Namkhai walked into a big hall. Inside, about a dozen huge men stood in a line. Some had weapons on their backs, others had pistols at their sides. Some wore armor, others tactical gear every one of them looked dangerous. Their eyes were cold, their faces tense.

  Nearby stood some guards and an older man who was explaining something to everyone. His voice was calm and confident, but the whole place felt serious.

  “Why are you late?” the old man’s rough voice echoed.

  All eyes turned to Namkhai.

  “Uh… I was waiting in another pl-” he began, but the old man waved him off.

  “Fine, forget it. You’re lucky, we just started. Stand next to your colleagues.”

  “Alright,” Namkhai said and stepped toward the others.

  Even among these armored and tactical fighters, he looked taller and bigger. Several heads turned toward him, and almost at the same moment one thought flashed through their minds:

  “What a giant.”

  The old man looked over the group.

  “Well, seems like everyone is here. In a couple of minutes Captain Dinar will join us, explain everything, and start the briefing. For now… let’s do a quick roll call.”

  He opened his mouth to continue, but a firm voice sounded behind him:

  “No need.”

  A man in uniform walked into the room. His short hair and posture clearly marked him as military. He stepped forward and all the mercenaries straightened up without thinking.

  “I’m already here,” he said, quickly scanning the room. “I’ll do the roll call later myself.”

  “Oh, Captain, there you are,” the old man said with relief.

  Dinar stopped in front of the line and gave a slight nod.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. Captain Dinar Kovr. I’m responsible for the safety of this building and everyone in it. I’m glad you accepted my request for protection and escort.”

  He paused for a moment, walking along the line.

  “Each of you was chosen for a reason. I’ve read your files, your skills, your reputations, your strength and most important… Your experience.”

  His cold gaze slid across their faces, stopping for a second on each one.

  “From this moment, you’re not just mercenaries. You’re part of my lady’s shield.”

  But after taking one more step, Dinar suddenly stopped. His gaze landed on a figure that clearly didn’t fit in: monk robes, a bald head and a fatuous grin.

  "Who the hell are you?!”

  Namkhai straightened, awkwardly putting a hand to his head as if to salute.

  “I’m Namkhai, Captain,” he said seriously.

  “Namkhai?” Dinar frowned, then looked at the old man and the guards. “Who is this clown?”

  Inside, the monk struggled to hide his excitement: “No way! They hired me as a guard! First day in the city and people already know me.”

  “Isn’t he one of the mercenaries you invited?” the old man asked unsurely.

  “I picked every candidate myself,” Dinar said sharply. “A bald two meter guy with a stupid face? I would definitely remember that.”

  He turned back to Namkhai, his voice full of threat.

  “How did you get in here? Answer fast or we’ll break your neck.” He pulled a knife from his belt without hesitation. The guards and mercenaries tensed, hands going to their weapons.

  Namkhai didn’t flinch and calmly said:

  “Well, your people dragged me here themselves.”

  “And why?” Dinar pressed.

  “To exorcise a spirit and remove a curse.”

  “What nonsense are you talking about?” Dinar shot back, clearly not believing a word.

  The old man, who had been standing a bit behind, suddenly rushed toward the line and brightened up:

  “Oh, so it’s you?” he exclaimed. “The shaman they found recently! I was going to speak with you after the meeting.”

  “You know him?” Dinar asked in surprise.

  “Y-yes. Lady Dana told me to invite him personally. Captain Dinar, may I take him?”

  The captain thought for a moment, then laughed and waved his hand.

  “Heh, fine, take him.”

  “Please follow me,” the old man said shortly, and he and Namkhai walked out of the hall.

  In the hallway, where it was quieter, the old man coughed lightly and spoke:

  “Sorry about that scene. I should’ve come to you right away, but to be honest, I didn’t expect you to look like this.”

  “It’s alright,” he said with a small disappointed sigh. “I had thought, they chose me for some cool mission.”

  “No need to worry,” the old man said gently. “Your task is no less important.”

  "In earnest? That's awesome Namkhai perked up, then added, "By the way, you called me a shaman. That's not right, I'm a monk."

  "Oh? Sorry," the old man mumbled, embarrassed. "To be honest, to me that's almost the same thing."

  "No, that's a mistake. The difference is huge, and I don't particularly like shamans. So please don't call me that again."

  "Of course, as you say. My apologies for that once again."

  They walked down a long corridor until they came to a small door. The old man pushed it open, and they entered a storage room filled with boxes and crates.

  “And why are we here?” Namkhai asked.

  “There’s a special item here. They told me it helps with spirits and curses,” the old man said, bending down to dig through the clutter.

  “I’m fine with my fists,” Namkhai grunted, showing a clenched fist on purpose.

  “Still, it’s a very interesting thing… ah, here!” The old man pulled out a staff wrapped in paper strips with faded writing. “This should be useful to you.”

  Namkhai took the staff, swung it a couple of times as if checking the weight, and clicked his tongue in annoyance.

  “And how am I supposed to kick their asses with this stick?”

  The old man couldn’t hold back a laugh:

  “Haha, you will kick their asses. You’re quite funny, sir monk,”

  “Funny? I’m serious. How else do you expect me to exorcise spirits? Fists work better.”

  The old man smiled slightly.

  “Follow me,” he said, stepping back into the hallway. Namkhai followed him.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  They stopped by a water cooler. The old man turned to him and lowered his voice:

  “So. Your task is to make sure our lady feels completely safe. She… is very superstitious.”

  “Got it,” Namkhai nodded. “So a spirit is bothering her?”

  “Oh no, even thinking about that is scary!” The old man shook his head and pointed at the cooler. “This cooler - she once drank from it and felt a strange taste, like something was in the water. Check it for anything unclean.”

  “WHAT?”

  The old man continued, looking toward a door:

  “And that door it creaks like it’s howling. At night the sound goes through the whole corridor. Maybe an unrested spirit is there. And the toilet, well, that one is just…”

  “Wait a second,” Namkhai said loudly. “You called me to fix your furniture?!”

  “No, no. Not fix it, pray over it.”

  “What?” Namkhai’s eyes widened at the absurdity.

  “Or perform a ritual. Our lady wants a ‘good aura’ around her,” the old man explained calmly.

  Namkhai crossed his arms, lifted his chin, and narrowed his eyes.

  “Are you messing with me?”

  “Aren’t these the services you provide?” the old man asked, honestly confused.

  “Of course not! Today I drove evil spirits out of an entire house, and now you want me to pray over… a toilet?!”

  “I understand,” the old man said with respect. “So the job is too small for a master of your level. Meaning, you refuse?”

  A spark lit up in Namkhai’s eyes. He crossed his arms even tighter and replied calmly:

  “What’s the price?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How much will you pay? This place looks serious, I can tell you have money. And I, as you’ve noticed, am a high-level specialist.”

  The old man tilted his head slightly and asked:

  “And how much do you want?”

  “Ten thousand,” Namkhai said without blinking.

  “Excellent.”

  “What?! I wasn’t done, ten thousand per item,” he added, raising a finger.

  “All right.”

  “Damn, the old guy is tough,” Namkhai thought.

  “So, do we have a deal?” the old man asked dryly.

  “Deal.”

  “Glad to hear it. When you finish, come to me. I’ll be by that door,” the old man said, stepping aside.

  “Got it.”

  While Namkhai was “cleansing” the water cooler from evil spirits, the serious atmosphere in the hall returned. Captain Dinar leaned on the table and raised his voice so everyone could hear him.

  “My boss is a very influential man. Because of that, his family is always a target. We have information that someone is planning an assassination on his daughter.”

  The hall filled with murmurs of discontent. One of the mercenaries, a huge man with a saw instead of an arm, spoke skeptically:

  “Why kill her? Isn’t it better to kidnap her and ask your boss for ransom?”

  “Not everything in this world is about money,” Dinar replied. “The goal might be different: to break a person, to send a message. Only the client knows the motive. Our main job is not to let the killing happen.”

  Another mercenary, wearing cybernetic armor, asked in a businesslike tone:

  “Do we have any data on where this will happen or who’s involved?”

  “Nothing exact. No clear details. Your task is to escort her from point A to point B. I won’t tell you where, but the whole way you must keep your eyes open and avoid even the smallest mistake.”

  Nods passed down the line. Someone checked their ammo, someone tightened their grip on their weapon.

  “Understood. So we act as a living shield.”

  Dinar nodded.

  “And the payment for this job is not small. I’ll take you upstairs to the hallway near her rooms. From this moment, your mission starts.”

  The mercenaries began to move.

  “You really think someone will attack right here?” one fighter scoffed. “You’d have to be insane to break into a place with this much security.”

  “Anything is possible,” Dinar replied. “Even that bald giant who was here earlier might not be who he says he is. Maybe he’s pretending to be an idiot to strike at the right moment.”

  “That giant definitely doesn’t look like some simple fraud,” another muttered, clearly doubtful.

  “That’s why I told the guards to watch him. The cameras in the building track his every move.”

  At that exact moment, a camera in the corner caught a scene. In the hall, by the water cooler, Namkhai was lifting the staff above it and praying. His forehead was covered in sweat, and in his head one thought spun: “Damn, when will that bastard stop staring at me and leave? This is awkward…”

  Around the corner, in the shadows, a guard in dark glasses watched his every move.

  “No one can break in here,” Dinar continued, “but stay alert anyway. Now follow me.”

  The column of mercenaries formed a marching line and followed the captain down the corridor. The room they had just left fell silent: an empty table, a few chairs, lamps.

  And then, the silence was cut by something strange. From the corner, a thick, sticky substance slid across the floor black as tar. It spread into a dense circle, and from it, silently, Phobos crawled out.

  He had heard every word. His eyes were focused, and a smirk crossed his face at the thought of the captain.

  _____

  An hour passed.

  Namkhai smoothed down his robe and walked out of the bathroom, feeling relieved.

  “Heh, all the angry spirits are gone from that toilet… and from me too. Now I just need to get my money.”

  He picked up his staff, fixed his clothes, wiped his wet hands on his robe, and headed to the elevator. To deal with the toilet, he had to go to the eighth floor.

  “Alright, I need the ninth floor to see the old man…”

  Namkhai instinctively paid attention to his feelings. Something heavy was pressing down from the upper floors.

  “Another spirit? No… it doesn’t feel like that house at all.”

  He turned around no one. The guard who had been watching him the whole time was gone, had left about thirty minutes ago.

  “Alright, let’s see what’s there. A strange feeling doesn’t come for nothing,” he thought as he entered the elevator and pressed the button for the 10th floor.

  A message flashed on the screen:

  >>> Access restricted. Key required.

  “Well fine, if not, then not,” Namkhai muttered and pressed the button for the ninth floor.

  The elevator jerked and began to rise.

  But as soon as he reached the right floor, silence hit his ears. No voices, no footsteps. Years of monastery training, meditation, focus, and inner struggle sharpened his senses. Namkhai froze.

  “What a strange aura…”

  He walked to the door the old man had pointed to earlier.

  “So it’s here?..” he murmured, slowly reaching for the handle.

  He stood still for a few seconds, then finally opened the door.

  “Oh, sir Monk, it’s you? Already finished with the ritual?” a familiar voice said.

  At the desk sat the same old man, leaning over the computer screen.

  Namkhai lowered his hand and exhaled.

  “Oh, it’s you. Nothing strange happened while I was shi.. uh, clearing the curse in the bathroom?”

  “No, not really,” the old man answered without looking up. “Did something happen?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I felt something strange upstairs. I tried to go up, but it needs a key. I just don’t understand where you’re supposed to even put it.”

  The old man finally turned to him, his face serious.

  “You shouldn’t worry, sir Monk. That floor is closed for a reason. And it doesn’t need a key it needs a special card, like this one.” He took out a thin plastic card, showed it, then put it back on the table.

  “Anyway… here,” the old man said, handing him a stamped paper.

  “Is this money?” Namkhai asked, taking the sheet.

  “In a way, yes. Go down to the first floor and give it to the girl at the reception, she’ll give you your payment. And now, sorry, I still have a lot of work. I’ll be here till night. And thank you for your effort.”

  Namkhai nodded, glanced at the card still lying on the table, and said shortly:

  “Alright, thanks for the payment.”

  “Goodbye!” the old man called after him. “And please leave your number at the reception. We might need your services again.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Namkhai replied, waving his hand without turning around.

  The door closed behind him, and the room fell back into silence only the soft clicking of keys. The old man was completely absorbed in his work, so he didn’t notice how the plastic card had disappeared from under the monitor.

  Namkhai rushed to the elevator, his heart beating with excitement.

  “Damn, I actually stole that card… I hope the cameras didn’t notice. I know I’m taking a risk, but, I really want to know what’s up there.”

  He stumbled into the cabin, pressed the “10” button, and the screen silently asked for a key.

  He had the card in his hand, but the elevator had no visible slots or locks.

  “How do I insert this?” he said, awkwardly turning the card in his fingers.

  In a desperate attempt to figure it out, he touched the card to a small sensor near the panel.

  >>>Access granted.

  “Ah, so that’s how it works,” Namkhai smirked, feeling the elevator smoothly rise.

  The elevator arrived on the tenth floor, and Namkhai stepped out. The strange aura around him grew even stronger, and he felt excitement waking up inside him.

  But the moment he looked ahead, he saw huge golden doors - massive, shiny, and of course, closed.

  He walked closer and swiped the card across the sensor.

  A red light blinked.

  “Why isn’t it working? So this card is only for the elevator? What nonsense.”

  He pulled the handle, but the door didn’t even move.

  “Can’t break it… must be expensive. They’ll definitely make me pay for it later,” Namkhai thought.

  He lifted his head and suddenly an idea struck him.

  “I got it!”

  He quickly turned around, went back into the elevator, and left.

  Behind those very doors Namkhai couldn’t open, Phobos was standing.

  He held his weapon ready, expecting the doors to burst open at any moment so he could strike.

  “Staff?”

  Phobos lowered his blade, turned, and moved forward.

  Hall after hall greeted him with signs of a massacre.

  On the floor lay bodies of mercenaries and guards some chopped beyond recognition, others simply lifeless.

  At the very end, behind a half-open door, two people were lying on the floor:

  Captain Dinar, pressing a wound on his chest with difficulty, and a young girl, Dana - his ward, and also Phobos’s target.

  Both were breathing heavily, but still alive.

  And it was exactly there, following the trail of blood, that Phobos walked with firm steps.

  He pushed the door it swung wide open.

  Captain Dinar, leaning on the bed, lifted his head. His breathing was shallow, his hand clutching his chest.

  “Who sent you ?” he forced out.

  Phobos didn’t answer. There were no emotions in his eyes only the intent to finish what he came for.

  Dinar looked at him through his fading vision.

  “All the guards… dead. The mercenaries… useless trash… not one of them could even scratch him… who is he? Too strong for a normal killer…”

  “No… please, don’t kill me… please!” Dana’s voice cracked, shaking with fear.

  Pinned to the floor, she tried to crawl back, but she had no strength left.

  “Miss… damn it… I can’t do anything…”

  Suddenly, Phobos’s body tensed.

  A second later, the ceiling of the room exploded, breaking apart from a powerful strike.

  Through the cloud of dust stood Namkhai, with his fist raised the one that broke through the barrier.

  Phobos instantly jumped aside to dodge the falling debris and stopped, taking a fighting stance.

  Namkhai now stood in the middle of the room, blocking the way between the killer and the two wounded.

  Dinar and Dana stared in shock, and Phobos silently kept his eyes on his new opponent.

  Namkhai glanced at the wounded.

  “Good thing there was access to the top attic. Concrete is cheaper than those doors anyway.”

  The captain squinted and recognized the giant monk. Namkhai remembered him too.

  “Oh, it’s that captain. So I saved him? Heh, lucky me. Now I'll beat the crap out of this weakling and earn even more money.”

  Phobos and Namkhai stared at each other, ready to fight.