Chapter 58 Sleight of Hand

My fingers twitched against the weight tucked beneath my sleeve. With the subtlest shift of my wrist, I caught the ring of the grenade and slid it free. My pulse hammered against my ribs, every sound in the basement magnified from the humming photocopier, the drip of a leaky pipe, even the strangled whimper of the man half-buried in concrete beneath my grip. I made the grenade intangible, feeling it slip through my palm like smoke until gravity reclaimed it. I kept my expression flat, raising the hostage higher by his throat as if to signal truce, baiting Sword Meister into taking the hook.

The veteran swordsman narrowed his eyes, his stance easing by an inch, his blade hovering against my mask but not pressing further. He thought I was finally yielding. The grenade landed with a low, muffled thump, rolling into visibility just as the metallic click of its trigger echoed faintly.

The blast lit up the basement like a white flash of lightning. I leaned back, vanishing into intangibility, letting the shockwave pass through me. Sword Meister didn’t flinch. His katana blurred, a streak of silver light as he cut the grenade mid-air, diverting its core into the wall before it detonated. Shrapnel screamed outward, sparks showering concrete, but his blade wove a protective net, every fragment deflected. Even the hostage was spared, shielded by the impossible precision of those strokes.

I staggered back a step, then another, flinging a volley of cards in desperation. They spiraled with practiced grace, intangibility flickering along their edges, but his sword was faster. Each card split in two, fragments raining harmlessly to the ground. My old trick, my favorite damn trick, meant nothing to him.

I froze, the reality sinking in like ice. Sword Meister wasn’t just experienced; he was prepared. He’d seen too many like me, fought too many killers who relied on clever sleight-of-hand and unpredictable powers. And here he stood, not only nullifying everything I threw but still protecting a man I wanted buried.

Anger boiled in my chest. I could feel it in my jaw, in the tremor running down my arms. He wasn’t even sweating.

Sword Meister straightened, the edge of his blade steady, his voice calm but firm. “Give up.”

I lifted my hands slowly, tilting my head in mock defeat, though inside my thoughts twisted with venom. “Fine,” I said flatly, my voice muffled under the porcelain and bonnet masks. “I surrender.”

“It’s futile, and don’t even think of pulling another sleight of hand on me.”

I stretched my wrists forward, lowering my chin slightly. “Here,” I said evenly, “cuff me.”

The words tasted bitter, but I forced them out, masking the churn in my gut. Sword Meister’s gaze didn’t waver, his blade twitching like it could move faster than my next thought. I took a half-step closer, subtle as breath, and he immediately raised the sword threateningly, its edge kissing the mask at my jawline.

“Not a step more,” he warned, the calm edge of a man who had seen too many tricks before.

“Man, you have trust issues,” I tilted my head, feigning curiosity. “You want to see a magic trick?”

“On your knees,” he replied, unmoved. His tone wasn’t negotiable.

I lowered myself down, resting on one knee, then the other. My hands still hung forward in surrender, though I felt the weight of the card triggers hidden in my sleeves like a second heartbeat. I muttered dryly, “I won’t blow you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

No reaction. His sword hovered with unshakable resolve. “Hands on your back.”

Ahead of me, the man I had half-buried in concrete shook uncontrollably, his fear stinking up the basement like piss and copper. He was trembling so badly I could hear his teeth chatter. When Sword Meister finally told him, “Go,” the man bolted, legs almost buckling under him as he scrambled to freedom.

That left just the two of us, the veteran with a blade that could ruin everything, and me, still crouched with my wrists extended like a criminal finally caught. Sword Meister moved deliberately, stepping behind me with his sword still grazing my throat. His free hand reached for the cuffs, heavy steel lined with nullifier etching that glittered faintly under the fluorescent light. My stomach tightened. Those cuffs weren’t props. Once they clicked shut, I’d be done.

I felt the shift and the faintest slack in his stance, his guard lowering by a fraction as his attention split between sword and restraint. That was all I needed.

I leaned forward suddenly, letting my coat flow intangible, my wrist slipping free of the cuff’s ring. My hand brushed against the claymore trigger I had buried against my suit lining, steel wires coiled to a pin. My fingers hooked it and yanked hard as I phased through the ground.

The explosion tore through the room like thunder. Sword Meister’s blade flared in a streak of motion, slashing at the charge mid-detonation, scattering shrapnel and fire across the basement. The shockwave sent my porcelain mask cracking in half, shards falling against my bonnet mask beneath. Heat licked my face and pain screamed across my brow where his blade had caught me, a thin, stinging cut that spilled blood into my eye.

I was already gone, phasing down into the dark earth, vanishing before he could cage me again.

When I clawed my way back above ground, Sword Meister was already there, standing at a distance. He looked like hell. His coat was shredded in long strips, blood soaking through the fabric, and his chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. The claymore hadn’t killed him, but it had torn into him deep, his arms and legs were streaked with cuts, charred flesh peeking through where shrapnel burned past his skin. Even his katana shook faintly in his hand, the steel singing a weak vibration like it had been struck too many times in a row. For all his power, for all the sharp precision that made him one of the most respected veterans in Markend, the claymore had done what I never thought possible. It made him look mortal.

I’d be honest… Sword Meister had always been one of my favorites. Not because of his popularity or how the media sold him, but because he didn’t wear a mask, never pretended to be a god, and didn’t chase the spotlight. He just worked. He was good at it too. And I was going to miss him.

“You shouldn’t have blocked my way,” I said flatly, the words heavier than I expected. “And maybe you wouldn’t end up like this.”

Sword Meister staggered, dropping to one knee, his sword digging into the ground to hold him upright. Blood bubbled at the corner of his lips, and his eyes blurred with something I couldn’t name… grief, maybe. His mouth opened, and the words that came out weren’t for me.

“Dear… I missed you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Tears streaked down his weathered face before he pitched forward, landing face-first on the ruined floor. His body stayed still, the katana clattering beside him with a sound that felt like finality.

I didn’t linger. The pain on my forehead throbbed as I sprinted for the exit, every nerve alive with the aftershock. I needed the target. He shouldn’t have gotten far.

The hallways were eerily empty, the building’s alarm system doing its job too well. Everyone was gone from civilians and staff. Only the echo of my footsteps and the faint hum of emergency lights followed me as I ran deeper.

Finally, I found him. My target. He was clawing at a locked door at the end of the hall, panic dripping off him in every frantic pull at the handle. His head snapped toward me when he heard my steps, fear etched across his face. But then, slowly, that fear bled out of him. Confusion replaced it, and then recognition.

His eyes widened, his voice cracked as he whispered, “Nicholas?”

I froze. My hand instinctively went to my face, and my stomach dropped when I felt bare skin. Much of the porcelain mask was gone, broken away in the explosion. The bonnet mask underneath was shredded, leaving me exposed.

The man, the one I was here to kill, collapsed to his knees. His whole body shook as tears welled in his eyes. He looked at me like I was a ghost returned to torment him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, sobbing into his palms. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have done it.” His voice cracked again, more desperate, broken. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Explain,” I demanded, my voice cold and sharp enough to slice the silence.

The man, my so-called target, remained on his knees, his face wet with tears, his body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. His lips quivered, trying to form words, but nothing coherent came out. All I saw was guilt plastered across his features, guilt that gnawed at me more than fear ever could.

The watch on my wrist buzzed with a violent vibration. BunnyBlade’s voice filtered through, tense and clipped. “You need to hurry, Eclipse. Reinforcements are on the way. You don’t have much time.”

I stared at the man, his broken expression twisting my gut in ways I didn’t like. “This is personal,” I said into the comm, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Stay out of it.”

The man blinked through the blur of his tears, his gaze flickering toward my watch. Confusion cracked through his fear, his voice breaking as he whispered, “BunnyBlade? That’s… my operational alias. W-what is happening?”

I froze for half a breath, my instincts screaming that something had gone horribly wrong. My jaw clenched as the pieces refused to align. If this man was telling the truth, then who the hell had been feeding me intel? Who had been pulling me by the strings all this time? Who was the BunnyBlade I’ve been interacting with?

There wasn’t time to question it. The buzzing in my wrist grated against me, a tether I couldn’t afford anymore. I forced my power through the watch, phasing its delicate machinery on the ground.

I grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him to his feet. His legs barely worked, but I dragged him anyway. “You’re coming with me,” I growled, my patience and curiosity both running razor thin.

Without waiting for his response, I phased us through the locked door behind him. The world shuddered as concrete and steel parted around us, my power forcing a path. My grip on him tightened until he wheezed, but I didn’t care.

When we resurfaced, stepping into the light beyond the heavy door, someone was already waiting.

She stood with her hands clasped neatly in front of her gray suit, posture calm, like she had been expecting me all along. Her head was shaved clean, her purple lipstick vivid against her dark skin, and the smile curling on her lips wasn’t one of welcome. It was a predator’s grin.

“The name’s Janah,” she purred, her voice smooth and venomous all at once. “Royal’s Second. Pride’s new boss… What else? Ah…” Her smile widened, hungry and cruel. “And your executioner.”