Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 210 - Two Hundred And Ten

The cold wind howled around the desolate courtyard of the old townhouse. The body on the steps lay still, the four arrows protruding from the chest like grim markers.

Four figures emerged from the shadows of the dilapidated house. They moved like wraiths, their steps silent on the cracked stone. They wore black from head to toe, their faces obscured by hoods and masks.

They gathered around the fallen man.

The leader, a tall man with a scar visible above his mask, nudged the body with his boot. It didn’t move.

"It is done," the leader said, his voice a low, rough whisper. He turned to the man on his left. "Write the letter. Inform him the job is done. Tell him the Grand Duke is dead."

The subordinate nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

The leader looked down at his prize. He felt a surge of arrogant curiosity. He wanted to see the face of the man who needed four assassins to take him down, the man who had been a thorn in his master’s side.

He reached down with his boot and kicked the body again, harder this time, trying to turn it over.

The movement dislodged the heavy hood of the cloak. It fell back. The mask, loosened by the fall, shifted.

The leader froze.

Something was wrong. The hair... it wasn’t the dark hair of the Duke. It was blonde. Shorter. Rougher.

Panic, cold and sudden, seized the leader’s chest. He dropped to one knee. With a frantic, jerky motion, he ripped the mask from the dead man’s face.

He stared.

It wasn’t Derek.

It was a stranger. A man with a plain face, eyes wide and glassy in death. A decoy.

"What?" the leader hissed. He stood up, spinning around, his sword drawn. "It’s a trap! It’s not him!"

The other assassins froze, their hands going to their weapons. They scanned the darkness, their triumph turning instantly to terror. They had failed.

High above, hidden in the dense foliage of an old oak tree that overlooked the courtyard, two figures watched.

Derek crouched on a thick branch, perfectly still. He was dressed in the black, form-fitting suit of the Elite Shadows, his face covered by a mask. Beside him was Ian, also disguised.

Ian leaned close, his voice a barely audible breath against Derek’s ear.

"As Your Grace predicted," Ian whispered. "The old townhouse was ambushed. They were waiting."

Derek watched the assassins below. He saw their panic. He saw them searching the shadows, realizing too late that the hunter had become the hunted.

"Who wants you dead?" Ian asked, his voice tight with anger.

Derek was silent. His eyes were fixed on the four men below. They moved with military precision, even in their panic. They weren’t bandits. They were professionals.

"Who?" Derek thought. "Liam? Or someone else? Someone who uses my brother as bait?"

His mind drifted back to the moment the plan

was born.

(Flashback: Hours Ago...)

The sun was shining into Derek’s study, but the mood was dark. The guard had just delivered Carlos’s letter about the "found" correspondence from Theodore.

The guard turned to leave. His hand was on the doorknob.

Derek sat at his desk, staring at the crumpled paper. Something felt wrong. It was too convenient. Too neat.

"Something’s fishy," Derek murmured.

He looked up. "Wait."

The guard stopped and turned back. "Your Grace?"

"Has Carlos gone out these past days?" Derek asked sharply. "Has he left the mining district?"

"Reporting to His Grace," the guard replied instantly. "He hasn’t. He stays close to the work site. He just goes to the old townhouse at night, saying he doesn’t want to stay in the common worker’s quarters. He says the noise bothers him."

Derek’s eyes narrowed. "Any visitors? Anyone at all?"

"None, Your Grace," the guard said. "He is alone."

Derek nodded. He waved his hand. "You may leave."

The guard left, closing the door.

Derek leaned back in his chair. He tapped the letter against his chin.

"Letters from years ago," he thought. "Appearing just days after I found out Captain Nigel is missing. Just when I am getting close to knowing something about Strathmore. This is too coincidental."

He stood up and paced the room.

"If Carlos found them... why didn’t he bring them and try to bargain? Why lure me there? Carlos is greedy, but he is a coward. He wouldn’t act this way unless someone stronger was holding his leash."

A cold realization settled in his gut.

"Could this be a trap?" Derek wondered. "Is someone using my brother’s desperation to draw me out into the open, away from my guards, away from the estate?"

He stopped pacing. He made a decision.

"Ian!" he called out.

The door opened immediately. Ian entered. "Your Grace?"

Derek looked at his aide.

"Find a Shadow from the Elites," Derek instructed, his voice grim. "One who is willing to lay down his life for me. One who is willing to be bait."

Ian’s face went pale, but he understood. "A decoy, Your Grace?"

"Yes," Derek said. "We move at dusk. We will go to the townhouse. But I will not be the one walking through that door."

(Flashback Continues: The Night of the Ambush)

The carriage had stopped at the rusted gate of the townhouse. The moon was high.

Derek stepped out, he stood in front of the gate. He was wearing his heavy cloak. Beside him stood a man of similar height and build—the Shadow volunteer.

Derek looked at the man. The Shadow’s eyes were calm, accepting. He knew this might be a one-way trip.

"Thank you," Derek whispered. It was all he could say.

They moved into the deep shadows of the wall. Quickly, silently, they exchanged attire.

Derek gave the Shadow his cloak, his distinctive sword belt, his signet ring. He took the Shadow’s black mask and gear.

The Shadow put on the cloak. He pulled the hood up. He transformed into the Grand Duke.

"Go," Derek whispered.

The Shadow nodded. He pushed open the gate.

Screeeech.

He walked into the courtyard, alone, while Derek and Ian climbed the tree, watching, waiting, praying that his suspicion was wrong.

But it wasn’t.

The arrows flew. The Shadow fell. And the trap was sprung.

(Flashback ends)

Derek, wearing the Shadow’s uniform, watched the assassins arguing below. They were shouting now, blaming each other.

"We killed the wrong man!"

"He tricked us!"

"We have to leave! He might be here!"

Derek’s hand tightened on the branch. He felt a cold, simmering rage. Not just for the attempt on his life, but for the use of his brother.

"It seems," Derek spoke, his voice a low, dangerous growl, "I must watch this brother of mine."

He turned to Ian.

"Have him closely watched," Derek ordered. "Every move. Every breath. If he sneezes, I want to know. Find out who he is talking to. Find out who gave him the idea for this trap. Find out who is behind this."

Ian bowed his head. "Yes, Your Grace."

Derek looked back down at the courtyard. The assassins were fleeing, disappearing into the night, leaving their failure behind.

His gaze settled on the body lying on the cold stone steps. The Shadow. A man whose identity was known only to a few, who had died wearing Derek’s face.

Derek’s expression softened. The anger faded, replaced by a deep, heavy sorrow.

"Give him a befitting burial," Derek said softly. "Shadow standards. The highest honors we can give."

His voice was sober. This was the first Shadow he had lost in a direct operation like this. It felt like losing a limb. He felt the weight of the man’s sacrifice pressing down on him.

"He died so I could live," Derek whispered. "I will not forget that."

Ian looked at his master. He saw the pain. He understood the burden of command.

"Of course, Your Grace," Ian said gently. "He will be honored. His family will be cared for."

Derek nodded. He took one last look at the empty, silent house. The trap had failed, but the war had just escalated.

"Let’s go," Derek said. "We have work to do."

They slipped down from the tree, disappearing into the darkness.