across his collar. Not blood, since his body was not fully here, but a sharp sting ran through his spirit.

His eyes darkened.

"Expensive mistake," he murmured.

The guard tried to shout.

Lux stepped inside his reach, trapping the sword arm between them. His forehead nearly touched the guard’s helmet. Intimate distance. Terrible for the guard. Lux’s right dagger slid behind the man’s elbow, severing control. Left dagger to collar rune. Knee into stomach. Twist. Down.

The guard collapsed against him.

Lux lowered him slowly, jaw tight.

Cyrinne watched, breathing slightly harder now.

"That almost rang."

"I noticed."

"You got cut."

"I noticed that too."

"Are you angry?"

Lux looked down at the faint glowing line near his collar. Then smiled. "Yes."

Cyrinne’s mouth curved.

Lux used his Dark Healing.

They hid the three bodies in the side chamber beneath rotting ceremonial cloths. Lux tucked the bell cage behind a cracked urn and gave the moths one last look of deep financial hatred.

"Alarm moths are a terrible investment," he whispered.

"They nearly worked."

"That makes them worse. Now I must respect them."

They pressed forward.