Pablo stopped at the edge of the forest. Behind him, his eighty n stood in rows in silence under the heavy rain. The wind howled among the trees, tearing their leaves and breaking their branches.
He turned to them. His voice was calm, but it cut through the wind like a knife.
"Wait here. Don't move. I will call you."
Marco looked at him. "Alone?"
"Alone."
He said no more. He moved like a shadow, disappearing among the raindrops that fell like a curtain. Marco and Shigo exchanged a brief glance, but no one objected. They knew Pablo never did anything without a reason.
---
Pablo reached the palace wall after minutes of running through the mud. The wall was high, about eight ters, built of solid gray stone, topped with rusty barbed wire from years of rain. On top of the wall, there was a walkway for the guards, and small towers at its four corners, but the guards were hiding on this night.
He climbed the wall silently. His trained body moved easily, as if he were climbing his bedroom wall, not a fortified palace wall. His hand gripped the edge of the wall, then he pulled himself up in one smooth motion.
When he reached the top, he stopped. He crouched. He looked.
Under a small stone roof, two soldiers were hiding. They were drinking from a flask, laughing loudly, cursing the storm that had forced them to stay in this cold place.
"Where did all the soldiers go?" one of them said.
The other laughed.
Pablo watched.
The wind was around him. It was strong. It was waiting.
The wind moved. An invisible blade. It cut the first man's neck before he could finish his laugh. Then it veered sharply and cut the second man's neck.
They fell. They didn't scream. No one uttered a word.
Pablo continued moving along the wall. He crawled on his stomach sotis, walked bent over at other tis, hiding in the shadows of the towers. The rain hid his voice, and the wind hid his movent. Whenever he saw a soldier, he killed him.
A wind blade here. A silent bullet from his pistol there.
No one felt him. No one saw him. He was a ghost on a stormy night.
After a short while, he had killed thirty-two soldiers on the wall alone. Their bodies lay where they fell, so rolling off the wall to the ground, so remaining sprawled on the walkway. The guards whose job was to protect the palace from the outside were all dead, and not one of them had fired a single shot.
---
Pablo descended from the wall into the palace grounds. Before he took a step, he stopped by the body of one of the soldiers. He took off his wet black coat and put on the soldier's gray coat. It was still warm from its owner's body. He took his hat. He put it on his head and pulled it down to cover half his face. In this darkness, under this rain, he looked like any other soldier.
He moved through the palace's inner courtyard. The rain was still heavy, hiding his features, soaking his new coat. The soldiers he saw paid him no attention. They were running from place to place, sheltering from the rain, cursing the storm that had co from nowhere.
He approached the palace's main gate. Three soldiers were standing by the large iron door. They were speaking loudly to hear each other over the wind.
"Have you seen this rain? I've never seen anything like it in my life. The sky is raining as if it wants to drown the world."
"To hell with all this rain. I want to go back to my quarters. I have warm wine there."
"Shut up. If the commander hears you, he'll keep you here for a whole week."
They laughed nervously. They were more afraid of the storm than of an enemy.
No one noticed Pablo approaching.
When he was a few ters away, he raised his hand under his cloak. He focused. He didn't need to raise his pistol. The wind was enough.
One blade. Triple strike.
It cut through the air. It cut the three necks in a single mont. They fell. They didn't scream. They didn't understand what had happened until the mont of their death.
The gate was open now, but the large iron doors were closed. He needed to open them to let his n in.
Pablo stopped. He took out his Den Den Mushi to call Marco.
"Move now."
---
After receiving permission, Marco and the others moved.
They walked quickly under the rain. They reached the palace wall. They climbed it.
They t no resistance. There were no guards on the wall. The bodies lay scattered, and the blood mixed with the rainwater.
When they reached the main gate, they found it half open. Pablo stood there, wearing the soldier's coat and hat. The rain poured down his face, but his eyes were steady.
"Enter."
They entered. They looked around. They saw bodies lying on the wall and in the courtyard. Over fifty soldiers. All killed by a single bullet or a clean wound. There were no signs of a battle. It was a silent massacre.
Marco looked at Pablo. "All these... alone?"
"We're wasting ti. Move."
Pablo said no more. He had no need to boast. The numbers spoke for themselves.
He divided the forces.
"I will take thirty n. We will head to the palace's main gate from the inside. We will strike at the front."
"Marco, you and twenty-five n. Go around the right wing. Kill everyone you see."
"Shigo, you and twenty-five n. Go around the left wing. Kill everyone you see."
"We strike all at once. To sow confusion in their hearts."
Marco nodded. Shigo nodded.
They moved.
---
Pablo opened the large iron door leading to the main hall. There were about forty soldiers inside, so sitting on chairs, so standing and talking, so eating. They were relaxed. The storm outside made them feel safe. Who would attack on a night like this?
They expected no one.
Pablo raised his pistol. Two shots. Two soldiers fell before they understood what had happened. They had been talking a mont before, then they beca corpses.
"Now!"
His thirty n rushed from behind him. Their guns fired at once. The sound of the shots was like thunder, blending with the thunder of the sky. Bullets filled the space. The soldiers were unprepared. So fell before they could touch their weapons. So ran toward their weapons and fell halfway. So scread without knowing what to do.
At the sa mont, they heard shots from the right. Marco and his n. And from the left. Shigo and his n.
The attack ca from three directions at once.
The soldiers scattered. They didn't know where to go. They ran right and then left, firing in every direction without aim. So accidentally shot each other. One scread: "The enemy is everywhere!" Another scread: "We're surrounded!"
Upstairs, Prince Leon heard the noise. He was sitting in his luxurious room, wearing a purple silk bathrobe, drinking a glass of red wine. He was enjoying the storm from his window, feeling safe in his fortified palace.
He stopped. He listened.
Gunfire. Screams. Bodies hitting the ground.
His glass fell from his hand. The wine spilled on the expensive Persian rug.
"What is this?! Who dares?!"
He shouted at his guards. "Go! See what's happening!"
The three guards who were with him rushed out, their swords drawn. They never returned.
They fell on the stairs. Bullets in their chests before they reached the ground floor.
---
Marco was like a hurricane on the right wing. No sword, no gun. Just his fists. A soldier raised his gun to fire, but Marco's fist reached him before the bullet. His nose shattered, his teeth flew, and he fell to the ground like a log. Another soldier tried to stab him from behind. Marco turned quickly, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it hard. The sound of breaking bones was heard. The man scread, then fell silent.
Shigo was on the left wing. His sword was quieter, but faster. He walked slowly among the soldiers, his sword moving as if it had a life of its own. He cut. He cut. He cut. He wasted no movent. Each movent cut a neck, an arm, or a leg. He didn't scream. He didn't rage. He just walked and cut, as if he were harvesting a field of wheat.
No one hit him. No one ca near him. The soldiers ran from him before he reached them.
Pablo was in the main hall. His pistol was empty now. He threw it aside. He grabbed a gun from a fallen soldier. He continued firing. He moved like a shadow among the bullets. His trained body knew where to go before he thought. Sotis he hid behind a pillar, sotis he fired from behind an overturned table.
The soldiers fell around him. Few remained. But Pablo had not yet won.
He lost thirteen n. They fell in the exchange of gunfire. So fell with their hands on their triggers, so fell without understanding how. Their bodies lay among the soldiers' bodies, their blood mixed together.
---
Upstairs, Prince Leon trembled. He heard the gunfire getting closer. He heard the screams rising. He heard footsteps on the stairs.
He fled to the corner of his room. He wanted to hide under the bed, but his false pride prevented him. He stood behind the curtain, trembling like a leaf.
The door opened.
Pablo entered. His coat was torn, his face sared with blood, but his eyes were steady.
Prince Leon was a young man in his twenties, his face soft from years of luxury, his hands never knowing fatigue. His blue eyes were full of tears.
"What... what do you want? Who are you?!"
Pablo approached him. He said nothing. He just wanted to finish it.
"Do you want money? I'll give you any amount. Anything. Just don't kill ." His voice was broken, as if he were choking. "I beg you. I am the crown prince. I am the prince. If you kill , my father will kill you. He will search for you until the end of the world."
Pablo took a step forward.
"My father will give you anything you want. Land, money, position. Anything. Just leave alive. Please."
He was crying now. His tears mixed with his sweat. It was a pitiful sight. But Pablo felt no pity.
He raised his pistol. It was empty. He reloaded quickly. One bullet.
He aid at the prince's head.
The prince fell to his knees. "Please... please..."
Pablo pulled the trigger.
Prince Leon fell to the ground. He didn't move. His blood spilled on the Persian rug, staining it red.
---
Pablo descended the stairs. The courtyard was full of bodies. The sll was foul: gunpowder, blood, and fear. Marco stood in the middle, looking at the dead. Shigo was wiping the blood from his sword with a cloth.
"It's over." Pablo said.
"We will withdraw. The storm will remain until morning. It will cover our retreat."
Under the cover of rain and wind, Pablo's n left the palace. They carried their wounded on their shoulders. They left their dead where they fell. They had no ti to bury them, and no place. They would remain there, silent witnesses to what had happened.
Pablo's n disfigured the faces of the thirteen n so no one would recognize them.
Pablo stood at the palace gate for the last ti. He looked at the bodies lying in the courtyard. At the broken windows. At the blood that mixed with the rainwater and flowed through the courtyards like small rivers.
He raised his gaze to the sky. He focused. He was tired. Using his power for all these hours had drained him greatly. But he needed a few more hours.
The sky obeyed him. The rain grew heavier. The wind grew stronger.
He turned his back to the palace. He moved behind his n.
The storm howled above them.
Pablo didn't care. He was thinking of the next step. Of the king's reaction. Of the coming revolution.
He knew this night would change everything.
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