The waves danced gracefully, reflecting the serenity of a splendid day. The waters, astonishingly clear, shimmered under the sunlight, creating a spectacle that captivated the eye. Among the gentle tides and currents, boats emerged, drifting away from a large ship anchored some distance on the horizon.
As they reached the shore, several individuals dressed in pristine white took their first steps on the wet sand. Their boots and garments slowly became soaked, absorbing the salty water and the weight of the sand. Each step seemed to require considerable effort. Tension from the journey was evident on their faces.
Their heavy steps broke the silence, leaving deep imprints in the wet sand, while the boats gently rocked on the shore as if patiently waiting for their occupants.
There were sixteen individuals in total, each with an expression of awe and bewilderment on their faces. The surroundings were entirely new to them; having arrived at such a remote corner of the world, they breathed in a different, unfamiliar air.
Among them were familiar faces and others completely new. Some stopped and looked around, adjusting to the steady ground after so much time at sea; others, however, released the tension from the journey with discreet gestures, trying to find stability in each step. Among them stood one man, dressed in the same white attire as the rest, but with a red hood that draped over his back. With an erect posture and a look of absolute focus, he moved to the center of the group, as if this position was his by right.
His steps were firm and assured, lifting the sand with each step, leaving a precise mark that seemed to guide the rest. Every movement of his, decisive and calculated, conveyed authority and calm amidst the uncertainty of the others.
The hood and veil covering half of his face barely allowed his eyes to be seen, but even without a clear view of his expression, the mere presence of this man commanded respect. On either side of his waist hung two daggers, polished and ready for combat, a weapon choice that suggested particular skill and a calculated disposition. Everything about him gave the impression of someone lethal, someone well-versed in the dark arts; his light and fitted clothing only emphasized that idea, as if each garment were designed for agility and stealth.
Though they all wore similar attire in color and style, there were subtle differences in their equipment. Some wore light armor, designed for mobility; others carried heavier gear, with additional protections on arms and chest. Throughout the formation, various weapons were evident: short swords and sabers for quick combat, rapiers for those with lighter hands, axes and spears for those who preferred distance and strength. Each one, with their weapons and style of gear, represented a specialty, a unique piece in the whole that the man led.
He stopped and turned. His gaze swept over the group. Murmurs immediately ceased; his mere presence drew attention and commanded respect. They knew he was the reason for this journey, the leader who had brought them to this unknown corner.
"Brothers, we are finally here. As I mentioned before, we will end everything here. We will leave no damned soul alive," declared the leader with unrelenting determination, his eagle-sharp gaze scanning the faces of his men one by one. "None," he reiterated, emphasizing the order with a coldness that cut through the air.
One of the men, with a disheveled beard whipped by the wind, laughed arrogantly and asked, "Sir, will we have time for... a moment of entertainment before we fulfill our task?" The intent in his voice was clear, almost mocking, while his companions looked at him with expectant gleams in their eyes.
The leader kept his composure, his gaze unwavering, and responded, "I know many of you seek some kind of distraction, but the order is clear: we go in, we go out." His tone hardened. "If you want 'fun,' you'll have it… when your task is complete."
The response fell like a weight on the group. Those who had hoped for some indulgence lowered their heads, resigned, while others exchanged glances of frustration. The clarity of the leader's words left no room for doubt or weakness, leaving each man fully aware of what they were to do.
"Does anyone else have any questions or doubts?" the leader asked, turning his back to them. The aura he emanated was imposing; none of those present dared question or challenge him.
"Come, Tinix," he ordered, calling a young man in his twenties, whose gear was similar to the leader's. Tinix approached with light, silent steps, as if even on the sand his progress left no trace.
"According to the information from bird number 2, the sabotage was successful. Correct?" the leader asked without losing his serious tone.
"Yes, sir. The informant confirmed that the sabotages were carried out perfectly," Tinix responded firmly.
"Good," said the leader, letting out a sigh as he retrieved an aged map from his waist. He unrolled the crumpled paper and pointed to an area with his finger. "Let's see, according to this map, this entire sector should be the village."
"Correct, sir," affirmed Tinix.
"Although, with the time that has passed, we cannot fully trust this scrap of paper," the leader mentioned, his gaze focused on the map. "Still, as a guideline, we must deploy each of you to the marked positions near the entrance and along the open fields to cover all potential escape routes."
After a long examination of the terrain and the map, he finally devised a plan; he assigned an officer to divide the locations strategically for each individual. He set Tinix aside and focused his gaze on the entire group.
"Each of you will surround the entire area, maintaining a separation of 100 meters from each other," the leader commanded with a firm voice. "I want ten of you to carry out the surveillance mission. The other five will come with me; we have another task to complete."
As some began to prepare, gathering equipment from the boat, the leader's confidence was palpable, and it seemed to infect his subordinates, who appeared relaxed and untroubled by the task ahead of them. Among the conversations that could be heard, phrases like "I came here just for the money" or "It's for debts" stood out, although some murmured that they did it for the sake of their families.
"You, come with me," the leader told the young Tinix, who responded firmly, "Yes, sir."
The leader then called out the names of those who would accompany him. "The following, step forward: Paul, John, Enix, and lastly, Brik."
The named men moved forward, positioning themselves next to the leader, while those not called surrounded Officer Derguín, who began giving specific instructions and coordinating their strategic positions in the area.
The group of five that would lead the man formed a line, facing forward to hear what was about to be said.
"Boy, you'll watch the rear," the leader ordered in a firm voice. "You'll ensure the target doesn't try to escape. Paul, Enix, go to my right side. John and Brik, you'll be on my left."
John, who had remained silent the entire time, slowly raised his gaze. His face was marked by scars, traces of past battles that seemed to shout stories of a turbulent past. "You still haven't told us who we're eliminating," he murmured. His voice was gruff, lacking emotion, almost like the echo of a shadow.
The leader, with his eyes narrowed and fixed on the horizon, let out a faint smile, hidden from the rest.
"One in particular," he answered slowly. "He's an expert-level man with a fast sword, according to reports from years ago. We don't have current information, so stay alert."
The silence that followed was dense, heavy, like a blanket of tension covering the group. Among them, one of the young men couldn't help but speak. His voice trembled slightly, revealing the hesitation he was trying to hide.
"But, sir… According to the information I have, bird number 1 was supposed to have already dealt with the individual," said Enix, trying to keep a neutral tone that concealed his doubts.
"Yes," the leader replied coldly. "His only task was to take care of the Subject. But that rat failed in his mission. The bastard is dead. According to reports from number 2, there's no one left to handle this."
The men nodded slowly, understanding that the failure of the first informant had pushed them all into an unnecessary mission. The news of Informant 1's death added a weight of mockery, something reflected in the faces of some present.
"Sir, excuse me, but… Doesn't this compromise our work? One of ours is dead," Enix dared to ask. His voice trembled slightly, reflecting the inexperience and nervousness the mission caused him. Unlike Tinix, he hadn't entered this world out of loyalty or conviction, but for one simple and raw reason: money.
The leader shifted his gaze to him; his cold, calculating eyes revealed a touch of disdain, yet a certain patience. He allowed himself a few seconds before responding, his words carrying a calm that barely concealed his exasperation.
"According to the intercepted messages, no one knows who the body they found was. They also have no idea what caused his death. In short… they don't know shit," he declared, his voice sharp and contemptuous.
There was no room for doubt or regret. The reality was clear and brutal: their task remained intact, and the price of failure had already been paid by one man.
In the distance, they could hear the murmurs of other team members, laughter and chatter echoing in the distance, indicating that preparation and coordination were complete.
Each man looked at the others, understanding that the mission was about to commence; all were completely focused yet relaxed.
"Alright. That's all. Respect the V formation, like a bird in flight," the leader commanded, his voice firm and without a trace of doubt.
"Yes!" they all responded in unison, their voices resonating in the darkness with an almost military precision.
The leader took a step forward, allowing the rest of the group to remain a few paces behind him. With a quick and decisive movement, he unsheathed one of the daggers from his waist, the metal gleaming faintly under the scarce light. His eyes scanned the faces of each of his companions.
"This job…" the leader began, his voice low but so firm that each word seemed to carve itself into the air. "Some of you do it for your vices as much as for necessity, others for your families. But all of us, without exception, do it... for the name of the theocracy!"
As he uttered the last word, he raised his arm, holding the dagger with the blade pointed at the sky, as though in that gesture, he concentrated all the essence of his mission. One by one, the men mirrored the movement, raising their weapons to the heavens and shouting in obedience. The echo of their voices spread through the air.
The group was ready. The formation tightened, each man taking his place with absolute precision. The leader led the march toward the objective, guiding them with the same unrelenting coldness with which he held his dagger.
The mission was underway.