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

The Ravenspire family was the second most powerful military house in Shambell, second only to the now-ruined Duremonts. Unlike the Duremonts, whose influence came from brutal enforcement, House Ravenspire built their power through strategy, discipline, and calculated warfare. They were the tacticians, the masterminds behind every battle plan, and the reason Shambell’s army rarely lost.

Their crest—a black raven with its wings outstretched over a crimson banner—was feared across the continent.

With Duremont gone, Seraphis knew it was only a matter of time before the Ravenspires took full control of the military. They would reorganize, retaliate, and strengthen their hold over the kingdom. If she allowed them to regroup, they would undo everything she had done.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Tonight, House Ravenspire would fall.

Seraphis spent the entire day gathering information. Unlike the Duremonts, who flaunted their power, the Ravenspires were careful. They relied on secrecy and intelligence, keeping their estate well-guarded but never drawing unnecessary attention.

The head of the family, Lord Gideon Ravenspire, was a war general who rarely left his estate. He spent most of his time in the grand war room, surrounded by maps, reports, and an elite group of strategists. He was brilliant—cold, calculating, and always three steps ahead.

But he had a weakness.

His son, Victor Ravenspire, was an arrogant fool. Unlike his father, Victor lacked patience. He spent his nights gambling, drinking, and boasting about his family’s power.

Seraphis smirked. He was the perfect entry point.

That evening, Victor was at his usual haunt—a private club where nobles drank, made deals, and whispered secrets they shouldn’t. He sat at a lavish table, surrounded by wine and women, bragging about how he would "fix the mess the Duremonts left behind."

Seraphis watched from the shadows. She didn’t need to be close to hear him—she already knew everything she needed.

The moment Victor left the club, stumbling drunkenly into the street, she struck.

She moved like a phantom, silent, swift, and precise. Before Victor could react, a blade was at his throat, and a hand covered his mouth. His eyes widened in terror.

Seraphis leaned close, whispering into his ear. "Not so loud now, are you?"

He struggled, but she pressed the blade tighter, forcing him to still.

"You’re going to take me to your father’s estate," she said. "And you’re going to do it without a sound."

Victor trembled, but he nodded. Fear had taken full control.

Seraphis smirked. "Good boy."

The Ravenspire estate was a fortress. High walls, watchtowers, and layers of security made it nearly impossible to infiltrate. Guards patrolled the grounds in perfect coordination, a testament to Gideon Ravenspire’s strategic mind.

But tonight, they would welcome their doom through the front gates.

Victor, still trembling, led her through the main entrance. The guards barely glanced at him, too accustomed to his drunken returns to question him.

Once inside, Seraphis acted. Before Victor could scream, she snapped his neck. His body crumpled, lifeless.

One down.

Now, for the real target.

The war room was deep within the estate. Seraphis navigated the halls with precision, avoiding patrols, slipping through shadows, and eliminating lone guards without a trace.

When she reached the grand chamber, she found Gideon Ravenspire exactly where she expected—standing over a massive war table, surrounded by maps of upcoming battles.

He didn’t look up. "I was expecting you."

Seraphis paused.

Slowly, Gideon turned, his piercing gray eyes locking onto hers. Unlike Duremont, there was no fear in his gaze.

"White Raven," he said, almost amused. "You think I didn’t see this coming?"

Seraphis smirked. "I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t."

Gideon gestured to the maps. "The Duremonts were fools. They relied on brute force. I rely on something far deadlier—preparation."

Seraphis tensed. Something was wrong.

The doors behind her slammed shut.

She spun around just in time to see hidden compartments in the walls slide open—revealing crossbowmen, already aiming.

Gideon chuckled. "I’ve studied you, White Raven. I knew you’d come for me."

Seraphis exhaled slowly. A trap.

But he underestimated her.

The crossbows fired.

Seraphis twisted, moving faster than human eyes could follow. The first few bolts missed. The rest met an unexpected fate.

Her metal playing cards shot through the air, deflecting the bolts mid-flight.

Before the guards could reload, she was already on them.

Seraphis was a whirlwind of death. Her daggers flashed, her cards sliced through throats, and within seconds, the crossbowmen lay dead.

Only Gideon remained.

He stared, expression unreadable.

Then, for the first time, he smiled.

"You truly are extraordinary," he admitted. "But tell me—what happens when a tactician has no more soldiers?"

Seraphis stepped closer. "He loses."

Gideon sighed. "I suppose you’re right."

He reached for something under the table, but Seraphis was faster.

A playing card embedded itself into his hand, pinning it to the wood.

He grunted in pain.

Seraphis leaned in. "No last moves, General."

She drove her dagger into his chest.

Gideon Ravenspire—the mind behind Shambell’s military—was dead.

As Seraphis stepped out into the night, she watched the flames rise behind her. The war room burned, along with every strategy, every plan, every record that could aid Shambell’s army.

With Duremont and Ravenspire gone, the kingdom’s military power was shattered. Their war machine had lost its legs.

The battlefield was hers now.

And she wasn’t done playing the game.