Chapter 1
Emerald Island, deep in the Caribbean Sea.
The island had only one estate, covering over a million square feet. Security was extremely tight—any unauthorized aircraft or vessel that came close would be shot down by the island's defense system.
This was the headquarters of the underground world's top assassin organization, "Shura Sanctum."
At midnight, moonlight was blocked by thick clouds, plunging the entire estate into darkness.
A slender figure moved through the layers of guards like a ghost, slipping into a third-floor bedroom in the main building.
She wore tight black leather that outlined her perfect curves in the darkness. Behind her mask, only a pair of cold blue eyes showed.
The female assassin's code name was "Nightingale." She ranked seventeenth on the Ranking of Assassins and specialized in infiltration and assassination.
She held her breath, silently approaching the massive European-style bed.
Someone lay on the bed, covered by heavy silk blankets, with only their hair visible.
Nightingale pulled out a silenced pistol from her waist, aiming at the bulge under the covers. Her finger rested on the trigger without hesitation.
Three soft gunshots. The bullets shot precisely into the blanket.
Mission complete.
Nightingale turned to leave, but in that instant, her body froze.
A strong sense of danger hit her from behind—her assassin's instinct screaming warnings.
She spun around, her pupils contracting sharply.
On the single sofa by the bed sat a person who hadn't been there before.
It was a young man, looking about thirty, wearing a simple black shirt and pants. His features were sharp and defined, with strong brows and bright eyes.
He sat there quietly, holding a book, as if nothing had happened.
"You... when did you..." Nightingale's voice trembled.
She was a top assassin with perception far beyond normal people, yet this man had appeared behind her without her noticing at all!
Victor Ashford closed his book and looked up at her.
"Not confirming your target before acting—that's your first mistake."
Victor's voice was soft but carried an inexplicable authority, "Breaking into my room—that's your second mistake."
Nightingale's heart pounded. She instinctively raised her gun, aiming at Victor.
But the next second, pain shot through her wrist and the gun flew from her hand.
Victor hadn't even stood up. He simply raised his right hand, and a coin pinched between his fingers flew out at a speed nearly impossible to track, hitting the trigger guard precisely.
The gun clattered to the floor.
The coin also fell to the ground. Nightingale looked down, her pupils contracting again.
It wasn't an ordinary coin, but a specially made gold coin.
The front showed an angel, but this angel's wings were broken, its face twisted and full of corruption.
On the back was the letter "S."
This was Shura Sanctum's signature gold coin, a symbol of death.
"A Shura coin..." Nightingale's voice shook even more. "You... you're the King of Assassins, Shura?"
Shura, a legend in the underground world.
Three years ago, Shura suddenly appeared out of nowhere, sweeping through the entire assassin world with overwhelming force, defeating countless top assassins, and finally reaching the top of the Ranking of Assassins as number one, earning the title "King of Assassins."
But no one had seen his true face, because everyone who had was dead.
Then, at the height of his fame, Shura suddenly vanished. Everyone thought he had retired or died.
No one expected he'd been hiding on Emerald Island all along.
Nightingale's legs began to weaken. She finally understood—the job she'd taken was a death trap.
"Kneel," Victor said calmly.
Nightingale's body dropped to her knees uncontrollably, simply from the terrifying pressure emanating from Victor.
It was a killing intent that could only be forged through countless life-and-death battles. Ordinary people would go weak in the knees just feeling it.
"Lord Shura, I... I didn't know this was your residence..." Nightingale's voice was tearful. "Please spare me, I'll pay any price!"
Victor stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside was an endless ocean, waves crashing against rocks with deep, thunderous sounds.
"Do you know the rule of this gold coin?" Victor asked with his back to her.
Nightingale bit her lip and nodded.
The Shura coin had one rule:
Heads up meant light—you could live.
Tails up meant corruption—you must die.
She looked trembling at the coin on the floor, the "S" facing up glaring in the moonlight.
"This is the path you chose," Victor said softly.
A flash of despair crossed Nightingale's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by madness.
Since death was certain, might as well fight to the end!
She suddenly pulled a dagger from her boot and lunged at Victor's back like an arrow released from a bow.
She used all her strength in this strike, moving at extreme speed.
But Victor didn't even turn his head.
His right hand waved lightly, and a hair-thin silver wire flew from his sleeve, cutting a strange arc through the air.
Nightingale's body froze mid-air, the dagger stopping less than ten inches from Victor's back.
The next second, her neck twisted a hundred and eighty degrees in an unnatural way.
Nightingale's body fell softly to the ground, her blue eyes still open, filled with unwillingness and fear.
Victor retracted the wire. The hair-thin steel wire gleamed in the moonlight before disappearing into his sleeve.
"Clean this up," he said calmly.
As soon as he spoke, two men in black emerged from the shadows.
They wore silver masks and quickly carried away Nightingale's body, cleaning even the blood stains until nothing remained.
These two were part of Shura Sanctum's Twelve Silver Mask Killers, each with skills rivaling the top ten on the Ranking of Assassins.
Victor sat back down on the sofa and picked up a letter from the table.
The envelope had yellowed, clearly sitting there for some time.
It read "To Victor" on the front.
Victor opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside.
"Victor, Grandpa's health is failing. The doctor says six months at most. You've been living on the island for three years now—it's time to get out and see the world. Also, about the engagement I arranged with Aiden Martinez—his granddaughter is named Amelia Martinez, twenty-four years old, a good woman. Go to New York City and meet her. If it works out, finalize the marriage. Remember, keep your word—that's the Ashford family code."
The letter was signed "Max Ashford" with a bright red seal.
Victor finished reading and sat in silence for a long time.
His grandfather Max had been a five-star general in the U.S. military with an impressive service record.
Three years ago, Victor had been sent to prison after an incident. Max used his connections to get him transferred to Emerald Island, officially to serve his sentence, but really to let him train there.
In three years, Victor had grown from an ordinary special forces soldier into the underground world's King of Assassins.
"A fiancée..." Victor muttered to himself, a bitter smile crossing his lips.
He'd never met this so-called fiancée, didn't even know what she looked like. But since Max had arranged this engagement, he had to honor it.
"Three years. I guess it's time to get some fresh air."
