The mafia Kings scribe

Chapter 4: The Hidden Message

The click of the heavy wooden doors locking from the outside sealed you into an oppressive, terrifying isolation. The candlelight flickered wildly as a sudden draft swept through the open veranda, casting distorted, dancing shadows against the golden-leaf screens. You sat frozen on your knees, your fingers locked so tightly around the obsidian ink knife that your knuckles bled white.

Shingen’s final command echoed in your ears like a recurring nightmare. Use the ink knife on the table to end your own life before they get to you.

From the western perimeter of the massive estate, the faint, muffled sounds of chaos began to bleed through the night air. There were no loud sirens; Shingen’s security network was entirely silent to avoid alerting the local police. Instead, you heard the distant, rhythmic thwip-thwip of suppressed firearms, followed by the heavy, unmistakable thud of falling bodies.

An attack on the Yamazaki mansion was suicidal. Shingen’s reputation as a merciless monster who made his enemies vanish without a trace should have been enough to keep any rival syndicate at bay. Whoever was breaching the walls tonight was either incredibly desperate or completely foolish.

You looked down at the low wooden table. The inkstone still held the remaining dark liquid you had meticulously ground from the soot stick. Beside it, the parchment blueprints of the estate lay open. Your eyes drifted back to the coordinates you had just painted onto Shingen’s bare flesh.

North thirty-five, East one hundred and thirty-five. Sector Four.

Suddenly, your academic training in classical literature and hidden cryptography kicked in. You stared at the layout of the mansion on the map, mapping the coordinates mentally against the estate's geography. Sector Four wasn't an external harbor or a hidden warehouse in the city.

Sector Four was the very room you were sitting in right now.

Your breath caught in your throat. The message you had just inscribed on the mafia boss’s back wasn't a standard business directive for his foot soldiers. It was a decoy trap. Shingen knew there was a mole inside his household. He had purposefully ordered you to write those specific numbers because he knew someone was watching, or someone would try to read the ink before the night was through.

A floorboard creaked loudly right outside the veranda.

It wasn't the heavy, disciplined step of Haruto, nor was it the swift, predatory glide of Shingen. It was a dragging, uneven footstep. Someone was injured, and they were approaching the open terrace doors.

You scrambled backward, pressing your back against the far wall of the master suite, raising the small ink knife in front of you. The blade was barely three inches long, meant for scraping dried ink from stone, not piercing flesh. Your entire body shook so violently that the tiny blade rattled against your fingernails.

A figure emerged from the rain-soaked darkness of the garden, stumbling over the threshold of the veranda.

It was a young man clad in the dark, tactical uniform of Shingen’s private security force. But his jacket was torn open, and a deep, crimson stain was rapidly blooming across his chest. He clutched his wound, his gasping breath rattling with the sound of fluids filling his lungs.

"Help..." the soldier wheezed, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed onto the polished wooden floorboards, splashing rainwater and dark blood across the pristine tatami.

You gasped, covering your mouth with your free hand to stifle a scream. You recognized him. His name was Kenji, one of the younger guards who had arrived at the estate only a few months ago. He was supposed to be stationed at the secondary gatehouse.

"Kenji-san?" you whispered, your voice trembling as you took a tentative step forward.

The young guard groaned, his fingers clawing at the floorboards, leaving long streaks of blood behind. "The... the Second Wife... she lied to us," he gasped out, his teeth stained red. "The Ryu clan... they aren't here to assassinate the Master. They are here for the scribe. They are here... for you."

Before you could process his words, a sudden, blinding flash of steel cut through the darkness of the veranda.

A long, curved blade pierced straight through Kenji’s back, pinning him to the floor. He let out one final, choked gasp before his body went entirely limp. The pool of blood expanded rapidly, soaking into the wood and creeping toward your bare feet.

Standing over the dead guard was a tall man wearing a traditional demon mask, his eyes gleaming with a malicious satisfaction through the narrow slits. He slowly drew his sword out of Kenji's body, the metal hissing as it slid free. He stepped over the corpse, entering the candlelit room, his gaze locking directly onto you.

"Found you," the masked assassin purred, raising his blood-slicked blade.