Kingston Kassa was a waiter at a well-known club on the streets of Rome. In the eyes of many, it wasn't a respectable job, and the salary was meager, but Kingston was quite satisfied with his occupation.

BUZZ!

At that moment, the phone in his pocket suddenly vibrated. His expression changed slightly as he quickly fished a pitch-black box out of his trousers. On its display was the icon of a blood-stained dagger.

"Another mission, huh? Oh, my darlings, it seems I have to leave for a while. What a pity," Kingston said, his eyes narrowing into a cold, dangerous sneer as he looked at the icon.

"Oi, Kingston, what are you dawdling for? Can't you see a table of guests just left? Hurry up and clean it for me. If you keep dragging your feet, don't blame me for withholding this month's salary!" A short, fat man barged over, cursing. This was the club's owner, who seemed to have taken a dislike to Kingston and constantly found excuses to deduct his wages.

BANG!

In the next instant, a dark shadow of a leg shot out, accurately and forcefully kicking the man's protruding beer belly and sending him flying. The club erupted into a commotion of screams.

"Hey, Fatty, I've had enough of you for a long time. So, I'm honored to inform you that you're fired! Hahaha!" Kingston ripped off his waiter's uniform, tossing it aside to reveal the solid, dark muscles beneath, drawing the gazes of many lonely men and women in the club.

But by then, Kingston had already left the club, swiftly making his way to a place he would never normally go—a dilapidated factory.

Inside the abandoned factory, he entered a basement and quickly received information about the mission through a high-tech device. Oh, yes, he did indeed have another identity, one that couldn't be exposed to the light of day.

That identity was Kingston, the assassin!

A Four Star Level assassin of the renowned Italian organization, Blood Blade!

Blood Blade assassins were divided into five levels, from one-star to five-star, in ascending order of strength. A key difference from other assassin organizations was that every Blood Blade assassin had an agent within the organization responsible for contact, mission assignments, and taking a commission.

As a 'star assassin' who had climbed to the Four Star Level faster than anyone in recent years, Kingston was naturally trusted by his agent. His commission rate was also very low, among the lowest in the organization.

I wonder who the target is this time? Three million Euros for me... doesn't that mean the client paid over six million? They're quite generous... I wonder what deep-seated hatred this is about... Kingston mused, casually brewing a cup of coffee while he picked up the printed file on his target. But the next moment, as his gaze fell upon the document, his hands trembled violently.

CRACK!

The coffee cup fell to the floor, shattering into pieces.

The scalding, freshly brewed coffee splashed onto his slipper-clad feet, but he seemed completely unaware. An emotion of pure terror spread across his dark face like a blossoming flower.

"This, this, this isn't..."

Kingston stared in horror at the photo of the faintly smiling Eastern man that had fallen to the floor, his entire body trembling uncontrollably.

He remembered it very, very clearly. Once, while waiting for a high-ranking figure outside the Brad Family Castle, he had personally seen a young Eastern man, at most in his twenties, wandering leisurely inside the castle, humbly accompanied by the great and noble Master Syria, Chief Steward of the Bragad Family.

The young man had even seemed to notice his furtive gaze, turning his head to meet his eyes with a smile. That faintly smiling Eastern face had been seared into his mind like a tattoo. From that day forward, he never dared to forget it.

This is no joke. He wasn't stupid. He knew perfectly well that if even the mighty Master Syria had to accompany someone with such humility, the young man with the Eastern face must have an immense background. After all, that was Master Syria, the great and noble Chief Steward of the Brad Family! How many people in all of Italy could command such a figure to personally escort them on a walk?

But now... now, what was he seeing?

He saw that his own organization had dared to accept a mission to take this man's head!

Oh, God, are you kidding me?

Crying out in his heart, Kingston immediately took out the small black box. After inputting a few symbols and numbers, he heard a BEEP, followed by a low, mechanical voice. "Oh, Kingston, what's up? Did you see the file I sent? This is a big one. Kill that guy, and you'll get three million..."

"Big one? Big one my ass! You damn bastard, are you trying to get me killed? Connect me to the Marquis of Toronto, now! I don't have time for your nonsense, or we'll both be meeting God!" Kingston shouted, brutally interrupting him.

"...What are you talking about? Sorry, Kingston, I don't think I understand. Besides, with your clearance, you cannot speak directly with the Marquis of Toronto," the voice on the other end replied slowly after a stunned pause.

But Kingston had no patience for this. "Kieran," he said urgently, "I advise you to forget about that damn clearance right now unless you want to find a bullet in your head for no reason. Hurry up and connect me to the Marquis of Toronto. I'm in no mood and have no time to talk with you."

A long silence followed from the other end. Just as Kingston's patience was wearing thin, the black box finally emitted another BEEP.

Immediately, a chilling voice spoke. "Who is this?"

"The great and respected Marquis of Toronto, greetings. I am Kingston, a Four Star Level assassin with the organization. I believe I have a very, very serious matter to report to you, one I think you'll be interested in hearing," Kingston said, feeling immense pressure but forcing himself to speak.

"A Four Star Level assassin?"

The owner of the chilling voice sounded somewhat surprised that someone in the organization would dare to break the rules, allowing a Four Star Level assassin to bypass protocol and speak directly with him. Nevertheless, he didn't hang up. Instead, he said impatiently, "Speak. I'll give you ten seconds."

"I received a mission today. The target is an Eastern man in his twenties. I believe I've seen him before inside the Brad Family Castle. At the time, Master Syria was accompanying him," Kingston said rapidly.

HISS!

After he finished speaking, he was horrified to hear the Marquis of Toronto draw a sharp, gasping breath through the black box.

The Marquis's voice then came through, trembling slightly. "An... an Easterner? In his twenties... and Mr. Syria was accompanying him?" As he spoke, the Marquis of Toronto's face was already a mask of horror that he couldn't suppress.

From Kingston's description, he already knew who he was talking about. An Easterner in his twenties, whom their own Chief Steward, Mr. Syria, would respectfully accompany... The thought made him tremble violently. These details could only describe one person: the great and respected Mr. Chen from Huaxia of the East. Who else could it be?

Someone issued a hit on Mr. Chen through our Blood Blade?

"Marquis of Toronto, are you still there? Did we get cut off?"

Kingston then realized the call had been disconnected. He let out a sigh of relief and murmured, "Looks like I managed to save my life."

He wasn't a fool. He understood just how terrifyingly powerful a person must be for the mere description of them to make the Marquis of Toronto gasp in shock. Fortunately...

BANG!

"What did you say?! Someone wants to kill Chen, and the hit was ordered through Blood Blade?"

Within the Brad Family's estate, in a meeting room of a high-rise building, Old Brad's expression changed the moment he received the message from his subordinates. He slammed his hand on the table in front of him, shattering it completely.

Assassinate Chen? Are they joking? The last assassin organization that tried to kill him was wiped out, without a single trace left behind...

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