The Law of the Silent Gentleman

Like a faint shadow, the assassin floated under the incomplete vault, through the narrow and winding alleys, and through the stinky gutter, appearing on a street in the lower city of Vanessa. The streets were neither too wide nor too narrow, just the kind most common in the Lower Town—the ground was ragged, but not muddy; a carriage could pass through it, but no driver would want to drive through it. It was a miracle that the low shacks stretched between the stone buildings, making it difficult to tell which was a house and which was an open space.

The Assassin, like all his brethren, wears a full-face white mask adorned with the ornate tail feathers of exotic birds. He was wearing a cape that was spacious enough to cover his whole body, and the cloak was embroidered with crimson silk thread in a flowing pattern. From the houses and shacks on the side of the street, there are pairs of eyes peeping out from time to time, the purpose is mostly not to monitor or inquire, but to observe everything on the street as a part of this huge environment. However, when the hem of the Assassin's costume swept over the potholed stones on the road, those shining eyes in the night all went out, as if the Assassin was some kind of evil that should be avoided, and anyone who looked at him would suffer misfortune .

There was a smile on the face under the mask. The assassin walked leisurely along the street, neither hurry nor slow. If it wasn't for his identity, the strange situation he was in at this moment and here would really look a bit idle.

The assassin's footsteps stopped suddenly. At the same time that his limping footsteps disappeared, another burst of hurried footsteps came from the other side of the street. The assassin's eyes, accustomed to seeing things in the dark, clearly saw a figure stumbling towards him. The man tilted his body and covered his ribs with one hand, as if he was injured. When he was running, he glanced back quickly from time to time, as if he was worried about the pursuers behind him. When he ran less than a quarter of the distance from the assassin, he suddenly realized that there was a person standing in front of him, and the assassin had been watching him for a long time.

It was a slender young man with a typical Yoder appearance: delicate features, high nose bridge, raised eyebrows and eyes, and wheat-colored skin. However, his hair is fiery red. I don't know whether he inherited foreign blood or dyed his hair to catch up with fashion. He was wearing a tight-fitting shirt and trousers, as if he had just woken up from a sleep, and ran out before he could change his coat. He was out of breath, his shirt was stained red, and blood kept spilling from between the fingers covering the wound. If he kept running like this, he probably didn't need to be chased by soldiers, because he would faint on the road due to excessive blood loss.

The young man stared at the assassin, his emerald eyes were full of horror (it's natural for most people to see an assassin with such an expression), but besides that, there was even a tinge of relief, it seemed that the presence of the assassin here was very helpful. He said it was the grace of the gods, and he almost knelt down to thank God for his blessing.

"The Reticent!" The young man let go of his hand covering his ribs, and grabbed the assassin's cloak with both hands, which stained his clothes with blood. "You are a reticent, right? Disaster relief?"

The Assassin has no reason not to answer this question. You must not lie. "I'm."

The young man breathed a sigh of relief immediately, his tense expression relaxed, making his face look more handsome.

"Help me!" the young man said hoarsely, "Someone is hunting me down, please help me! I will give you whatever you want! I can afford it!"

The assassin tilted his head and looked at the young man. He didn't wear any jewellery, but his shirt and trousers were new and made of high-quality silk. It seemed that he came from a high society and claimed to be rich, which may not be a lie. But why would such a son-in-law be hunted down? The assassin is very free tonight, and he doesn't mind taking on a temporary job, but he is afraid that one job will involve a lot of work, which will make him exhausted.

There were more footsteps on the other side of the street. A group of people is approaching. They all carried weapons, swords clanging in their sheaths. Five people? No, six people. The assassin made out their numbers from the mixed voices.

The young man clenched the assassin's cloak tighter. "They're coming!" he cried, "Please! Save me! I'll pay you! I will! They...they killed my parents, they killed my entire family...killed them for me!"

Those six people appeared in the assassin's field of vision. Everyone carried torches, so they stood out. The leader was dressed in black, and the remaining five wore city guard uniforms.

"There!" the leader said, "Grab that kid! He's the only one left, don't let him run away!" He drew out his sword at his waist, took two steps forward, and suddenly stopped. Only then did he notice that beside the young man stood a strange figure in a mask and a cloak.

"The Silent One!" The leader was startled, hesitated for a moment, and then his expression became stern, "Get out of here, it's none of your business! If you don't want to die, get out of here!"

Hearing this, the young man trembled all over, his legs went limp, and he collapsed to the ground. But he still tightly held the hem of the assassin's cloak, using it as a life-saving straw for those who fell into the water. He lowered his head, as if accepting his fate, but after a while, he raised his head again and looked directly at the assassin's eyes exposed from the holes in the mask. "I'll pay you and kill them!" His eyes were as fierce as an owl's.

The assassin laughed. Because of the mask covering his face, no one could see his expression.

He kicked the young man away and walked towards the six pursuers. The chief looked triumphantly at his subordinates, bragging to them about taking down a dangerous Reticent. Then, he realized that something was wrong. The assassin kept moving forward, and at the same time, he lifted his cloak. The wide and light fabric dances behind, like a raven spreading its black wings against the night wind, with two gorgeous short swords hidden under its long feathers.

The short sword is exaggeratedly decorated, and the golden carved hilt is inlaid with rubies, giving people a flashy impression. Yet the Reticents, though fond of fancy attire and ornate weapons, would never tolerate their impracticality, so his twin swords are both beautiful and deadly, either of which take your breath away.

The leader noticed the assassin's intention and immediately raised his sword to block. The short sword of the assassin's right hand swung his weapon away, and the short sword of his left hand met his throat. Before the leader could make a sound, a smear of blood stained the assassin's blade. The assassin flew past him like a phantom, and the leader's body fell heavily to the ground when there was a bottomless gully between the throats of the other two pursuers.

The assassin's pace is like a seasoned dancer, leading his beloved partner to shuttle and circle on the dance floor. The two short swords were like flying butterflies, and there was a flash of silver light, and two more fell to the ground.

Seeing that the situation was not good, the last pursuer immediately oiled the soles of his feet, turned around and ran away. The assassin leaped high, raised his head like a poisonous snake before attacking, and with the help of the falling momentum, sent the short sword into the back of the pursuer. The last person fell to the ground and died. The assassin stood up from his back, drew out the dagger, and put the sword back into its sheath before wiping off the blood on it.

The young man sat on the ground, staring blankly at the scene in front of him. Before he could react, the killing was fleeting.

The assassin strode towards him. The young man crawled back in horror, thinking that he would be the next to die. But the assassin did not draw his sword again. He grabbed the young man by the collar and lifted him up. The young man's legs were weak, and he was barely able to walk by leaning on the assassin's arm.

"What's your name?"

"Giuliano..." the young man muttered.

"Go!" said the assassin, dragging him into the endless shacks beside the street.