Chapter 1: Help I’m Suddenly the Leader of an Assassin Cult and I Don’t Know What I’m Doing!

A hand of cold, cloying fingers creeping up the inside of my thigh jerked me out of the deepest sleep I had ever experienced. With a strangled yell, I threw myself backward. Scrabbling and completely unaware of my surroundings, where I was, or how I got there, I crashed into the headboard just a few inches behind me.

The ridged wooden carving dug into my scalp and shoulders as I kicked frantically against the silken sheets to push myself further away from whatever was going for my junk. An uncharacteristic scream clawed its way out of my throat.

A surprised grunt was the only sound I got as my foot connected with a strange mix of soft and hard that must have been a face. The figure was sent rocking back and somehow managed to avoid falling off the end of the bed, turning it into a graceful somersault landing on her feet. Standing at the edge of my bed was a woman in a skimpy negligee night dress of black lace, now holding a dagger to her own throat. A thin trickle of blood was already dripping down the short blade.

"What the fuck?" I shouted. This was the weirdest dream and like any dream I acted without choosing to.

Before I knew what was happening I planted a hand on the headboard behind me, completely changing my direction and springing off to propel my lunge across the bed. My outstretched hand batted away the blade that was about to sink into the assailant's throat. Spinning, it disappeared into the shadows of the room as she dropped to her knees.

"What the fuck is going on?" I muttered and regained my feet at the foot of the bed. Standing in front of the woman kneeling from this angle, I got a better look at her face and met the pair of wide black eyes staring up at me.

Her eyes were the only thing on her face worth commenting on. Everything else was perfectly nondescript: straight black hair, standard lips, and maintained brows. She was pretty but with forgettable features. The makeup she wore only played up that plainness.

Despite the care evident in its application, it was very different from the perfect makeup of a magazine model. I stood to my full height, towering over the kneeling woman and looking down. I was completely bare, just free-balling it, hanging in the breeze.

As I started to make out my surroundings, I saw I was in a dimly lit room where I could only see grayscale.

In the corner was a small desk with a single piece of paper and a quill in a stand. But the main piece of the room was the four-poster bed I was lying in. It was massive, larger than a king-sized bed, but was lumpy in some way, as if it was stuffed with feathers rather than a nice neoprene foam mattress topper.

The room was surprisingly cold. It couldn't have been more than 60 degrees, and my body was starting to let me know. I could feel my skin break into goosebumps, and certain parts of my anatomy shrivel. Whether that was the adrenaline or the cold, I couldn't tell. Snapping back to the topic on hand, I blurted the first question that crossed my mind. "Who are you?"

As I whisper-shouted at the assailant who almost killed herself, I couldn't stop myself from ranting. "What are you doing? Why did you have that knife?"

Pure confusion rippled across the woman's face, and I could see that this threw her more than nearly stabbing herself in the throat. A stammering voice came out in a confused yet sultry tone, "Master?"

The question came again. "Master? I am Nine."

Master. That must be me. If she was Nine... That wasn't a name, yet she was clearly not nine years old, but that was only a fleeting thought as my mind jumped to what seemed immediately more relevant. "What are you doing with that knife? What were you thinking!"

"Master rejected me. I failed. The court cannot live with failure." The woman dropped her eyes to her knees before muttering one more thing. "That was your first lesson."

My first what? I pressed my palms to my eyes and blinked away the spots that appeared as I put more pressure. My first. What? What was going on? I reached down and pinched my hip. Surely, I was dreaming, but I only received a slight jolt of pain and winced, rubbing the spot. No, I was not dreaming. At least, I didn't think so. What did she mean by saying that was my first lesson? I hadn't taught anything. What was going on? Where am I? The woman just knelt there, looking at me strangely.

"Is Master all right?" She asked in a concerned tone.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. I just– I'm a little confused, that's all." I bit back questions, not wanting to concern this knife-wielding lady who thought I was her master. If she was crazy enough to try to kill herself over a bad reaction to an unwelcome awakening, I didn't want to risk what would happen if she found out I wasn't who she thought I was. If she found out that I wasn't her master, that knife very well might be for me next.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

I was pretty sure I didn't know how to fight. The word karate crawled through my brain, but I didn't have any memories associated with it. Just some idea of bathrobes with colored belts and punching. I shook my head no. I needed to find out more, but I had to balance that with caution. For now, I would start with getting dressed.

"No, no, I'm fine. No need for knives now," I told the kneeling woman. I lowered a hand to help her up to her feet and hopefully send her on her way so I could get dressed and maybe find any clue about what was happening in this room before she realized that I was an imposter. But she didn't take my hand. She only stared at it like it was a snake.

"Come on." I paused for a second. "Nine. Get up."

She rolled backward onto her heels gracefully and stood up in a languid motion, completely disregarding my hand. We stared at each other for seconds. She was clearly waiting for something from me, but I had no idea what. My first instinct was to send her out, but I bit back the request right before it left my tongue.

If she left, would she go to talk to people? Would they find out who I was or, more relevant, who I was not? Would they have daggers like she did and come for me instead of themselves? No. I seemed to be some sort of authority figure over her, but I didn't know how far it went. My mind spun as I tried to search for a way out of it, but I saw no way without risk. Taking the easiest path, I just pointed to the corner and said, "Wait."

She nodded, certainty coming back to her face as my order registered as apparently acceptable. She went into the corner and vanished. I peered at where she had last been until I was able to make out the edge of a shoe in the shadow. How did she do that? Apparently, there were many things I didn't understand here.

Scanning the room, I made out one more piece of furniture I hadn't seen before. A dresser was on the other side of the room from the writing desk. I hobbled over to it, still slightly stiff from the sudden awakening, and rifled through the drawers. The top drawer was filled with underwear and socks cut in an odd, silky style that was smooth and dark but with no tags or visible stitching at all. Still, I slipped into them, quickly covering up from the creeping chill that was seeping into my bones. In the next drawer, I found a long tunic, also in black silk, with a dark red embroidered stylized knife with what looked to be blood dripping from the tip. That was ominous.

I looked at a couple of different pairs, and they were all exactly the same. Sliding one on, I found some pants in the drawer underneath.

The last drawer extended out into three different layers, each opening another several inches past the others, displaying a range of various tools. I couldn't even name most of them, but they were all sharp and deadly. Some had wrapped hilts that looked like you would hold them in between your fingers. The name Punch Dagger came to mind. Some had nothing but steel on all sides.

There were a few dark leather bands that they slid into that looked like they could be some sort of harness. I decided not to bother trying to figure out how to put it on right now. I was sure I was being watched if Nine didn't have suspicions already... Well, I didn't seem like a guy to go without weapons from what I had gathered so far.

I pulled out a couple of them and tossed them on the bed. As I did, I was careful not to nick myself. There were several vials of dark liquid on the bottom row of the weapons drawer. It wasn't hard to guess that those were poison. Fully dressed, I walked around the bed, carefully eyeing the shadow where I could still see a small bit of a foot sticking out, but I could not tell what the woman was looking at. I made my way to the writing desk.

The single sheet of paper resting on top was half-filled with an incomplete letter.

My dearest King Gerald,

I could tell from the script that this was a cultured and educated voice. It was slanted and graceful, each word flowing into the next with precise spacing, and nothing but a single splotch in the corner could tell me that it was written by hand rather than a laser printer. The letter continued, and the sly voice echoed through my head as if it were my own.

I am writing to inform you that the court has accepted a contract on you. While we would normally decline all such contracts as part of your premium package, this one is one we cannot ignore. While this may cause some concern for you, I also have to regretfully inform you that the option of buying out the contract is also not available. You have my sincerest apologies, and I likely will not have further need to reach out to you.

However, I would not wish us to part on bad terms. I have cared deeply for you and yours and would look forward to your response regarding the health of your childr–

The letter cut off in the middle of a word. I stared at it, stunned. This seemed to be something I had written, or at least whoever was supposed to be here had written. That was not good news. That was not good news at all.

I sat down on the desk and picked up the quill. Pulling open a drawer and finding nothing but a stack of blank sheets. I pulled out a fresh piece of paper and dipped the quill in an unstoppered ink bottle. I scratched out a few lines of questions for myself.

Where am I? Who am I? How did I get here? What do I do next?

Amazingly, my handwriting exactly matched that of the page. I didn't even remember what my handwriting looked like. But there was no doubt that I had written this letter. I just didn't remember when, why, or what else I was going to say. Who informs someone that they're going to die and then asks about their children's health in a seemingly friendly manner? Who was the court? Unfortunately, the letter wasn't finished, so there was no signature from me, so I had no idea what my name was.

Looking around the room, I saw there was very little for me left to do. Grabbing my note, I folded it and tucked it into the waistband of my pants. How much longer could I stay and think? Probably not much. I only had to figure out how to strap on my weapons, and then I would head out. To where? I had no idea, but it was too suspicious for me not to.