31: Chapter 31 Viscount Gladstone's Unease! The Night Ravens! The Grey Falcon!

White Cliff Castle.

The night was as dark as ink, with only the wind lamps on the distant towers swaying in the night breeze, casting faint circles of light.

After returning from Gino City, Rowan called for the twin maids to assist with his bath.

Afterward, he went to the children's room.

Of the seven children, the three slightly older ones were already capable of basic cultural and physical training, while the four younger ones were still babbling and learning to walk.

Watching their sleeping faces, a faint trace of softness flashed across Rowan's eyes.

Sylvia...

After checking on the children, Rowan returned to the master bedroom on the top floor.

The Myriad Furnace Breathing Technique circulated slowly.

With every complete cycle, he could feel his battle qi becoming imperceptibly more solid.

[Myriad Furnace Breathing Technique Proficiency +1]

[Myriad Furnace Breathing Technique Proficiency +1]

The progress was slow but solid.

The leap in improvement brought by the Myriad Furnace Breathing Technique was rare and hard to come by; daily grinding was the foundation.

...

Meanwhile.

To the south of White Cliff Territory, separated by a stretch of hills and sparse woodland, lay the Mist Forest, famous for producing Silverleaf Grass, Moonlight Moss, and a small amount of low-quality magic crystal ore.

On the edge of the forest, a castle built of grayish-white stone, its walls darkened year-round by the moisture from the forest, crouched like a giant beast before the mist.

This was Viscount Gladstone's Mist Castle.

In the castle's main hall, the fire in the fireplace burned brightly, yet it could not dispel the gloom between Viscount Gladstone's brows.

He was around forty years old, at the age when a noble male's energy and ambition were at their peak.

His physique was well-maintained; he wore a dark green velvet coat embroidered with golden vine patterns, and his brown hair was combed meticulously.

In his hand, he clutched a secret report that had just arrived.

The Blood Thorn Knight Ulysses and his squad had been wiped out beneath White Cliff Castle, and Ulysses himself was confirmed killed.

"Dead? That madman Ulysses... actually dead?" Gladstone muttered to himself, his voice filled with disbelief.

He knew Ulysses's strength; he was close to a Peak Knight, his methods were cruel and cunning, and he was considered a person of note within the Crimson Knights of the North.

He had chosen him initially because he valued his ruthlessness and efficiency.

Dealing with Rowan, who had just promoted to an Official Knight, should have been easy, and might not have even required Ulysses to take action himself.

Yet the result was this.

"Useless!" Gladstone crumpled the secret report into a ball and threw it fiercely into the fireplace. The flames flared up, devouring the letter.

But his anger was quickly replaced by a chill.

How did Ulysses die?

How could that pretty boy Rowan kill a Senior Knight, especially a battle-hardened thug like Ulysses?

Did that female mage who left behind some powerful magic trap or scroll?

Or did that pretty boy Rowan hide his strength?

Or... did an outsider intervene?

The unknown was the most unsettling.

Especially since he had a grudge against the other party.

If Rowan did not die, he would never feel secure sitting on that rich Mist Forest.

Furthermore, did Ulysses reveal his relationship with him before he died?

"Knight Derek!" Gladstone raised his voice.

A moment later, a middle-aged knight wearing half-plate armor walked quickly into the hall and saluted, saying, "My Lord."

This was one of Gladstone's most trusted retainers, Knight Derek, a Senior Knight, responsible for the security of the viscount's territory and many private affairs.

"Ulysses failed, and he died in White Cliff Territory." Gladstone did not waste words and spoke directly.

A trace of surprise appeared on Knight Derek's face, but he quickly returned to calm: "It seems we underestimated that Baron of White Cliff, or the defenses of his territory."

"My Lord, do you need me to personally take men to..."

"No." Gladstone interrupted him, his fingers unconsciously tapping the thick-cushioned armrest of his chair:

"Even Ulysses fell there, and the situation is unclear. You cannot easily risk yourself; you are one of the pillars of this territory."

He paused, a flash of ruthlessness and calculation in his eyes, "But this matter cannot be let go just like that."

"Rowan must die, and quickly. We cannot give him time to consolidate his territory, or... find out something."

Knight Derek understood: "My Lord's intention is... to use a borrowed knife to kill?"

"Yes. It must be clean, professional, and capable of testing the true strength of White Cliff Castle." Gladstone leaned forward and lowered his voice, "I remember you have some connections in the black market."

"Is there activity from the Night Crow Society in that logging town to the east of the Mist Forest?"

Hearing the words "Night Crow Society," Knight Derek's eyes narrowed, and he nodded: "Yes. There is a contact point there, and the person in charge is a deacon named Gray Rat."

"The Night Crow Society has a good reputation; as long as the price is sufficient and the target is not one of those truly big figures, they will generally accept."

"The Night Crow Society... a killer organization that worships the Lord of Shadows." Gladstone murmured, a flash of dread in his eyes.

This was a mysterious and powerful organization; it was said that its leader, [Night Crow], was an elusive Legendary Knight, but their true identity was unknown to anyone.

There were guesses that it might be some prominent great noble, because the resources required to cultivate a Legendary Knight were astronomical, far beyond what ordinary forces could bear.

But precisely because of this, their subordinates were professional and lethal, and kept their mouths shut.

"Go find that Gray Rat. Do not expose our identities; use a fake identity to trade. The target is Rowan Flynn, Baron of White Cliff Territory."

"I want to know what price is needed to hire their people, and to what extent they can succeed." Gladstone said in a deep voice, "Remember, we only want the result. As for how they test or how they kill, we don't care."

"Understood, My Lord." Knight Derek accepted the order, turned, and walked away quickly, his figure soon blending into the shadows of the castle corridor.

A few days later, in the eastern part of the Mist Forest.

A bustling logging town.

In a wooden house on the edge of the town, following a hidden staircase downward, there was a narrow but dry stone room.

Knight Derek was draped in a black hooded cloak, covering his face and armor.

Opposite him sat a short figure behind a simple wooden table.

This person was wrapped in a large gray robe, wearing a nondescript wooden mask on their face, revealing only two small, gleaming eyes.

This was Gray Rat, one of the low-level deacons of the Night Crow Society on the edge of the Will Province in the North.

"The target is the Baron of White Cliff Territory, Rowan Flynn. Here is the information." Knight Derek pushed a thin roll of parchment across the table.

His voice had been deliberately altered, sounding hoarse and deep.

Gray Rat stretched out a withered hand, picked up the parchment, and scanned it quickly.

The information on it was very brief, mainly Rowan's public information: age, title, territory location, suspected strength as a Senior Knight, family members, and simple interpersonal relationships.

"Oh? This Baron has been quite prominent lately; even the [Blood Thorn Knight] has fallen."

Gray Rat's voice was sharp and thin, like a mouse gnawing on wood, carrying a detached tone of mockery:

"Suspected of hiding strength or having powerful trump cards? For such a target, the price is not cheap, and the uncertainty is high; it's easy to lose manpower."

"Name your price." Knight Derek was concise.

Gray Rat's small eyes rolled behind the mask, and he took out a note filled with code from under the table to look at it, then reported the number in that sharp, thin voice:

"Apprentice Knight level, five hundred gold coins. However, dealing with this guy is likely just throwing your life away."

"Official Knight level, one thousand two hundred gold coins. The success rate... is fifty-fifty; after all, he has a record of killing those of the same rank or even higher."

"Senior Knight level, two thousand gold coins. This is the best conventional force our branch can currently mobilize, with a success rate of over seventy percent. Even if the target has trump cards, a Senior Knight can usually escape without much trouble even if they are outmatched, but the mission would be considered a failure."

"Peak Knight level..." Gray Rat paused and let out a "chuckle," "Sorry, we don't have any masters of that level here. Even if we did, the price is not something you could afford, and they usually only take big orders."

Knight Derek was silent for a moment.

Two thousand gold coins was not a small sum; it was enough to arm a decent cavalry squad or set up a nice business in Gino City.

Although the Viscount controlled the wealthy Mist Forest, his expenses were also high, and taking out two thousand gold coins in cash at once would still be painful.

But he remembered the Viscount's gloomy face and the words "must die, and quickly," as well as the unease brought by Ulysses's inexplicable failure.

"Senior Knight level. Two thousand gold coins." Knight Derek pulled out an unmarked leather pouch from his bosom and placed it on the table, making a dull thumping sound:

"Half as a deposit; the balance will be paid at the old place after the deed is done. Requirements: Confirm Rowan Flynn's death. Time limit: within one month."

Gray Rat took the money bag, weighed it, and opened a slit to peek at the gold coins inside, nodding with satisfaction:

"Deal. The Night Crow Society accepts the order. Within a month, you will hear news; or, if you don't hear news, that means our people failed. The deposit is non-refundable, but afterward, you can choose to increase the price and place another order, or give up."

The transaction was complete, without any unnecessary chatter.

Knight Derek turned and left, soon disappearing into the shadows of the staircase leading to the surface.

Gray Rat picked up a bone pen and quickly wrote a few lines of twisted symbols on a nearly transparent black stone slab.

After writing, he pressed the stone slab into an inconspicuous groove on the wall of the stone room.

The symbols on the stone slab glowed slightly, and then, along with the slab itself, they melted into the wall and disappeared.

The Night Crow Society's task network began to operate quietly.

A few days later, Ice Lake City.

This city, famous for its Northern Ice Crystal Shrimp, was always filled with various desires and transactions.

In a backyard room of an inn and tavern called "Gray Mane and Anvil" in the southern district of the city, a man carefully read a note with scorched edges in his hand.

The man's name was Harrison; he looked to be thirty-five or thirty-six, with an ordinary appearance.

He wore leather armor and carried a longsword that looked well-maintained at his waist, with a composed demeanor.

He was the deputy leader of the "Gray Mane Mercenary Group," somewhat famous in the mercenary circles of Ice Lake City, known for being reliable in completing missions and having fair prices.

But few people knew that Harrison had another identity: a Senior Knight-level assassin certified by the "Night Crow Society," codenamed "Gray Falcon."

The information on the note was very simple, written in the Night Crow Society's internal code, which only core members knew how to interpret.

Target: Rowan Flynn, Baron of White Cliff Territory.

Location: White Cliff Territory, Gino County.

Requirement: Assassination.

Level: Senior Knight.

Time limit: Twenty days.

Deposit paid.

After reading it, Harrison rubbed his fingers, a wisp of battle qi flashed, and the note turned into fine ash, scattering into the ceramic dish on the table.

His expression did not change at all, as if he had just read an ordinary cargo list.

He walked to a water basin in the corner of the room, washed his face with cold water, and looked at the nondescript face in the bronze mirror.

Able to kill the Senior Knight Blood Thorn Ulysses?

That's actually a bit interesting.

"Rowan Flynn... White Cliff Territory... in the west of Gino County, near the Mess Mountains, a remote location."

Harrison muttered to himself, quickly pulling up the map and relevant information in his memory:

"The journey there and back will take at least two days. Preparation time, reconnaissance time, execution time... about right."

He turned and began to prepare methodically.

He checked his personal weapons and equipment: longsword, dagger, throwing knives, grappling hook, several bags of medicinal powder for different purposes, and a set of dark gray tight-fitting clothes suitable for night operations.

Then, he made some arrangements for his identity as the deputy leader of the mercenary group, using the excuse of taking on a long-term mission to "escort valuable medicinal materials to a remote village," and greeted the group leader.

Everything was ready, and Harrison blew out the oil lamp.

The room plunged into darkness, with only the sporadic, never-extinguished lights of Ice Lake City outside the window casting a faint glow through the window paper.

He was like a true Gray Falcon, restraining all his aura and sharpness, blending into the noise and shadows of the night in Ice Lake City, quietly setting off, flying toward the direction of his prey.

The Night Crow had moved.

The shadows spread silently toward White Cliff Territory.

...