Assassin Among Heroes Ch 35 preview

Poison-crafting is a delicate art, with traditions and disciplines as varied as the leaves of the cypress. 

At the root, there is the most basic form: have your enemy ingest, unknowingly or unwillingly, a substance that causes severe distress to their body, mind, or even both. Any simpleton can manage such a feat; all he needs is some spoiled food thrown into the target’s soup bowl.

But to truly be named a poisoner, a novice must master the three lynchpins which separate the boor from the craftsman: to control the time of the poisoning, to ensure the poison does what its brewer wants it to do, and most importantly, to ensure that the culprit responsible for the poisoning is clean.

Once a novice acknowledges those three…the life of any man is his to control, with but a single drop.

The knife barely scrapes my chin as I lean back. I can’t let her gain momentum.

I press back down and thrust forward, only to wince at the sensation of a brick smashing against my arm. My aim’s lost, but I throw myself to the ground and force myself back up just in time to dodge an arcing slash that, were steel on its end, would’ve ripped my tendons to mincemeat. Without even taking a moment to think, I jab repeatedly, only for each blow to be slapped away. I hold back a smirk; she let me get too close. With my other arm, I swing at her head, and before the knife reaches my elbow I let the other one fly into her ribs…

…and she twists away like a top, and my blade hits nothing but rushing air. I quickly shut my jaw and advance. What kind of body control was that!?

Our blades clash with rubbery stings; her quick slashes against my stabs and cuts. It’s becoming a test, to see who can force the other back. She tries to push me back, and I find holes in her assault. If I try to get in close, she twists and dances out of the way. Every blow is aimed to be lethal, and had we been using live steel, I’d have to sew up my clothes. Grappling only works for a second, then she pulls out of the hold. For her…rather slim body, there’s a remarkable amount of strength hidden. 

I jump back from a slash and - what the fuck is that jump!? What is she, a kangaroo!?

Raising my arms high, I feel my knees buckle as I hold back her stab. If I slipped, the knife would go right in my eye. I meet her impassive black eyes with a stare and my teeth grit.

Challenge accepted.

I knee her in the stomach and strike her arm, missing the flesh by scant centimeters and snagging her robe instead. With a jerk, I pull and reach for her shoulder, the tips of my hand grazing it before she crouches and sweeps. Biting back a curse, I spin and throw myself back to avoid falling down. Narrowly avoiding the upward slash, I settle into a guarded stance while she rises and holds her knife at the ready. My breath comes out heavy and I can feel a layer of sweat forming on my brow. Seconds pass, each of us silently daring the other to take the first move. Then, she gestures with her knife towards herself, not even a trace of emotion on her face.

Come and try.

Oh, I’ll try alright…let’s see if this works. 

I rush forward and she begins to crouch down, no doubt hoping to aim at my jugular. Before she does, I throw the knife right at her forehead. She moves to intercept, but at the last second my fingers twitch and the knife comes back flying. An upwards swing, too wide, too fast.

I have to say, the flicker of shock that passes through her is hilarious. Especially when she feels the blade press against her chin. Just as I allow myself to grin, however, her right wrist twitches and I feel the slightest tap against my neck.

She corrected herself mid-slash?

…

…

…wow.

I nod. “Well played.” 

Shiki does the same and I pull away. I offer her a hand, but she picks herself up and shakes her arm. I wipe my forehead and exhale, only for my body to screech in agony. The hiss escapes my lips and I roll my shoulders to cool it off. I wave at Shiki’s raised eyebrow. “I’m fine, just a little sore.”

She nods and I keep rubbing sore spots over my body, trying to remove at least some of the strain. Downing a nearby water bottle, I glance at Shiki to see her doing some stretches. It might just be the light, but I don’t see even a drop of sweat on her, despite her heavier-than-usual breathing.

“Nice trick with the knife,” she says after a minute. “How fast can you throw it?”

My forehead creases as I think about the answer. “Hm, fast enough that it doesn’t matter who’s on the other end and to pierce bones. A good throw to the back of the skull drops a man where he stands, and I had to pull knives out of concrete more than once.” 

That mostly happened during my early days of training with Mawla; failed results of my first attempts or measuring sticks for the strength of my throws. Come to think of it, it’s a wonder that the dagger didn’t chip or break. 

Come to think of it, my first kill was throwing a dagger into some crook’s head. 

His face isn’t even a blur, if I saw it at all; only the coat he wore and the way he fell on the pavement. A step into a reality I’d never thought I’d take - maybe only in the deepest recesses of my mind. Has it really been a year?