"Finally done," Cassian said with a wide grin, stretching his arms as he completed the last of his tasks. It was a few hours shy of midnight, but the night still felt young. All he needed was a few more minutes to make it back to the mansion.
Cassian walked back with a spring in his step, anticipation bubbling inside him. He couldn't help but let his mind wander, imagining what Lumine might have planned for him. He didn't expect anything too bold, like mouth work, but the idea of her trying something new or exciting filled him with eagerness. Lost in those playful thoughts, he barely noticed how quickly he'd made it halfway back.
However, his vivid daydreaming came to an abrupt halt—not because he was bored, but because an unsettling sensation crawled up his spine.
Cassian's instincts kicked in as his hand instinctively moved to grip the dark green hilt of his sword. His relaxed expression was replaced by sharp focus as his eyes scanned the dimly lit surroundings. The air felt heavy, and the eerie silence was broken only by the faint rustling of leaves.
As he walked, faint movements caught his eye—shadows flickering in the alleys and darting across the rooftops of nearby houses. The unease slowed his pace, and he veered toward the village's widest and best-lit road.
It might've been a gamble. In an open space, he was more exposed to ranged attacks. Still, Cassian felt confident. He believed that if he saw an attack coming, he'd at least have a chance to block or dodge it. His grip on the sword tightened further as his senses sharpened, ready for whatever—or whoever—might come.
Just as Cassian had anticipated, a ranged attack shot toward him. His reflexes kicked in, and he deflected it with his sheathed sword. His heart pounded as he watched the small blade clatter to the ground. It wasn't the weapon itself that startled him—this wasn't his first time dealing with ranged attacks. His mind flashed back to the mysterious ranged Circle Warrior who had trapped him and Robert in that bizarre place, attacking them with massive double-sided blades.
But this time was different.
Whoever had attacked him wasn't some enigmatic figure with overwhelming power; they were just a normal human, albeit a well-trained one skilled in throwing weapons. Realizing this, Cassian felt a mix of fear and excitement building within him. This was it—his first real fight against another trained human.
Unsheathing his sword, the blade gleamed under the light of a nearby post, its green metallic shine catching his eye. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and shouted, his voice echoing through the empty street:
"Come out, you cowards! Are you those cultist scum backing that bastard of a pastor?"
His taunt hung in the air, daring his unseen assailants to show themselves.
But no single figure emerged. Instead, more projectiles came hurtling toward him from multiple directions, all flying out of the darkness at once, aimed at different points on his body.
Cassian's mind raced as he calculated his next move. In a split second, he stepped forward and executed a horizontal slash with the wide side of his blade. Two of the six projectiles whizzed past him from behind, two were knocked away by his sword, and the remaining two narrowly missed his head as he tilted it just slightly to the side—so close they skimmed past his ear with barely a nail's length to spare.
"How the hell did I pull that off?" he muttered under his breath, his heart still pounding. He was stunned by his own reflexes, managing to dodge the barrage with just three precise actions, only one of which—his horizontal slash—could even be considered a proper sword technique.
Before Cassian could catch his breath, another set of six projectiles came flying out of the shadows, faster and more precise this time. His sharp eyes caught their trajectories—two aimed for his left shoulder, two for his thighs, and two directly targeting his head.
"Persistent bastards," he growled, his grip on the sword tightening as he realized the attack pattern. This time, something clicked in his mind—these weren't random throws. Each set of two was perfectly coordinated to target specific areas of his body.
As he moved to dodge, he swung his sword in a calculated arc, deflecting the two headed for his thighs and sidestepping just enough for the ones aimed at his shoulder to miss. Tilting his head back, he narrowly avoided the pair aimed for his skull, their deadly gleam passing mere inches from his eyes.
It was then he realized something crucial: each group of projectiles was coming from a slightly different direction, aimed with identical precision. 'Two blades each for three targets,' Cassian muttered, piecing it together. 'That means three attackers… and they're in sync.'
His breathing steadied as his gaze darted around the dark alley. These weren't amateurs. Whoever they were, they were trained and coordinated—likely working together for years.
"Alright, you sneaky bastards," Cassian called out, his voice firm and taunting, "I get it. You're working as a trio. But do you really think you're getting out of this alive?"
His blade gleamed under the dim light as he raised it defensively, scanning for the next attack. This time, he was ready—not just for the projectiles, but to counter whatever came next.
Another volley of projectiles flew from the darkness—six again. Cassian gritted his teeth, instantly recognizing the same precise targeting: two aimed at his stomach, two at his shoulders, and two streaking toward his thighs.
He adjusted his stance and, with a calculated horizontal slash, deflected the two headed for his stomach. A quick sidestep sent the thigh-bound blades whizzing past, and with a slight tilt of his head, the shoulder projectiles barely missed him. His breath hitched in relief as his luck and instinct once again kept him unscathed—almost.
But before he could fully process his success, a shadow darted out of the darkness from his side. Cassian's sharp instincts caught the movement, and his eyes locked onto a glint in the figure's hand—a blade.
"Shit!" he cursed, pivoting as fast as his body allowed, trying to create distance. He succeeded in avoiding a direct strike to a vital area, but his reaction wasn't fast enough to escape completely. Pain flared across his back as he felt the sting of a blade slicing through flesh, leaving a shallow but sharp cut.
The shadow didn't linger, retreating into the darkness as swiftly as it appeared. Cassian stumbled slightly, his balance momentarily compromised by the pain. He quickly adjusted his stance, his free hand brushing against the wound to gauge its depth.
"Bastard got me…" he muttered, his voice laced with both frustration and pain. His eyes scanned the darkness, adrenaline pumping as he strained to track any more movement.