Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 412: A Running Rat

Chapter 412: A Running Rat

The night was thick with tension, and the moon cast a cold, pale glow over the cobblestone streets of Astellia’s capital. The lone assassin stumbled through a shadowed alleyway, his body wracked with pain. The aftermath of his comrades’ forced self-destruction had left him wounded, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side, the burn marks searing into his skin. He could feel the taste of blood in his mouth and the unmistakable tightness in his lungs with every shallow breath. His body felt like it was on the verge of collapse, each step more difficult than the last, but he had no time to rest. He had to deliver the information to Varzadia. The secrets he carried were invaluable—the Baron Evocatore was far stronger than they had anticipated.

The assassin leaned against the stone wall, catching his breath, his eyes darting nervously around. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the silence of the deserted streets. His pulse pounded in his ears, each thud a reminder of the precarious situation he was in. The capital should’ve been a safe haven for those who could slip unseen between alleys and rooftops, but tonight was different. Something was out there—he could feel it, a presence stalking him, hunting him. His senses, honed by years of training, tingled with the instinctual fear of being prey.

Suddenly, he heard it—the soft crunch of paws on stone. The assassin’s eyes widened, his gaze snapping towards the alley’s entrance. His heart skipped a beat, a chill running down his spine. From the darkness emerged five silhouettes, each moving with a predatory grace, their eyes glowing a cold blue. Winter wolves. He didn’t know why they were in the capital city or how they had tracked him, but that was irrelevant now. The fear surged through him, his legs carrying him forward, out of the alley, away from those haunting eyes.

He burst out onto a broader street, his boots skidding against the cobblestones as he turned sharply, pushing himself to move faster. The wolves were relentless; he could hear their heavy breaths, the soft pad of their paws as they pursued him. They weren’t barking or growling—they were silent, focused, and it terrified him. There was no sound but his own ragged breathing, the pounding of his heart, and the steady, inexorable rhythm of paws chasing him.

The assassin darted through the narrow streets, his thoughts racing as he desperately tried to come up with a plan. He had to get out of the capital, get the message to his superiors. The strength that Baron Lyan Evocatore had displayed was unlike anything they had prepared for. His comrades had been sacrificed, their bodies used as vessels for dark magic, and yet the Astellian forces had still managed to corner and destroy them. Lyan had been at the center of it all—a storm of lightning, commanding powerful spirits, his presence dominating the battlefield. They had underestimated him, and now it was up to the assassin to make sure that mistake wasn’t repeated.

He rounded a corner, almost slipping on the slick cobblestones, his lungs burning as he forced himself to keep running. His legs felt like lead, the exhaustion threatening to overtake him, but he knew he couldn’t afford to slow down. The city walls weren’t far now—if he could just reach the gates, perhaps he could slip through the shadows and make his way into the forest beyond. He had to believe that. He couldn’t afford to think otherwise.

But the winter wolves were fast. Too fast. He could feel them closing in, their icy breath almost tangible in the air behind him. The assassin gritted his teeth, pushing harder, his vision blurring at the edges from exhaustion. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, each beat a reminder of how close death was. He could hear the low growl now, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through his very bones. They were playing with him, he realized. Herding him, pushing him towards an end that only they knew.

Suddenly, one of the wolves lunged, its powerful form slamming into the assassin’s back, sending him sprawling to the ground. He hit the cobblestones hard, the impact driving the breath from his lungs, his vision exploding into stars. Pain flared through his body, a sharp, agonizing jolt that seemed to reverberate through every bone. He struggled to push himself up, his limbs trembling, his strength failing. The wolf circled him, its eyes never leaving his, the other wolves forming a perimeter around him, cutting off any chance of escape.

The assassin panted, his eyes darting around desperately, his mind racing for a solution. He couldn’t die here. Not without delivering the message. He tried to rise again, but his legs gave out beneath him, his body betraying him. The wolves watched, their cold eyes unblinking, their breaths misting in the night air. They were patient, knowing that their prey was already beaten.

It was then that he heard footsteps—slow, deliberate, echoing softly against the stone. The wolves parted, and two figures stepped forward, their presence commanding. The assassin squinted, his vision still blurry from the fall. One of the figures was dressed in a butler’s suit, her long black hair flowing behind her, her eyes cold and calculating. Beside her stood another woman, her hair a striking silver, her expression one of detached curiosity.

"Ravia... Raine... the siblings of death..." the assassin croaked, recognition flickering in his eyes. He had heard of them—the twin terrors, the butlers of House Evocatore, the granddaughters of the terrifying White Shadow assassin. They were known as the siblings of death, feared and whispered about throughout the underworld. Ravia and Raine were not just loyal servants; they were among the deadliest of Lord Evocatore’s women. He had never expected to face them himself.

Raine, the one with the black hair, stepped forward, her gaze locked onto the assassin. "You made quite a mess tonight," she said, her voice smooth, almost amused. She glanced at the winter wolves, nodding slightly. The wolves relaxed, their tense posture easing as they stepped back, giving her space.

Ravia, the silver-haired one, tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she regarded the assassin. "You’re lucky, you know. Most don’t get this far," she said, her tone light, almost conversational. She knelt down, her gaze level with his. "But I’m afraid your luck has run out."

The assassin swallowed, his throat dry, his body trembling. He could feel the darkness closing in, the edges of his vision fading. He had failed. He had tried, but it wasn’t enough. He could see it in their eyes—there would be no mercy, no escape.

"I... I have to..." he started, his voice barely a whisper, but Ravia shook her head, her expression hardening.

"No, you don’t," she said, her voice cold, final. She raised her hand, and the assassin felt the sharp sting of magic, a numbing cold spreading through his body. His vision blurred further, his thoughts slipping away, the last thing he saw being the impassive faces of the twin butlers, their eyes reflecting the cold light of the moon.

The assassin’s body slumped to the ground, the life leaving him as the magic took hold. Ravia lowered her hand, her gaze lingering on the body for a moment before she looked up at her sister. Raine met her gaze, her expression unreadable.

"He was trying to get out of the capital," Ravia said, her voice quiet. "Trying to deliver information about the Baron."

Raine nodded, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "They must have realized how dangerous he is by now. This won’t be the last attempt."

Ravia sighed, her gaze shifting to the city beyond, the lights flickering in the distance. "No, it won’t," she agreed. "We need to report this to Lyan. He’ll want to know what they’re planning."

Raine stood, her eyes lingering on the fallen assassin for a moment before she turned, her silver hair catching the moonlight. "Let’s go," she said, her voice calm. "We have a lot of work ahead of us."

The winter wolves moved silently, their forms disappearing into the shadows as Ravia and Raine turned, their steps steady as they made their way back towards the heart of the capital. The night was still once more, the only sign of the chase being the fallen body left behind, a silent testament to the deadly game being played between Astellia and Varzadia.

The siblings moved with purpose, their minds already on the next steps, the next threats that would come their way. They knew that this was only the beginning—the enemy would not stop, not until they had what they wanted. And as long as they served House Evocatore, they would stand in their way, no matter the cost. The echoes of the night’s pursuit stayed with them, a stark reminder of the fight that lay ahead. Their resolve hardened with each step, their purpose clear. They would protect Astellia, and they would protect Lyan. No matter who came, no matter what darkness loomed, they were ready to meet it. And they would not falter.