Assassin|| C!TNTDUO

｡⁠:ﾟHiredﾟ⁠:⁠｡

★"I do very bad things, and I do them very well."☆

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★

Wilbur POV:

The dagger spun with a quiet whir under his finger as its tip rested on the wood, digging in slightly.

Wilbur was sitting at a dusty table, tucked away in the corner of a loud tavern.

He'd been sought out by a short, fidgety man, who had approached him with a job.

A prince. One he'd heard of, but the kingdom he'd never been in.

He didn't know what motive one could possibly have for the target, who was around his own age and by rumor, not exactly a tyrant.

But then again he wasn't aware of much about this young prince. And he'd been taught from a young age to never trust royalty.

Besides, there was always someone who hated their ruler- or ruler to be.

And regardless of any unsavory details of this job, he really needed the payment.

He listened to the man rattle on, his beady eyes occasionally flicking the dagger with a nervous glance.

"How much." He interrupted.

"What?"

"I doubt you can afford me," Wilbur said lazily, "but say I do take the job. How much are you offering."

"If you take the job, and if you don't fail, 10,000."

"Hah. 50."

"What? How dar-"

Wilbur stopped his knife suddenly and leant back in his chair, twirling it in his fingers instead.

"You seem an astute fellow, Mr...?"

"Creedin."

"Mr. Creedin. I'm sure you're aware of the one they call the blood god? He continued conversationally.

Wilbur saw the man go several shades paler, reaching up to grab the cross at his thin neck.

"Of- of course."

"Under any different name, Technoblade, 'the blade', porky. Whatever it is, he is well known, am I wrong?

"No, But... but he's dead now, isn't he?"

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. "Dead? Mr. Creedin, I'm sure you're smarter than that. They don't call him a god for nothing. He simply... retired. But my point is he was good, wasn't he?"

"He was the best assassin there was! Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. But quiet like the night..."

"Well, there you have it. It turns out that you, my good sir, are in luck. Because Technoblade himself was the one to train me. And that must mean that now he's gone, I am the best there is." He said smoothly.

Mr. Creedin's eyes once again glanced at the twirling silver of Wilbur's dagger.

"So it's 50,000, I think you'll find. Now."

The man spluttered, but he looked at Wilbur with a newfound mixture of fear and respect.

"20 in advance, and- and the rest once you succeed." He forced out bravely.

Sure, he'd take that.

Wilbur smirked, taking the large bag of coins and internally sighing at the lovely weight of lots of money.

"I'll succeed. I never fail to finish a job. You can count on that."

Mr. Creedin nodded solemnly and stood up.

"The most important thing you need to remember is to try and make it look like an accident. Avoid being noticed at all costs. And make sure he's dead by the coronation." He finished darkly.

Wilbur caught his arm before he could turn to leave. "Wait. I make a point to know who my employer is. Who sent you, who's your boss?"

Mr. Creedin frowned. "That is none of your concern. Just do the job, and you'll get the cash."

Wilbur sighed and let him go. He'd figure it out eventually anyway. He didn't go into any assassination without being fully aware of the situation.

But he smiled to himself as he thought about the deadline. Three weeks? This would be a pinch.

Time to do what he did best.

Kill.

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(A/N: legend has it that Technoblade, once he'd grown tired of the bloodshed and murder (it became far too easy) decided to move out to the emptiness and quiet of nomad country, and it was there he lived a simple life. Although Wilbur heard rumours that he now tended to the most magnificent potato farm ever seen. This made him smile, as he knew, even retired, Technoblade could never stay away from greatness.)