The horses whinnied and reared in terror as the coachman fought to steady them, his voice trembling. Shadowy figures emerged from the frost, surrounding the royal carriage with calculated precision. Dressed entirely in black, their faces hidden except for their cold, piercing eyes, the assassins moved like predators closing in on their prey. Each carried dual daggers, their crimson-tinged blades glinting ominously. More figures descended silently from the trees, their movements swift and deliberate, forming an unyielding ring around the carriage, sealing off all routes of escape.
Inside the carriage, Alonso lounged casually, his face betraying no concern. He glanced at the gathering assassins through the window and smirked. "Well, they just keep coming, don't they?" he said dryly, his voice tinged with amusement. "There must be quite the price on your head, Your Majesty. They've brought an army just for you."
Marcel, sitting tense and ready to spring into action, reached for the carriage door. "Your Majesty, stay here. I'll take care of this."
Before he could exit, Alonso raised a hand, his tone calm yet commanding. "Relax. Let the ladies handle it."
The king placed a firm hand on Marcel's shoulder. "He's right. You're still injured. Leave it to Alonso's companions."
Lyra stretched theatrically, a mischievous grin lighting up her face. "Finally, some entertainment!" she exclaimed, stepping gracefully out of the carriage. Maria followed, her movements measured and deliberate. She rested a hand on the hilt of her katana, her star-shaped eyes glowing faintly with a vibrant purple hue, radiating deadly intent.
The assassins, now numbering over a hundred, shifted uneasily as the two women emerged. Their leader, a tall man with a commanding presence, stepped forward. His dual daggers, etched with intricate runes and glowing red, marked him as someone of significance. His voice boomed across the tense silence, cold and unforgiving. "Kill them all. Leave no one alive."
Lyra's laughter rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Numbers? Ha! How adorable," she mocked, her voice dripping with playful disdain. "Come on, then. Let's see if you can keep up."
The assassins surged forward as one, a dark tide of death. But before they could reach the carriage, Maria moved. In a single, fluid motion, she unsheathed her katana, releasing a crescent wave of glowing purple energy that tore through the first wave of attackers. Bodies fell in clean, precise halves as blood sprayed into the air, staining the frosted ground.
Lyra raised a hand, summoning a swirling dome of wind around the carriage. The barrier shimmered with energy, its gale-force winds forming an impenetrable shield. "Try and break this," she taunted, her voice a mix of mockery and challenge.
With a blur of movement, she dashed into the fray, her fingers tracing the air as razor-sharp wind blades sliced through the crowd of assassins. Each strike was surgical, her movements elegant yet lethal.
Meanwhile, Maria was a vision of grace and precision, cutting down one assassin after another with calm efficiency. Her blade moved like a living extension of her will, each swing purposeful and deadly. "Is this all you've got?" she mused coldly. "how disappointing."
Inside the carriage, the king and Marcel watched in stunned silence. Marcel broke the quiet, his tone tinged with awe. "Your Majesty, bringing Alonso to our side might just be the best decision you've ever made. These women… they're incredible."
The king nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the battlefield. "I underestimated them," he murmured. "We may have gained more than just an ally in Alonso."
Outside, the leader barked new orders, his voice strained with frustration. "Forget the women! Focus on the carriage! Everyone, channel your mana and target a single point in that wind barrier. It's bound to weaken eventually!"
Lyra glanced back at him, her smile widening. "Oh, you poor thing," she said, her tone almost pitying. "Do you really think this is some low-grade spell? Go on, give it your best shot."
Thirty assassins stepped forward, their daggers glowing brighter as they infused them with mana. In perfect unison, they leapt toward a single spot in the wind barrier, their blades striking with deadly precision. For a moment, the barrier rippled, as though straining under the concentrated assault. Then—
The wind retaliated. Blades of air erupted from the point of impact, shredding the attackers to ribbons in an instant. Blood and flesh scattered across the ground as the bodies fell lifeless, their crimson remains swept away by the relentless gusts.
Maria paused briefly, her glowing eyes scanning the remaining assassins. "You should have run while you had the chance," she said, her tone icy and final.
Lyra chuckled, flicking her wrist to send another wave of wind blades slicing through the remaining attackers. "See? Told you numbers mean nothing."
The leader's confidence crumbled as he watched his men fall like leaves in a storm, panic flickering in his eyes. "This… this isn't right," he muttered, retreating a step. "The intel was wrong. We were supposed to face Marcel, not… them."
Desperation fueled his voice as he barked orders. "Number 4, take care of the red one! Number 10, handle the swordswoman!"
From the crowd of assassins, two figures emerged. A hulking brute with a physique like a mountain leapt forward, landing with a thunderous crash in front of Maria. Simultaneously, a wiry, slender man, his movements quick and serpentine, darted toward Lyra, landing lightly before her.
The slender man sneered, his voice oozing arrogance. "I'll have the pleasure of killing you, red woman," he hissed, his twin daggers glowing crimson as he lunged toward Lyra's chest with deadly intent.
Lyra stood perfectly still, her expression calm, almost bored, as the dagger closed the gap. She didn't even flinch. The instant the blade made contact with her, it shattered into countless pieces, the fragments clinking uselessly to the ground.
The slender man froze, horror spreading across his face. "What the hell? That was reinforced with mana!" he screamed, disbelief and fear gripping him.
Lyra's lips curled into a cold smile. "Oh, you poor thing. You thought that would work?" Without hesitation, she channeled mana into her fist, her hand crackling with energy as wind swirled violently around her. She stepped forward and delivered a devastating punch to the man's chest.
The impact sent him hurtling backward like a ragdoll, but that wasn't all. As he flew, a wind tunnel formed around him, its interior lined with razor-sharp wind blades. The man's screams echoed through the air, but they were cut short as the blades shredded his body into ribbons. By the time he reached the end of the tunnel, only chunks of flesh and a shower of blood remained, raining down onto the battlefield like a gruesome storm.
Meanwhile, the hulking brute charged at Maria, his massive arms outstretched to grab her. Maria sidestepped with ease, her movements precise and graceful as she evaded his grasp. The brute growled in frustration, his heavy steps shaking the ground beneath him.
Maria's hand shot to the hilt of her short sword. With a sharp draw, a wave of arcane energy erupted from the blade, slashing across the brute's midsection. He staggered back, clutching his bleeding stomach but refusing to fall.
"You're tougher than the rest," Maria remarked, her tone calm and unimpressed. "But not by much."
The brute glanced at his wound, his face twisting in pain. Fury overtook him as he roared, "You bitch!" and charged at Maria once more, his fists raised to crush her.
Maria's star-shaped eyes glowed brightly as she gripped her long katana in her right hand and her short katana in her left. In a fluid motion, she raised both swords above her head, the tips pointed skyward. Her movements were almost serene as she activated the plasma function on her blades. A faint hum filled the air as the edges glowed a bright blue. She channeled her arcane energy into the weapons, causing the zigzag patterns on the blades to shine an intense purple.
As the brute came within range, Maria's arms moved in a single, decisive slash. The plasma-charged blades cut through him effortlessly, splitting him cleanly in half. His body crumbled, falling to the ground in two lifeless pieces. But Maria's attack didn't end there.
The force of her slash unleashed twin arcs of glowing arcane energy that shot forward like waves, tearing through the ranks of the assassins. The arcs cut through everything in their path, leaving behind a trail of devastation. The glowing energy surged toward the leader, who raised his twin daggers in a desperate attempt to block the oncoming attack.
The runes on the leader's daggers flared brightly, glowing red as they absorbed the impact of Maria's strike. He gritted his teeth, pouring all his mana into the weapons as the pressure mounted. For a brief moment, it seemed he might hold. But with a loud crack, the daggers shattered into fragments, Maria's arcane wave dissipating just inches before reaching him.
The leader stumbled back, his eyes wide with fear and disbelief as the shattered remains of his daggers clattered to the ground. His confidence evaporated as he stared at the two women, realizing the stark truth: he was utterly outmatched.
The leader was about to call for a retreat when a rhythmic drumming began to echo across the battlefield. Dum! Dum! Dum! Dum! The sound resonated like a heartbeat, growing louder and more ominous with each beat.
Alonso leaned forward in the carriage, his brow furrowed. "Hmm… Do you all hear that drumming noise? Or is it just me?"
Marcel, still clutching his side from earlier injuries, nodded with unease. "No, I hear it too. It's getting louder."
The king's face hardened, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a serious expression. "This sound… I know it."
Outside, Maria's star-shaped eyes flickered with an eerie glow. She shifted her stance, one hand on her katana. "Someone's coming. I can feel it."
Lyra tilted her head, confused. "Feel someone? I can't sense a thing."
Suddenly, the drumming intensified, each beat pounding louder and louder. Dum! Dum! Dum! The sound seemed to reverberate through the ground itself.
Then, chaos erupted. The assassins began screaming, their voices raw with agony. Their eyes turned blood-red as veins bulged grotesquely from their faces.
Blood seeped from their noses, eyes, and mouths. Even the leader fell to his knees, clutching his head in torment.
Alonso peered through the window, his expression shifting from confusion to intrigue. "What in the world is happening out there?" he murmured, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Lyra, standing guard, narrowed her eyes at the carnage. "This... this isn't ordinary magic," she said, her tone unusually serious. "It's rare. Very rare."
As the screams reached a fever pitch, a figure emerged from the distance. He stood tall—nearly seven feet—with an aura that commanded attention. His face was obscured by an oversized, ornately carved Nigerian masquerade mask adorned with vibrant feathers at the top. The mask seemed impossibly heavy, forcing him to tilt his head slightly to balance it. His body, bare except for a skirt of woven leaves, glistened with a light golden brown hue. Beside him floated an animal-skin drum, pulsating with an ominous energy.
The man stopped, his voice booming yet laced with a casual arrogance. "Hmm, I couldn't just pass by and watch you attack these beautiful mamas," he said, gesturing lazily toward Maria and Lyra.
His tone was obnoxiously self-assured, as though he was the star of his own performance.
Maria frowned, gripping her sword tighter. "Who the hell is this guy?" she muttered under her breath.
The man smirked beneath his mask, raising one hand to the floating drum. With a single, deliberate beat—BOOM—the battlefield erupted into horror. One by one, the heads of the assassins exploded like overripe watermelons, spraying blood and gore across the landscape.
Even the leader, still clutching his head, met the same gruesome fate. In mere moments, all the assassins were dead, their lifeless bodies crumpling to the ground.
Alonso's eyes widened slightly, though his tone remained composed. "Interesting… Your Majesty," he turned to the king, "you said you recognized this sound. So, do you know who this man is?"
The king, now leaning out of the carriage window, burst into laughter, his earlier tension melting away. "Ha! Of course I do. That's Chaka, the SS-ranked adventurer. Arrogant as ever." His tone held a mix of admiration and exasperation.
Chaka stretched his arms, his voice dripping with self-importance. "Well, no need for applause. I'm just doing my duty, eh?" He chuckled, the feathers on his mask swaying as he tilted his head smugly.
Maria and Lyra exchanged glances, both equally unimpressed. "What a showoff," Lyra muttered, though a small smirk tugged at her lips.