Zyler's leisure walk slowly stopped as his feet stood in front of a gambling house. Its wooden signboard says, 'Red Garden', with decorative poppy carvings at the sides. Flower designs like these were pretty common in Vendalius, signifying itself as their national flower.

Tavern owners believed the poppies' history would ward off bad luck from their businesses, but Zyler always thought otherwise, simply scoffing at the belief.

As soon as he drew the red curtains to the side and entered, the smell of tobacco and alcohol wafted across the room and lightly stung his nose. The bells at the entrance jingled, announcing his presence.

A few rough looking middle-aged men greeted him with soft grunts before shuffling their cards.

"Hey, kid. I heard you caused trouble again?" Zyler simply shot a cheeky grin as he passed by them.

One ordered a waitress to bring him more drinks, while the other argued about tampering the die.

Seeing how it was a typical sight, Zyler slipped into the line of waitresses and offered to take her tray.

"I'll help you."

The waitress looked hesitant and looked back at the counter. She opened her mouth to refuse but was quickly cut off.

"Lady, where's my beer?"

"Agh, I'm coming. I'm coming." No longer reluctant, she shoved the tray to Zyler and went off to fetch more alcohol.

Without further ado, Zyler immediately headed for the kitchen and placed the tray at the counter. Sneakily, without the cooks and staffs noticing, he disappeared into a hidden door seamlessly.

Contrary to the gambling house, a neat secret hallway greeted him. Its dark blue wallpaper and floor finish gave off a subtle enigmatic vibe. Luminous stones occasionally flickered at the sides as his footsteps echoed creaking sounds.

Zyler frowned and checked the soles of his boots.

"Geez, I told them to fix the floor..."

Incense smoke tickled his skin as he finally reached the end of the hallway.

"This great Orion is back, Aquila." He motioned his hands in an exaggerated bow, much like a circus troupe member introducing himself.

Sitting in a vibrant carpet was an old man meditating inside in a makeshift canopy tent with a mesh veil.

Similarly next to him, sat in a lotus position was a brunette young man with a short haircut, now dressed in tactical clothing. His closed eyes opened abruptly and turned to Zyler as soon as he sensed his presence.

"You're finally here, you bastard."

Already expecting Leo, he gave a stiff wave.

Leo threw a dagger at his face, to which he dodged with a carefree smile.

"How did you lose the tail?"

"How else? I beat them up as soon as we entered a suitable alleyway." Leo clenched and unclenched his fists, still glaring at Zyler.

"Why did you even pretend to trip and cause all that drama?"

"If I was that dedicated at acting, I wouldn't have been stuck here in the Poppy Unit, would I? I'd well be frolicking around with the Hyacinths, acting as a spy and drinking around." Leo shook his head. "How I'd wish I'd get to have that leisure..."

"Then what were you doing back there?"

"Well...I'm not sure either. As soon as I passed by that priest, my feet went numb... What was that feeling? Ah right. It's like suddenly being at the presence of a Sorenian."

"Bullshit. You've never even met one." Zyler scoffed. "And you're a Nephilim too."

Leo turned to the old man behind the curtain veil with an exasperated expression.

"Did you hear that Aquila? Orion speaks like he's not a Nephilim himself."

Zyler rolled his eyes at the mention of his codename.

"You're unscathed anyway, what's the deal?"

"Bastard, you still abandoned me."

Breaking the banter, the old man finally spoke.

"This is why I tell you to stop causing trouble."

"Come on, Aquila. We needed a solid cover, you know? We're at least setting up solid alibis if we ever get caught in this line of work."

The old man, going by the code name Aquila, simple shook his head and took a whiff of his tobacco pipe.

"Alibi my ass. You kill yourself if you get caught." The two ignored the old man's words as if passing from ear to ear.

"Anyway, where's the madam?"

"She just left."

Leo got up and retrieved the dagger he threw. It left a clean mark on the wall, ruining the wallpaper. Aquila glanced at his back, seemingly used to it.

He flipped his pipe, lightly tapping it on his small glass ashtray to empty its inner diam.

"What happened to your neck?"

Zyler's thoughts wandered off to the young man he accidentally dragged all the way to another street, remembering his onyx robes.

"I encountered a Phantom today."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The old man paused and lowered his tobacco pipe. His widened eyes bore onto the translucent curtain veil, which he immediately swept aside after abruptly standing up and heading to Zyler. The latter immediately realized what's going on and tried to retreat, but the old man lunged at him before he could step back. He spared no chance letting Zyler raise his arms to defend himself and struck the tobacco pipe at the olive-haired's head.

"This good for nothing! —How many times will I tell you not to associate with those Nephilims!"

His mysterious air suddenly disappeared, now looking like a typical geezer scolding his troublemaking grandson.

"Aw! Ah! Why do people keep harassing me today?! Agh! That hurts! —I mean, ow! —it's not like I approached him on purpose!"

"Just...I made a stupid blunder and that's that. But I've never seen him before in the Cathedral. He must be new."

"Are you sure he's a Phantom?"

Zyler scoffed.

"Who else wears old-fashioned onyx priest robes around? Aren't all Cathedral clerics Phantoms? It's how they grant blessings."

The old man paused for a moment in a serious expression. Then, he leaned closer to Zyler's ear and whispered cautiously.

"I heard there was a rift between the other Nephilim factions. Madam Vega had been busy lately because of it. Maybe they've brought in the new ones to make up for the lack of manpower."

"But you know..." Zyler's voice trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

He suddenly remembered the feeling of the priest's slender hands firmly gripping his neck. In that brief moment, he sneakily read his soren signature when he touched his hands and pretended to struggle.

Zyler slightly furrowed his brows. He couldn't detect his soren.

"...it's nothing."

The old man shook his head in annoyance, being fed up with Zyler's nonsense.

"The madam has left you something." He handed over a single red poppy with fallen sepals.

Zyler glanced at it for a moment, confirming the number of poppies. 3 stood for criminals and traitors, 2 stood for knights and merchants, and 1 stood for the high nobility's circle.

'Is it that Count who's been appearing in the newspapers lately?' Zyler wondered, having guessed his target.

"Is it the madam's personal request?"

"It's a commission. A 2000-pound bounty."

"Pretty hefty." He straightened his wrinkled clothes, brushing off the dirt from running away earlier, and took the poppy.

Since commissions always ensured the anonymity of the requestor, he didn't bother prying. All he had to worry about was bringing good results in return for the payment anyway.

"I understand." He didn't wait for Aquila's confirmation and quickly left the Red Garden.

♦️♦️♦️

Slam!

The metal door loudly slammed shut as Count Garam ascended the flight of stairs, exiting his mansion's dim basement. A scrawny male servant nervously handed him a towel to wipe off the blood in his hands, which he aggressively snatched.

He just went from a rough torture of suspicious assailants. Unfortunately, before he could get them to talk, they swallowed the poppy seeds lodged in their teeth and ended their lives with its poison.

"Nothing's going well! Nothing!"

His deep voice boomed. His footsteps resounded loudly, clearly reflecting his anger.

"The lackeys won't talk and now the big shots demand my corpse."

He turned to his scrawny servant and pointed his finger to the sides of the wall, feeling it a little too empty for his suiting.

"You lax fellows. I told you to guard me properly! Do you think I pay you to stand around stupidly?" As he barked, armed soldiers immediately surrounded his desk, concealing their sarcastic looks.

'This paranoid retard, when did he even pay us enough?'

Count Garam kicked the door open, revealing his luxurious office decorated in monochromatic hues and intricate motifs. He sat cross-legged onto his large chair, and restlessly bit his nails.

"They're nothing else but filthy rebels. Just because they managed to scare the commoners, they feel confident enough to target a noble now?"

He was continuously spewing mocking curses, but his body language says the opposite.

As soon as he saw a teacup placed neatly at the side of his desk, he immediately downed it for a drink. Realizing it had gone cold, he spewed it in disgust and threw the teacup at the door, creating a loud shattering sound of porcelain.

"That useless wench! Where is she? How dare she serve me cold tea?!"

The door carefully pried open, revealing a trembling elven servant dressed in wrinkled black clothes. Her hands were noticeably stained in ink and covered in blisters.

He ruthlessly grabbed the elven servant's hair, making her support her head in reflex as he pushed her to the floor. The servant bit her lip and clenched her eyes tightly, trying her best to suppress even a single scream from coming out. She knew that if she reacted loudly, the Count would do much worse for the others to hear across the door.

"My mood is already sour as it is, yet you dare serve me this tea?"

In actuality, it wasn't her fault. But would the Count care about such a thing?

He roughly grabbed her jaw and forced her mouth open, tilting her head upwards. He reached out for the teapot next to the tray and poured it to her mouth endlessly, making the liquid dribble from her trembling lips. She started choking from it.

Her attire was drenched, sending stray droplets to the carpet and to the Count's shoes. As he finished pouring the teapot's contents, he roughly pushed her head away and threw the teapot.

She leaned forward in reflex, repeatedly coughing and clutching her throat.

"S-spare me, my lord...!" She rubbed his wet shoes with her sleeves, swallowing her sobs.

Count Garam was about to kick her with profound disgust when a sound from the door interrupted them.

Knock knock.

"Your Excellency, Lady Ambrose is here. She says she wishes to deliver a message."

He frowned in suspicion.

"This late at night?"

"She says its an urgent reply to your request for assistance. She's holding an envelope with the Morrison family crest."

"Finally!"

'I knew it. The duke hasn't abandoned me yet. He has come for my aid to protect me from them!'

"What are you waiting for! Don't keep her waiting and guide her to my study. And you." He pointed at the elven servant bowing in the floor.

"Clean your mess up." The servant could only bow her head in resignation.

The wind calmly billowed.

In a clock tower with a clear view of the mansion, Orion prepared his trusty black sniper rifle with trained meticulousness.

It spanned almost as long as his height, longer than the usual snipers. After attaching the bipod and positioning it towards a particular curtainless office, he leisurely skimmed through a folder with a red poppy symbol stamped at the side.

"Olen Garam, Count of Garam. 42. Observed to have a nasty temper and misogynic ideals. Due to a childhood illness, he...what? He's missing a ball down there...? And he has three concubines?"

Orion nearly dropped the folder in exasperation and lightly touched his face. He was currently wearing a black wig, a skin mask with ordinary features, and tactical burgundy clothing. Of course, he took particular note to always conceal the subtle heterochromia of his hazel eyes.

Still, it didn't seem to diminish his pride of his original appearance.

"While I'm not even allowed to seriously date a girl with a face like this? Gosh, his poor wives."

'Yeah, you sure ought to die.'

His gloved hands gently caressed the rear grip as his cheeks touched cold metal. The rune spellform engraved in his bolt carrier emitted a faint glow of jade. His eyes focused on the scope's view and secured his target, currently paving back-and-forth restlessly.

There was no sound of gunshot as he pulled the trigger, releasing an incorporeal shadowy bullet, but it followed with the sound of the glass pane shattering from the impact.

Quietly picking up the shards of porcelain from the broken teacup, the servant raised her head. Her mind couldn't have prepared for the horror that greeted her, flashing onto her eyes like a slow motion film.

She was only a few feet away from the Count.

Hence, despite the deafening sound of the shattered glass pane, she could clearly here the shadow bullet burying through his flesh and skull, penetrating through his temples with a trail of crimson blood and transparent cerebrospinal fluid. After passing through his head, the bullet dissipated like it didn't exist.

Due to her gifted vision, she could see it all awfully well—his bloodshot eyes, his open wound, and the way he fell on the floor like a limp doll.

Unlike her inner turmoil, her reaction was pretty tame. Rather, it was more befitting to say she showed none.

She didn't even noticed the door abruptly opening upon the noise, followed by a lady's dainty steps.

The noble lady went passed the elven servant and cautiously approached the Count, feeling his pulse and checking his breathing.

"It's too late, he's already dead."

She turned to the guard frozen in shock and waved her hand.

"What are you standing there for? Search the premises! The assassin couldn't have gone far!"

"Ri, right away my lady...!"

Anbrose's sight wandered to the direction of the clock tower standing tall across the veranda's view, where she spotted an inconspicuous blackish figure retreating. For a moment, even with the distance, they had managed to share a brief eye contact before the blackish figure turned away.

The confirmation was all she needed.

Her hands flipped the silk envelope she was holding, and elegantly rummaged its contents. Instead of a letter, it had a blood red flower inside.

"This..."

She placed a single flattened poppy flower on the dead Count's side, like a final artistic touch.

"...is the duke's reply. My deepest condolences, Count Garam."

It was quickly soaked in blood, slowly spreading its flattened petals as if hungrily devouring it in thirst.

It was such a peculiar sight.

Her golden eyes gleaming in the moonlit night turned to the elven servant, blank in shock, and placed her index finger close to her lips.

Contrary to her elegant demeanor that didn't fit the scene around them, her eyes were cold as if threatening her to keep what she saw tonight to herself. The elven servant lowered her head, unable to look at either the Count's dead body or the Lady's surprising behavior.

Slowly, her trembling cracked lips broke into fits of mad humorless laughter. She couldn't believe she had so suffered so much just for her tormentor to end up that way from one bullet straight to the head.

It was both strange and satisfying to her.

The rest of the servants entered in a rush, only to find the Count's body on the floor with a dark red poppy next to him, soaked in his own blood.

Orion slung his rifle to his back, deftly leaping from building to building, blending with the night's darkness.

He arrived at the room he paid for in a high-class inn, making sure to erase his tracks and lead the possible pursuers to end up here instead of his own house or the Red Garden.

He carefully placed his sniper at the side of the wall, finding Vega sitting at his couch. He slowly took off his wig as he ran his fingers onto his curly olive locks.

"...Madam."

"Did you just finished it?" Her voice resounded with subtle vibrations, sounding unnatural and rather...robotic. Orion sneaked a glance at her choker that was transmitting sounds even when her lips weren't moving.

"I did." He proceeded to take the glass of water in the bedside table and drank it.

Their small talk may seem awkward, but the two were most comfortable with short word exchanges than lengthy ones.

"You should rest."

"It's fine, I'm not tired."

"I didn't mean that. I meant the missions. Take a break for a while."

He choked on the water, spilling its contents. He vigorously wiped his mouth in shock.

"What?!"

Vega didn't as much flinch, regarding him calmly.

"Are you raising your voice at me?"

"That's—that's not it. I'm just..." He paused for a moment and took a quick glance at his black sniper.

"Did I do something wrong? Is it because I met a Phantom even though you told me not to associate with them? I can explain—"

Vega raised her hand to cut him off.

"Orion—no. Zyler Elijah Ravencrown."

"It's my personal request, as well as your predecessor's who first bore the code name Orion."

Zyler stared at her intently before reluctantly replying.

"Where are you sending me?"

Staring at the stretching night beyond the window, she slowly rose from the sofa and leaned her chest onto the railing, beholding the view with a melancholic mood.

"Alioth Knight Academy will be opening its gates for the entrance exams tomorrow. Pass the test and enter as a cadet."