A strong gush of wind blasted him from the window; he took a step back while shielding his eyes, his foolishness clear to him again. He forgot to bring a concealing scroll with him because of his exhilaration, they must have felt his presence from the zone when he left the building. And which also means the entire market district's guards and mages must have as well.
The man shrouded in black looked at Cobbler and Cobbler looked back at the man, it was like a mirror, they both had around the same attire, except it sounded like he was wearing chainmail. Cobbler could hear it ring when the man raised his hand to point at the fence lying on the floor. How pointless to dress for infiltration but wear chainmail, Cobbler thought briefly.
"Another mage is coming. The boy you knocked out is important. I happen to overhear your conversation. You are an interesting one, you want to partake with us in regicide?"
Cobbler nodded slowly. He was still paralyzed by his own failure. So much carelessness and mistakes. If he was killed, he would have deserved it. All his inconsistencies.
"I will carry him. We might need your expertise. I am sure you understand we have very little time before they realized the moon itself has turned blue." The masked man spoke nonchalantly as he slung the unconscious fence over his shoulder effortlessly as the light of the blue moon tore into the world, even if the imitation dwarf what the real one could do.
It still flaunted a portion of its immeasurable power as the very planet of the worlds bent it's knee to the will of the silver. He looked away from the blinding light, just being able to see it at the corner of his eyes.
The masked man gestured him forward. Cobbler remained cautious, his heart pounding, tightly holding onto his pulsing knife without drawing it out, it was specifically designed for killing and he had used it for miscellaneous purposes.
But this time he was going to use it for it's intended purpose. All this time thinking about doing something big. Heisting the palace, the most severe of all crimes.
He calmed his nerves, breathing through intervals, counting upwards to eight, while the blue tear roared, the size shrank, his hesitation was going to be the end of him.
He stuffed the plugs into his ears, and strapped the breathing mask on, covering the whole of his face, adjusting it more tightly, making sure that no air was entering through any loose part, now seeing through the plastic visor, hearing the sound of his own breath. Shutting his eyes, he leaped through the portal.
It still temporarily blinded him as the roaring stopped and he felt the soft soil on his boots.
The knife was madly fidgeting in his hand, itching for release. It took him a year to steal the knife from his magic school, sacrificing sleep, health, half a ring finger, and mental well-being.
Even catching the plague from using rats and fleas to get past the security. At the very end, he had wondered if it was even worth all that effort, he couldn't even find the thing that this knife could allegedly cut.
What a fool he was.
All the knife did was just making it a little more convenient for him to scale buildings and access low-level safe and doors.
Far more insignificant than what he had hoped. An ancient relic from the academy, which might be why the ones up his floor weren't able to cast the spell. His relic was disrupting the summon.
A crossbow bolt sped past his hood just as he drew out the knife, barely regaining his sight, adjusting to his surroundings.
Three more struck him, one pierced his knee guard, another grazed his waist, the last one struck his shoulder, sinking midway into his muscle. Adrenaline pumped through him as he felt the cold fear pierce his heart.
Everything became slow.
Regaining his footing within a quarter of a second, realizing where he was standing and where the archer was, he sprinted away, ducking his head down, pulling a small can from his pouch, removing its pin in the process before flinging it back in their direction.
After the blinding flash and the loud noise produced by the can, the first unfortunate sight he laid eyes on as he tried to find an escape was the dozens of sword and spear-wielding, mail-clad, royal guards closing in on him.
Their hauberks ringing and armors clanking, swords exiting their sheaths, torches dropping, angry eyes through the silts of closed bascinets menacingly staring him down, probably ready to leave for a night march but now ready to eviscerate the fool that dared to trespassed the sacred palace.
He pulled the second can out and made it seem like he threw it as he flung his arm forward swiftly.
Sure enough, they jerked and moved back, giving him enough time to cook the second stronger flash that took longer to detonate, before really throwing it, flashing and deafening the second half of the company.
He was just outside the castle's encampment next to their courtyard. He had already trespassed the palace, there was no going back. If he doesn't make it, if he doesn't get what he wants, with his rotten luck, he is literally better off dead.
Failures after failures, disappointments after disappointments, mistakes after mistakes, so much more to learn but what he had realized as he saw the masked man's final throes, blood sinking into the soil as he gasped for air.
Death was what made all of what that can't be reached in life worth reaching for.
The red that bled out of Cobbler onto his dark black Vorian gambeson. The thrashing of his heart. All of them so much more pronounced at this moment. If he dies now. That will be it. If death comes for him, then he is meant to die today.
A puncturing sharp pain sank into his right lower back, another bolt struck but was caught in the paddings of his gambeson. He sucked air through his teeth and reminded himself that he must not fail. All the fortunes one could hope for. Never having to work one more day in this miserable life. To own it all.
He pulled the hood down to stop the cloth from obscuring his field of view and determined the palace's entrance. Even with a crossbow bolt in his knee, he still dragged his leg along, ignoring the pain and sprinting forward, trying to place as little weight as he could on it.
He wasn't even sure how injured his knee was, he was just paranoid of any further complications if he doesn't fix the wound quickly.
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