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

Chapter 139: Shadows Gather in the Obsidian Spire

The Obsidian Spire loomed over the ruined city like a monument of despair, its blackened surface absorbing even the dim glow of the distant moon. The once-mighty Ivory Tower was gone, reduced to nothing but a graveyard of shattered stone and ash. The Fortress of Arcane Dawn had fallen.

And now, their enemies were winning.

Inside the heart of the Spire, the surviving council of darkness convened once more, their faces grim and their tempers barely contained. They had lost too much—too many strongholds, too many valuable assets, and worst of all, too many irreplaceable allies.

This meeting was different.

There was no arrogance, no smug confidence.

Only vengeance.

The Gathering of the Fallen

The grand chamber within the Spire was eerily silent. The long, crescent-shaped table—once filled with powerful warlords, cunning tacticians, and ruthless sorcerers—now bore empty seats, each one a reminder of the comrades they had lost.

A large black crystal floated in the center of the room, suspended by unseen forces. Within it, shadows twisted violently, as though reflecting the rage of the council members seated around it.

Then, a voice—low and venomous—broke the silence.

"This cannot continue."

The speaker was Lord Anselm, an aging warrior with cold, gray eyes. His scarred face was hardened by decades of war, but tonight, he looked like a man who had tasted defeat for the first time in years.

His hands clenched into fists. "They have taken everything from us. Our towers. Our brothers. And now..." His voice lowered to a growl. "The High Sorceress Myndral has fallen."

A heavy silence blanketed the room.

The mere mention of Myndral’s death sent waves of tension through the remaining council members.

She had been one of their strongest, a sorceress whose power was said to be beyond mortal comprehension. Her fall meant their enemies were more dangerous than they had imagined.

At the far end of the table, a figure shifted in their seat.

"She Was Not Invincible"

The one who spoke was Varxius, the Shadebinder, a man draped in layers of shadowed cloth. His presence seemed to dim the light around him, as if he existed somewhere between reality and darkness itself.

His voice was a whisper of steel against bone.

"Myndral was powerful, but she was not invincible." He tapped a long, silver finger against the table. "She underestimated them. She treated them as nuisances rather than true threats. And for that... she paid the price."

A scoff came from the opposite side of the room.

"And what do you suggest we do, Shadebinder?" The speaker was Duchess Malverna, her crimson robes gleaming in the dim torchlight. Her nails, long and painted black, drummed impatiently against the wooden surface. "Shall we pretend our remaining forces are enough? Should we continue underestimating these… assassins?"

Her golden eyes flashed with contempt. "Because if that is the plan, then we may as well start preparing our own graves."

Varxius didn’t flinch. He simply leaned forward, his smile hidden beneath his hood. "We do not need to underestimate them. We simply need to change the way we hunt them."

A few murmurs passed between the council members.

Lord Anselm exhaled sharply. "Explain."

The Ghost with No Past

Varxius waved his hand.

A misty illusion formed in the air, revealing a detailed profile of Seraphis. The image showed her white hair, her piercing white eyes, the way she moved with an unnatural grace, and the metallic cards that hovered around her.

The council members studied the image with silent rage.

Duchess Malverna narrowed her eyes.

"The assassin... Seraphis."

A second later, another holographic projection appeared—this time of Theia, her dark form wreathed in shadows, her daggers dripping with arcane energy.

"And her companion."

Varxius steepled his fingers. "I have done a full background check on this one."

A long pause followed.

Lord Anselm leaned forward. "And?"

Varxius let the silence stretch, as if savoring the weight of his next words.

"And nothing."

The tension in the room deepened.

Duchess Malverna tilted her head. "Nothing?"

Varxius nodded slowly. "Absolutely nothing. No family. No records. No friends. No history. No past."

He leaned forward. "She is a ghost."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, a slow, unsettling smile spread across Anselm’s face.

"Then we must make her regret ever existing."

The Hunt Begins

The floating black crystal in the center of the table pulsed, responding to the shift in the council’s mood.

Lord Anselm stood, his gray eyes burning with new resolve.

"We will not let these assassins carve through our ranks like this. We will set a trap."

Duchess Malverna folded her arms. "And what do you propose?"

Anselm smirked. "We force them to come to us. We take something they cannot ignore."

He turned to Varxius. "Find their next target. And then… we’ll make sure they never leave that battlefield alive."

Varxius chuckled darkly. "Consider it done."

The Shadow Looms

As the meeting ended, the council members rose one by one, each disappearing into the swirling corridors of the Spire.

In the darkness of the chamber, the black crystal pulsed again.

Deep within its depths, something shifted.

Something ancient.

Something that had been watching.

And for the first time in centuries…

It began to wake.