A Daggers Call.
The last time one had happened was seven years ago. It could be said that it was a hidden rule of the Guild that was almost never triggered. It existed purely for deterrence. But on rare occasion, like today…
Someone would be stupid enough to use it.
The reason it was so foolish was because, amongst assassins, the only reason someone would take this sort of path was if they had no confidence against their enemy.
On the surface, this would even the playing field.
In action, the result would be much the same as always.
Death.
…
Theron’s arrogant demeanor vanished after he turned away from the old man. A deathly stillness hung in his chilling blue eyes.
Raiden had done well to make him feel his presence. Today he would learn just who River was.
**
The ambience was dark. It always was in the Guild, but there was something particularly heavy about this place.
As assassins filed into the seats, each donning their own black cloaks, the air only seemed to get darker… heavier.
Theron stood on a circular platform filled with deep grooves all on his own. There was a small elevating step that stood apart from the rest of the ancient etchings, and his feet barely had the space to stand calmly on it.
His hands hung in his sleeves loosely, his eyes closed.
He had already been standing here for 30 minutes, and assassins were still arriving.
According to the rules, the target had three days to respond to the call. But everyone knew that returnees were nearby given the current circumstances. The Guild had yet to start handing out missions once more, so there was no excuse for anyone to take more than a few dozen minutes at most.
As such, most began to file in after a half hour. But then an hour passed, and then two.
Some of the more powerful assassins shook their heads, standing up and leaving. If Raiden wanted to prove a point, they certainly wouldn’t obediently wag their tails waiting for him. They had things to do.
The flow of assassins began to reverse as the day waned.
…
Down on a platform before the circular stage, the old man leaned back, reading his book. He didn’t seem to care about the proceedings, but given the fact there were no Gold Assassins present, it was too obvious that he held all the authority here.
From time to time, he would glance at Theron, but the child just stood there, unbothered. In fact, it didn’t seem like even a single hair had shifted on his body.
At first, he didn’t think much of it. But then a quarter of the day passed by, and then half a day.
Theron’s breathing was still even, his feet still in the same location, his body still unmoving.
He began to almost vanish from the old man’s senses, forcing him to narrow his eyes.
Theron’s presence sharpened in his mind’s eye again, but the fact it had faded even the slightest bit in the first place made his heart skip a beat.
What he didn’t know was that if it had been raining, let alone 12 hours, Theron would have vanished from his sights instantly.
And then an entire day passed.
…
The arena was mostly empty by now. The only ones that remained were the weakest of the Bronze Assassins, probably strong-armed into staying behind by their elders to report on what happened and call them over. ℝ𝐀NỔΒËŝ
And then there was a movement.
A flash of lightning arched through the air.
It was a random time in the afternoon on the second day. Raiden didn’t pick a particular time at all, just appearing when he felt like it, his body moving into a bolt that landed perfectly on the opposing elevated platform.
The circular, ancient rune-etched stage trembled.
Theron’s eyes slowly opened, but he looked right by Raiden, his eyes landing on an assassin that rushed in after him. Looking around, this assassin found a seat near the first row and then sat.
The arena burst with life. One after another, message jades started to go out, and a sea of assassins was soon swarming back in.
The old man also seemed to start paying attention to things, closing his book slowly. He swept a glance over the both of them, his eyes lingering on Theron for just the slightest tick more.
“A Dagger’s Call has been thrown. I assume that neither of you two need this explained. Challenger, explain your plight.”
The introduction was lazy, but the old man couldn’t be bothered to say more.
“An attempted violation of rule one of the Guild.”
“And how do you plead, defendant?”
“Not guilty,” Raiden replied indifferently.
“How would you like to proceed, challenger?”
Theron didn’t reply. Instead, he moved for the first time in almost two days, his blade drawing a line across his robes and forearm. The movement was so fluid and swift it was hard to tell when he had unsheathed his dagger in the first place.
He sliced skin and fabric in one motion, blood splattering onto the etchings below. Or, rather, one very particular bowl within the etchings.
The old man’s eyes narrowed.
“The challenger has chosen True Blood.”
Raiden watched this scene for a moment before rolling up his sleeve. He unsheathed a small curved dagger, his movements slow as though deliberately doing so with the intention of allowing others to follow him.
He too drew a line across his forearm.
In truth, he didn’t expect this. True Blood was a temporary soul-binding method. It only served one purpose…
To force those under its effects to tell the truth.
The problem with this path was that not only did he have no obligation to answer questions he didn’t want to, but Theron was subject to the effects as well.
In this sort of situation… didn’t Theron have far more to hide than he did?
After all… he knew River’s true name now while Theron knew nothing at all about him.