The Fool’s Ascension

The Black Wolves had retreated, but they weren't gone.

Jarek knew better than to celebrate too soon.

Killing one assassin didn't mean the hunt was over—it only meant the pack was angry.

And angry wolves?

They were always the most dangerous.

A City on Edge

Morning came, but Rookhaven didn't feel the same.

The market square was quieter. Merchants spoke in hushed tones. Guards patrolled with uneasy glances.

Everyone had heard what happened.

The city had a new ruler, and his enemies were already testing him.

Sylva stood at Jarek's side as they walked through the streets. "We made our move. Now, they'll make theirs."

Jarek nodded. "They'll want to send a message."

Tobias frowned. "What kind of message?"

Sylva's voice was grim.

"The kind written in blood."

The Wolves Strike Back

The attack came at noon.

A courier from one of Jarek's allied merchants came running into Vale Manor, his face pale.

"They—They struck the docks," he gasped. "They burned one of our warehouses. Killed three of our men."

Jarek's jaw tightened.

The Black Wolves weren't trying to hide.

They wanted him to know exactly what they were capable of.

Tobias slammed a fist onto the table. "Bastards."

Sylva exhaled. "We need to move. If we don't retaliate fast, they'll see it as weakness."

Jarek was already standing. "We're not just retaliating."

His eyes darkened.

"We're ending this."

The Hunt Begins

Jarek's network had grown since taking over Rookhaven. He had spies, informants, men in the streets.

He sent out one message.

Find them.

Within hours, his people returned.

"The Wolves are hiding in the old district," one scout reported. "There's a safehouse—a former guard outpost. Heavy defenses, but not impenetrable."

Jarek grinned.

"Perfect."

Storming the Wolves' Den

Night fell, and with it, Jarek's war party moved.

Sylva led a team to cut off escape routes.

Tobias—ever the wildcard—prepared explosives.

Jarek?

He led the charge.

The old outpost loomed ahead, its torches casting eerie glows in the night.

Five guards at the entrance. More inside.

Jarek didn't slow down.

His blade flashed.

The first guard barely had time to scream before he collapsed.

The others rushed forward—but Sylva was already moving, her daggers slicing through throats silently.

The Wolves inside heard the fight too late.

By the time they drew their weapons, Jarek's team had breached the door.

Tobias tossed a smoke bomb. Chaos erupted.

Jarek's sword found its first victim, then the next.

The Wolves fought like cornered beasts—desperate, vicious.

But Jarek and his men were ruthless.

In minutes, the outpost floor was littered with bodies.

Only one remained standing.

A Final Warning

The last Black Wolf was on his knees, breathing hard, blood dripping from his temple.

Jarek crouched beside him. "Tell me where the rest of you are."

The assassin spat blood, glaring. "Kill me."

Jarek's blade rested against his throat. "That's the plan. But I'd rather know where the rest are first."

The man hesitated.

Sylva knelt beside him. "Your pack is dead. Your master is dead. The only thing you can decide now is how much pain you endure before the end."

The Wolf's resolve wavered.

"…East quarter," he muttered. "An inn. The Silver Fang."

Jarek smirked. "See? That wasn't so hard."

And then—

His blade flashed.

The last Black Wolf fell silent.

The City is Mine

By sunrise, the Silver Fang Inn was burning.

Jarek watched from a rooftop as the flames consumed the last remnants of the Black Wolves.

It was over.

The old Duke's assassins were gone.

Sylva stood beside him. "No more Wolves."

Jarek exhaled. "No more threats."

Tobias snorted. "Yeah, right."

Jarek smirked.

"Let them come."

Because Rookhaven?

It belonged to him now.