Kyros had turned so that his back was to the nearest wall and he could see the one man to his right and the two that had descended from the rooftops to his left. He was confident that his skills were good enough to take two of them. They would not go down as quickly as the first ruffian, but they would fall. Three, however, would be a challenge, would leave his defenses open as he scrambled to fend off attacks from three directions. But the assassin was not one to run from a fight. He flipped his daggers over in his hands and began gauging the measured movements of their attackers. Just before the two men to his left rushed him, Kyros caught sight of the flash of a blade… a blade in in the hands of Xanthippe. The maidservant did not look uncomfortable holding the small dagger in the least as he ran to confront the man to his right. But before Kyros could even begin to puzzle this out, he was forced to parry two attackers at once; the skill of these two would not allow Kyros to split his focus. He was aware of the fight to his right, but he could not spare a glace that way.

The assassin’s hands worked independently of each other, parrying slashes, deflecting thrusts, working high and low as the thugs searched for a hole in his defenses. But Kyros, trained by the Creed that raised him, moved with a speed that shouldn’t be possible. While he’d started on the defensive and backed against a wall, the Kyros soon had the two other men back stepping. Kyros was a patient fighter though; he let them fall into a rhythm and kept to the more defensive parries, learning their strengths, learning their weaknesses, letting his opponents tire themselves – for they had come rushing in with all speed and did not measure their attacks. It was a subtle shift that finally had the two men on the defensive and Kyros poking holes in their blocks. A high slash to with the left hand, a low thrust with the right. The slash was deflected out wide, but the thrusting right hand blade connected with flesh and dug deep. If he’d been a prideful man, Kyros would have smiled at this and pressed forward in a haste to gain more ground. But he was not, he was a trained man that was raised to be part of a whole, and so he kept his wits and only fell deeper into his training. He twisted his right wrist, which twisted the dagger that was buried deep in the other man’s ribs, then yanked it out and ducked low, avoiding a high slash from the left. While down, he swept his foot out and knocked both men off balance as they tried to avoid the sweep. And the killer sprang forward, in one fluid motion he slipped between them, – one man was clutching at his wound and groaning in pain as he tried to stem the flow, but it was a futile attempt as his lung had been punctured - flipped his daggers into a reverse grip, and stabbed both blades into the back of each opponent’s closest legs as he passed. Kyros dived into a forward roll that brought him back up to his feet and left him facing the men as they fell, clutching at their torn legs. They tried to turn around, to face the man they’d targeted this day, to defend themselves. But the assassin was quicker. Kyros fell over the men like a predator to prey. One quick stab into the side of each of their necks punctured the artery there, creating a spray of blood that Kyros didn’t quite manage to avoid. Luckily, he always wore as dark of clothes as he could get his hands on; blood didn’t show up as well on black or deep reds or even some ruddy browns.

As the men lay dying, their life blood staining the dirt crimson, Kyros spun around to face Xan and the other man. Only… there was no other man anymore. The ruffian’s body lay in the dirt with his comrade that had fallen first, and the Leventi maidservant was standing there without an ounce of terror in her features, standing just before the man she’d obviously killed, and killed with ease as there was no blood on her peplos. Kyros lowered his blood-stained blades, but he did not put them away as he looked hard at the girl, grey eyes narrowing dangerously, remembering the way he’d seen her holding that knife of hers. ”You are more than a lady’s maid, aren’t you.” His tone was even, confident, and while he’d phrased it like a question, he said it as a statement. There was no way a servant of nobility could fight with such ease. Not to his knowledge – though he had only been living in the city for a few months. Maybe there was some tradition he was not aware of, but he doubted it, as the Creed had trained its fighters to be knowledgeable of the Taengean customs, so they could blend easier. Become invisible. No… there was more to this girl than what she led him to believe. She had caught on to their pursuers as easily as he, and now this…