Chapter 3 - Shadows


    Lethe stepped out of the arena, the lingering echoes of the match fading behind him. The air was crisp, carrying the distant murmurs of the crowd still dispersing. Aren walked beside him, arms crossed, his usual cocky smirk absent for once.


    “That guy you fought,” Aren muttered, glancing at Lethe. “He was tougher than expected but hey you still defeated him.”


    Lethe simply nodded. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. The fight had been closer than he liked. He hated feeling like he was barely keeping up.


    Then, just as they turned into a quieter street, a glimpse of movement caught Lethe’s eye. A group of men, cloaked in dark robes, slipped into the alley ahead. The way they moved—calm, calculated—felt… off. He slowed his pace.


    “You saw that too?” Aren whispered.


    Lethe nodded again.


    Aren exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Alright. I’ll be around in case things get messy.” Without waiting for a response, he disappeared into the shadows.


    Lethe followed the men at a distance, his steps light. They moved in a way that told him they were used to being unnoticed, slipping through streets with a quiet confidence. But Lethe wasn’t just anyone. He had been trained for this.


    At least, that’s what he thought.


    Because after a few minutes, he noticed something strange. The streets were empty. No late-night merchants, no wandering citizens. Just him and them. And the men ahead? They weren’t going anywhere. They were leading him in circles.


    He stopped.


    One of them, the tallest of the group, turned his head slightly, just enough for Lethe to see the smirk hidden beneath his hood.


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    They knew he was following them.


    “Tch.” Lethe’s fingers twitched, but he stayed calm. They were trying to waste his time, lure him into a trap. He wasn’t going to let that happen.


    Then, as if sensing his thoughts, the tall man stopped walking. Slowly, he turned fully to face Lethe, pulling back his hood. His face was sharp, his eyes filled with amusement.


    “Not bad,” he said. His voice was smooth, almost mocking. “But not good enough.”


    The other two men turned as well, forming a loose triangle around Lethe. One of them drew a short blade, the other cracked his knuckles. The tall man simply smiled.


    Lethe sighed.


    Fine.


    If they wanted a fight, he had to give them one.


    In an instant, he dashed forward, his fist slamming into the closest assassin’s gut. The man gasped, staggering backward before Lethe spun and drove his elbow into his temple. He collapsed without a sound.


    The second man lunged, his blade flashing. Lethe barely tilted his head, dodging the strike by inches. He grabbed the assassin’s wrist, twisted it sharply, and snapped it with a sickening crack. A choked scream, then silence.


    Two down.


    Only the tall man remained, still smiling.


    “Uh,” the assassin mused, tilting his head. “You’re pretty strong.”


    Lethe didn’t respond. He just stepped forward.


    The assassin sighed, shaking his head. “Shame.”


    Then he turned and ran.


    Lethe cursed under his breath and bolted after him.


    The chase wove through the streets, past stunned civilians and darkened alleyways. The man was fast, but Lethe was faster. He gained ground, closing the distance step by step.


    Then, just as he reached out to grab the assassin’s shoulder—


    A blinding light. A sudden, sharp pain.


    Lethe stumbled, his vision spinning. His body felt… heavy. What the hell?


    The assassin turned, a glowing sigil fading from his palm. A spell? No—something more. Lethe could feel it clawing at his insides, dragging his body down. A curse.


    The assassin chuckled, breathing hard. “Should’ve known you’d catch up.”


    Lethe forced his legs to move, fighting against the unnatural weight pressing on him.


    The assassin’s smirk faded. “Still moving, huh?”


    Lethe didn’t answer. He just clenched his fist.


    The assassin cursed, reaching for another spell—


    Too late.


    Lethe’s punch slammed into his stomach, lifting him off the ground. The assassin gagged, his breath stolen. Before he could recover, Lethe grabbed his collar and drove his knee into his ribs. Bone cracked.


    The assassin collapsed.


    Lethe exhaled, his body still sluggish from the curse. He crouched, grabbing the man by his shirt.


    “Who sent you?” he asked, his voice low.


    The assassin chuckled weakly, blood trailing from his mouth.


    “Doesn’t matter,” he rasped. “I already lost.”


    Lethe’s eyes narrowed.


    Then, without warning, the assassin’s body began to glow.


    Lethe immediately stepped back, but it was already happening. The assassin’s form flickered, his skin turning translucent, his breath coming in ragged gasps.


    Then—nothing.


    The body vanished.


    Lethe clenched his fists. He had seen death before, but this was different. This wasn’t natural.


    A soul contract.


    Footsteps approached. Aren.


    “What the hell was that?” Aren asked, staring at the empty space where the body had been.


    Lethe didn’t answer. He just turned, his mind racing.


    This wasn’t just some random attack.


    Whoever was behind this… they were watching...