"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin"

The torches of the nobleman's carriage convoy flickered weakly in the cold night air, the wheels creaking as they rolled over the rough dirt road.

In the center of the procession, Count Darion Vale sat inside his luxurious black carriage, his face pale and hollow, his eyes locked onto the headless body of his daughter wrapped in white silk beside him.

He had been silent the entire journey.

His rage had burned out.

All that was left was an empty, cold abyss in his heart.

The knights surrounding him rode in grim silence. Their lord had fallen from a mighty nobleman to a grieving father, humbled by the brutal justice of the night.

But Seraphis wasn’t done yet.

She watched from above, her white raven form gliding effortlessly through the dark clouds.

This hunt wasn’t over.

The Ambush

The convoy reached a narrow valley road, thick with trees on both sides.

The perfect place for an attack.

Seraphis dove from the sky, shifting into her human form in midair.

With a flick of her wrist, ten of her razor-sharp metal cards fanned out between her fingers.

She whispered a single word.

"Shatter."

The cards split into dozens of smaller blades and rained down like a steel storm.

Screams erupted as the first row of knights collapsed, their throats slit, their armor pierced.

The remaining knights drew their swords, eyes wide in shock.

"AMBUSH!" one of them roared, but the moment he turned—

A card severed his windpipe.

Seraphis landed on the lead horse of the convoy, her feet light as a feather.

Before the knight holding the reins could react, she stabbed a card into his skull and kicked his body off.

With a flick of her wrist, her cards whirled through the air, slicing through armor, flesh, and bone.

The battle was swift and brutal.

The knights fought desperately, but they were outmatched.

Seraphis was faster. Deadlier.

Within minutes, the once-strong convoy was reduced to corpses, their blood soaking the dirt road.

The last knight staggered back, raising his sword with trembling hands.

Seraphis tilted her head.

A single card flashed forward.

The knight's eyes went dark as the blade lodged into his skull.

And then there was only one left.

Count Vale.

A Noble’s Last Words

The count had fallen out of the carriage, landing on his hands and knees in the bloodied dirt.

His daughter's headless corpse had tumbled beside him, its silk covering now stained deep red.

He didn’t beg.

Didn’t scream.

He simply looked up at Seraphis as she slowly approached, her white hair glowing under the moonlight.

She crouched beside him, her silver eyes piercing into his broken soul.

"Well," she said, mocking pity in her tone. "I’d say I’m sorry for your loss, but—"

She leaned in close, whispering.

"Did you ever say sorry for everyone else's loss?"

His bloodshot eyes flickered with rage.

But he had no words.

"So, I won’t either," Seraphis said flatly.

And then—

She swung her blade.

A clean decapitation.

His head rolled onto the ground, eyes frozen in eternal regret.

A False Scene

Seraphis wiped her blade clean, then turned to the bloodied battlefield.

Time for the final act.

She broke a spear in half, jamming the sharp end into the ground.

Then she grabbed the nobleman’s severed head—

And slammed it down onto the pike.

The once-powerful count was now nothing more than a grotesque warning.

But Seraphis wasn’t done.

This couldn’t be traced back to her.

So she needed a cover story.

She scanned the area and took off into the forest, tracking nearby movement.

Bandits in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time

A few miles away, she found them.

A bandit camp.

Perfect.

There were about twelve of them, sitting around a campfire, drinking and gambling over stolen loot.

Seraphis stepped forward, her presence barely noticeable in the shadows.

One of the bandits glanced up—

A metal card lodged in his eye before he could scream.

The others jumped up in panic.

And then—

The massacre began.

Seraphis moved through the camp like a ghost, her cards slicing through tendon, throat, and heart.

Within minutes, eleven corpses lay scattered in the dirt.

But one man still breathed.

The bandit leader.

He was on his back, panting, bloodied, trembling.

Seraphis knelt beside him, placing a hand over his gasping mouth.

"Shhh…" she whispered, her fingers glowing with illusion magic.

His eyes widened as his mind was flooded with images.

Visions of himself attacking the noble’s carriage.

Himself slaughtering the knights.

Himself decapitating Lady Annalise.

The false memories took root, overwriting his reality.

Now, he truly believed he had done it.

Seraphis smiled.

"Run," she whispered, pulling her hand away.

The man scrambled to his feet, screaming, and bolted into the night.

He would be caught.

He would confess everything.

And the world would believe him.

As for Seraphis?

She faded back into the shadows, her work complete.