Attempt

Slumped onto the plush bed, Argon felt the weight of his breaths as they came out in ragged gasps, his body spent and his muscles heavy. His two women quickly snuggled close to him, their warm bodies pressing against him from either side. They rested their heads on his chest, their soft breaths mingling with his own.

Yet despite the seeming peace of the moment, there was a nagging sensation in the back of Argon's mind, a feeling of discomfort that he couldn't shake off. It was as if unseen eyes were on him, watching his every move, scrutinizing his every action.

His hand moved to the right side of the bed over Saera, instinctively searching for the reassuring presence of his Dayless sword. Feeling the cold, comforting touch of the hilt under his fingers, he allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. Yet, that eerie feeling remained like a stubborn thorn in his side.

"Brolan!" he called out suddenly, his voice echoing through the otherwise quiet room. His command was stern and urgent, an explicit call for his trusted aide. Whatever the source of this discomfort was, he would get to the bottom of it.

With an air of languidness hanging about him, Argon issued his commands, "Brolan, something isn't sitting right with me. Order the guards to conduct a thorough check around the perimeter. I don't want any surprises."

Brolan, his expression etched with confusion, met Argon's steady gaze. "Why would I be lurking around, watching you? You've got your head filled with cobwebs, master," he chortled, dismissing Argon's suspicions with a wave of his hand.

"Regardless," Argon retorted, an unyielding edge to his voice, "I'd rather act on my paranoia than regret it later. Just make sure it's done."

Brolan nodded, suppressing a grunt. The matter of Isolde's delayed message had been gnawing at both of them, and Brolan knew better than to further agitate his already edgy master. With a quick salute, he turned on his heel and made his way to organize the guards for a perimeter sweep. Argon watched him leave, his mind a whirlpool of suspicions and doubts, the strange feeling of being watched still prickling at his senses.

His command seemed to have unsettled his companions, their faces twisted with concern and confusion. Lyra, the more outspoken of the two, was the first to break the silence. "My lord, what seems to be the matter? You look...troubled."

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Argon sought to dispel their concerns, putting on a nonchalant air. "Nothing to worry your pretty little heads about, my dears," he assured them, managing a half-smile. "Just feeling a bit paranoid, that's all."

The women shared an uncertain look but decided to respect their master's privacy. Saera, her eyes still bearing the traces of worry, gave a small nod. "As you say, my lord. Goodnight then," she murmured, her voice laced with lingering concern.

Despite their compliance, Argon could tell his words hadn't entirely allayed their fears. But right now, that was a worry for another time. His mind was preoccupied with the potential threat lurking in the shadows, and he had to ensure that his home remained a safe haven, no matter what.

Left alone in the vast silence of his chambers, Argon found himself in a state of heightened alert. His body longed for the comforting embrace of sleep, but his mind, churning with unease, refused to grant him that peace.

Despite the luxurious comfort of his bed, despite the warmth of Lyra and Saera beside him, sleep remained elusive. He laid back, his eyes staring blankly at the ornate ceiling above, the hushed whisperings of the night providing a haunting soundtrack to his insomnia.

Unable to bear the quiet stillness any longer, Argon sat up, propping himself against the headboard. His eyes scanned the dimly lit room, the flickering light from the nearby hearth casting elongated, dancing shadows across the stone walls. He found himself listening intently for any unusual sounds, his senses on high alert.

His fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the sheets, his mind unable to shake off the nagging feeling of unease. It was like a phantom whisper, brushing against his consciousness, disrupting his sense of peace. It was disquieting, and it made him restless.

But, despite his unease, there were no further disturbances in the night. As the hours ticked away, Argon remained in his state of vigilant solitude, his eyes heavy with exhaustion yet his mind ablaze with anxious anticipation.

A creak echoed ominously throughout the still room as the door edged open inch by inch. In contrast to Brolan's typically brusque entrances, this action was cautious, stealthy even. Alarm bells began to ring in Argon's mind, his heart pounding with a newfound sense of urgency.

Without missing a beat, he reached over Saera's sleeping form, his hand instinctively closing around the hilt of his longsword. The cold, familiar weight of the weapon brought a small sense of relief. He was ready to face whatever or whoever was intruding upon his peace.

However, the figure in the shadows was faster than anticipated. Spotting Argon's movement, the intruder lunged forward, darting across the room in a swift, fluid motion. An eerie sense of malice filled the air, and Argon could feel the danger emanating from the shadowy figure.

With his sword in hand and his senses on high alert, Argon prepared himself for the impending confrontation. He was ready for a fight, a struggle for survival in the dead of night. At that moment, his fear gave way to a fierce determination. He was not about to let this trespasser bring harm to him.

With a roar, Argon called for Brolan, his voice booming through the room and likely echoing throughout the manor. The girls jolted awake, their faces twisting in confusion and terror at the sudden upheaval. Saera, unfortunately, found herself caught between the intruder and Argon. Her wide, fear-filled eyes reflected the silver glint of a blade as it was brought into the dim light.

Without warning, a second figure materialized behind the first, stepping out of the darkness like a nightmare come to life. A chill of foreboding swept through the room as Argon took in the unexpected addition. He tightened his grip on his sword, preparing to charge, but he was momentarily frozen by the scene unfolding before him.

The first figure swiped at Saera; his movements were swift and brutal. The blade cut through the air, slicing a wide gash across her outstretched arm. A sharp gasp of pain echoed through the room as Saera fell to the floor, her fingers clenched around the bleeding wound. Her blood painted the floor in stark contrast to the room's rustic wood, adding a chilling touch to the already dire situation.

Even in his vulnerable state, Argon was far from helpless. His senses were heightened in the heat of the moment, his mind calculating and cold. Seizing the moment of distraction provided by Saera's fall, he lashed out, his blade sinking into the man's thigh with a sickening squelch. The figure gasped, his hand reaching down to clutch at the embedded sword.

However, before Argon could pull his sword free, the second figure was upon him. As the girls fled from the room, their screams echoing hauntingly in the manor, Argon found himself fighting for his life. The second figure lunged at him, the glint of a blade cutting through the dim room. His heart pounded in his chest, his instincts screaming at him to move.

But Argon didn't back down. With no time to retrieve his weapon from the first assailant's leg, he caught the second man's blade with his bare hands, the sharp edge slicing into his palms. Blood poured down his hands, staining the blade, but Argon didn't flinch. His body moved on instinct, headbutting the second man with all the strength he could muster. His head connected with a harsh crack, momentarily stunning the second figure.

Using the brief moment of respite provided by his opponent's caution, Argon moved swiftly. He pressed his foot onto the downed man's thigh, lodged in the meat of which was his Dayless sword. With a swift and forceful yank, he extracted the weapon.

A guttural scream rent the air as the blade was torn free, a geyser of blood spraying from the horrific wound. Argon barely paid the dying man any mind, his focus already honed onto the next threat.

Armed now with his Dayless blade, Argon seemed to regain his composure. The first man writhed on the ground, his life's essence gushing out in scarlet waves onto the room's stone floor. His screams echoed through the manor, their pitch hitting a fevered crescendo before falling into eerily abrupt silence.

Having regained his bearings, the second figure watched Argon with newfound caution. They circled each other like wolves, each assessing the other for any signs of weakness. Though Argon was certain he could end the assassin quickly, he knew he was playing a deadly game of cat and mouse.

With bated breath, he waited, his eyes never leaving his opponent. The air in the room was tense; the metallic scent of spilt blood mingled with the remnants of the girls' lingering perfumes. Argon's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but his focus remained on the man before him. He knew all he had to do was stall for time. It was only a matter of moments before Brolan would arrive.

Each passing moment held the weight of eternity in this deadly game of cat and mouse. Realizing that he couldn't wait for Brolan, Argon decided to take matters into his own hands. Any attempt to reach for his helmet would leave him vulnerable. So, he plotted a quick, decisive move.

Feigning an overhead strike, he watched the assassin lift his weapon to block. This was exactly what he wanted. Argon switched his attack in a heartbeat, his blade cutting a deadly path towards the assassin's torso instead. The man caught off guard, attempted to adjust his defence. But it was a second too late.

Argon's Dayless sword slid into his torso, slicing through the soft flesh like a hot knife through butter. The resulting gore was a morbid display of his ruthlessness, a canvas of splattered blood and torn flesh. The assassin gasped, his eyes wide in shock as he stared down at the fatal wound. His weapon fell from his hand, clattering to the floor in a chilling echo of his impending doom.

With an eerie stillness, the second assassin slumped to the floor, drowning in his blood as he desperately tried to gasp for breath. Argon loomed over him, his sword dripping with the dying man's blood. "Who sent you?" he demanded. The dying man didn't answer, only choking on more blood until his eyes glazed over, his body limp.

The door burst open, Brolan rushing in fully armoured, his eyes darting around the gruesome scene. "What the hell happened?" He asked, his voice strained.

"These fuckers came to kill me," Argon spat, kicking the lifeless body of the first assassin.

"There was a fire in the village," Brolan reported, grimacing. "We saw it while checking the perimeter. I was helping put it out."

"No doubt a distraction," Argon murmured, crouching to examine the assassin he had wounded in the thigh. The man was long dead; his life bled onto Argon's floor. "These fucks were good." He stood, looking at the carnage in his room, "Get some fucking light in here."