Assassin Reincarnated Novels & Stories

Her heart stopped for a moment. “Y-you?” He sighed. “Didn’t I tell you that I wouldn’t answer to this name before? I would always insist that they call me Asier.” She gasped. “B-but—” ‘Asier didn’t know most of the things that you could do now.’ “What is it?” “But–Asier was—” “Ah–are you wondering why I’m different than before?” She nodded. “I was reincarnated as a baby and grew up in an environment where I could learn the things that you were interested in. That way, there would be a higher chance of us running in the same circle.”

the assassin talked to Richard furiously. “I’m Richard not Bonny Hanzo, yes I’m a highly class top assassin before but I already resigned as assassin. What do you think why I shoot you right now without hesitate? You killed my allied, and now you are the one who targeted my young master huh?!” Richard replied to him. “You! that bastard! Joshua Decker was your young master? What a shame, I didn’t knew that you’ve change your profession from killer to body guard? Even you’ve change your profession your still a killer! It can’t be change! Your a killer forever Bonny Hanzo!”

I shouted and pushed him back as I got to my feet, “You ruined them and as further torture you made Nok their caretaker. They’re down at the barrier struggling to survive and fight because you decided they were better used as tools to shame Nok rather than-” “Ashai,” he was still smiling like I was the one overreacting, “There have been many cases where I’ve been told I needed to be more cruel with my punishments and this was one of those times. Assassins, that’s what they were. A group of ten assassins that were all barely two centuries old. The youngest of them was just a few years older than Garmesh is now. I am fine with people uniting against me. I have every right to be labeled a monst

The man she had watched on a live feed being killed while she was tortured in an underground basement in Middle East. The man who called her up, the minute she got out of the hospital upon returning home to tell him that he’s alive. The man who asked her to stage an accident for her mom, to make the enemy believe she is also dead. The only thing that they didn’t count on was for Ashley, deciding at the last minute to accompany her. The J.A.K.E., which comprises the initials of her stepdad and mom’s first and second names. Amelia Jane Walters. Edward Keith Bishop.

As far as he might be concerned, he actually felt like he was that humble urbanite skilled worker past his forties who's caught up with dealing with his little studio. That game changing evening, he just got together with his previous companions for certain beverages. How and for what reason did he awaken in Norton Lorist's body the following day? The humble studio proprietor was stunned and hysterical. Luckily, the body unto which his spirit had resurrected had been seriously harmed and couldn't move in bed for two entire months, giving him sufficient opportunity to reorient himself and acclimatize the recollections of the body's proprietor. What's more, given the first proprietor's contemp

“Ah, dear niece, so this is what an average day in the life looks like… waltzing with your kill and staring right into their eyes right before you snuff the light out of it… brilliant!” It was obvious he wanted a reaction out of her, and on a very good day, he would have gotten nothing, but today wasn’t exactly going as planned for the plus-sized assassin. Barbara moved with a speed that would have stunned the girl she used to be. In one fluid motion, she was behind him. She didn't bother shedding the server's jacket; she simply reached beneath it. The cold steel of a ceramic knife was pressed firmly against the pulse point of his neck before he could say another word.

I had to give him a big thanks from the bottom of my half-demonic soul. Turned out, he wasn’t just dying. He was on a rack, and nobody was even keen on torturing him. He had burns, injuries—the whole package, really—but no torturer by his side. Made sense. Why would there be one? Without stopping to think, I removed the assassin from the rack and threw him on my back. He groaned, clearly in pain, and seemed to regain consciousness, only to lose it once more, as I pressed a point on his neck.

At the very least I can take advantage of this situation to familiarize myself with the situation I am in right now, the whole Abyss Harold thing I mean… To summarize, I died and got reincarnated as a character from an RPG I used to play at my free time back when I was a company lawyer… The character I have been reincarnated as is called “Satiana Von Evanson”. White silver hair and Ember eyes, what you can call proudly a true beauty, even though I am still 16. I looked at my face on a dirty mirror glass after removing the sheet that was covering it.

I scoffed, staring intently at the TV. ​He was simply a prick who deserved to die. I had merely gotten rid of their trash. ​I threw myself onto the couch, taking one big gulp from the bottle in my hand, not bothering to change out of my clothes. My apartment was a mess; I rarely had time to take out the trash. ​My name is Evelyn. I work for an Organization that specializes in weaponizing young girls into deadly assassins and assets for big shots who want to clean up messes. ​I snapped out of my thoughts when my watch began beeping. It meant I had another assignment. This made me frown; I wasn't supposed to take up another job on the same day as a hit.

The hazel in his eyes was being bleached by the white heat of the chamber. "I'm losing... the mountain," he groaned, his obsidian fingers digging into the resin floor until the glass-like surface cracked. "Ivy, I can’t... I can’t see the snow anymore." The dread of being forgotten by the man who had branded me his own was worse than the heat. If he forgot the mountain, he forgot why he chose me. He would become the "Assassin 01" again, a perfect tool with no anchor. I felt the vulnerability of a girl losing her only mirror. Without his obsession, who was I? Just a collection of silver-tech and trauma. I clutched his face, my thumbs pressing into his cheekbones, trying to force my existence b