As the World’s Greatest Hitman, Reborn had been unmatched, unparalleled in his skills for over a decade.
So of course he would fall head over heels for the first sniper who surpassed him.
Reborn crept quietly through the shadows of what the London underground world referred to as the Citadel. This was a bit of out his normal hunting grounds, but Reborn earned his title of World’s Greatest Hitman. How could he be the World’s Greatest if he only stuck to Japan and Italy?
So here he was, accepting a high profile hit here in London.
He crouched, shuffling through the shadows. So far he encountered no guards. He wasn’t sure if it was extreme foolishness or just supreme confidence.
Reborn turned the door knob slowly, slipping into what was large empty center room that would lead to the private family suites. The door click behind him, ever so softly.
And a bullet buried itself in the door next to his head, missing him by mere centimeters.
He hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t sense anyone.
“That was a warning shot,” a voice, male, said, echoing down the hallway. “Don’t know why you’re here, but leave. The next one won’t miss.”
There was a frightening amount of truth in those words. That shot was made, from the long stretched of the hall, at least thirty meters away given the way the voice echoed, at night, in the dark with the barest glimpse of moonlight to light the way.
Reborn couldn’t confidently say he could deliver a similar shot.
He tipped his hat and bowed.
Better to know when to conceded defeat.
It seemed Noctis Lucis Caelum had some powerful bodyguards after all.
