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Chapter 116: A Name Crossed Off, A Shadow in Pursuit
Chapter 116: A Name Crossed Off, A Shadow in Pursuit
Sylvaine sat alone in the candlelit chamber, a single quill in hand.
The ink dripped as she dragged a line through the name on her parchment.
Lord Ferrin Duskbane – Eliminated.
The parchment held only a few names now, but that didn't make the mission any easier. If anything, with every kill, the survivors became more paranoid. More desperate.
Her eyes slid down to the next name.
Lady Yvette Thornwell.
A woman whispered about in circles of nobility—a master of poisons, a puppeteer of whispers, and a noble who had built her influence not on strength, but on secrets.
Unlike Duskbane, who had preferred direct confrontation laced with traps and deception, Thornwell was a different kind of enemy.
She would never engage in open combat.
She would vanish before a blade ever reached her throat.
Sylvaine knew what had to be done.
There would be no silent infiltration this time. She would bring the storm to Thornwell.
A Den of Venom
Lady Thornwell had not fled the capital like some of the weaker council members.
She had dug in.
Her estate, a towering structure of black stone and twisting spires, loomed on the edge of the noble district, half-mansion, half-fortress.
But what made it dangerous wasn’t its architecture.
It was what lay beneath.
Rumors spoke of a labyrinth of tunnels and secret chambers, where caged beasts and alchemical horrors were kept. Thornwell wasn’t just an assassin—she was an artist of suffering.
Sylvaine didn’t hesitate.
She wouldn’t sneak inside.
She would tear the walls down.
The Storm Breaks
The first guard never saw her coming.
He stood outside the gate, yawning, his spear resting lazily at his side.
Sylvaine’s dagger pierced his throat before he could even gasp.
The second guard, startled by the sound of a body collapsing, turned—only to see a shadow flicker past his vision.
A heartbeat later, his lifeblood painted the cobblestone.
She moved fast—faster than a whisper of wind.
By the time the third guard raised the alarm, it was already too late.
She was inside.
A Labyrinth of Nightmares
The moment Sylvaine entered the main hall, she could smell the poison in the air.
It clung to the walls, seeped into the very stone—a concoction designed to disorient, to weaken.
She pressed two fingers to the hidden vial at her belt, uncorking it without a sound.
A sip of her own antidote, and she moved forward.
The hall was lined with glass cases—displaying preserved organs, venomous creatures frozen mid-strike, and vials of substances that could melt flesh from bone.
Thornwell's masterpieces.
Sylvaine was unimpressed.
She stepped deeper inside—and the doors behind her slammed shut.
The trap was sprung.
A Fight Against the Unseen
From the shadows, a hiss echoed.
Then another.
Then a dozen.
Sylvaine's body tensed.
Serpents.
They slithered from hidden crevices, their scales shimmering like liquid darkness, fangs dripping with venom that would kill in seconds.
She drew her blades.
One strike—a serpent split in half.
Another lunge—a dagger pierced through another's skull.
But they kept coming.
For every serpent that fell, two more slithered forth.
The floor writhed beneath her feet.
Sylvaine **moved fast, precise—**her strikes carving a path through the sea of venom and scales.
She leapt onto a marble pedestal, avoiding the snapping jaws below.
From above, a whisper of laughter.
Thornwell was watching.
A Duel in the Poison Queen’s Throne Room
The serpents stopped.
As if on command.
Sylvaine flicked the blood from her daggers and looked up.
At the top of the grand staircase, Lady Yvette Thornwell stood, draped in a gown as dark as the abyss.
Her lips curled in amusement.
"You certainly live up to your reputation, little ghost," Thornwell murmured.
Sylvaine said nothing.
The noblewoman tilted her head. "But how much longer can you last?"
She lifted a slender hand—and the walls around Sylvaine shifted.
No, not the walls—the air.
The scent of poison thickened.
Sylvaine’s breath caught.
A different toxin. One her antidote didn’t cover.
Thornwell smiled.
"You’ve already lost."
Sylvaine's vision blurred.
A Blade Faster Than Poison
Sylvaine didn’t hesitate.
She didn’t have time to play Thornwell’s game.
Her hand snapped forward—
A single throwing knife, aimed straight at Thornwell’s heart.
The noblewoman sidestepped with eerie grace, but the blade grazed her shoulder, cutting through silk and flesh alike.
A flicker of shock crossed her face.
"You—"
Sylvaine was already moving.
Through the haze of poison, through the burning in her lungs.
A single step—then another—faster, faster.
Thornwell raised a vial, shattering it against the floor—and the room erupted in a cloud of noxious smoke.
Sylvaine plunged forward.
A dagger met flesh.
Thornwell gasped.
Sylvaine didn’t stop.
Another strike—deep. Precise.
The noblewoman’s legs buckled.
She collapsed onto the marble, blood pooling beneath her.
Her final breath was a whisper.
“No... this isn’t... how I…”
But it was.
It always had been.
The Last Whisper of a Dying House
The poison in the air faded.
The serpents lay still.
Sylvaine stood over the body, her own breath ragged.
The battle had been won.
With slow, methodical movements, she wiped her blade clean.
She turned toward the great doors—and walked away, leaving Thornwell’s corpse behind.
Another name crossed from the list.