ROAD TO GLORY

In Duhamel's twenty-eight years of living, he had achieved a great number of impressive things for a nobody like him. Well, a nobody until he joined the ranks of the cleaners.

Before he became the youngest boss to lead the Viking branch of the cleaners, he had been a poor and abused runaway from home. He had been tormented by the shadow of his abusive father who used to beat young Duhamel with his horsewhip.

One day, when young Duhamel wasn't so young anymore, his father made the mistake of whipping an already starving Duhamel. It hadn't ended well for the old man. Hunger and frustration had driven Duhamel to the brink of insanity and he had tackled his father to the ground, wrestled the horsewhip from him, and then whipped the old man until he had passed out.

Duhamel had then escaped from home and the city itself. As a street child, he had learned the art of survival whiles on the job, and as he grew, his knowledge broadened about the inner workings of the streets. The real streets. The one that came alive when the sun went to sleep. The one that held the Viking gangs.

The gangs made a lot of coins stealing, Protecting, smuggling and even killing for a fee. As a young boy who was always hungry and who didn't have a permanent lodging, the dangerous lifestyle hadn't been a deterrent so long as food was assured.

His hatred for authority drove him to create his own gang which had been as pitiful as a bunch of twelve and thirteen-year-olds playing gangster could be. Duhamel's gang had been far from impressive, but as a young boy of fifteen, it had been his pride, and his rag tag team had done just fine.

The gang was too small to pose a problem for the big ones so they ignored it, and it became too large with time for the small and newer gangs to try taking it over. By the age of eighteen, Duhamel had made quite an impression on the streets and the big gangs were beginning to take him seriously.

Before they could do anything though, the cleaners extended their hand out to Duhamel, and him knowing just what kind of people the group was and fearing what a rejection would bring to him had taken them on their offer which was to join their ranks along with his entire gang.

Duhamel had agreed and given up his gang. He had been a sharp student who learned the art of assassination quickly. His climb to the limelight as one of cleaners' top assassins was done within two years and had been driven by his pure thirst for a worthy challenge.

He had assassinated commoners, castle workers, and merchants (mostly merchants) so many times that he had lost count. When he had been bored of doing the same thing over and over again, he had invoked the cleaner leader-challenge ritual and had put a contract on the branch leader's head and forwarded it to the motherhouse of the group which had accepted and then put Duhamel on the job.

The branch manager had been alerted of the possible hit attempt on his life by the motherhouse but Duhamel's name had not been mentioned like the group's tradition required. This was to give the new blood a chance against the much older and more experienced lead assassin.

It was believed in cleaner circles that, if the lead assassin, with all his skills and experience, couldn't smell a traitor, survive an assassination attempt, and then weed out said traitor, then the lead assassin was a weak fool who did not deserve his position or title as branch leader.

His death at the hand of the challenger was justified as far as the cleaners were concerned and the one who assassinated him was to become the new branch leader.

With Duhamel's old gang members already in the cleaner circles, taking over the branch group had been easy. All the known close associates of the branch leader had been drugged to sleep and Duhamel had walked into the leader's office without resistance to meet him prepared.

The fight that ensued had been bloody and hella noisy. The sounds of breaking furniture, muffled screams, and pained cries had permeated that pensive night air as the neutral members of the Viking branch of the cleaners, along with Duhamel's old gang members stood outside and waited for what seemed like hours but which in reality was just a few minutes before the leader's door opened and a bloody, weak but victorious Duhamel had emerged from the room as the new branch leader.

Duhamel had been on only a few assignments since then. Most of them being high priority cases with specific instructions, sometimes even straight from the motherhouse itself. But in all of his wildest dreams, not once had the young assassin even thought of cleaning the king. Even though he had long since learned to stop using the word 'impossible', it was what Duhamel's mouth spewed out when he heard the officiator's Request.

"Impossible!" Duhamel had Said, and the officiator had smiled.

"No, it isn't. You forget that he won't be at his castle. He will be here, in my colloseum. And as much as he will bring security worthy of his position, in my colosseum, my design is law and I assure you that you will find no resistance different from what you're used to when dealing with castle officials." The officiator reassured.

"This is the ultimate test for someone like you who thinks he has reached the peak in assassin circle. Just imagine the glory that killing Erlick will bring you. You will be a legend in the underworld." The bushy-bearded man told the assassin who just nodded.

The allure of making it as one of the greats in assassin circle was too great to ignore. How long had he wanted a challenge worthy of his name?, Since he had killed his first victim. That was the answer. Also, the officiator seemed to be ready to pay any amount for the job. This was Duhamel's one Chance to make it as one of the greatest assassins of all time whiles raking in gold. A smile manifested on his face as he made his decision.

"One million gold pieces," Duhamel mentioned his price and the officiator's face fell for a second before re-arranging itself to a toothless smile.

"Deal." The officiator offered his hand and the assassin boss took it with a pleased smile.

"Deal," Duhamel said as he shook the officiator's hand. The motherhouse was going to take forty percent of the money from this job, but whatever the percentage he had left, Duhamel knew he was rich. His path to glory was defined and he had a new challenge to prepare for. Who knew the life of an assassin could be this profitable.