Rip.
Ethan yanked the Dragonblood Dagger free from the Infiltrator’s temple. Blood sprayed hot across the storeroom air.
He didn’t risk a “maybe.” He chose the kind of kill that stayed dead.
The corpse hit the floor with a wet thud.
Thea—still in dragon form—snapped her head around. So did the remaining Infiltrator.
When they saw who had fallen—Tier 1, Third Seat—they both froze.
A Tier 0 Pre-Awakened, no ambush, no cheap shot… killing a true Transcendent Infiltrator?
It didn’t make sense.
Thea’s shock sharpened into fierce hope.
The surviving Infiltrator’s shock turned into rage so thick it felt like another kind of fog.
The dead one was his brother.
He moved.
Using the gap between sweeps of dragonflame, the Infiltrator surged toward Ethan like a blade thrown by the dark.
Ethan’s body screamed at him: You can’t take that hit.
He didn’t try.
He threw himself backward, rolling behind a shelf as shadow cut the air where his chest had been.
Thea snapped another burst of flame, forcing the Infiltrator to peel away into the clutter.
Ethan’s lungs burned. His heart hammered so hard it hurt.
Luck wasn’t armor. It just bought chances.
And Tier 1, Fifth Seat had plenty of ways to kill a man who only needed to lose once.
Flame washed across the room again, making the shadows thin.
For an instant, the Infiltrator flickered into visibility—just a smear of a man in a hooded coat, short blade in hand.
Ethan lunged.
Pain speared through his forehead—an invisible spike pressing into the space between his eyes.
He staggered but didn’t fall.
No blood. No dizziness. Just the sense of something forcing its way into his head.
Before he could understand it, the Infiltrator raised his own knife.
In the firelight, the blade glowed faint green.
He drove it into his own heart.
Ethan’s mind tripped.
There was no blood. The Infiltrator didn’t collapse. He didn’t even flinch.
Instead—
A tearing agony exploded in Ethan’s chest, exactly where the other man’s knife had gone.
Blood burst from a wound that hadn’t existed a second ago.
Ethan looked down and saw it: a fresh gash in his own sternum, mirroring the Infiltrator’s strike perfectly.
Wound Transfer.
The bastard had latched the damage onto Ethan. A proxy target. A living doll.
Thea’s eyes widened, dragon pupils pinning to the blood soaking Ethan’s shirt.
If the human died, the contract would drag her down with him.
She hissed, flames lashing harder, keeping the Infiltrator pinned and moving.
Ethan forced breath into his lungs and sent a thought through the bond.
Keep him busy. Don’t let him breathe. I’ll fix it.
He didn’t know if “fix it” was a lie, but Thea obeyed anyway—because there wasn’t another option.
Ethan’s hand shook as he dug into his pack and pulled out what he had left:
Ten Water Element Crystals.
Rodless Fishing.
He crushed the crystals’ essence into the air—no rod, no line, just intent—and the world answered.
[SYSTEM] Rodless Fishing complete.
[SYSTEM] Sanity +20%
[SYSTEM] Health +30%
It wasn’t a miracle. A hole through the chest was still a hole through the chest.
But the bleeding slowed. The edge of panic retreated. His thoughts sharpened enough to see the real danger.
The Infiltrator’s first target hadn’t been random.
He’d aimed for Ethan’s heart—instant death.
The only reason Ethan was still standing was because the first Transfer had landed a hair off-center.
The next one wouldn’t.
Ethan felt the pressure at his brow intensify again—like fingers closing around his mind.
The Infiltrator was trying to re-cast it.
Ethan’s pulse went cold.
If the Transfer locked, and the Infiltrator stabbed his own heart again…
That would be the end.
He tried to think, tried to find any tool, any trick, any angle.
Nothing.
A soft rustling sound drifted into his ear.
Shhh… shhh…
Like wind through a forest. Like leaves whispering secrets. So gentle it was almost comforting.
The firelight seemed to slow. The chaos dulled at the edges.
For a terrifying moment, Ethan wanted to lean into it.
Shhh… shhh…
Instinct screamed, and he snapped himself awake.
The pressure at his brow vanished.
The Infiltrator’s spell… failed.
The Tier 1, Fifth Seat stared at his own knife, frozen mid-motion, blade hovering over his heart as if his hand had forgotten what it was doing.
He looked up, baffled.
Ethan didn’t give him time to solve the riddle.
Ethan surged forward, grabbed the Infiltrator’s wrist, and shoved—hard.
Not into Ethan.
Forward.
Into the Infiltrator’s own chest.
This time Ethan’s hand didn’t tremble. The blade sank straight into the heart.
The Infiltrator’s eyes went wide.
He toppled, dead weight collapsing with a metallic clatter.
Shhh… shhh…
Ethan stood over the corpse and felt no relief at all.
Because the rustling didn’t stop.
It deepened, sharpened… and the shapeless sound began to take shape.
A whisper.
A name.
Just as the body hit the floor, Ethan heard it clearly:
“Faranil—”