Chapter 799
As soon as they crossed Swallowstone Street, Carissa felt an oppressive, murderous aura surround them. The killing intent was palpable, accompanied by a scent of blood detectable only to someone attuned to such darkness. Carissa recognized it instantly—from that fateful night at Valor Estate, when the suicide soldiers had descended like shadows. Her mentor had described their brutal training: survivors emerged from a sea of blood and death, forged in the corpses of beasts and men. And no matter their skill, they always carried a heavy aura of slaughter and a lingering stench of blood.
“Everyone, stay alert!”
Her voice cut through the wind, reaching everyone in the group. Eyes narrowed as they gripped their weapons, sensing the slightest rustle in the air. After crossing the intersection, a faint but sharp tremor filled the atmosphere—the unmistakable sound of swords being drawn, carried on the northern wind.
“Stop!” Michael raised a hand, halting the formation. “Assassins! It’s dangerous!” he shouted, dispersing the nearby civilians. The few townsfolk—mostly merchants heading home—paused in confusion before fleeing in fear.
Suddenly, a sword sliced through the air, toward Carissa. Leaping swiftly from her horse, she deflected the blade with her spear and sent it flying. In an instant, about ten masked figures descended from both sides, clad in tight-fitting clothes, weapons drawn and aimed at Carissa. Their intent was singular: to kill her. Carissa’s expression hardened as she sprang into action, her spear slicing through the air. She leaped over a flurry of blades, bringing her weapon down with earth-shaking force. “Kill them!” Michael shouted, rushing forward, his sword clashing against an incoming blade. Ten capital guards remained to protect the carriage while the rest charged into the fray. With her spear, Carissa pressed the attack, forcing the assassins to retreat step by step. Sparks flew as her spear met steel, the clang of metal ringing relentlessly.
Carissa moved with the speed of a fierce wind, sweeping away autumn leaves. The five assassins facing her struggled to keep pace. A single falter from any of them would have resulted in their swift defeat. But for now, the five kept her occupied, while Michael found himself overwhelmed by a single assassin—he needed help.
The remaining capital guards pursued the other four assassins. Eighteen against four might seem daunting, but their numbers and elite training provided an advantage. Despite the assassins’ vicious techniques, no Capital Guard was injured.
After some time, the battle reached a stalemate. While handling her five attackers, Carissa began to feel the strain, but she wouldn't let them gain the upper hand or approach the carriage.
Michael glanced back, surprised. He had witnessed Carissa's martial prowess before; battling five at once shouldn't have pushed her to this point. Yet, he had no time to help, as his own fight demanded his full attention. The capital guards faced increasing difficulty against the four remaining assassins, nearly sustaining injuries several times, but those guarding the carriage intervened just in time. This, however, drew more guards into the skirmish, leaving only five to protect the carriage. Michael sensed something was amiss, particularly in the assassins' fighting style—brutal moves and high leaps, as if seeking an opportunity or preparing to escape.
Meanwhile, Carissa seemed oblivious to the danger, still struggling against her opponents.
He shouted, “Commander Sinclair, they aren’t here to rescue anyone—they’re here to kill!”
No sooner had Michael spoken than an assassin hurtled through the air, sword aimed at the carriage. Michael watched in horror as the blade sliced through the carriage curtain. He was too late to intervene, and he heard a woman's piercing scream from within.
Then, everything stopped.