Family system-Chapter 199: Dealing with some troublesome people

Seven days before the start of the rebellion

Hana crouched low behind a crumbling wall; her breath barely moved the air. The darkened alley reeked of rot, the perfect cover for the quiet assassin she would play. For days, information of a key informant for the Arbiters had reached her ears—an enforcer known as Alrick, stationed in the heart of the merchant district. Alrick’s information pipelines fed directly into the Arbiters’ council chambers, and eliminating him would not only sever a vital communication line but also send a clear message: nowhere was safe.

She moved her hood and tugged her scarf higher to conceal her face. The dagger at her side gleamed faintly under the moonlight, its edge freshly sharpened. Her target was inside a small, lavish house near the district’s edge. Alrick was arrogant, confident in his protections: two guards at the door and one patrolling the rear alley. It was predictable.

Hana smirked as she watched the guards. They exchanged glances, their stances loose. Their arrogance matched their employer’s because they thought no one would dare attack them. She silently mapped their patrol timing, noting the brief window where all three guards would be out of position. Her mind moved with clockwork, and every second was accounted for.

As the final guard passed around the corner, Hana darted forward, her footsteps silent against the cobblestones. She slipped a vial from her belt, uncorked it, and let a faint mist rise from the liquid. The mist would dissipate in minutes, but it was enough to ensure the front guards never noticed her approach.

The front door creaked slightly as she opened it. It was quiet inside of the house. A half-eaten meal sat on a table, the remnants of a big dinner. Hana moved past it, her steps soft and her ears searching for any sound.

She reached the staircase, her instincts prickling—the faint glow of a lantern spilled from the room at the top. Alrick wasn’t careless—he would have wards in place, but Hana had prepared for that. She reached into her pouch and drew out a small talisman inscribed with sigils stolen from the Arbiters’ libraries. Pressing it against the wooden rail, she murmured an incantation. The faint shimmer of a ward dissolved, leaving the path clear.

At the top of the stairs, Hana paused. She heard the low murmur of Alrick’s voice, perhaps rehearsing a report to the Arbiters or issuing orders to subordinates. The door was slightly open, allowing her a glimpse of him. He was thin, his shoulders hunched as he pored over a ledger, his quill scratching across parchment. A faint smirk played on his lips—he was pleased with whatever he was recording.

Hana pushed the door open just enough to slip inside. Alrick didn’t notice her until it was too late. Her dagger pressed against his throat, her other hand muffling his attempt at a scream.

"Alrick," she whispered, her voice cold and quiet. "You’ve been very helpful to the Arbiters."

His eyes darted wildly, panic overtaking his smug expression. Hana leaned closer.

"But tonight, your services have to end a little early."

The blade slid across his throat, and he slumped forward onto the desk, his blood pooling over the carefully inked ledger. Hana wiped her dagger clean and scanned the room for anything of value. The ledger was meticulous, detailing not only the names of informants but also upcoming Arbiter supply shipments and troop movements. She tucked it into her pouch and vanished before the guards realized she had been there.

The streets of the merchant district were quiet as she returned to her hideout. Hana’s mind went wild, and she was happy with the new information she had obtained.

…

The soft glow of dawn spilled across the city’s rooftops as Hana sat silently on a balcony overlooking the merchant district. Below, the streets were beginning to stir, carts creaking and vendors shouting their wares. But her focus wasn’t on the bustling life. It was on the slim black ledger in her hands, its pages filled with the names of those who propped up the Arbiters’ reign over this city.

Hana turned the pages slowly until her fingers paused on a name that stood out like a fresh wound.

Mathis Grenold: a wealthy merchant who funneled supplies into the Arbiter’s coffers, undercutting local communities in exchange for favor. His name was marked with a small "O," denoting his critical role in the Arbiter’s network. He had to be removed.

Hana waited until night. The merchant district transformed after dark; shadows stretched long, and alleyways became a labyrinth. She moved like a wisp of smoke through the narrow passages until she reached Mathis’s townhouse. A warm, golden light glowed from the windows, laughter spilling into the night air.

She circled the building, noting the guards stationed near the main entrance. They looked relaxed—too relaxed. Like so many of the Arbiters’ lackeys, Mathis believed the rebellion was too disorganized to reach him.

Finding a side entrance, she climbed the wall in total silence. She slipped into an open window on the second floor, landing softly in a study lined with shelves of ledgers and contracts. A glass of wine sat half-finished on the desk, the faint scent of lavender wafting from it.

Her target’s voice carried from the hallway. Hana pressed herself into the shadows as Mathis entered the room, humming to himself. He didn’t notice her at first, too preoccupied with locking a drawer in his desk. But the moment he turned, she stepped forward, the tip of her dagger gleaming in the candlelight.

His eyes widened. "Wait—please! We can talk about this!"

"Talk?" Her voice was soft, almost curious. "Like you talked to the villages you starved to fund the Arbiters’ feasts?"

He stumbled back, knocking over a chair. "I was following orders! I had no choice!"

"There’s always a choice," Hana said, her tone flat. "You made yours."

With a quick, fluid motion, she closed the distance between them. Mathis barely had time to scream before her blade pierced his throat. She caught him as he fell, lowering him silently to the floor to avoid alerting the guards outside. Blood pooled on the carpet as she wiped her blade clean.

Before leaving, she rifled through the desk, retrieving the locked drawer’s contents. Inside were letters—correspondence between Mathis and several Arbiter officials. Their names were familiar. She tucked the papers into her satchel, a grim smile on her lips.

…

Hana woke early, the faint light of dawn streaming through the cracks in the shutters of her safe house. Her body ached faintly from the night before, but she ignored the discomfort. The rebellion wasn’t won through comfort. She spread the documents she had taken from Mathis Grenold’s study across the table, her eyes tracing the connections between names.

Two stood out, tied together by correspondence and payments:

Regan Valtor, a mid-level logistics officer, coordinated shipments for the Arbiters. Sabine Grenaud, a spice merchant who used her network of caravans to smuggle contraband and arms into the Arbiter-controlled zones.

Both were critical to the Arbiters’ supply chain, their influence extending far beyond what most would suspect. Cutting them down would not just hurt the Arbiters; it would send a ripple of fear through their collaborators.

Hana began her hunt in the Arbiter-controlled trade depot near the southern docks. It was a sprawling compound of warehouses and bustling activity, where Regan Valtor was known to oversee operations. She spent the morning observing from a rooftop, noting the patterns of the guards and the comings and goings of workers.

By noon, she saw him. Regan was a wiry man with nervous energy, constantly barking orders as he paced along the dockside. He clutched a clipboard in one hand and a quill in the other, his eyes darting about like startled birds.

Hana waited until nightfall before making her move. The depot quieted as the workers left, leaving only a crew of guards. Regan lingered, reviewing shipments with only a lamplight inside a modest office.

Slipping past the guards was simple; their patrols were predictable. She entered through a side window, her steps silent on the wooden floorboards. Regan didn’t notice her until her blade was at his throat.

"H-how—who—?" he stammered, his eyes bulging.

"Quiet," she whispered, her voice a hiss. "You’ve funneled enough into the Arbiters’ war machine. Your time is up."

"Wait! I can—"

Continue reading on novelbuddy

Her blade did the talking, cutting off his plea with a swift, clean strike. Regan collapsed onto the desk, the ink from his quill pooling with his blood. Hana rifled through the papers he had been reviewing, pocketing documents detailing Arbiter supply routes before vanishing into the night.

Sabine Grenaud was trickier. Her spice trade operated from a bustling market square in the city’s heart, surrounded by loyal traders and informants who would notice anything unusual. Hana spent the afternoon blending into the crowd, gathering information.

This content is taken from freёnovelkiss.com.

By evening, she had her plan. Sabine was known to stay late at her stall, overseeing the day’s final tallies. Hana waited until the crowd thinned, then moved in, disguised as a common vendor carrying a crate of goods.

Sabine was a shrewd-looking woman with sharp eyes and an air of authority. She barely glanced up as Hana approached, too engrossed in her ledger.

"Delivery for you," Hana said, her voice calm and even.

Sabine frowned. "I didn’t order anything."

"No," Hana replied, dropping the crate with a thud. "But you’ve delivered enough to the Arbiters."

Sabine’s eyes widened as recognition dawned, but Hana didn’t give her a chance to respond. Her blade flashed, striking her in the chest. Sabine gasped, clutching her chest as she fell backward into the stall. Hana stepped over her, searching the area for any prying eyes before grabbing Sabine’s ledger and a concealed pouch of coins.