In the bustling metropolis of Yewis, the largest city in the County of Laxia, two figures clad in black suits moved with purpose through the throngs of people. Their attire, sharp and somber, seemed to blend seamlessly with the shadows cast by the towering edifices that lined the streets.
"Make haste," one of them urged, his voice low but insistent.
"I am right behind you," the other responded, his tone equally subdued yet firm.
They navigated the labyrinthine streets with practiced ease, eventually arriving at a secluded corner of the city. There stood a building, unassuming yet oddly striking, its two stories exuding an air of quiet menace. The structure, though not overtly imposing, carried an aura of darkness that seemed to seep into the very air around it. Yet, amidst the ceaseless hustle and bustle of Yewis, such peculiarities often went unnoticed, swallowed by the city's relentless rhythm.
The pair paused momentarily, their gazes lingering on the edifice before they proceeded, their footsteps echoing faintly against the cobblestones, as if the city itself held its breath in anticipation of their next move.
One of the men, his voice tinged with a hint of skepticism, broke the silence. "Are you certain this is the place, Marcus?" he inquired, his eyes scanning the unassuming facade before them.
"Yes, Heniel, this is it," Marcus replied with unwavering certainty. His tone was calm, yet carried an undercurrent of resolve. The two men, now identified as Marcus and Heniel, stood momentarily at the threshold of the enigmatic building.
"Let's proceed," Heniel said, his voice firm. Without further hesitation, they stepped inside, crossing the boundary from the chaotic hum of the city into a realm that felt worlds apart.
The interior of the building was a stark contrast to its exterior. It was a scene of ordered activity, a hive of purpose and industry. The space resembled a well-organized office, with individuals engrossed in various tasks, their movements deliberate and focused. The air was thick with the quiet intensity of concentrated effort, each person seemingly absorbed in their own world of work.
Heniel and Marcus strode purposefully toward the counter, where a man stood before a lady, his demeanor playful, almost teasing, as he engaged her in conversation. The atmosphere was light, yet there was an undercurrent of something unspoken, something peculiar.
Heniel broke the silence, his voice firm yet polite. "Hello! Is there anyone who can speak with me?"
The man behind the desk turned abruptly, his gaze locking onto Heniel with an odd intensity. His eyes gleamed with a strange, almost mischievous light. "Hey there! I'm Loki. What do you need, friend?" His tone was casual, but there was something in his manner—a flippant, almost arrogant air—that gave Heniel and Marcus pause.
The two exchanged a glance, their confusion evident. There was something off about this man, with his playboy demeanor and his careless attitude. Marcus stepped forward, his voice steady but laced with skepticism. "Hey, are you from around here? We need to talk. We're here on official business."
Loki sighed, as if the weight of their request was a burden he barely had the patience to bear. "Oh, okay. What do you want to discuss? Let's take this to my room." He gestured for them to follow, his movements fluid, almost theatrical.
As they walked, Heniel couldn't help but press further. "Who exactly are you? And what position do you hold here?"
Loki smirked, his confidence bordering on arrogance. "Didn't you hear me? I'm Loki. The most handsome man in the world. And yes, I happen to be quite important around here. So, tell me, what do you two... *gentlemen*... want?" His tone was dripping with sarcasm, his words laced with a mocking edge.
Heniel and Marcus exchanged another glance, their doubts growing. Could they really trust this man, with his flamboyant attitude and his self-aggrandizing claims? He seemed more like a charlatan than someone of importance.
Marcus decided to cut to the chase. "We're special envoys sent by the Count of Laxia, Mr. Waylon Halford. We're here to discuss a matter of business with your organization."
Loki raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Business with us? We're just a small printing office. What could the Count possibly want with us? Does he need us to print a giant poster of himself or something?"
Marcus's expression remained stoic. "We're here to print the poster of two chickens."
At those words, Loki's demeanor shifted instantly. His playful arrogance melted away, replaced by a sudden seriousness. He stood up abruptly, his earlier flippancy gone. "Follow me," he said, his voice now devoid of its earlier mockery.
The phrase "We're here to print the poster of two chickens" was no ordinary request. It was a secret code.
Heniel and Marcus followed Loki in silence as he led them up to the second floor. The building, which had seemed modest from the outside, revealed itself to be far more expansive within. The corridors stretched longer than expected, the architecture more intricate, hinting at secrets hidden behind its unassuming facade.
Loki ushered them into a dimly lit room, his earlier flippancy replaced by a cold, businesslike demeanor. He handed them a single sheet of paper, his voice low and commanding. "Write down all the details here. Do not speak a single word."
Marcus took the paper without hesitation, his pen moving swiftly across the page as he transcribed the necessary information. When he finished, he handed it back to Loki, who glanced at it briefly before nodding in approval.
"You can leave now," Loki said, his tone dismissive. "Your request will be completed by tonight."
Heniel and Marcus exchanged a brief, uneasy glance but offered a small, respectful bow before turning to leave.
Once they were gone, Loki's demeanor shifted again. He snapped his fingers, and two figures emerged from the shadows as if conjured from thin air. Their presence was unsettling, their movements silent and deliberate. Loki handed them the paper Marcus had filled out, his voice a low murmur. "Complete this by tonight. Do not fail."
The two shadowy figures nodded once before vanishing as quickly as they had appeared, leaving no trace of their presence. With his orders given, Loki's face transformed once more, his earlier seriousness melting away as he sauntered back to the counter, resuming his playful banter with the lady stationed there. It was as if the grim exchange had never occurred.
Meanwhile, in the distance, nestled within the quiet elegance of the countryside, stood the manor of the Viscount of Laxia. The estate exuded an air of nobility, its grandeur a testament to the family's status. Yet, beneath its serene exterior, darkness loomed.
Two figures, clad entirely in black, moved like phantoms through the night. They approached the manor with practiced ease, their presence undetected by the guards or servants. These were the same men Loki had dispatched, their mission clear and their skills lethal.
Silent as serpents, they slipped inside the manor, their movements fluid and precise. On the upper floor, to the left, a young woman—the Viscount's daughter—sat in her room, engrossed in a book. The first assassin entered without a sound, his hand clamping over her mouth before she could react. In one swift, merciless motion, he slit her throat, leaving her lifeless body slumped in her chair. The entire act took mere seconds, leaving no room for struggle or sound.
The second assassin moved to another room, where a man who appeared to be a high-ranking knight was seated at a desk. The assassin approached from behind, his blade flashing in the dim light. The knight barely had time to register the presence before his life was extinguished, his body collapsing silently to the floor.
The two assassins continued their grim work, ascending to the third floor where the Viscount and his wife were engaged in quiet conversation. The couple sat unaware, their backs turned to the door. The assassins moved in unison, their actions synchronized with deadly precision. In an instant, they seized the Viscount and his wife, their blades slicing through flesh before either could utter a sound. The couple died without realizing what had happened, their lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye.
With their task complete, the assassins retreated as silently as they had come, leaving no trace of their presence. The manor, once a symbol of nobility and grace, now stood as a tomb, its inhabitants slain without a single clue to point to their killers. The night swallowed the assassins whole, their mission a dark secret carried away on the wind.