The little building sat at the end of a similarly little alleyway, the insignia of a rose hanging above the entrance.

A cloaked man, holding a large briefcase in hand, strolled through the door, then sat himself down in the chair before the counter.

“Good morning,” the woman behind the counter spoke, dressed in a black cloak, her face invisible in the dim light.

“I would like to submit a contract,” the man replied

“Of course,” said the woman as she brought out a pen and a printed contract sheet. “Please write the full name of the target, their occupation, or anything of note which can help us identify the individual. If your descriptions are too vague, the contract may be rejected with no refunds.”

“I know.”

He jotted down some words on the paper, his handwriting rough yet fluid. Then he slid the paper back to the woman, who looked over it quickly, before tying it into a tight roll and tucking it into a cylindrical container made of fine leather.

“We accept payments of any amount and of any type. The payments of contracts submitted for the same target will be grouped into one,” she continued. “Every year we will only undertake the six largest contracts, the rest will be rejected with no refunds. Meaning, the larger the payment, the more likely the contract is to be carried out.”

“I understand,” the man nodded, picking up his briefcase and laying it on the desk. “I’m sure this will be sufficient.”

The woman gently opened the briefcase, the golden coins and magical artifacts within almost glowing in the darkness.

“This will be sent for consideration with the other contracts,” she told the man, shutting the briefcase and placing it behind the counter. “Expect no further communication from Rose, and do not attempt to contact Rose unless to submit another contract.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for the contract. You must now leave,” she gestured to the door.

The man stood up and walked away, pulling his hood lower as he got back onto the busy main street. The woman watched him go, and once sure he was gone, pressed a button affixed to the wall.

“New contract,” she spoke into the gemstone once it lit up with a purple glow. “Get ready for transport.”

Her words flowed into the gemstone, bridging the gap between the ground and the skies, the mountains and the rivers, darting along the magical pathways laid down by the telepaths, before finally rushing back out of a similar gemstone at the Rose Assassin Academy.

“Understood,” the man sitting at the telepath station spoke into the gemstone. “Transport is on the way. Meet at the old path in the trees where the children used to play.”

The woman pressed the button again, the glow of the gemstone extinguishing into nothing. Then she grabbed the leather cylinder and briefcase, and locked the door to the little building, before opening a hidden trapdoor in the floor and climbing down into the tunnels.

From there she followed the branching hallways, taking turns with muscle memory. Soon she climbed back into the daylight, under a bush in the forest, beside an old abandoned pathway where a broken, withered-down trading cart lay.

No one came this way anymore. The original access routes to the path have been cut off by urban expansion, and the legends of the ghosts who reside here and prey on unlucky merchants deterred most.

But she could hear the clacking of horse hooves and the rumbling of a wagon coming down the path, bouncing over the holes and bumps.

Quickly she hid the briefcase and the leather cylinder in the skeleton of the abandoned trading cart, making sure it was invisible from all angles. Then she ducked back into the bush and slipped into the tunnel once more.

The wagon, pulled along by a jet-black stallion, came to a stop before the skeleton. The coachman climbed down to the ground, walked to the back of the remains, and plucked the briefcase and leather cylinder from within.

From there the wagon sped towards the port, where the briefcase and cylinder were neatly packaged in a box, taken aboard a cargo ship, and sent up the river further inland.

Off it came at one vicious roll of a rogue wave, by the hands of an inside man, conveniently falling into a current that brought it to shore along a stretch of beach hidden behind a bend.

There it was fished out of the water by a poor fisherman who was scavenging the shores for rubbish, brought home, taken apart, and placed into a different container, one which bore the insignia of a blooming rose.

Then it was sold off to a wandering merchant, then passed along to another merchant wagon rumbling along next to it on the trade routes, one which also bore the insignia of a blooming rose.

But after hitting a boulder in the road, the wagon took a dive into a ditch, through the trees, landing neatly on a path of green grass in the otherwise dense forest, a cut through the thick foliage just large enough for the wagon to fit.

A few hours of bouncing over the rough path later, the wagon finally arrived at an inconspicuous meadow carved out into the forest. So inconspicuous in fact, that no one's ever noticed it.

Rolling hills stretched into the distance in all directions, animals grazed at the edge of the trees, and flowers bespectacled the landscape. It’s surprising for such a mesmerizing place to be so inconspicuous.

But the wagon pressed on, out of the forest and into the open grass, before coming to a stop in front of the gates to a grand manor which wasn’t there before.

“I see you!” The coachman shouted. “Open the gates!”

Slowly, the gates swung open, and the wagon continued. The manor’s ivy walls shivered in the breeze and the glass windows glistened in the sun as the wagon rattled up the tiled path to the front yard of the massive building.

Men and women and children all ran up to the cart, apprentices and masters alike, feeding the beautiful pair of horses treats and greeting the coachman joyously.

“Otto! Long time no see,” a tall young man with short blonde hair and sharp eyes said as he walked up to the coach. “I heard you’ve been traveling the lands in search of the most unique and incredible of artifacts.”

“Yes I have,” Otto replied. “All the ones you told me about and even some more.”

The young man nodded.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“I heard last year’s contracts went well?” Otto asked.

“Yes, they have, as always.”

Otto laughed as he leapt down to the ground from atop the wagon, landing with the deftness of a stalking cat.

“All this time as a merchant hasn’t made you forget your roots, huh?” The man asked jokingly.

“It hasn’t been that long, Izzy,” Otto replied.

“Woah woah, refer to your seniors with respect.”

“I’m older than you, Izzy. And for the record, I decided to not become a senior, but a traveling trader instead to bolster the power of Rose. Don’t forget how I swept the ground with you when we were still apprentices.”

Izzy laughed. “Well, not anymore.”

“Go for a spin now?” Otto asked, unsheathing his dagger.

They eyed each other briefly, before breaking into hearty laughter.

“Good to see you again,” Izzy said as they hugged each other tightly.

“Good to see you too.”

A body flew past Izzy’s head, landing squarely on Otto’s chest and knocking him to the ground.

“Brother!” Lilian cried out in joy as Otto grimaced in pain. “I miss you so much!”

“Lily, my ribs, please,” Otto squeezed out between clenched teeth.

“Sorry!” She smiled, stepping back and helping Otto back to his feet. “How long are you staying?”

“I’m leaving before dusk.”

“Awww…” Lilian sighed, hugging Otto tightly again.

“Hey, Otto,” said Thomas as he walked over, gently prying Lilian away from Otto’s body. “Long time no see.”

”Hey Thomas, you two getting along well?”

”Yep!” Lilian answered happily, snuggling close to Thomas.

“Okay okay, come on, we have to get all this stuff offloaded,” Otto shouted. “Everyone grab something!”

“Come on people!” Izzy shouted to the little crowd playing around the wagon. “Carry the boxes inside and help stock the supplies! There is a special box with our insignia on it, that is a contract, please bring it to the Senior’s office.”

“I can take the contract,” Otto said to Izzy, grabbing the large box from the back of the wagon. “Let everyone else take care of the other stuff.”

“Sure.”

“Oh and make sure nothing gets dropped, they’re all quite fragile.”

“You heard him!” Izzy shouted to the group.

Boxes upon boxes of vegetables and fruits, meats, and sausages were carried off the wagon and around the back of the manor. Some boxes jingles with gold coins, others clunked with rare metals and gemstones.

Otto pushed open the broad doors of the manor, stepping into the pristine entrance hall and taking a deep breath of the familiar smell.

“Otto!” A woman in summer robes on the second-floor walkway called out, her high ponytail dangling behind her head. “It’s been a long time.”

“Sandra!” Otto yelled in surprise. “How have you been?”

“Good!” Sandra replied. “You?”

“Good too,” Otto said as he walked up the stairs. “Tired, but good.”

“Do you regret not becoming a senior?” Sandra asked as they walked towards the Senior’s office side by side. “Traveling trader isn’t the most glamorous of specialties.”

“But it’s my calling, and no, I don’t regret it one bit.”

“Fine then. I guess traveling is just not my thing,” she said with a chuckle.

They made their way up to the fourth floor and entered the spacious senior’s office, where several people sat discussing important matters. On the broad wooden conference table lay many sheets of paper; contract sheets, each describing a person who may soon cease to exist.

“Otto!” They greeted him cheerfully. “Is this the final contract?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Good to see you back, Otto,” said Julius, the oldest of the Seniors.

“The pleasure is mine, Julius,” Otto replied with a bow.

Julius was already a senior when Otto was just an apprentice. Though in his fifties now, his hair turning white, Julius still takes part in most contracts, age seeming to not affect his proficiency as an assassin.

He handed the box over to Sandra, who placed it upon the desk. Then he made his leave to help with the stocking of the goods which he had brought. After all, he isn’t a senior.

On a bulletin board mounted on the far wall were pinned the payments and summaries for the contracts that they received this year. Every year, customers submit contracts before the end of February, then they are evaluated, and the six largest payments will be accepted.

The group took a quick look at the briefcase of goods, glistening in the light, and a slip of paper was soon pinned to the top of the list.

“We have our six,” Sandra announced.

“Julius?”

They all looked towards the eldest member of the Seniors, who must be the one to make the final decision on which contracts to accept.

“Let’s wait for Izzy,” Julius said, pacing back and forth before the bulletin board. “Call him up.”

Soon Izzy arrived, carrying with him a bowl of fresh fruits and snacks that Otto had brought.

“Now that we are all here,” Julius began. “Let’s decide on which contracts to accept.”

“I thought it’s pretty clear-cut this year?” Asked Izzy, sitting down in an empty chair.

“Well, going by the size of the payments, yes, we have six clear winners. But…” Julius paused.

“But…?”

“They are six strange contracts,” he continued, unpinning the top six slips of paper from the board and placing them on the desk. “All from anonymous clients. Nothing from the government, nothing from big companies. All targeting relatively ordinary people, compared to the contracts we usually receive. As in, not that they are common folk, just not infamous people. No repeats either, so not some scandal we aren’t aware of. Not that we haven’t seen contracts like these before, just… not all six at once.”

“Not to mention all are within Eidolon…” Sandra mumbled as she stared intently at the papers.

“We’ve never had six contracts all inside of our Kingdom,” said Julius, stroking his chin. “And all six of these were paid with exceedingly large sums of roughly the same amount.”

There was a moment of silence.

“So… what do we make of this?” One of the Seniors asked.

Julius shrugged.

“We could just not accept them if they are too strange. The client wouldn’t know,” Leo, another senior, suggested.

“No, Leo, It’s about professional courtesy,” said Julius. “We’ll accept these six. Any objections?”

No one spoke.

“So it’s decided then. We’ll accept these six,” Julius announced, pinning the six slips of paper back to the board and tearing off the rest. “Begin intelligence operations, you know what to do, the first contract is scheduled for May. Meeting adjourned.”

The Seniors stood up from their chairs, collected the papers strewn across the conference table, and went about their own business. Things were about to get busy, very busy. Tomorrow the newcomers would be arriving, and the winter holiday would be over.

Julius stayed standing in front of the bulletin board, studying the six contracts. Finally, he shrugged, picked up a pile of paperwork from his drawer, and sat down at the conference table.

Before starting the mind-numbing task of filing the paperwork, he stole one last glance at the bulletin board.

“We sure have six peculiar contracts this year…” he muttered to himself.