Rashnu was having a bad day.

He ran through the forest, his footsteps kicking up sands, leaves, and snapping twigs.

Despite the evening light, the forest was already darkening like it was full night. Behind him, shadows danced on the trunks and tree branches.

He'd known they were fast, but he hadn't expected them to catch up to him this quick, which was bad; if they could find him this quick, there wasn't time to make a clean getaway.

Rashnu had been a mercenary before all this mess came in. He'd been a reputable one, known for keeping his end of the bargain, until he'd met her.

Neyara had been a ray of sunshine when he'd first seen her, her beauty dominating the environment, so when she'd asked for his help on a small matter – if you could call assassinating her very own brother small – he'd obliged. It hadn't been that hard of a job, her brother was known to be an odd one amongst royalties, always choosing to move alone. He detested being followed day and night by royal guards, which made the deed an easy one.

He'd cornered the prince during one of his hunting hours, in a clearing two hours from the city, easily putting an arrow through the neck of his horse, thereby eliminating any easy escape.

When he'd finished with the horse, it took another poisoned arrow to the leg to stop the crown prince from running. And then, the last one through the neck ended the deed, all in a span of two seconds.

What Rashnu didn't know was that he wasn't the only witness.

Getting back to the city, his eyes clearer now to her wiles, he hadn't cared anymore for Neyara's deceitful beauty. When he spoke to her, he only requested for his payment, not wanting to spend a second more than necessary in that city, or even the entire kingdom.

She'd told him to wait, as gathering a large amount like that would take time.

Whether through his experience as a mercenary, he'd immediately known something was wrong the moment she left the room. He was almost to the window when he felt something pierce his neck, blacking him out.

He woke up with a splitting headache, having temporarily forgotten the earlier event. When everything came back, his first concern was one thing: he was in a cell.

He'd cursed himself for being a fool–a huge one, but that didn't matter for the moment, his escape did.

It didn't take long for him to find his opportunity.

A trait most prison guards shared was that they liked to gloat. He didn't know whether it was because of some kind of boredom or seeing someone else in a cage while you stood outside, but most of them loved gloating and throwing insults at prisoners.

And like how they loved to insult prisoners, they hated the same thing being reciprocated.

He didn't want to waste his opportunity on the common guards, so he waited. It didn't take long for the prison Warden to come in for one of his rare inspections. When Rashnu had seen the man, he'd smiled to himself.

The man had walked in, all high and mighty with his smooth and well cared for moustache hanging over his upper lip. To simplify: he was easy to rile up.

All Rashnu had to do was make well-placed provocative comments on his mustache, and he let pride do the rest.

The prison Warden had taken an instant dislike to Rashnu the moment they'd crossed eyes, probably because he was the only prisoner who didn't cower at the sight of him. Insulting his beard took things to the next level.

They'd immediately opened the door to his cell, intending to give him a beating for the season, thinking a six-to-one odd was good against Rashnu.

He'd trashed them.

When he was done, and all the guards were lying in a pile, all bruised and either unconscious or moaning in pain, he'd taken the keys from the warden's belt. To cover his trail and keep the guards busy, he'd freed the other prisoners.

Now that he thought about it, he shouldn't have done that.

As a mercenary, he knew how to avoid any soldiers sent after him, so he'd planned to lay low, weather the storm, and after that, find a way off the kingdom, probably to the other side of the continent.

It all went to shit the next morning.

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He'd woken to a sharp, burning pain on his left wrist. Pulling up his sleeves, he'd frozen in terror at what he'd seen: The Mark Of The Shadow Hall.

It was a dark purple drawing of a raven in flight, something he'd never thought to ever see in his lifetime.

As a mercenary–and a lord one at that, he'd worked for–and with–enough people to have heard of the Shadow Hall. They were the nightmares of nobles and the powerful, and their marks were the worst thing a person could wake up to. It was said that getting branded by Shadow Hall was a sure death. Running was only prolonging it. They could find anyone anywhere.

But Rashnu still chose to flee, maybe he might be an exception if he used his headstart well.

Being a mercenary, he'd gotten access to information that was hard to get. Being a lord at that had gotten him into places where even Monarch cultivators dined, which gave him access to information regarding high-level cultivators, like the Spirit lords.

He'd once heard of a Spirit lord who'd gotten marked by Shadow Hall. The body was found within two days.

Despite it all, he planned for his case to be different, so he ran.

He'd only been on the run for half a day–never stopping –when they caught up to him.

At first, it was a tingling feeling, like he was being watched. Looking back hadn't brought up his observer until his eyes had eventually come in contact with another. He couldn't tell the gender of the person because they were wearing a long, dark, purple cloak that shrouded their faces in shadow, with only their eyes being visible. He'd already known their identity the moment he saw the cloak, but the raven sigil on the breast finalized it.

There was no doubt, they wanted him to know he was being hunted, giving him a headstart, like prey.

Being toyed like that bruised his ego, but it wasn't the time to pamper his ego, so he ran on.

Which brought him to this moment, with Shadows dancing behind him. Even with his lord-level hearing, he couldn't perceive anything, but he knew they were behind him.

Running, the only thing that warned him of an attack was the soft whistle of the wind. He slowed, blindly pivoting. His unsheathed sword slapping the dagger that had been aiming for his back. The sender came in a moment later, twin daggers flashing. He narrowly dodged a cut to the cheek, managing to deliver a kick to his opponent's ribs, which were softened by a leather armor worn under the cloak. The assassin launched back into the wall of shadow that was already rising, disappearing from sight.

He'd begun to think maybe Shadow Hall was a little bit hyped up when he felt his neck prickle. He didn't wait to check, he ran.

Looking behind as he ran, the sight that came to him chilled him to the spine. Five more figures stepped out of the dark, their eyes glinting like silver in the darkness. This wasn't a single assassin, but a cadre.

They just stood there, joined by their sixth member as they watched, like a cat who knew that the rat had nowhere to hide.

Scared shitless, he'd immediately pumped energy into his legs, increasing his speed manifold. He checked behind momentarily as he ran, finding only shadows. His fear kicked up another notch.

An hour or so later, he blessedly found an end to the forest, a large port town visible in the distance.

Approaching the gate, he walked slowly, eager to get away but knowing that drawing attention would only delay him more.

"Welcome to the town of Murran; what is your reason for visiting?" A guard asked.

Jittery, and looking behind every few seconds, he answered.

"Just travel."

"Travel huh? Alright then, your entry fee is a silver coin."

He quickly paid the fee, his mercenary mind telling him that he was practically being extorted, but he didn't care.

Since it was already nighttime and the night was the domain of assassins, he immediately headed to the port.

Crossing a huge hungry ocean by ship was practically a death wish, in his opinion, so he used the air travel system: Griffin Air.

There were multiple avian creatures being used for transportation; the griffin was just the majority.

He paid the transportation fee directly to the rider and immediately climbed onto the back of the huge creature. And with a whistle and a snap of the reins, the griffin had immediately gotten into the air, headed for the desolate continent.

They were about three hours into the journey when Rashnu urged the rider to change direction, making for the Aesland continent, instead.

"This will cost you, and we'll have to land on one of those islands, flea here needs his rest," He patted the feathers on the griffin's neck.

Grudgingly, Rashnu accepted, "How does a hundred gold marks sound to you?" No worker would ever say no to a quick bag of gold. It was practically two years' worth of work paid in a single night.

They landed on one of the empty islands dotting the Abyssal Ocean, and the only reason Rashnu agreed to land there was because there were more than a hundred tiny islands dotting the ocean. They'd be gone before anyone even came close to finding them since he was supposed to be heading to the desolate continent.

They immediately set up camp and, as per Rashnu's request, had ceased from making a campfire. He'd shared out of his travel rations of cold, dry meat, and within minutes, were already asleep.

Rashnu's eyes snapped open. Having laid facing up, he could tell it was already past midnight. He didn't know what had alerted him, he just knew he had to get away quickly.

He immediately stood up, not bothering to wake the snooring rider, he'd only slow Rashnu down with questions.

Rashnu hurried toward the sleeping griffin, mimicking the same whistle he'd heard from the rider. The griffin didn't wake. He was about to do it again when he felt something pierce his neck. Pulling the dart from his neck.. how did they find me? Suddenly, his legs gave out, he couldn't move any of his limbs.

He didn't hear them as they came, their steps quiet as the night. Six dark figures soon fell over his eyes, gazing down at him. Fearing his death, he opened his mouth to beg but no words came out. Horror burned in his mind like a raging fire but his features remained unchanged.

One of the figures soon picked up his body, moved to where he'd been laying, and then gently laid him down on his cot.

Rashnu laid there, his features neutral, but in his mind he cried out in terror, begging to be freed. Beside him slept the rider, unaware of what was going on beside him.

Rashnu laid there, his killers standing around him, as if in prayer for his soul.

He died an hour later.

His features remained unchanged.

His mind screaming in terror.

The night went on, quiet as ever.

And a griffin rider slept, snooring and dreaming of how to spend his bag of gold.