Narrator:

Soon after the Misfits were settled into their new accommodations, on a dark and - actually not stormy at all - night, there was an even darker shadow moving along the base of the castle’s walls where the king of Manifestoria resided.

Calling it a castle was an exaggeration. It was more like a large house with many extra wings attached haphazardly, built right next to a ten-metre drop that overlooked a rapidly flowing river. This gorge formed a backstop to the town of Manifestoria. The castle's outbuildings and wings and dormitories faced towards the town, away from the river. The castle was multi-storied and protected by a three-metre wall. Of course, there were guards present at all times. Unfortunately, this castle presided over a tiny kingdom, made even smaller by the gradual diaspora of citizens fleeing the future slaver invasion. So there weren't many guards, and they were all at the front.

Consequently, as the dark shadow moved along the side of the river gorge and climbed up the cliff face and the castle walls, there was no one to appreciate the spectacle.

The person, dressed in black, slowly and carefully climbed up a rope. They got to the top and carefully raised their head over one of the gaps in the parapet. The night might have been dark, but it was also fine and mild, so the king was out on the roof area, walking up and down, all the while muttering into his goblet of wine.

The person waited until the king was at the furthest point, facing away. Then they merely swung themselves over the wall, picked up a metre-long metal bar ever so conveniently lying inside the parapet, and calmly strolled up to the king.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Of course, they kept the bar pointing downward as if it was just an idly picked-up stick, temporarily used as a walking aid while deciding what to do with it.

The king turned and saw the newcomer.

"Hmmph, oh, it's you. Did they send you up with the new bottle of wine?"

"Not quite, sire. If you like, I can get it for you."

"Fine, fine."

The king turned and looked over the parapet on the side that faced the town.

Then he crumpled up and collapsed onto the ground, mainly because that metal bar had slammed with considerable force into his head.

The person that had been holding the bar put it down. They picked up the king as if he were a bag of trash and walked up to the parapet. After a quick look over to ensure that there was no one below, the king's body was tossed over. The wine goblet quickly followed it. Another quick look to ensure there was no outcry - there wasn't - then the assassin grabbed the metal bar, returned to the riverside and threw it far out into the river. After checking that the hook that held the rope was still firmly over the parapet wall, they carefully climbed down.

At the bottom, they spent an anxious few minutes flicking the rope to flip the hook up and off the wall. Eventually, it came. Off came the hook, which was also sent to the bottom of the river. The rope ended up in a nearby boat shed, not looking out of place next to all the other coils of rope.

And, finally, the dark shadow disappeared, unnoticed, into the maze of buildings that made up the town.

The following day, this person was just as dismayed as everyone else at the news that the king had accidentally fallen to his death. In other words, not all that much.

"Probably sodding drunk, the stupid senile fool." said someone. They didn't sound sad.

The person nodded their head in agreement.

Nobody was sad.

Not even the king's daughter when she finally heard about it.