Chapter 140: Date Night II
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"You will come again," she said.
Sekhmet’s eyes stayed steady.
"Yes," he replied.
Lily narrowed her eyes.
"That was too easy," she said.
Sekhmet adjusted the last bag on his arm and looked at her.
"I promised," he said. "I do not enjoy breaking promises."
Lily’s cheeks warmed slightly.
Then she leaned in, quick and bold, and kissed him on the cheek like she was stamping a contract on his skin.
She pulled back immediately and lifted her chin.
"Good," she said. "Now go home. Do not die."
Sekhmet’s lips twitched faintly.
"I will try," he replied.
Lily walked backward for a few steps, watching him as if she were making sure he would not vanish.
Then she turned toward the city lord’s gates.
She did not look back again, because Lily did not like showing weakness in public.
Sekhmet watched until she disappeared inside.
Only then did he exhale.
The shopping bags were gone now, handed off to the city lord servants at the gate. His arms felt strangely light without the weight.
He turned and began walking back toward Dawn House alone.
The city had shifted fully into the evening.
Lanterns glowed. Vendors called quieter. Carriages rolled past like moving shadows. Somewhere a musician played a slow tune that sounded like money.
Sekhmet kept his pace normal. He did not rush. He did not look over his shoulder.
But his instincts prickled.
Not from hunger.
From something colder.
Someone is behind me.
He did not need Blood Eye for that.
It was the feeling of footsteps that matched his rhythm a little too well.
The feeling of air moving wrong.
The feeling of being measured.
Sekhmet kept walking for another block, letting the follower grow comfortable.
Then he turned casually into a side street, then another, then another, moving toward a part of the city where respectable people did not linger.
A narrow alley opened between two buildings.
No lanterns.
Only dim light from the main road bleeding in like dying fire.
The air smelled like damp stone and old trash.
Perfect.
Sekhmet stepped in, then stopped. He turned his head slightly.
"Come out," he said calmly.
Silence.
Then footsteps.
Four figures emerged from the shadows like they had been born there.
They wore dark clothes. Their faces were partially covered. Their movements were smooth, controlled, and trained.
Assassins.
Not street thugs.
Not debt collectors.
Real killers.
Sekhmet’s heartbeat stayed steady, but his stomach tightened.
Four is not a coincidence.
This is a message.
He activated Blood Eye.
His vision shifted.
Information rose.
[Assassin One
Chaos Rank: 2
Overall Battle Power: 22,400
Primary Style: Blade
Killing Intent: High]
[Assassin Two
Chaos Rank: 2
Overall Battle Power: 23,100
Primary Style: Spear
Killing Intent: Extreme]
[Assassin Three
Chaos Rank: 2
Overall Battle Power: 21,900
Primary Style: Short Sword / Grapple
Killing Intent: High]
[Assassin Four
Chaos Rank: 2
Overall Battle Power: 24,000
Primary Style: Hidden Needles
Killing Intent: Extreme]
Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.
Chaos Rank Two.
All four.
He felt an unpleasant calm settle in his chest.
One or two would be manageable.
Four was not a fight.
It was an execution.
He did not know who sent them.
Iron House, perhaps.
Or someone else who saw him returning to the city and decided to cut him down before he rooted.
But it did not matter yet.
Only survival mattered.
The assassin with the spear stepped forward slightly.
"You should not have returned," he said.
Sekhmet’s voice stayed dry.
"That line is overused," he replied.
The spear assassin did not react.
The blade assassin moved.
Fast.
A slash aimed at Sekhmet’s throat.
Sekhmet tilted his head and stepped back, barely avoiding it.
The blade cut air.
Whoosh.
The needle assassin flicked his wrist.
A thin needle flew, aimed at Sekhmet’s eye.
Sekhmet twisted.
The needle grazed his cheek and drew a thin line of blood.
Hot.
Immediate.
His hunger stirred like a beast waking up.
Not now.
He forced it down.
The grapple assassin rushed him, trying to lock his arms and pin him.
Sekhmet raised his forearm, slammed his elbow down.
Thud.
The grapple assassin stumbled but did not fall.
Too strong.
Too trained.
The spear assassin thrust.
Sekhmet jumped sideways, but the spear scraped his ribs.
Pain flared.
His chaos body absorbed some of it, but not enough.
Blood ran warm under his shirt.
Sekhmet’s breath stayed controlled. He did not waste words. He lifted his hand and called blood.
Not from a bag.
Not from a cup.
From himself.
The blood that had just been spilled.
A thin stream rose, forming a sharp line.
It snapped forward like a whip toward the spear assassin’s eyes.
The spear assassin jerked back, blinking as blood splattered his face.
It did not blind him fully.
But it was disrupted.
That disruption was life.
Sekhmet stepped in, fist tight, and struck the spear assassin’s chest.
Wham!!
The assassin slid back a step.
Sekhmet followed with a kick aimed at the knee.
Crack—
The spear assassin turned with it, minimizing damage.
Still, the knee bent wrong for a half second.
Sekhmet seized that moment and formed Blood Sword.
A blade of red hardened into shape, vibrating with unstable force.
He swung.
The blade assassin intercepted, steel meeting blood.
Clang!
Shock ran up Sekhmet’s arm.
His Blood Sword trembled.
It did not cut through.
The assassin’s weapon was coated with something.
A thin rune sheen.
Anti-blood.
Sekhmet’s eyes sharpened.
Prepared.
They came ready.
The grapple assassin lunged again, arms trying to trap Sekhmet’s waist.
Sekhmet slammed his head forward.
Thud!
A brutal headbutt.
The grapple assassin’s nose cracked.
Blood sprayed.
Sekhmet’s hunger surged. His throat tightened. He wanted to bite.
But biting mid-fight was death.
He shoved the assassin away and spun as needles flew again.
The needle assassin’s hand flicked twice.
Two needles.
One aimed at Sekhmet’s throat. One aimed at his heart.
Sekhmet dropped low, but the throat needle grazed his neck.
A hot sting.
The heart needle struck his shoulder instead.