Our van slowed down, its wheels crunching gravel as it made a sharp turn away from the noisy main road. We weren't heading for the military district or the palace, but rather skirting around an old neighborhood that had long been abandoned by the rapid development of the Imperial Kingdom.
In front of us stood a sad-looking Gothic building. An old, abandoned church with stone walls that had begun to blacken with moss and broken stained glass windows that gaped like toothless mouths.
Hilda turned off the engine. Silence immediately enveloped us.
"Get out, Five," she ordered without turning her head, her hands busy tidying up the files on the dashboard. "Go straight to the lobby. I have to park this in the underground garage for repairs."
Without arguing, I grabbed my bag and jumped out.
The air here felt humid, dusty, and smelled of death. It was only natural. Our organization, "The Numbers," had spread a very effective rumor over the past ten years: that this church was cursed. That anyone who entered here would hear the screams of the souls of priests who had been tortured to death.
It was a good ghost story. Scary enough to keep away mischievous children and homeless people, but ridiculous enough to make holy knights unwilling to waste their time investigating.
I pushed open the giant wooden door.
The sound of rusty hinges echoed, as if welcoming the return of a sinner.
Inside the church, it was still the same as it had been three years ago when I last left here on a mission. Broken long benches were scattered about, headless angel statues, and thick dust danced in the moonlight that streamed through the leaky roof.
Ironic. A place that was once built to worship life, now a nest for those who take lives.
I walked straight towards the main altar. My footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor. Behind the old pulpit, its wood already rotten, was a statue of the Goddess of Light, crying.
I felt the bottom of the statue's eyes, finding a small hollow invisible to the naked eye. My fingers pressed it.
Beep.
The floor behind the altar vibrated softly. Not with a rough mechanical sound, but with the subtle hum of high-level magical technology. A stone slab shifted, revealing a spiral iron staircase leading into the darkness, illuminated by futuristic blue neon strip lights.
This contrast always made me smile wryly. This church was like a medieval ruin, but underneath it was like the pinnacle of future technology.
I descended the stairs. The deeper I stepped, the colder the air became. The smell of church dust slowly gave way to the scent of ozone, cold metal, and freshly brewed coffee.
Basement. The Numbers' Operational Headquarters.
As soon as the access door opened automatically, I was greeted by the sight of a spacious and sterile lobby. The walls were made of clean white metal and the floor was shiny black marble.
There was only one noticeable change.
At the reception desk, the long-haired woman with the ice-cold stare who used to greet me was gone. In her place stood a young woman with short, shoulder-length blonde hair. She was busy filing her nails when the door opened.
Her eyes widened when she saw me. "Ah! You... you must be Five?!" she exclaimed, slightly panicked, quickly hiding her nail file. "Welcome back! Master Hilda sent us a notification of your return!"
"New employee?" I asked briefly.
"Y-yes! I just started last month. My name is—"
Wush!
Before the girl could finish her sentence, my instincts screamed. There was a sharp movement of air from the direction of three o'clock.
Without thinking, I tilted my head to the left and turned my body halfway around.
TANG!
A dagger was stuck deep in the metal wall, right where my head had been a split second ago. The knife vibrated, humming softly.
"Your instincts are as sharp as ever, huh, Five?"
I turned to the source of the voice.
There, leaning casually against a pillar in the lobby, stood a tall young man with messy brown hair. He wore a black sleeveless leather vest that showed off his scarred arms. In his hand, he twirled another dagger with terrifying skill.
"Three," I said flatly. "You still give such a warm welcome."
"You're not going to die anyway."
The man chuckled, walked closer, and pulled his knife from the wall. Three. My close friend, as well as my eternal rival in close combat. If I was the type of killer who relied on precision and technology, Three was the type who enjoyed sword dancing and blood splatters.
"How are things in the outside world?" he asked, putting his arm around my shoulder roughly. "Three years at the border and no return, you must have some exciting stories."
"Just boring work," I replied, gently pushing his arm away. "Hot and dusty. I want to take a shower and sleep. My master said there's a new mission later."
Three snorted. "Another mission? The old man up there really doesn't give us a break. Sorry, buddy. As a welcome home gift, I really want to help. But I can't help you this time. My schedule is full of training new recruits."
"It's okay. I'm used to being alone."
"You're so cold. If you're always like that, you won't be popular with the girls."
Suddenly, I felt something odd. Not a sound, not a movement. Just... a presence that suddenly appeared behind my back.
Reflexively, I tried to elbow backward, but a pair of small hands had already wrapped around my waist, hugging me tightly.
"I got him!" whispered a cheerful voice from behind me.
I sighed deeply, lowering my guard. "Let go of me, Seven. I smell like dust and sweat because I haven't showered in over a week."
I turned and saw the girl. Her short purple hair swayed cutely, a large sunflower clip perched on the side of her head, contrasting with the tight black combat uniform she wore. She smiled widely, her eyes narrowing.
Seven. She was only fifteen years old—one year younger than me. But she was a monster when it came to infiltration. Her natural ability to eliminate her presence made her nearly invisible, even to magic sensors.
"Welcome home, Five!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "Souvenirs? Any souvenirs?"
"They're in my bag," I replied. Her face immediately lit up.
I looked around the lobby, which felt a little... empty.
"By the way," I asked, looking at Three and Seven alternately. "Where are the others? One? Two? Four? Six?"
Seven's smile faded slightly. Three sheathed his knife with a click that sounded loud in the silence of the lobby.
"One and Two are still on long-term missions," Three explained, his voice a little more serious. "They've been shadowing members of the imperial family since you left. You know, the Crown Prince has been paranoid lately. Four was sent to the Eastern Continent six months ago, he said there were problems with illegal trade syndicates there."
"And Six?" I asked.
There was a moment of silence.
"Six is dead," Three replied softly.
My heart skipped a beat.
"It happened a year ago," Three continued, his eyes fixed on the marble floor. "It was a border mission for the Kingdom of Nus in the far north. The girl encountered something that was beyond the intelligence reports. We couldn't even bring her body home."
I fell silent upon hearing this. The border of the Nus Kingdom was the Oval Kingdom, which was outside the control of the Astra Empire. Was there something there?
Six. The quiet girl who was four years older than me. She must be twenty years old now. She liked to knit in her spare time and was the best poison expert we had. As far as I remember, she was close to a man with black ponytail hair who always said he would become the Duchess of the Nus Kingdom.
The bitter reality hit me again. This is our destiny.
"The Numbers".
We are not just hired killers. We are "Numbers". Ghosts created by the dark side of the Astra Empire to maintain the balance of the continent.
We have no names. We have no human rights. We were gathered from the dregs of society, unwanted by anyone.
Just look at us. Three is the illegitimate child of a Duke of the Santaria kingdom who was thrown into a dog kennel. Seven was sold by his own parents to a slave market for a bottle of alcohol and a piece of bread. One and Two are war orphans whose minds were brainwashed.
And me?
I stared at my reflection on the metal wall.
I don't even have a sad story to tell.
My past is empty.
Ten years ago, my master found me in the snowy mountains of the Kingdom of Nus. He said I was surrounded by a pack of wolf carcasses. I was found standing there, emaciated, my hands covered in blood, with no memory of my name, where I came from, or who my parents were.
My master said I had suffered severe head trauma that caused amnesia. But he also said I had talent. A terrifying talent for killing for a child my age.
So, he brought me here. He fed me, trained me to wield a knife, and gave me a new name.
"Five." Of course, with another name, "Leon."
"Enough," I broke the silence, chasing away the shapeless shadows of the past. "Let the dead rest in peace. We who are alive still have a mission to complete."
Three patted my shoulder again, this time more gently. "That's a good attitude. Go get some rest. Your master will call us soon. Because I also came here immediately after hearing that I would get a new mission."
I nodded, then walked towards the dormitory corridor.
However, deep down in my heart, this fatigue was not only physical. Something was stirring inside me. A strange feeling that this mission would change everything. That "Five" might soon find something more terrifying than Six's death.
*****
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