Chapter 50: The Crimson Hour
The city never truly slept, but for a brief moment before dawn, it seemed to hold its breath. The neon signs flickered like dying embers, and the streets were empty but for the distant hum of unseen movement. It was in this liminal space, where darkness and light bled into each other, that Rin sharpened his resolve.
Hudson watched from a few feet away, arms crossed, his usual smirk replaced with something resembling approval. "You're learning," he said, nodding toward the way Rin adjusted his stance. The young assassin had spent the last few nights enduring punishment after punishment, sparring with blades until the world blurred and his body screamed for rest.
Rin didn't respond. Instead, he exhaled slowly, raising his dagger once more. The Silent Knife had tested him and found him lacking. That would not happen again.
The rooftop was cold beneath Rin's bare feet. The city stretched below, a sea of neon and decay, but his world was reduced to the sharp ring of steel meeting steel.
"Again," Hudson commanded.
Rin lunged.
He feinted left, baiting Hudson into a sidestep, then twisted his wrist mid-strike, aiming for the throat. But before the blade could land, Hudson pivoted and drove an elbow into Rin's ribs. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through his bruised body.
Rin staggered, gasping. His fingers trembled around the hilt of his dagger.
"You're too readable," Hudson said, his voice edged with amusement. "Your movements are clean, but clean gets you killed. Try again."
Rin gritted his teeth. His entire body ached, but pain was just another lesson. He adjusted his stance, steadying his breathing. This time, he didn't attack immediately. He shifted his weight, letting Hudson think he would strike from the left again—then reversed at the last moment, sweeping low with a slash meant to cripple.
Hudson barely avoided the strike. A thin line of red appeared on his forearm. He looked at it, then chuckled.
"Better," he admitted.
Rin wiped sweat from his brow. "Not good enough."
Hudson sheathed his dagger. "Not yet," he agreed. "But you've got something the Silent Knife didn't expect—you adapt. And that makes you dangerous."
Rin exhaled slowly. He would need every advantage he could get.
Because tonight, the hunt would begin.
The meeting point was an abandoned subway platform beneath the old district. It was a place of ghosts—forgotten by time, but still thick with unspoken dangers. Rin waited in the shadows, his grip tight around his dagger.
Then, he felt it.
Not a sound. Not a movement. But a shift in the air, like the city itself had exhaled.
The Silent Knife had arrived.
Rin didn't move. He didn't speak. He simply watched as the figure materialized from the darkness, a silhouette barely distinguishable from the void.
"You came," Rin said quietly.
The Silent Knife tilted their head. "You survived," they whispered. Their voice was barely above a breath, but it carried weight.
Rin smirked. "More than that." He shifted his stance, lowering his center of gravity. "I'm ready now."
Silence.
Then—
The attack came faster than thought. The Silent Knife blurred forward, blade flashing in the dim light. Rin reacted on instinct, deflecting with his dagger, twisting his body just enough to avoid a lethal strike. Steel kissed his cheek, leaving a thin, burning cut.
But this time, he did not retreat.
This time, he pressed forward.
The two clashed in a flurry of movement—slashes, counters, feints—all exchanged in mere heartbeats. Rin was faster than before. More unpredictable. He could feel the shift in his opponent's attacks, the slight hesitation. They had expected the same boy from before.
They had miscalculated.
The Silent Knife disengaged, stepping back into the shadows. "You learn quickly."
Rin wiped the blood from his cheek. "I have to."
A pause. Then, for the first time, the Silent Knife spoke without the ghostly detachment.
"Good."
Then, like mist before the morning sun, they vanished.
The message arrived an hour later, scrawled in dark ink on the back of a playing card.
Coliseum. Midnight. One fight. No rules.
Rin smirked.
Edmund was waiting.
The game was set.
And this time, Rin wouldn't just survive.
He would win.
Back at the hideout, Hudson leaned against the wall, watching as Rin stitched the cut on his arm with steady hands.
"You look like shit," Hudson muttered.
"Good," Rin replied. "Means I'm still alive."
Hudson's smirk widened. "Did you learn anything?"
Rin nodded. "Yeah. The Silent Knife thinks I'm not ready."
Hudson barked a laugh. "And does that bother you?"
"No." Rin tied off the stitches and flexed his fingers. "It excites me."
Hudson shook his head, but his eyes held something close to approval. "You're a lunatic."
Rin stood, rolling his shoulders. "Maybe. But I'm a lunatic with a plan."
Hudson raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's that?"
Rin flicked the bloodied playing card toward him. "I'm going to kill Edmund Verrain."
Hudson caught the card between two fingers. His grin was sharp.
"Now that," he said, "I'd like to see
Midnight.
The coliseum was alive with sound—jeering voices, the scent of sweat and blood thick in the air. The underground arena was carved into the bones of the old city, where fights weren't just sport, but spectacle.
Rin stood in the center of the pit, rolling his neck. He could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on him, but they didn't matter.
Only one pair of eyes did.
Edmund Verrain stood opposite him, his usual smirk in place. He spun a dagger between his fingers, his amber eyes gleaming with something dark, something hungry.
"You actually showed," Edmund mused.
Rin smirked. "I don't like unfinished business."
Edmund chuckled. "Then let's finish it."
The announcer barely had time to signal the start before Edmund moved—blurring forward, his blade already seeking Rin's throat.
Rin met him head-on.
Steel clashed against steel, sparks flying as the two assassins danced the dance of knives.
The crowd roared.
But for Rin, the world had already narrowed to one thing.
Winning.
And this time, he would not lose.