The fading rays of daylight cast a warm glow across the Valley of Light.
Seated alone on the outer balcony of a modest inn, Zeke sipped tea while quietly observing the bustling streets below.
Fledglings clad in yellow uniforms moved through the crowds in droves. More experienced assassins wearing orange, red, and black attire wandered alongside merchants, travelers, and civilians who held no affiliation with the Three Reapers.
"Look at all these newcomers running around like chickens with their heads cut off."
A nearby man laughed.
His companion smirked.
"The Festival of Red Roses will make sure most of them pray that phrase stays figurative."
The conversation immediately caught Zeke's attention.
The Festival of Red Roses.
That was the name the Valley of Light residents had given to the trials.
Every three years, fresh blood entered the valley.
Every three years, countless fledglings died.
Like red roses blooming across a battlefield.
The trials themselves lasted two years, followed by a year spent replenishing numbers and preparing the next generation.
The cycle had continued for over two centuries.
Returning his focus to the present, Zeke unfolded a sketch.
His first target.
No.701.
Twenty years old.
Brown eyes.
Spiked hair.
A rugged face decorated with permanent stubble.
Older than the average participant.
Rumors suggested Reaper Ono had deliberately delayed his advancement through multiple classes.
Unlike ordinary fledglings, No.701 frequently received personal guidance from the Reaper himself.
The practice wasn't uncommon.
The Three Reapers often bent rules to nurture promising talents.
Zeke himself had experienced similar favoritism under Lee.
The difference was that Lee possessed far less patience.
Where Ono and Taki preferred long-term investments, Lee preferred throwing potential talents directly into the fire.
Either they survived.
Or they didn't.
At present, No.701 sat inside a brothel roughly a block away.
Several women surrounded him as he basked in the attention.
After confirming his target, Zeke intentionally increased the distance between them.
Then he activated Mind's Eye.
The world immediately changed.
Colors drained away.
Buildings became translucent outlines.
Countless life signatures glowed like lanterns in the darkness.
Every cultivator possessed a unique wavelength.
To a skilled user, those signatures were impossible to mistake.
Using the technique, Zeke watched No.701 from afar.
"Wow! If I'd known beauties like you existed in this cave, I'd have explored these peaks and valleys years ago!"
No.701 laughed shamelessly.
The women giggled.
Only one person appeared unimpressed.
No.711.
An assassin with long dark bangs partially covering her eyes.
She crossed her arms.
"Do you really think now is the time for this?"
"Well, somebody has to enjoy life around here."
No.701 grinned.
"Besides, you've spent years refusing all my advances."
He draped an arm around one of the women.
"So don't blame me for looking elsewhere."
No.711 frowned.
Her concern wasn't jealousy.
It was caution.
Master Ono had personally assigned her to protect No.701.
After failing Trial Three in Class '87, her death had been secretly falsified.
Although officially demoted back to yellow, she possessed experience far beyond the average participant.
Her sole purpose now was ensuring No.701 survived.
"Master Ono entrusted me with your safety."
"Then do your job."
No.701 waved dismissively.
"I'll do mine."
The sliding door closed behind him.
No.711 released a tired sigh.
Then she began securing the surrounding area.
...
"Will there be anything else?"
The waitress's voice pulled Zeke back to reality.
Mind's Eye faded.
His vision blurred slightly from the strain.
"No. Just the bill."
After paying, he left the inn.
Night had fallen.
Lanterns illuminated the streets.
Patrol guards armed with spears moved through the valley in organized groups.
The security around the brothel was equally tight.
Killing No.701 openly was impossible.
Which meant subtlety would be required.
A plan slowly formed in Zeke's mind.
Moments later, he disappeared into the night.
...
Several hours passed.
No.701 finally emerged from his private room.
Half-dressed and completely satisfied.
"Now that's what I call training."
He laughed.
Looking around, he noticed No.711 was nowhere nearby.
"Probably checking the perimeter."
Not particularly concerned, he headed toward the bathhouse.
Steam drifted through the air.
The building was empty.
Perfect.
With a contented sigh, he lowered himself into the hot water.
"Life doesn't get much better than this."
A faint creak sounded behind him.
No.701 turned.
His eyebrows rose.
No.711 stood in the doorway.
"What brings you here?"
"This is a mixed bath, isn't it?"
She replied calmly.
"I can leave if you'd prefer."
"No."
He grinned immediately.
"Stay."
No.711 walked over and sat near the edge of the bath.
"You know, I finally finished dealing with a few suspicious individuals."
"Oh?"
"The perimeter is secure."
No.711 nodded.
"No one is likely to attack tonight."
"Exactly!"
No.701 laughed.
"People worry too much."
His confidence had only grown after years of special treatment.
At Stage 2 Disciple, he viewed most participants as beneath him.
The possibility of failure barely crossed his mind.
Eventually, his hand drifted toward hers.
To his surprise, she didn't immediately reject him.
Instead, she looked away.
A faint blush touched her face.
No.701's confidence doubled.
"I knew you'd come around eventually."
"Maybe."
No.711 stood.
"Your back still looks filthy."
She picked up a sponge.
"Mind if I help?"
"Be my guest."
No.701 sat proudly on a nearby stool.
His guard completely lowered.
No.711 stepped behind him.
The sponge touched his back.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then—
A blade flashed.
Pain exploded through No.701's chest.
His eyes widened.
"W-What are—"
The second stab pierced deeper.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
Blood splattered across the stone floor.
Before he could fully process what was happening, his body collapsed.
The room fell silent.
No.711 remained standing.
A bloodied knife rested in her trembling hand.
Several moments passed.
Then confusion washed across her face.
Her pupils focused.
The knife slipped from her fingers.
Clang.
"What..."
She stared at the corpse.
Then at her own hands.
"What happened?"
Horror flooded her expression.
She couldn't remember drawing the blade.
Couldn't remember attacking.
Couldn't remember anything.
Meanwhile, several kilometers away, Zeke and Kenshin calmly discussed the events of their day.
Far removed from the murder scene.
Exactly where Zeke intended to be.