"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin"

The city was alive with whispers.

The death of Lord Alric Vessir had sent ripples through the underworld, the Ivory Hand trembling under the weight of fear. Two council members down. The rest would be scrambling, hiding, fortifying.

It didn’t matter.

Elowen was coming.

The Next Target

Her next mark was Dame Celestine Vael, a former knight turned enforcer for the Ivory Hand. Unlike the others, she was a warrior—one of the deadliest swordswomen in the kingdom.

Vael didn’t hide behind walls of gold or legions of mercenaries.

She relished the fight.

And so, instead of Elowen hunting her, Vael had left a message.

A challenge.

A letter, delivered to the assassin’s guild.

"If you seek my life, come take it. I'll be waiting in the old cathedral. Come alone, or don’t come at all."

Elowen read the message twice.

Then, she smirked.

The Journey Through Ruin

The old cathedral was a forgotten relic, abandoned after the last war. Its towering spires still clawed at the sky, but inside, it was a crumbling ruin—a battleground of echoes and broken faith.

Elowen moved through the shattered archways, her footsteps barely a whisper against the stone. The air was thick with dust, the faint scent of old parchment and melted wax lingering from a time long past.

She felt the presence before she saw it.

A single candle burned at the altar, casting flickering shadows against the cold walls. And in the center of the ruined nave…

Vael stood waiting.

A Warrior’s Welcome

"You came," Vael’s voice rang through the empty hall, smooth yet edged like a sharpened blade.

She was clad in dark leather, a silver pauldron glinting on her left shoulder. A single longsword rested against her back, strapped in a manner that allowed for both quick-drawing and deadly precision.

Elowen tilted her head. “You expected me to refuse?”

Vael smirked. “I expected you to hesitate.”

The Duel Begins

Elowen moved first.

A flick of her wrist—two daggers flashing toward Vael’s throat. Fast. Precise. Deadly.

Vael didn’t flinch.

Her hand shot up, the blade ringing against steel as she deflected both daggers in a single motion.

Elowen was already in motion, flipping over a shattered pew, her boots barely touching the ground before launching another attack.

Vael met her head-on, their weapons clashing in a dance of steel and sparks.

A Battle of Skill

The first exchange was a blur.

Elowen was speed.

Vael was power.

Every strike sent shockwaves through the air, the sound of clashing blades reverberating through the hollow cathedral.

Vael struck with measured force, her blade carving deep, heavy arcs meant to break bones and tear flesh.

Elowen slipped between the blows, her daggers flashing like viper fangs, seeking weak points in Vael’s armor.

A feint. A twist. A counter.

Steel sang as the two warriors clashed, neither giving an inch.

A Test of Patience

Vael stepped back, her breath even. “You’re good.”

Elowen smirked. “You’re still breathing.”

Vael lunged.

Her blade whistled through the air, and Elowen barely had time to twist—a shallow cut opened along her side.

She hissed, rolling backward.

Vael didn’t let up.

A flurry of devastating slashes, each one forcing Elowen to retreat, to adjust, to evade by the skin of her teeth.

But Vael wasn’t invincible.

She was predictable.

The Turning Point

Elowen ducked low, feeling the air shift as Vael’s sword whistled past her ear.

Then—she struck.

Her dagger bit deep into Vael’s thigh, sinking past leather and flesh.

Vael grunted, staggering back. Blood stained the stone floor.

But the knight only smiled.

“You think that’s enough?”

She tore the dagger free, flipping it in her hand.

Then she threw it.

Elowen twisted, the blade grazing her shoulder—a shallow wound, but a warning.

Vael wasn’t just strong.

She was adaptable.

The Final Clash

The two warriors circled each other, breathing hard.

The fight had escalated beyond simple skill.

This was a war of willpower.

Elowen feinted right. Vael didn’t fall for it.

Vael swung high. Elowen barely ducked in time.

They moved like mirrored predators, waiting for the other to make a fatal mistake.

Then—Elowen saw it.

Vael’s injured leg trembled ever so slightly.

A weakness.

The Killing Blow

Elowen moved like lightning, her body twisting mid-air.

Her dagger slammed into Vael’s ribs, piercing between the plates of armor.

A sharp gasp escaped the knight’s lips.

Elowen twisted the blade deeper.

Vael’s grip weakened. Her sword clattered to the ground.

A second dagger found her throat, pressing just enough to let her feel the cold bite of steel.

She stared at Elowen, breath shaky but unbroken.

“…Do it.”

Elowen met her gaze.

Then, slowly, she withdrew the blade.

Vael sank to her knees, blood pooling beneath her.

Elowen crouched beside her. “You’re different from the others.”

Vael chuckled weakly. “I know.”

Elowen wiped the blood from her dagger. “But you still chose the wrong side.”

A Warrior’s End

Vael closed her eyes.

Elowen’s blade slashed across her throat—quick, clean, merciful.

The knight fell, her body still.

Elowen stood, exhaling slowly.

Another council member was dead.

And the hunt would continue.