Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Lionheart's Underbosses
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Third POV: Underboss of the eastern district

Conrad stood in the shadows near a dimly lit brothel, his back pressed against the rough stone wall. The air was thick with the smell of ale and cheap perfume, the sounds of drunken laughter and whispered deals filtering through the night. But Conrad's focus never wavered. His dark cloak blended seamlessly with the surroundings, and his hood cast his face into shadow. He was patient, waiting for the right moment.

The target was a man named Boros Kline, a leader of a criminal ring that had been disrupting the peace in Lannisport. The Lionheart family had worked tirelessly to bring order to the streets, but men like Boros thrived in chaos. He was a thorn in their side, a man who trafficked in misery—extortion, smuggling, murder for hire. Tonight, Conrad would remove him.

Boros stumbled out of the brothel, a drunken smirk plastered on his face as he waved off the working women who lingered in the doorway. His bloated form staggered under the weight of excess, his coin purse jingling as he barked orders at the men accompanying him. They were thugs, no more than street scum hired to make Boros feel important.

Conrad's eyes followed Boros as he moved, Conrad's heartbeat steady, his breath controlled. His hand brushed the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath his cloak, but he would not need it tonight. The hidden blade strapped to his forearm would do the job.

The blade had been a recent gift, freshly forged by Corlos the blacksmith. Corlos, now a trusted member of the Lionheart family, had worked alongside Richard to craft the perfect assassination weapon. It was sleek, silent, and deadly—like Conrad himself. It was a mark of trust, a symbol of his role within the family. Richard had seen to that.

With a silent grace, Conrad slipped from the shadows, weaving through the alleyways parallel to Boros' path. He knew the man's routine, his drunken tendencies, and precisely when he'd make a wrong turn into the quieter, darker streets of Lannisport.

And there it was—the moment. Boros veered away from his men, muttering something incoherent as he stumbled into an alley to relieve himself. His thugs, too engrossed in their own conversation, failed to notice. Conrad moved quickly, his feet making no sound on the cobblestone as he followed Boros into the alley, his presence masked by the shadows that cloaked him.

As Boros leaned against the wall, his back exposed, Conrad was already there—silent, swift, deadly. In one fluid motion, he pressed his left hand against Boros' mouth to stifle any scream, and with his right wrist, the hidden blade shot forward from under his cloak.

The steel slid into Boros' neck with precision, severing his throat. Boros' eyes bulged in shock, his body going rigid as blood poured from the wound, coating Conrad's glove. The man let out a muffled, desperate gurgle, but it was already over. His body sagged, and Conrad eased him to the ground, ensuring there was no sound to alert the others.

Conrad knelt beside Boros, his heart rate as calm as if he had just taken a stroll. He wiped his hidden blade clean on the man's coat, retracting it into its housing with a soft click. He glanced at Boros' lifeless face for a brief moment, his expression impassive. Another threat to the Lionheart family, another disruption, removed.

He moved swiftly, his movements as fluid as the night itself, leaving no trace of his presence. Conrad melted back into the shadows as Boros' men finally noticed their leader was gone. By the time they discovered the body, the assassin was already long gone, a ghost in the night, his mission complete.

The Lionheart family would sleep a little easier tonight. Peace was once again restored in Lannisport, but Conrad knew it would be short-lived. There were always more threats, more men like Boros who thrived in the dark corners of the city. But he would be ready for them—silent, unseen, and deadly.
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Third POV: Underboss of the western district