21 Last Breath

The Northern King slightly trembled, an unexpected flash of fear crossing his cold eyes.

"Please don't kill me!" His exclamation came out like a whimper, and Daphne furrowed her brows in confusion.

Did this man have some sort of a split personality disorder? No, Daphne told herself that he had to have some dirty trick hidden in his sleeves.

"Please, spare my life!"

The Northern King took half a step backward, the palms of his hands facing the air as if in utter surrender as he dropped his own weapons, but the assassin's blade closely followed the curvature of his neck.

In that moment of life and death, he turned his head, as if to avert the vision of death. In his seemingly last moments, he looked at Daphne, a small smile forced onto his lips. There was nothing else in his eyes, and it was as if he didn't have any other cares in the world as he gazed at her.

"Take care of yourself, my love."

Daphne could only hope that the assassin could hurry up.

The assassin motioned to behead the Northern King, but a flurry of small blades suddenly materialized and flew out from behind the Northern King's fingertips. Forced to sidestep the blades, the assassin used his sword to block the hits.

A blur of a shadow flashed before Daphne's vision. Taking the opportunity, the Northern King picked up his own swords.

Clang!

Daphne blinked as the Northern King hit the long sword out of the assassin's hands.

This assassin should have immediately struck and not let the Northern King have a single word, she chastised in her mind. And now, the Northern King was back with the upper hand.

Reassessing the entire situation, the small deviation of power seemed like an oddity, and Daphne wondered whether she had imagined the whole scenario. With his power and skill, there was no way that the assassin's weapon would have ever even neared his neck. She thought again.

Then it struck her. The Northern King was simply playing with the assassin, toying with his every action.

She wondered why she didn't see it earlier.

The way he purposefully didn't move his head a moment earlier when his body was clearly positioned for his next move.

The way he intentionally held his hands a bit too high at some points and then a tad too low at others.

The small smile tugging at the corner of lips.

This fight was well-matched on its surface, but there was nothing equal about their combat at all.

The assassin was going to lose, and it would only be a matter of time before the Northern King grew bored of his cruel game.

Since his long sword had been kicked to the corner, the assassin was instead forced to fend off the Northern King's aggressive attacks with a set of short daggers.

Already, his movements were slowing, and the Northern King only resumed fighting as he initially had, every single strike full of renewed vigor. The deliberate slowing down from earlier was nowhere in sight.

"Help!" Daphne suddenly screamed as loud as she could muster, hoping to buy the assassin one last chance as she betted on her own position within the Northern King's cold heart.

At the sound of her shrill voice, he turned his head. Perhaps it was her eyes playing a trick on her, but for a split moment, she saw a hint of worry cloud his vision.

That was all the distraction that was needed.

The assassin didn't hesitate a single bit this time as he stepped in closer. And with one swift motion, he slit the Northern King's throat.

Scarlet blood immediately poured from the wound, spilling from his pale neck as if a falling string of bright red pearls. The liquid soon stained his entire tunic, and as he opened his mouth, no sound came out from it at all.

His eyes were entirely on Daphne, half with disappointment and half with something unreadable.

"Prin...." He mouthed. "Princes...."

In front of the ranks of soldiers, he half crumbled to the floor, barely using his own sword to stabilize himself. Every inch of his body was trembling from the effort as if he was dedicated to die standing and not on the ground like a defeated man.

The fighting temporarily stopped, with the Northern soldiers struck by shock and the assassins exchanging uncertain looks of success.

Something stung Daphne's heart, a sharp stab of pain that she had never felt before.

For a second, she was frozen. Was he actually dead? Was it this easy?

The assassin must have thought this as well, as he stepped a bit closer to check the Northern King for any signs of life. He reached forward, his finger outstretched under the Northern King's nose to see if there was any breath left.

The man was cold to the touch, and his body did not even tremor.

The assassin sighed with relief, a breath he didn't even know he had been holding in--

An iron fist suddenly gripped his neck, cutting that exhale short.

Daphne saw the now-familiar amber eyes blink open, the Northern King's vision piercing daggers through the assassin's body.

Before he could even register his unfortunate reality, the assassin found himself lifted several inches above the ground, his feet dangling helplessly in the air. The Northern King did so effortlessly, as he held up the assassin like an eagle plucking a mere chick off the ground.

He smiled, forcing the assassin's mouth open as he plucked something out from behind the man's yellowing incisors.

As it hit the ground, Daphne saw that it was a little white package, no more than the size of her pinky tip.

On cue, the before-frozen Northern soldiers forced the assassins to the floor as well, and the whole group of formerly triumphant men was suddenly writhing in pain, not even registering what had just happened.

"Tell me now, who is your master?" The Northern King's voice boomed across the field. "Who sent you here?"

His grip tightened, and the assassin's face turned a shade of cherry as he tried to wriggle his tongue in vain, only to find that the dose of poison he was going to use as a last resort was nowhere to be found.

"Tell me before I make you wish you were already in hell."