In High Tide | Scissor Seven

Chapter Two

His headache was beginning to go away when he finally exited the forest.

The edges brimmed with life, much more than the interior of the woodland had, with plants that could actually flourish in sunlight that was less obstructed by large conifers. Seven stepped over a particularly large tree root and gazed up. The sky, which he had seen so little of during his trek through the overgrowth, was a pale shade of blue. The sun was already directly above his head and burning fiercely, heating up what had been a cool, mild day.

He surveyed the landscape before him, his dark gaze sweeping over the houses. It was a small village, probably some sort of a sect, but it didn't look as imposing as that of the others he'd seen. If he had to guess, he'd say that it was a clan trying to pass off as something more high and mighty than it truly was.

Not that that was anything new.

The grass around the village was neatly trimmed and orderly, though the effort to tend to it had faded a couple hundred steps away from the edge of the forest where he stood. The plants that had been denied growth in the woodland seemed to come to life in full force, as if to make up for their lack of ability to thrive within the woods. Seven edged around an exceedingly large bundle of leaves and shuffled around the inside flaps of his clothes for a moment before eventually pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed out the larger wrinkles and stared down at the picture of the boy before him, who was frowning off into the distance, clearly unaware that his photo had been taken. He looked around the age of twenty, only a year or two older than Seven himself. 

Seven closed his eyes briefly as he slid the paper back into his clothes. His hand wandered over to his sword.

It was strange to task him with the assassination of a single person, and a person with no apparent reputation at that. He was an assassin notorious for his skill, designed to eliminate those who people feared angering the most. Either this young man was an infamous somebody in disguise, or he had pissed off someone who could hold a very deep grudge.

He opened his eyes again and took off his long purple cloak, then removed the top portion of his outfit and bundled it all together before shoving it behind a fairly thick tree stump. He pulled at the black shirt he'd been wearing underneath, conscious of how exposed he had willingly let himself become, and began making his way towards the village.

***

There was actually a reason for his decision to walk in during the day instead of doing a sweep at night, making easy pickings of his prey. The small village was marked. Many assassins had been rumored to have gone missing in the tiny huddle of houses, their names brought up with the surprise of finding them gone a couple weeks later.

Seven had never been particularly bothered by such rumors, but he'd found himself listening out for the names of the absent all the same. There had been theories on what was happening. Some claimed that it was the wrath of the gods who protected the village, squashing those who attempted to make a move on the sect they cared for. Others suggested that there was a strong figure who lived in the village, a figure far better than those who chased their bounties to that cluster of homes. 

If that was really the case, then the figure was a force to be reckoned with. The assassins rumored to have gone missing in the village weren't people with wrecked standings. Some had even topped the one thousand placing on the killer list.

Maybe that was why he'd been dispatched --- under the guise of killing only a single person, of course, to lower costs. The one who had hired him probably wished to unravel the mystery surrounding the village once and more fall, possibly becoming famous for it as he went. He hoped for Seven to disable all the possible threats in the area and then strut in, chin held high, claiming the uncovered answer for himself.

In any case, he was in over his head. Seven wasn't about to kill anyone he didn't have to for someone else's benefit. Unless they attacked him first, it wasn't as if they had done him any wrong.

His sword sheath swayed in his hand as he walked, bumping against his leg. Seven glanced down at it, raising his hand to stare at the long scabbard before lowering it once more. When he looked up again, his brow furrowed just slightly. He could feel a distinct difference in the village's warmly lit windows.

He was being watched.

Seven kept his free hand away from his sword and continued his pace.

There were a couple things that bothered him. The voice he'd heard back in the forest, for instance, was certainly one. It was a voice that shouldn't have existed in his waking hours.

That was the problem. If it was reaching his ears while he was still fully conscious, then that meant that his dreams were beginning to take over his life.

A sigh escaped him. Seven swept back his hair and scowled irritably at the village before him. The second problem would be the contemplating gaze.

Usually, he could tell the direction of a person immediately. He could find them based off of the sounds they made and the feel of their eyes on his body, gauging him and his skill. It was like an itch on his skin, one that would typically make others feel uncomfortable. To him it was not unfamiliar, but still irritating. Those who knew to hide themselves were those to be wary of. Those whom he couldn't sense were even more dangerous.

But this watcher was different. Seven couldn't feel their presence at all.

I'm nothing more than a newcomer, he reminded himself. I hold no malicious threat to them. The bounty paper was tucked carefully into the clothes he'd taken off, hidden back at the edge of the forest. His sword was sheathed and he didn't plan on using it until it was time to dispose of his bounty. Even if someone recognized his face, he could always argue against it profusely and be done.

Seven rubbed his eyes with one hand and blinked, stifling a yawn. He really was tired. It had been a long time since he'd looked at himself in a mirror or a body of water, but he was sure that the bags under his eyes probably resembled that of someone who had been hit really hard in the face.

The grass around the decorative gate marking the entrance to the village was beginning to creep up the wooden poles, blooming tufts of long spikelets like the tail of some dusty-colored field squirrel. Seven stopped at the gate and peered in. The streets were empty save one or two people, and a couple residents were perched on their porches, sharpening blades and tossing whetstones to the ground with irritated mumbles. None of them spared a glance in his direction. He took that as a good sign and walked in.

"New visitors go that way," a voice said cheerfully from his right. Seven glanced over to see one of the people with the whetstones smiling at him, still holding a thin sword in hand. He cocked his head down the street and nodded, almost to himself, and lowered his head again. Seven gave a nod of acknowledgement and continued walking. He didn't look around, but he could feel the boy watching him as he went.

They even had a system. How many assassins had been directed along the same road that he was walking to meet their impending doom?

Seven's fingers shifted up, two curling around the hilt of his sword. He smirked. Whatever "impending doom" was waiting for him, it seemed as if he'd have to go through it before he completed his mission.

He wasn't one to turn away from a challenge that called his name.