The Draemir territory stretched to the south of Tiara castle, opposite that of the Great Green Forest. Yet even here, the influence of one of the five forbidden regions was evident.
Ancient and tall trees loomed skyward, their massive trunks and thick canopies blocking even the dim moonlight that should have illuminated the narrow path below.
The only mark of civilization was the expensive pathway, carved at great cost in gold coins, though it was barely wide enough for a single carriage to pass.
Along this desolate road, a grand carriage bearing the twin sigils of a howling white wolf and roaring black panther thundered past, moving forward at a reckless speed.
Not far behind, multiple horses galloped at an even greater pace, carrying hooded men who exuded thick bloodlust.
"Fire the arrows!" shouted their leader, and the first volley rained down.
Most arrows struck the carriage's rear or landed on the ground, narrowly missing the three knights who rode in its shadow.
While the assassins were preparing their second volley, a child's scream pierced the night from within the carriage.
But that wasn't what mattered.
Following that scream, the carriage reins suddenly snapped loose!
Freed of their burden, the two horses surged forward with newfound speed while the carriage—robbed of its driving force—began to slow dramatically.
The sudden change caught the pursuers off guard.
Three of them, too close and too fast to alter their course, slammed into the decelerating carriage with bone-shattering force. Their horses shrieked, bodies tumbling in a chaotic mass of limbs and broken equipment.
The carriage itself, built to the grand standards of House Grim, merely shuddered before sliding sideways until it crashed into a massive tree trunk with a thunderous impact.
But not all the pursuers were caught unaware.
Of the thirteen original, ten managed to alter their course in time, and they immediately spotted two horses breaking away—one carrying a maid, the other the original carriage driver. Each carried a robed figure too small to be anything but a child.
The young master and young miss were escaping!
As the maid and driver galloped in opposite directions, the three knights who had been protecting the carriage turned to block the remaining pursuers.
It was a desperate escape plan but a clever one.
The leader of the pursuers, frustration evident in his voice, realized they were being forced to split their forces, giving at least one of the children a real chance to escape.
"Don't let them escape!" the leader roared, his voice carrying the weight of command. And even when he knew he was playing right into their plan, he had no choice but to divide his forces.
"Split into three groups!"
The pursuers divided on his order, moving with the precision of trained knights rather than common assassins. Three veered after the maid, another three after the driver, while the leader and last three remained behind to deal with the three escort knights who were blocking the path.
The escort knights formed a triangular formation, with Gerald, the most experienced, taking the middle position.
Even though they stood at a low rank, they were knights of House Grim—they were strong!
But their pursuers weren't pushovers either—rather, they were even stronger.
The attackers charged at full speed.
Roland, the youngest knight, swung his sword to meet the first strike.
Steel rang against steel, the clash of blades sharp in the silent darkness.
The moment their swords met, Roland knew that these weren't normal bandits. The way they wielded their swords was like that of trained soldiers.
Two broke away to attack Roland from the sides while a third pressed from the front. His horse pulled back, leaving him dangerously vulnerable.
"Roland, duck!" Gerald's warning came just in time.
Roland dropped flat against his horse's neck as a blade whistled through the air where his head had been a moment ago.
Before he could recover, an attacker rammed his horse into Roland's mount at full force. Both crashed to the ground in a cacophony of armor against dirt.
Mathis, the last of the escort knights, engaged next, blocking three attacks from different angles, his sword moving in swift, precise arcs.
For a moment, he managed to hold his ground—until the leader of the attackers stepped in.
The difference in skill was immediately apparent.
His attacks came too quick, too smooth.
Mathis only managed to block two strikes before the third cut deep into his sword arm. His weapon dropped, and a powerful kick sent him crashing from his saddle.
Gerald, the last standing knight, fought now with brute force but with experience. Unlike the younger knights who tried to match the attackers' speed and strength, his movements were measured and precise, forcing them to waste energy against his unyielding guard.
"Not bad, old man," the leader of assassins sneered, stepping in for another attack.
Gerald remained silent. He knew victory was impossible. His only goal now was to buy time—every second he held out was valuable.
The leader also saw through his intent.
"Noble, but useless." He raised his sword as his men surrounded Gerald. "Time to end this."
They attacked in unison from three sides. Gerald's blade flashed as he blocked and dodged, but he couldn't sustain the defense forever. A sword slashed his leg, and another cut into his shoulder. A powerful blow finally knocked him from his horse.
The leader approached, his sword pressed at Gerald's throat, revealing a cruel smile. "Blame yourself for picking the wrong mast—"
But before he could even finish his words, an arrow thudded into his back.
"Argh!"
He spun around with his men, only to see three more arrows flying toward them. The shots found their marks, dropping two more of the attackers.
And the source of those arrows was a young boy standing on the top of the broken carriage, who held a bow that seemed too large for his small frame.
Yet his aim had been deadly.
"You little…" the leader growled, momentarily forgetting that Gerald was behind him.
And that was all Gerald needed. The next instant, he drew his hidden dagger.
Though the leader noticed, he didn't concern himself—he was far stronger and faster than these guards. He'd earned his rank through power and skill. Even if Gerald's attack were to succeed, he could easily defend himself using his ability.
"You think these cheap tricks will wo—" He tried to activate his Blood Crest, but nothing happened.
A moment later, his eyes widened as a sudden realization struck.
The arrows… were coated with the Soul Sealer.
"I picked the right master," Gerald smirked before he plunged his dagger into the leader's throat in a swift motion.
The leader's eyes widened at the piercing pain. But before he could react, Gerald withdrew and struck again.
His body failed him, collapsing as he clutched at his throat.
In that final moment, for whatever reason, he recalled the words that were carved on Victor's forehead.
'You are dead.'
He never imagined those words would be meant for him.
As his vision blurred, he saw his men, also poisoned with the soul sealer, meeting the same fate while the young boy jumped down from the carriage.
'What a devious child!'
That was his last thought before death claimed him.
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