Time Travel? Rebirth? I Win This Time!

As night fell, both sides, exhausted from a day of fierce combat, still had a mountain of tasks to address: tending to the wounded, burning the dead, and preparing for the next round of defenses. The camps on both sides were chaotic, only returning to silence late into the night.

Mike Bai dragged his weary body to his bed. "Sassan, pour me some water," he called out. When there was no response, he looked around curiously. Sassan, who was usually so prompt, was nowhere to be found.

"Sassan? Where did she go?" Mike Bai scratched his head, puzzled.

Meanwhile, in Saladin's camp, a shadow moved silently through the darkness, slipping into an ordinary soldier's tent.

"My little master, you're still too kind," Sassan muttered softly to herself. She pulled the dagger from the chest of the last sleeping soldier and, ignoring the blood splattered on the ground, peered through the gap in the tent door, gazing at Saladin's royal tent.

The royal tent stood alone in the center of a vast clearing, surrounded by tight security. Every few meters, two Mamluk cavalry stood guard, with elite soldiers patrolling constantly. There were even five hidden sentries positioned around the perimeter, leaving no blind spots in sight. Even during the changing of the guards, the soldiers were escorted by officers, making it nearly impossible to infiltrate.

Sassan observed the royal tent quietly for a moment, then vanished into the shadows.

She reappeared outside a supply tent. Unlike the heavily guarded royal tent, this one, with no critical supplies inside, was only guarded by two men.

After creating a slight disturbance, Sassan managed to separate the two guards and, without a sound, brought them down.

Inside the tent, she scanned the cluttered surroundings, finding nothing of importance.

She poured flammable oil over the scattered goods and then used a thin rope to secure a torch above the pile. A second torch was placed just beneath the rope.

Once the setup was complete, Sassan quietly exited, leaving only the faintest trace of smoke rising from the ropes.

As the minutes ticked by, the temperature gradually increased. The rope began to lose its strength, turning to charcoal. Then, suddenly, a burst of flames erupted.

The fire quickly spread across the tent, consuming everything in its path.

"Fire!" Soldiers around the camp were roused from their sleep and rushed to douse the flames. After two hours, the fire was finally brought under control.

Meanwhile, the guards outside the royal tent remained undeterred. They knew their duty was to protect the Sultan, and the fire would be dealt with by others.

"A killer!" A wounded junior officer staggered toward the royal tent, blood dripping from his body. Behind him, three figures in black robes sprinted toward the tent, their movements erratic and their faces twisted with madness. They muttered incoherently as they approached.

The officer, limping from his wounds, was barely a few steps away from the royal tent when the black-robed figures caught up with him. One of them struck him with a blade, sending him crashing to the ground, blood pooling around him.

The Mamluks guarding the royal tent remained calm, studying the figures in black. The signs were clear: they had consumed a substance from India, known only to the Assassins.

"Kill them!" The command was issued immediately. The guards moved swiftly toward the attackers, who appeared disoriented and wildly swung their weapons without skill. In moments, the Mamluks' curved swords slashed through the attackers with ease.

But even as they were injured, the black-robed figures showed no sign of pain. They continued to attack with frenzied desperation.

Hearing the commotion, Saladin rushed out from the royal tent, surrounded by his Mamluks.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice anxious.

Upon hearing the explanation, Saladin's face grew pale with fear as he saw the Assassins' strange behavior.

"Then don't wait—kill them!" he shouted, his anxiety mounting.

The Mamluks' commander nodded calmly and dispatched several guards to finish the task. The attackers, already weakened, were swiftly slaughtered.

Saladin watched the bodies fall, relief momentarily washing over him, but a sense of unease gnawed at him.

Then, without warning, the sound of a crossbow bolt cutting through the air filled the silence.

"Thwip!"

The bolt struck Saladin in the chest, its poisoned tip sinking deep into his flesh. Within moments, his face turned a dark, mottled hue, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

"Protect the Sultan!" The Mamluks scrambled to form a protective shield around Saladin.

"Over there!" One of the guards, finally reacting, pointed toward a familiar shape—Sassan, disguised as the dead officer.

Sassan had, after setting the fire, lured a few unfortunate souls near the royal tent and forced them to ingest a potent dose of Assassin's secret drugs. These men had then created a commotion, drawing Saladin out and scattering the guards, giving Sassan the perfect opportunity for her deadly strike.

"Consider this a greeting from the Assassins!" Sassan muttered as she tossed a small, flaming object into the midst of the Mamluks. Thick, foul-smelling smoke billowed from it, enveloping the area.

As the guards stumbled out, coughing and gasping for air, Sassan had already disappeared into the night.

"You worthless fools!" The commander's voice cracked like a whip as he lashed his Mamluks with a saltwater-soaked leather whip, leaving horrific welts on their bare backs.

"Letting someone assassinate the Sultan right under your noses! And now the assassin is gone! What do you have to say for yourselves?" Another strike fell, this time on a different guard.

"What if the real Sultan was in the royal tent? Now, your heads will roll!"

The commander continued to lash out at the guards, anger boiling over. His voice was filled with fury, fearing Saladin's wrath.

"Enough!" Saladin, weak and gasping, raised a hand, halting the punishment. "Let them go. Send them to the front lines tomorrow to make up for their failure."

With a heavy sigh, Saladin walked away, lifting a white cloth to reveal a body resembling his own. The corpse was a perfect match, save for the face, which had taken on a dark, ghastly hue.

Saladin sighed deeply, his voice laden with regret. "Give him a proper burial. And make sure to find me a new double."

Back in the castle, Sassan, pale and weakened, pushed open the door to her room. To maintain her charade as the dead, she had truly been wounded in the back.

"Where have you been?" Mike Bai rushed over the moment the door creaked open, but froze when he saw the gash on her back.

"I went to assassinate Saladin," Sassan replied weakly, collapsing onto the bed and letting Mike Bai tend to her.

"Are you insane?" Mike Bai's voice was filled with both anger and concern. "Saladin is my problem to deal with! You, a little girl, should not be risking your life like this!"

He hastily tore at her tattered clothing, revealing the poorly bandaged wound. Seeing it made his heart ache. Over the years, Sassan had quietly followed every order, never questioning him, and now he felt deeply guilty.

"You mean so much to me. Don't throw your life away like this!" Mike Bai gently applied alcohol to the wound, his hands shaking as he disinfected her skin.

"To give my life for my master is the honor of all Assassins," Sassan gritted her teeth, enduring the pain.

"No," Mike Bai snapped, his tone softening as he looked down at the wound. "You're a person first! You're my Sassan, Mike Bai Adler's Sassan."

He took her hand and pressed it to his cheek, his voice low and urgent. "Promise me you'll never do something like this again."

Sassan, her head turned away in slight embarrassment, nodded, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, my Mike Bai."