Rise of Templars

The judge sat stoically in the back seat of the sleek sedan, her gaze fixed on the chaotic scene unfolding before her. Gunshots echoed in the air, each resounding bang accompanied by a body hitting the ground. All of her men, who had accompanied her on this ill-fated mission, had fallen victim to precise shots between their eyebrows.

After a few tense moments, a distinct sound broke through the silence that followed the bloodshed. "Tuk tuk tuk." The judge's eyes flicked to the side, meeting the cold gaze of the person who had boldly knocked on the window. It was none other than Jack, the very individual she had seen in the confidential documents during his journey here.

Jack gestured for the judge to step out of the car, then casually backed away. With a mixture of curiosity and disbelief, the judge exited the vehicle and confronted Jack.

"Do you have any inkling of what you have just done?" she inquired, her voice laced with a hint of astonishment.

"I am well aware," Jack replied calmly, his eyes unwavering.

"And do you understand the consequences you will inevitably face?" the judge pressed, her tone tinged with a tinge of apprehension.

"I know," Jack affirmed, his voice steady.

"Why? Why would you accept the task of protecting Edward in the Continental Hotel privately, without any record? You willingly risked a confrontation with the formidable High Table."

Jack nodded, acknowledging the judge's query. "It seems you haven't pondered why I would undertake such a perilous mission."

The judge shook her head, a touch of resignation in her expression.

"Indeed, I haven't. Based on the information I have about you, you had no prior association with the High Table. You took the direct path of becoming an assassin, completing the assessment task. Everything seemed ordinary. I failed to discern your true intentions."

A faint smile played on Jack's lips.

"That only reveals the gaps in your information. However, since you are already privy to my name and background, I shall get straight to the point."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "I shall spare your life on one condition: you must return to the High Table's 'Elder' and deliver a message."

The judge's curiosity piqued. "And what message would that be?"

"The Templars have returned," Jack declared firmly.

"Furthermore, anyone who dares to defy the rules..." He snapped his fingers, and the unmistakable sound of gunfire erupted from within the surrounding group.

"Shall face the wrath of the Templars," Jack concluded, his voice carrying an air of conviction. "Wherever the bounds of propriety are breached, the knights shall rise to mete out justice."

....

"Just let her go like this?" Wick asked incredulously, his eyes fixed on the retreating figure of the judge.

Jack calmly replied, "The two armies are at war, Wick. We don't need to spill unnecessary blood. Besides, we're in a remote area. Look at her, she's got no money, no guns, and she's dressed to the nines... Trust me, she won't get far."

Wick's shock was palpable as he exclaimed, "Are you serious? After all we've been through, you're worried about her financial situation?"

Jack let out a mischievous chuckle, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"You can't underestimate the power of humiliation, my friend. While we can't kill her outright, we can definitely make her squirm. That'll teach her a lesson, won't it? Besides, how else can you maintain your tough guy persona in front of me if you don't get a little creative?"

Wick sighed, realizing the point Jack was making. "I suppose you have a point. So, are we prepared for what's to come?"

Jack's confidence radiated as he assured Wick, "Don't worry, they won't make a move for a while. And when they do, we'll be ready. We've got the resources to withstand whatever they throw at us. It's not a major concern."

Wick's expression turned serious as he addressed Jack.

"While having the Continental Hotel in New York and a group of former assassins-turned-templars is impressive, I can't help but feel it's not enough. Jack, I trust you won't rely solely on your unwavering confidence. Care to enlighten me on your true source of confidence?"

Jack grinned knowingly, just as his phone began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID and added a name, unable to hide a slight smile.

"Speak of the devil..."

.....

Gilbreth, an ordinary policeman, was an enigma to those around him. His reasons for choosing a career in law enforcement remained a mystery, or perhaps he intentionally kept them hidden. Born into a middle-class family, Gilbreth's father owned several prosperous factories, making them a respected name in the community.

However, fate had other plans for the Gilbreth family. A fierce rivalry arose in the business world, and their father's competitor, desperate to outwit him, resorted to unconventional means. The rival cunningly approached the opulent Continental Hotel, notorious for hosting illicit deals, and placed a tempting bounty on Gilbreth's father.

The events that unfolded after that ill-fated transaction need no explicit narration. It was a story of vengeance, of shattered dreams, and of a family torn asunder. While the rival became a subservient lapdog of the infamous high table, enjoying a life of comfort, Gilbreth was left with a void in his heart. The price paid for his father's life was meager, an insult to the magnitude of their loss.

This injustice burned within Gilbreth, fueling an unquenchable thirst for retribution. The high table's grasp over its subjects, forcing them into submission, was not enough for him. The loss of his father, the dissolution of his once blissful family, all served as painful reminders that his enemies thrived while he suffered.

It was through the mechanism of bounties that the high table maintained its control, instilling fear in those who dared to defy its authority. Offering a reward meant recognizing the high table's supremacy and becoming its vassal. This clandestine organization held immense power, not solely relying on its deadly assassins, but also weaving a web of influence that extended across the globe.

The high table's reach transcended the underground realm, even infiltrating the echelons of officialdom. Many government officials found themselves entangled in the high table's network, unwittingly becoming its vassals. The fear of death, while ever-present, was not the only deterrent. The exorbitant price one had to pay to cross the high table was simply unimaginable, rendering any attempt to challenge them utterly futile.

Hence, for countless years, no official force had dared to confront the high table. Their dominion remained unchallenged, their power unassailable. The threat of death and the exorbitant cost of defiance formed an impenetrable shield around them, deterring even the most audacious adversaries.

Gilbreth had finally come to the realization that becoming a police officer with the intent of venting his hatred had turned out to be a naive plan. As he immersed himself in his work, the accumulated hatred within him grew, slowly but surely. His intelligence prevented him from letting it consume him entirely, recognizing that a fiery outburst would be futile, akin to a fleeting spark in the midst of ice and snow.

With patience as his ally, Gilbreth waited for the opportune moment, confident that it would eventually arrive. And now, that moment seemed to have presented itself.

"What's the situation?" Gilbreth inquired, turning his gaze to his companion.

"This... It's..." The companion hesitated, their voice mirroring the uncertainty of the situation.

The [Vulture] organization had typically been responsible for collecting evidence in cases involving the killer. However, this time, nobody came forward to claim the corpse. The police station, under pressure, had no choice but to dispatch a group of officers to handle the matter. Gilbreth was taken aback when he witnessed the scene before him.

Corpses were scattered across the fields, their number so significant that the term "littered" seemed fitting even in the urban context. But what caught Gilbreth's attention most was the manner in which these killers had met their end—each with a fatal wound between the eyebrows, marked by a cross.

"Could this be a new signature left by the Continental Hotel killers?" speculated the companion. "Perhaps they've committed so many atrocities that they now seek redemption through this symbol?"

"No, it doesn't make sense for those guys to resort to this," Gilbreth responded, shaking his head. "And have you noticed the vultures' absence? It's rather peculiar, isn't it?"

"Ah, it's not my concern. As long as they're dead, it's all good," the companion sneered. "Well, come on, lend me a hand. Let's get to work since the vultures aren't showing up. We'll have to fill in for them."

"Fair enough," Gilbreth agreed verbally, but his attention remained fixed on the cross.

Something about this situation felt off.

"Gilbreth!" the companion called out once more.

"I'm coming!" Gilbreth turned around, took a couple of steps, and then abruptly turned back. Ignoring the blood, he reached for the cross, plucked it from its resting place, and slipped it into his pocket. With the cross in his possession, he walked toward his companion.

As his companion mentioned, they still had plenty of work ahead of them.

==========

Do you want to read ahead? Explore more chapters filled with sizzling encounters, and heart-pounding adventures.

Then what are you waiting for Join my Pa*treon right now.

Link : pa*treon.com/thebookaddict (Remove the *)