Chapter 943
Heather lingered outside the room for a long time before slowly walking away, a deep unease settling in her chest. Ever since Harvey returned home, he had seemed like a different person. Several unfamiliar faces appeared in the estate. These strangers ignored her, despite her status as a princess consort. They walked past her without bowing or yielding, as if she were invisible.
The sound of horses' hooves broke the night's stillness, their rhythmic beat jarring in the silent streets. The cobbled roads were deserted; the capital's nightlife was confined to the lively east and west cities, and the areas along the river. The cheer and laughter there never reached the quiet southern district.
A horse neighed and halted abruptly, the air humming with unusual tension. The carriage lanterns cast little light, and the moon was hidden behind clouds, leaving the surroundings eerily dark.
Travis, holding a riding whip with a long blade strapped to his leg, closed his eyes, listening intently. His ears twitched, as if to catch every subtle sound. Carissa held her whip, its length coiling at her feet like a red serpent, poised to strike. Violet gripped her sword, her index finger lightly pressing against the hilt. A flick would release the blade.
More than ten shadowy figures silently descended, their feet barely disturbing the dust—a testament to their mastery of the Lightfoot Skill.
Instantly, Travis unleashed his battle prowess, his power like a thunderclap. He flicked his whip, drawing his blade with lightning speed. His Lightfoot Skill propelled him as if he were riding the wind. With a single leap, his blade sliced toward an attacker. The assassin narrowly avoided the fatal blow, but the long blade still drew blood, the scent fueling the assassin's bloodlust.
Inside the carriage, the two women burst through the curtains. Carissa's long whip hissed like a striking serpent, sending two attackers reeling. Violet unsheathed her sword in a fluid motion. Without pausing, she stepped on Carissa's whip and leaped forward. Her deft hands danced the sword, creating a web-like shield of light that blocked the assassins.
Chapter 943
Dressed in black and masked, Icarus, a master of eighteen martial arts techniques, wielded a long knife. He expected capturing Carissa to be easy with so many men. To his surprise, their first strike was thwarted.
He quickly identified their weakness: the coachman and swordswoman were highly skilled. They were difficult opponents, but Carissa seemed weaker. He reasoned that subduing the others would make capturing Carissa easy.
He confronted Travis, swinging his massive blade down with powerful force, expecting to cleave Travis' weapon in two. He believed his blade, infused with inner force, would be as sharp and unyielding as obsidian.
A clang rang out, sparks flying. Both men felt their hands go numb, almost losing their grip.
Icarus knew Travis was skilled, but not this powerful. A prolonged fight was impossible; reinforcements would arrive. He signaled for the suicide soldiers to engage Travis and Violet, then cautiously moved toward Carissa with two men. He planned to subdue her within ten moves.
Blades flashed around Carissa. Icarus noted her sharp reactions; she dodged his knife three times. But her whip offered limited defense. How many times could she evade them?
The suicide soldiers moved like lightning, their swords flashing, preventing Carissa's escape. Icarus's long blade descended in powerful strokes. Mid-swing, he flipped it to strike her neck with the back of the blade, aiming for a knockout blow—a swift capture.
But Carissa evaded it.
Icarus froze, shocked. She had no escape; the suicide soldiers surrounded her, and his blade descended. She could only retreat or burrow underground. Yet, she remained where she stood.