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Chapter 23|Hired Trouble

Chapter 23: 23|Hired Trouble

The attack came three days after Reginald’s failed surveillance, and it came without warning, without livestream cameras, without any of the plausible deniability Edward had relied on before.

Allen was walking back from the small Hegeville market, arms full of groceries, when the first throwing knife whistled past his ear close enough to draw blood along his cheek.

He dropped instinctively, groceries scattering across the cracked pavement, Guardian’s Instinct flaring to life a half-second before the second knife would have found his throat instead, deflected at the last possible moment by a hastily thrown dart.

Three figures dropped from the rooftops above, moving with the coordinated precision of professional mercenaries rather than opportunistic thugs — mismatched gear deliberately unbranded, faces obscured, clearly hired rather than personally invested in whatever outcome they’d been paid to produce.

"Nothing personal," one of them said, voice muffled behind a dark mask. "Just a job. Client wants proof you’re not as dangerous as the Association thinks you are. Preferably proof that leaves a mark."

Allen rose slowly, Ashfall Talons already sliding into position along his forearms, grocery bags forgotten on the cracked pavement behind him. "And if I disagree with being proof of anything?"

"Then this gets considerably less friendly," the mercenary said, drawing a curved blade with practiced ease.

The fight that followed was fast, brutal, and entirely unlike the coordinated dungeon clears Allen had grown accustomed to over the past month. These weren’t mindless constructs following predictable patterns — these were trained killers, adapting in real time, testing his defenses with calculated precision.

He took a shallow cut along his forearm dodging the first mercenary’s blade, answered with a precise throw that staggered the second attacker just long enough to create breathing room. Guardian’s Instinct flared repeatedly, warning him a half-second before each lethal strike, buying him just enough margin to survive an engagement that would have ended very differently three weeks ago.

It still wasn’t enough. Three trained mercenaries against one B-rank Hunter, however rapidly growing, remained a dangerously uneven fight — and Allen felt his margin for error shrinking with every passing second, blood loss and mounting bruises beginning to slow his reactions.

Then the rooftop above exploded in a burst of controlled flame, and Irene dropped into the fight with a fierce, furious battle cry, red hair whipping wildly as she bore down on the nearest mercenary with brutal, unrestrained intensity.

"Nobody," she snarled, flames roaring around her fists, "gets to touch him except us."

The tide shifted immediately. Myria’s ice lanced down from a nearby rooftop where she’d positioned herself with tactical precision the moment the alert reached her, freezing the second mercenary’s legs solid mid-lunge. Vivian materialized from the shadows themselves, blade finding the third attacker’s weapon with brutal, efficient precision, disarming him before he could fully process the ambush.

Within minutes, all three mercenaries lay incapacitated, considerably more injured than they’d managed to inflict on their intended target.

Allen sank against the cracked pavement, breathing hard, adrenaline still thrumming through his veins as Everlyn rushed to his side, hands already glowing with soft, urgent green light, healing the shallow cuts along his arm and cheek with practiced efficiency.

"How did you all get here so fast?" Allen managed, wincing slightly as Everlyn’s magic knitted the wound along his forearm shut.

"Vivian felt something wrong the moment you didn’t return on schedule," Myria said grimly, wheeling closer, expression tight with barely restrained fury. "We’ve been keeping closer tabs since Reginald’s surveillance. Apparently that instinct was justified."

"Client?" Vivian demanded of the incapacitated mercenaries, voice cold and utterly without mercy.

The one who’d spoken earlier, groaning against his frozen legs, remained stubbornly silent for a long moment before Vivian’s blade pressed meaningfully closer to a particularly sensitive joint.

"Fine— fine! Contracted through an intermediary," he gasped. "Never met the client directly. Just know the payment came from Veton guild accounts. That’s all I’ve got, I swear it."

Allen’s jaw tightened, cold fury settling deep in his chest. ’Not indirect anymore. Not plausible deniability. This time it’s a direct attempt on my life.’

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Myria’s hands, Allen noticed, were shaking slightly despite her controlled expression, the aftermath of genuine fear finally catching up now that the immediate danger had passed. "This crosses a line," she said quietly, voice tight. "Sabotage during a hearing, staged dungeon danger during a livestream — those, I could rationalize as reckless pride. This is attempted murder, Allen. Your family just tried to have you killed."

"I know," Allen said grimly, allowing Everlyn to finish tending his wounds, watching the mercenaries’ bound, incapacitated forms with cold, calculating fury. "Which means it’s time we stopped playing defense entirely."

Irene, still crackling faintly with restrained flame, turned toward him with fierce, unwavering determination. "What did you have in mind?"

"We take this directly to Halden," Allen said. "Full evidence, full context. If my father wants to escalate this into open conflict, then we make sure the entire Association knows exactly who started it, and exactly how far he’s willing to go." He met each of their gazes in turn, steady despite the exhaustion and pain still lingering from the fight. "No more quiet sabotage. No more plausible deniability. If they want a war, we make sure they fight it in the open, where they can’t hide behind reputation and family name anymore."

Myria’s sharp eyes studied him for a long moment before a fierce, determined smile finally broke through her earlier fear. "Now that," she said, "sounds like a plan worth executing properly."