Inside the carriage, Vivianne drew in a steady breath. Her eyes shimmered gold as she touched the curtain with her fingertips. "Undine."
At her call, a soft glow rose from the floorboards, as though water itself had answered her voice. Droplets formed in the air, gathering and weaving together until a second veil descended over Tempest’s barrier. It’s smoother than the wind, silver-blue and translucent, its surface rippling like a living shield.
The two protections intertwined, wind sharp and untamed, water flowing and unyielding. Together, they wrapped the envoy in a fortress no enemy could breach without great cost.
The knights felt it. The Borgia line tightened their grip on their weapons, their eyes fierce behind polished visors. Behind them, the Wyndham men steadied as well, Anton’s voice ringing low and firm as he gave the last adjustments to his own line. Fear thinned, resolve thickened.
Then the forest stirred.
At first, only the sound of crunching leaves broke the stillness, faint yet deliberate. Then shadows detached themselves from the tree line. Dozens of cloaked figures emerged, slipping from the gloom like predators.
Swords and axes caught the dying light, their edges gleaming with hunger. The air around one of them was fouler than the rest, a miasma of dark magic that seemed to rot the very ground where he stepped.
But the sight that greeted them wasn’t prey; they had already prepared for an ambush. Planning overnight and after taking a whole year wasn’t a year’s budget from Erengrad palace. But what’s waiting for them is a fortress, all ready for them.
The envoy stood ready. At the front, Roxanne sat tall in the saddle, her black horse pawing at the dirt as if it too hungered for the fight. Her long sword angled forward, gleaming in the dim light, a promise of death to anyone who dared step within its reach.
Around her, the Borgia knights closed ranks. Steel bristled in every hand, spears lowered, blades lifted, and shields lifted, and hands locked together with a sharp clatter. When the enemy came within reach, the clash was immediate.
The Borgia line struck like a hammer, their weapons cutting through flesh and armor ruthlessly. Every swing took a life, every thrust drove the enemy back, their formation as sharp as lifted, and Roxanne’s sword.
The ambushers faltered. What they had expected to be an easy slaughter turned into a nightmare. Their steps slowed, hesitation flickering in their eyes as they met resistance stronger than they had ever imagined.
And then there is the barrier. It shimmered faintly around the envoy, layers of wind and water twined together, unseen yet deadly. Arrows hissed from the treeline, but none found their mark.
Instead, arrows snapped in the air, their momentum broken, falling harmlessly at the knights’ feet. Those who tried to push closer felt the shield itself tear into them. Wind cut like invisible blades, slicing through cloth and skin alike, while water struck with the sharp sting of ice.
The barrier did not only hold them back, it punished every attempt to advance, carving thin lines of blood across their arms and faces, a merciless reminder that even approaching is a mistake.
"Get behind them! Strike from the rear—the knights at the back are weak!" Umbra’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp with panic as he barked orders to his assassins.
But Roxanne heard every word. Through Undine’s sight and Tempest’s whispers, she could see him clearly, the way his hands snapped with urgency and the turgency and desperation in his tone. His composure and his confidence are slipping.
Half of his forces had fallen by the hands of the Borgia’s Knights, they tore through their lines like steel through silk, cutting them down with frightening power. The assassins, who once thought themselves predators, are reduced to prey, their defenses unraveling under the relentless advance.
Roxanne’s eyes narrowed, a fierce grin breaking across her face. She rose slightly in her saddle and bellowed, her voice carrying like a war horn over the din of battle. "Mara!"
The name rang out, and at once Mara’s unit surged into motion, shields and blades locking as they shifted to meet the threat. On the flanks, Ian and Rose answered too, their own groups tightening formation, bracing for the strike that was meant to break them.
The assassins broke from the treeline, their movements quick and sharp, shadows darting across the battlefield. Daggers gleamed, poisoned edges ready to cut deep, their aim clear—to strike the envoy from behind where they thought the line was weakest.
But they met a wall.
Mara stood at the center, her sword raised high. With a roar she slammed into the first assassin, steel crashing against steel, sparks flying in the dark. Her knights followed with equal ferocity, shields locking, weapons thrusting through the gaps with deadly accuracy.
On the left, Ian led his group like a storm. His twin blades spun in his hands, fast and relentless, cutting down anyone who dared step into reach. Assassins tried to circle him, quick feet darting for an opening, but his knights closed ranks around him, spears striking in unison.
On the right, Rose’s command is sharp and disciplined. Her line tightened with every step the assassins took, leaving no space for infiltration. Her spear darted out, piercing through a man’s chest with a precise strike, even as her knights mirrored her movements, their shields angled to deflect incoming blows.
Steel rang against steel, the fight thick with sweat and blood. Mara slammed forward with brutal force, knocking an assassin off his feet before her sword drove through his chest.
But on the flanks, the battle pressed harder. Ian’s twin blades flashed, fast as lightning, urgency, and lightning; the assassins are stronger than him and the Wyndham’s knights, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by novel·fıre·net
Daggers clashed against his swords, sparks scattering as he twisted and turned, striking down one only for two more to close in. His knights fought to cover his back, yet the line began to bend.
Rose’s spear cut relentlessly, each strike finding its mark, but the assassins faster than her. They circled wide, slashing low, testing her defenses from every angle.
Her defense groaned under the impact of blow after blow, and the knights under her command pressed closer, their formation shrinking as they struggled to keep the enemy from breaking through.
The Wyndham’s formation trembled. Then a new sound split the chaos—thwip!
From the carriage, a glimmer of green arrowed through the air. Three arrows landed into an assassin’s green chest, and a sharp hiss rose as the arrows pierced the enemy’s chest. The stench was acrid, burning the nose and eyes, the kind of poison crafted not to kill outright, but to cause a torturous death.
Marvessa stood in the wagon’s doorway, her face pale from exhaustion, enemy exhaustion, yet her eyes burning with fierce resolve. In her hands, more arrows with green liquid glimmered, each one filled with liquid death.
"Stay away from them!" she shouted, her voice weak but steady.
The assassins drop to their knees, blood oozing from their eyes and ears and mouths; they drop dead in the most excruciating way possible. mouths; Rose and her knights pressed forward at once, spears striking down the staggering foes. Ian seized the opening too, his blades cutting with renewed ferocity, carving through the distracted assassins before they could recover.
The line steadied. The enemy’s momentum broke.
Marvessa didn’t waste a heartbeat. With her little strength, she leapt down from the wagon and jumped straight toward the fray. Mara’s horse reared as she climbed up, but the knight’s strong arm steadied her. In one swift motion, Marvessa swung herself onto the saddle, sliding in front of Mara and pressing her small frame against the knight’s armored chest.
Without hesitation, she tied herself in place with a leather strap, binding her waist to Mara’s steady body. Her hands trembled for only a moment before she bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing her nerves into steel.
"Let’s kill these trash," she hissed, her voice sharp with fury, "and bring me to the Grand Duchess."
For a heartbeat, Mara stared down at the Marvessa, who looked pale but determined. Then a wide, savage grin spread across her face. She lifted her sword high, the blade catching the dying light, and laughed loud enough for friends and foes alike to hear. "Aye, aye, little wolf!"
With Marvessa strapped tight against her, Mara dug her heels into her horse’s flanks. The beast surged forward, and the two of them became a single force, steel, fury, and venom riding straight into the heart of the assassins’ broken line.
Meanwhile, at the carriage, not a single enemy managed to draw near. The defense barrier shimmered like a wall of living steel, every arrow and blade deflected easily. Those foolish enough to press closer were shredded by its invisible forces, falling back in screams before they ever touched the wheels.
And at the center of it all stood Roxanne. Her body burned in full demonification, dark power rippling from her like heat from a forge. Mounted high, her black horse trampled the ground as she cut through wave after wave of assassins. Each swing of her blade left blood and broken bodies in its wake, her strikes too fast and merciless for the enemy to recover.
The assassins’ numbers thinned with every passing breath. Borgia’s knights pressed forward without faltering, their wall of steel driving the enemy into tighter, desperate corners. The battlefield that had begun in chaos is slowly turning into a carnage.
Roxanne’s eyes gleamed, crimson fire glowing in her eyes. She raised her sword high. "Umbra!" she roared, her voice thick with rage and bloodlust. "Fight me, you coward!" Tempest howled in answer, the wind spirit twisting her cry and carrying it far across the battlefield until it struck Umbra’s ears like a hammer blow.