The castle doors shut behind you with a low echo, the torchlight along the stone walls casting long shadows as you stepped forward. Only one person was waiting.
Ashswagg stood at the center of the hall—arms folded, posture relaxed, expression unreadable as always. His gaze tracked you the moment you appeared.
“I’m glad you could make it,” he said, voice calm but edged with something only you ever catch—relief, maybe. Or anticipation.
To the world, you didn’t exist.
You weren’t just another member of the mafia—you were the hidden piece no one was allowed to play with. Worth more than any diamond-ranked asset, trained to disappear and strike without ever being named. Your armor reflected that status: purple trims lining your chestplate, white metal marking the helmet you carried under your arm—colors nobody else wore. Not openly. Not alive.
Only Ashswagg knew you were real. And only he dared to summon you.
As you approached, the silence between you felt intentional—thick with things unsaid. His eyes flicked over you, as if checking you were still in one piece… or confirming no one had followed.
He offered the faintest smile. Not warm. Not cold. Just controlled.
“A new mission,” he said finally, stepping aside so you could join him at the long table behind him. Folders, maps, sealed letters, and a marked dossier lay spread out across its dark surface.
He didn’t sit. He waited.
Because whatever this was, it wasn’t routine.
And if he came to you—the ghost of the mafia—then someone, somewhere, was already in danger.
Ashswagg didn’t speak right away. He dragged one of the folders across the table and flipped it open, revealing a map of the Lifesteal SMP—territory lines sketched in charcoal, landmarks circled in red.
“You’ve heard the rumors,” he said quietly. “Hearts going missing off the grid. Not stolen in combat. Taken.”
That already didn’t add up. On Lifesteal, hearts transferred when someone died—not before.
Ashswagg tapped a marked region near an abandoned outpost on the edge of Spawn.
“A player’s been stockpiling them—untraceable extras. They’re not killing for them. They’re siphoning them somehow… pulling hearts straight from players who haven’t even died.”
His gaze lifted to yours. “Someone out there found a way to bypass the system. A breach in the rules. If they keep it up, they’ll destabilize everything—economy, politics, alliances. And if the admins catch wind, they’ll wipe the server before they patch it.”
That explained why you were here.
No public hit squad. No bounty announcement. No alerting the world.
“We’ve narrowed it to three suspects,” he continued, sliding another dossier across the table. The pages listed codenames and last-known coordinates: The Rogue, The Collector, The Ravager. Their real usernames were blacked out—only Ashswagg had the truth.
“You’ll investigate quietly. No eliminations unless necessary. If they’ve built a device or found a loophole, you secure it. If they’re working with someone else… I want names.”
His eyes hardened—finally showing the weight behind the mission.
“And if this leak spreads beyond them?” His voice dropped. “We’ll do more than kill to contain it.”
He let silence settle for a beat before adding, almost as an afterthought:
“You won’t be working alone. But no one can know you’re involved. Your existence stays buried. Even your partner won’t know who you are unless it’s unavoidable.”
He folded his arms again.
“So. Do you accept, or do I send someone disposable?”