BLADE CHAPTER 1 – AniontingProsper
CHAPTER ONE: THE CITADEL OF THE BLACK ROBES
He entered the very Citadel where he had been raised, his presence a vision of cold grace. His posture was regal, every inch of him sculpted and honed as if chiseled from stone. His shoulders, sharp and defined, exuded an almost lethal strength, the product of a lifetime of discipline. With a flick of his hand, he cast aside the borrowed lieutenant’s uniform into the incinerator, his focus unwavering as he continued toward the heart of the Citadel.
No sooner had he entered than he felt a familiar arm snake around his neck. Instinctively, he seized the limb and, with a swift motion, flipped the assailant over his shoulder and onto the floor. It was only then, as he looked down, that he realized it was Vesper—his childhood friend and sworn brother.
“Your walls are too high, bro. Considering how many times I’ve done this to you, you should’ve grown used to it by now,” Vesper coughed with a grin.
“Given your line of work, you should know better than to embrace an assassin from behind,” Blade replied, his tone devoid of warmth as he continued his path without offering Vesper a hand.
Vesper grinned wryly as he stood, brushing himself off. “As cold as always. Your name fits you better than you think.”
Blade didn’t even flinch, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You killed the President, didn’t you?” Vesper asked, holding out half of a pomegranate in offering, as if the question were a casual remark.
“We don’t discuss our missions,” Blade answered, his voice ice-cold and unwavering.
“I know, I know. But no one could’ve killed the President with such… finesse. You make it look almost effortless,” Vesper continued, his voice teasing but tinged with admiration.
“Just followed orders,” came the terse reply, the words heavy with finality.
As they continued their walk, a truck rolled past them, filled with the bodies of the fallen. From a distance, it appeared as little more than a mound of discarded refuse, but the pair knew all too well what it truly was—a heap of corpses.
“I can’t believe a whole set of Red Robes failed the Pindo,” Vesper muttered, more to himself than to Blade.
“The Pindo?” Blade asked, pausing to glance at his friend, the pomegranate still halfway to his mouth.
Vesper stopped and looked at him as though he’d just spoken in a foreign language. “The Pindo, or the Sea of Flying Needles. We went through it when we moved up to the Red Robes, remember? It was a test for speed—poisoned needles flying through the air like dandelions. I’ll never forget it. Only ten of us made it out of fifty-six.”
Blade’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Even in hell, there’s always one person who survives—especially if they’re desperate enough to keep breathing.”
Vesper shrugged. “I thought that too, but now… I think we were just lucky.”
“There’s no such thing as luck,” Blade retorted, cutting him off sharply.
The pair continued in silence for a moment before arriving at the mechanical elevator that would take them to the heart of the Citadel. Blade tugged the lever, sending the lift ascending to the fourth floor.
“Sometimes I wonder why we’re still living in the past, when the world’s so far ahead of us,” Vesper muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.
“It’s safer than electronic elevators, and you know it,” Blade replied with quiet authority, his expression finally relaxing into something calmer, more collected.
“That’s no excuse to live like we’re in the old days,” Vesper shot back.
“You know how many people I’ve killed by trapping them in malfunctioning elevators?” Blade raised an eyebrow, his voice low and even.
Vesper fell silent, his retort dying on his lips.
The elevator screeched to a halt, and the doors opened to reveal the Ripper—the third Black Robe and head of the South headquarters. The Ripper’s expression was anything but welcoming; his distaste for Vesper was evident, and he didn’t bother to hide it.
“What’s a Brown Robe doing here?” the Ripper spat, his eyes filled with contempt.
Vesper, unbothered, shot back, “I’ll remind you, Ripper, you’re only one rank above me. If I’d taken the last test, you wouldn’t even be able to look me in the eye.”
The Ripper stepped forward, his gaze burning with fury. “Why don’t I treat you to a Kai Maiter?”
The Kai Maiter was a challenge with no set rules, a battle that could range from combat to a contest of wills. The elders turned a blind eye to it, seeing it as a form of training. But for those involved, it was a legalized arena for revenge.
Before Vesper could respond, Blade’s voice cut through the tension like a blade through silk.
“A whole set of Red Robes from the South died today, and you, as the head of that batch, can’t even save one of them from the Pindo? And now you want to spar with Vesper?” Blade’s tone was low but firm, his stoic expression giving his words a gravity that hung in the air.
The Ripper, now humbled, took two steps back, suddenly aware of his place. “I was just about to—”
“I hope so,” Blade interrupted, his voice colder than ever. “Don’t let your juniors lose faith in you. It’s not all about skill, Ripper.”
With that, Blade walked past the Ripper, Vesper bumping into the man’s shoulder deliberately as they exited the elevator.
As they walked, Vesper hissed under his breath, “I wish I knew his real name. This damn organization forces us to use code names. It’s ridiculous.”
Blade stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face his friend, his voice sharp and commanding. “You can’t keep starting trouble and hiding behind me. I won’t always be there to bail you out.”
“But he started it first,” Vesper muttered, but Blade’s gaze silenced him.
“Vesper, he’s your senior, no matter how much you dislike him. He may be an asshole, but he still deserves the respect of his rank.”
Vesper bristled. “If it weren’t for that test I refused to take, would he even—”
“Did he force you to refuse it? Did he make your decisions for you?” Blade cut him off, his voice like steel. “You made your choice. Now live with the consequences. Don’t keep looking back at the mistakes you made. Own them.”
Vesper lowered his head, realizing too late that he wasn’t speaking to his friend anymore, but to the Commander of the Black Robes. “Yes, sir,” he muttered quietly.
Blade gave him a hard look before turning to leave. “Enough play. I need to report to the Elders. And if you see Viper, stay out of his way.”
As Blade walked away toward the bridge that connected the Citadel of the Black Robes to the Alumni Citadel, Vesper stood still, feeling the weight of his friend’s words. He couldn’t help but curse himself for forgetting just who Blade was. The man was a walking danger zone—an assassin whose name was whispered in fear throughout every Citadel.
Blade was a living weapon, known for his precision and ruthlessness. He carried out his missions without hesitation, never questioning orders, and his reputation was built on the whispers of impossible kills—like the pregnant woman who died in what appeared to be a tragic accident, or the former Minister of Works crushed by a falling stone in a perfectly timed strike. Blade’s skills were unrivaled, and his silence only added to his deadly aura. He was the assassin no one could catch, no one could predict. And for Vesper, the harsh truth settled in—Blade wasn’t just his friend, he was a force of nature.
On missions, Blade was known for eliminating only the highest-ranking targets—ministers and influential figures whose deaths sent shockwaves through the world. Just a single assignment under his name could generate over a billion dollars for the Association. Beyond his unmatched skills, Blade held the title of head of the Black Robes, a position that even Viper, the second-best assassin, dared not question. Blade was the embodiment of deadly precision, a perfect package of lethal expertise. Despite the terror he invoked, Vesper still marveled at how they maintained their close bond, grateful that he remained off Blade’s infamous black list.
______________________________________✍
“As always, you’ve made us proud. Killing the President seemed almost too easy for you, but still, we must salute your courage,” one of the Elders remarked as Blade stepped into the sparsely occupied hall, where only five Elders sat, with one standing.
Blade placed his left hand across his chest and bowed deeply, acknowledging their presence. The Elders nodded in return, signaling that his greeting had been accepted. As he approached them, he sensed the heavy tension in the air, and his eyes quickly sought out his father, who stood in the center of the room. The sight of his father facing the Elders gave the distinct impression that an interrogation was underway.
“Any word from the mission site?” another Elder inquired, breaking the silence.
“No. I did what was necessary and left,” Blade replied, his gaze never leaving his father’s figure, silently hoping for some clue as to what was happening.
Elder Hans, Viper’s biological father, spoke next. “Your godfather has been sent on a private mission. We made the announcement just before you arrived.”
“If I may ask, why?” Blade’s question slipped out before he could stop himself, and the room fell silent. The Elders’ shocked gasps echoed in the hall.
“Why?” another Elder repeated, incredulous. The audacity of Blade’s question was palpable—an youngster questioning the authority of the Elders.
“I want to understand why you’ve given orders to another Elder. Isn’t it the Faceless who issues such commands?” Blade’s voice grew more assertive as he turned to face the seated Elders fully.
The atmosphere grew more tense. “Are you questioning the authority of the Elders, Blade?” one of them demanded, his voice laced with fury.
“No,” Blade answered calmly, though his eyes never wavered. “I’m saying that this order is baseless. Elders are not meant to go on missions. That includes Elder Viper. The laws are clear: Elders are not to assign missions to one another, nor should they interfere with their colleagues’ assignments. I’m simply asking—are the Elders exempt from these laws?”
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room. One Elder’s voice rose, sharp with indignation. “So, because you’re the greatest assassin the Robes have ever seen, you think you’re above the law?”
“No,” Blade shot back, his voice hard as iron. “You’re the ones who’ve created laws that you don’t follow.”
The room fell dead silent, and Blade’s words hung heavily in the air. In an instant, his father slapped him across the face. The sting of the blow burned through him, his ears ringing with the sharpness of the reprimand.
His father, finally intervening, stepped forward to restore order. “I apologize for my son’s behavior,” he said, his voice full of regret. “I failed to teach him properly. He is not to question the orders of the Elders, whether they are legitimate or not.”
The tension remained thick. One of the Elders stood, his voice icy and unwavering. “A slap is not sufficient, Elder. Your son has directly insulted us, questioning our authority and implying that we are unstable leaders who do not uphold the law.”
The others murmured their agreement in unison.
“I am truly sorry,” Blade’s father replied, bowing his head in a show of respect. “I will discipline him immediately. As for the special orders, I acknowledge them without hesitation.”
The words seemed to calm the Elders, though the air was still charged with an unspoken severity. Blade’s father, though humiliated, had done enough to settle the moment—for now.
______________________________________✍
No sooner had they stepped into the office than two sharp slaps landed across his face—each one a biting reminder of his father’s fury.
His father’s temper flared like a storm, his glare searing through the air as he turned away in frustration, hands gripping his waist as he tried to regain his composure.
“What have I always told you to do when your emotions are put to the test?” he demanded, voice low but laced with seething anger.
“To stay calm,” Blade replied quietly, knowing his response would only stoke the fire further.
“And what did you do?” His father’s words were like thunder, filling the room with a tension that was almost suffocating.
Blade’s answer hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he wisely chose silence. His restraint, however, only deepened his father’s ire.
“What you just did was show them that I—your father—am your weak point. That I am your Achilles’ heel,” his father spat, pacing in agitation.
“But they were breaking the rules, Father. They-” Blade tried to explain, but his father’s roar silenced him.
“Are you still talking?!” His father’s voice boomed, turning to face his son with a look of such fury that Blade instinctively stepped back.
“These are the moments when the glass is shattered beneath our feet, and we must walk across it, silent and unfazed, as the world watches. Will you let the paparazzi see it’s getting to you? Huh?!” His father’s voice was a harsh edge of disbelief and disappointment.
“Enough. Go to the center of the Citadel. Kneel there and do not rise until tomorrow. Let the eyes of your juniors and peers point at you and see the consequences of your actions. Maybe then you’ll understand the gravity of what you’ve done,” his father ordered coldly.
Blade, though seething with frustration, knew better than to defy him. He obeyed without a word, the sting of the slaps still fresh on his skin as he made his way to the center of the Citadel. There, he knelt, silent and still, as the other Robes whispered in confusion. The sight of their perfect role model, humbled and subjected to such a public disgrace, left them questioning the depth of his transgression.
