Without the power of their Blood Crests, the remaining assassins fell quickly. Gerald led the charge while two knights supported him. Caught between Renard's deadly arrows and the knights' blades, the leaderless assassins crumbled swiftly.
After the battle, Gerald approached Renard. "Young master… what should we do now?"
A veteran knight of twenty years seeking direction from a fourteen-year-old—yet no one questioned it. Roland and Mathis stared at Renard with something between fear and reverence, as if they were staring at a ghost.
Then, the sight of another maid emerging from the half-destroyed carriage with Aria in tow made them marvel at their young lord's cunning. He had outmaneuvered the assassins at every turn.
It started with Victor's corpse propped on horseback as bait. Then, the bow—a weapon they'd never seen the young master use. When he laid out his plan, they thought he'd lost his mind. Cutting horse reins while hiding inside the carriage? Sending the maid and driver fleeing as decoys?
The terror on their faces had been plain when Rennard had approached them.
The maid had clutched her apron while the driver's hands had trembled on the reins. Neither wanted to play bait for assassins.
"It'll be brief," Renard had assured them. "You only need to ride for a short while, then drop the cushions and slip away."
The maid found her voice first. "But, young master, what if they catch us?"
"They won't," Renard's eyes held a calculating gleam. "Once they realize the cushions are decoys, they'll turn back. There's no point chasing servants when their true target lies elsewhere."
He had pulled out a small pouch. The clinking of coins was soft but persuasive. "Upon your return to Tiara Castle, this reward will seem small compared to what awaits."
Still, they had hesitated.
Renard had then played his final card. "The knights will hold them back, buying you time to escape. You have my word."
The maid and driver exchanged glances. Their fear gave way to cautious hope. Gold could buy comfort, after all. And with knights watching their backs…
They had nodded, sealing their part in his deadly game.
The ruse had worked perfectly. The assassins had split up, leaving only four behind. Even then, the soldiers feared death—they weren't nearly strong enough to face the assassins.
But that was until Renar's arrows began flying.
Every assassin struck by an arrow had turned powerless and collapsed within moments. They couldn't understand what the young master had done, but it was all they needed. If they couldn't handle the rest, they'd be ashamed of calling themselves knights.
Even now, they wondered—how their young master had devised such a plan.
Had he always been this wise and sharp?
"We can't rest," Renard said, finally lowering his bow. "Those who have gone after the maid and driver might return."
Renard knew for certain that they would return. There wasn't a 'might' about it.
The maid and the driver weren't loyal enough to risk their own life, so it was only a matter of time before they would drop the facade.
They had to prepare before the assassins returned!
Just as he was thinking about ways to counter them, his eyes landed on Aria, who was now awake, watching him with her eyes wide open and trembling in the maid's arms.
The bloodshed had been too much for a child. But there was nothing Renard could do about it.
He had to survive with whatever means possible!
"Gather the bodies and burn them."
The escort knights and Gerald blinked at their young lord's order, wondering if they had heard him wrong.
Unfortunately, they hadn't.
"We will stay here," Renard added.
Since the assassins had pursued the false trail, it would be foolish to follow them towards Draemir's territory—they'd soon realize the deception and return. Following the mermaid and driver would mean walking straight into a tiger's den.
But staying here was just as dangerous.
The knights just couldn't begin to fathom what their young master was thinking or what his devious mind was cooking.
Had they been too quick to trust his judgment? Still, they had no choice but to obey. It was the young master who had kept them alive until now.
Surely, he would have a plan.
'Surely… right?'
_____
The Lord of the Dreamer Territory was turning 65 this year, and the entire region buzzed with excitement. A grand martial competition was scheduled to take place at the festival, which promised to gather the strongest warriors of the Grim House.
For fighters, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to cross swords with the elite and learn from the best.
Jin wasn't about to miss such an opportunity.
So here he was, trekking toward the Dreamer Territory—on foot, no less.
He hated carriages; they made him queasy, and he'd never seen the point in mastering horsemanship. Walking was simpler, faster and far more reliable—for him, at least.
But there was a problem!
It had been ten long days since he set out from the Grim House border. The soldiers stationed there had claimed the journey to Draemir would take six or seven days on horseback.
Yet, treading even faster than horses, here he was, still miles from his destination. And he had no idea why.
He wasn't worried, though, if he just continued to walk in the same direction, he would make it by the time of the competition.
The chill of the night deepened, seeping through Jin's clothes and biting at his skin.
After two sleepless nights, his eyes were staging a rebellion, threatening to shut close at any movement.
Jin was about to call it a day and maybe find a rock that didn't look too murderously uncomfortable when it happened.
BOOM!
The thunderous crash echoed through the forest, unnatural and jarring.
Jin froze, his senses flaring on high alert.
"What in the world?" he muttered. "Did a carriage slam into a tree or what…?"
He had no idea just how accurate his guess was.
Nevertheless, his curiosity won over caution, and Jin broke into a jog toward the source of the sound.
But navigating this forest was like trying to search for a needle in a haystack. The trees were enormous, their thick trunks like walls, and to make matters worse, each tree looked the same in the dim light.
Even with his 'good' sense of direction, Jin struggled to pinpoint the source of the noise.
But then he saw it—a thin column of smoke spiraling into the night sky.
It seemed like a signal, deliberate or not.
Jin decided to follow the direction of the smoke and quickened his pace, his steps crunching through leaves as he closed the distance.
When he arrived, his breath hitched.
A boy—no older than fifteen—stood in the midst of the wreckage.
The firelight flickered across his face, casting deep shadows. But it was the scene around him that sent a chill through Jin.
Two knights were desperately fighting the hooded figures, their bodies already riddled with wounds. Burning corpses lay scattered, their forms twisted and grotesque in the firelight. Numerous hooded figures wielding swords and daggers surrounded the boy.
The boy was also wielding a sword. A sword too big for his frame!
It was smeared with blood, and even his clothes were soaked wet with it, which terrifyingly didn't seem to be his own.
But his eyes…
They were the coldest thing Jin had ever seen.
For a moment, the boy was locked in the battle, his expression unreadable. Then, as if sensing Jin's presence, he turned his gaze.
Their eyes met.
Jin couldn't place the look in the boy's eyes. Was it pity? Regret? Whatever it was, it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.
"You're here."
The boy's voice cut through the silence, steady and calm.
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