Seducing the Conqueror

*CANDICE*

"GIVE me your profit for today," a fat man dressed in fancy clothes and shining jewelries said to the man in front of him.

"Please, Mr. Thompson. I promise I'll pay you next week. I really need this money for my daughter's medicine. Please, Sir. Spare us for today," the poor guy pleaded. He's wearing rugged clothes and his face looked too old for his age. He's only on his thirties but he looked twenty years older than that because of his hard labor.

"I don't care even if your daughter is on the verge of death! You owe me and I demand payment! If not for me, you won't even have any place to sleep!"

I raised my eyebrow. ‘If not for him? Really? He's making his business look like he made a charitable deed! Ha! He must be kidding.’

Mr. Thompson is known as the owner of most of the rental houses here in Marienne, the city of residency. He's one greedy man. I feel pity for Mr. Brown, the rugged-dressed man. Mr. Brown is a shoe maker and a widower to five young children. His wife died two years ago due to Pneumonia. And now, her daughter Maria, a seven years old pale-skinned girl is suffering with the same illness.

"Please, Sir. Have mercy on us."

Mr. Brown knelt in front of Mr. Fat Greedy Pig and clung to his pants. The latter just shove him off like some piece of dirt.

"Business is business. If you won't pay up, I'll drag you and your whole family out of my building. You don't want your family to stay outside this cold night, do you?" Mr. Thompson held out his hand demanding for the money. Mr. Brown was left no choice but to give his only money to this greedy pig. Just after the poor guy handed the money, I saw how Mr. Thompson smirked triumphantly as he turned away from Mr. Brown.

Many of Mr. Thompson's kind resides in this city and I bet, even outside this corrupt city. Those sickly bastards are my entertainment. They make this job of mine worthwhile and fulfilling.

Mr. Thompson turned to a dark alley. I swiftly followed him—making no sound, making no mistake. I pulled out my weapon—a fishing line. Step by step, I watched my prey carefully. I matched my breathing to his. I matched every step he makes.

Before we reached the darkest part of the alley, I tied one end of the line on someone's pipeline. And as soon as Mr. Thompson stepped on the shadows of the alley—I tossed the other end of the fishing line over the dead lamp post and wrapped the line around Mr. Thompson's neck. I dashed away from him—back to the piping lines—while holding the fishing line, lifting him to thin air. His overweight body seemed like a fly caught in a spiderweb, wiggling its way out of his death.

But I won't let him live—for I am the spider meant to catch and eat these pesky fat filthy flies around the city.

I stepped back a little, pulled the string as hard as I can in just one swoop, and lifted him up until his head reached the lamp. A loud thud was heard as his head banged to the cold broken lamp. He kept on wiggling for a bit—still trying to loosen up the string that's choking him. But that only made things worse for him. I pulled the string up and down, increasing the pressure on his throat. And not a moment later, his body finally gave up.

I immediately let go of the line and his overweight body slammed the cold cement. I hurriedly collected the fishing line and dragged his body in the corner. I took every jewelry he has—everything that has worth—including the money he took from Mr. Brown.

As I took his necklace, I smirked at his poor state. His eyes are as red as blood. His saliva is drooling in each corner of his mouth. Her neck is full of wounds—wounds from the fishing line, and wounds he got from his own hands. His nails turned purple and a bit bloody from trying to remove the wire strangling him.

I want to make fun of him—really. But I take my job seriously.

I put him on a large sack—breaking all of his bones just to fit him inside. I carried the sack on my shoulder and went to the dirtiest part of the city—Area 48, also known as the dumpster area.

I threw the sack on a sinkhole without a second thought. No one lives on Area 48 so I don't need to worry whether someone might see me. And besides, the only ones who has the guts to go in this stinking place are the slaves—who either forages for leftover foods, or hired by the palace to collect and dump the city's garbage. They don't give a damn on what shady business you have in Area 48. They'll let you be even if you were killing someone in front of them.

After my business on Area 48, I hurriedly run on the roofs of the city—towards the shabby old apartment on Six M Street. I entered a window on the fifth floor and left the money Mr. Brown gave to Mr. Thompson, together with some gold coins I got from him. I put it on the study table near the bed where the pale-skinned girl is sound asleep. I also laid an ace card beside the money. It has a black heart on it instead of the usual red one.

I positioned myself on the window of the room.

"Get well soon, Maria," I whispered, then flew out of the building.

❀°˖✧˖°✿°˖✧˖°✿°˖✧˖°❀

I STAYED at the top of the bell tower, watching the city filled with colorful bright lights. People are buzzing; excited to go home to their love ones, excited to finally have some rest. Everyone looks so carefree.

"Ah, Marienne looks like a peaceful city. It's really deceiving. I wonder how many of those smiles are real, and how many are rehearsed?"

There are eight major cities in this kingdom: Marienne, Belmoure, Aquaria, Galopica, Rosseria, Esdeathe, Hammoth and Illbirth—the place where I came from, the city of slaves. It's been a decade since I last set foot on that city—but I never miss that place.

I now reside on Belmoure, the capital city. Together with my foster father, we live as a normal family. We're neither rich, nor poor—well at least, not in the eyes of the citylanders.

I'm in Marienne just because of my mission: to assassinate Thompson Mcgoulgar. And now that I finished my job, I spend the rest of the night loafing around—stargazing—waiting for my next mission.

I was enjoying the night breeze when a Barred owl came to me. It has a combination of dark gray feathers and ash gray feathers. It has huge pitch black eyeballs and a yellow beak. It is one of our messenger owls.

I took the small tube tied on his feet and sent him back.

THE CROW WILL FALL AT THE RIGHT TIME. TOGETHER WITH ITS FLOCK, THEY MINGLE WITH THE SEVENTY-FOUR DOVES IN THE AREA.

This is a message pertaining to a meeting. The crow symbolizes the leader of our group: the Black Heart Rebels; while the flock pertains to us: his soldiers and commanders.

My lips curled into a smile. "Nine in the evening at Area 74 M. Got it."

I ate the paper right after I finished reading it.

We have absolute rules that must be followed on all times:

Don't be late.

Don't hesitate.

Never leave traces.

And never get caught.

If you ever get caught, be prepared to die—either by your own hands, or by the hands of the Black Heart Rebels.

Because Black Heart Rebels does not allow any mistake. We don't have a heart to forgive. IT IS DO OR DIE.

And that's what makes our family strong—and unbeatable.

That's the kind of soldiers I, Candice Claire Montgomener, handles and reign over.