The constant rattle and bounce of the carriage was the only indication that it was still moving, the thick curtains covering the small windows on either side allowing no sunlight inside. If not for the lightstone embedded in the ceiling of the carriage, there would be no light at all.

  Inside, Perphilia sat, tears silently dripping down her face, blurring her vision. Since entering the carriage, hours had crawled by, the slow passage of time forcing her to reflect on her situation.

  Everything had gone wrong the moment her father and she had arrived at the underground auction. What should have been a safe opportunity to earn gold had turned into a nightmare. Her father was cut down instantly by a man whose strength utterly overwhelmed him. The killer’s piercing blue eyes still hunted her, the cold stare chasing her even in her dreams. Who is he? She wondered, gripping the knife in her hands.

  At the time, all her training had vanished, her will breaking at the sight of her father falling. Weeks had passed since then, every day spent in the shadows, constantly running. The assassins who had attacked the auction were still chasing her.

  Desperate, she had decided to hire Maliri’s Diamond Guards for protection. Even though the organization had been responsible for destroying her family's empire, she knew their strength. The irony of being protected by the very same people she had once sent assassins to kill did not sit well with her. Looking down at the knife in her hands, she swore once again to kill everyone responsible. I’ll find my father’s killer, and whoever he works for, and kill them all!

  “Bandits!”

  The sounds of armed conflict broke her dark thoughts, the clash of steel and the breaking of bones coming from outside. Wiping her eyes, she moved the curtain a sliver, peering at the fight.

  Outside, the group she had hired fought effortlessly, each member moving with chaotic precision yet in perfect harmony with the others. Their way of fighting was completely opposite to the rigid, disciplined way soldiers were taught. Trained by her father, a former general, Perphilia disliked the way the Diamond Guard fought, but she had to admit that they were impressive. Their individual skill allowed them to break every conventional rule of combat—and still prevail.

  Watching the only woman in the group weld her two short swords in an unpredictable whirlwind of death, Perphilia felt a stab of envy. The woman seemed to stumble, only for her to easily deflect a bandit's thrust, forcing him into an awkward stance before her second sword whipped around and gutted him. Beside her stood a man armed with a battle axe and shield, his deafening war cry causing the bandit before him to flinch. In the next instant, the axe cleaved the man in half. Perphilia clutched her knife until her arms burned from the strain.

  Ever since she was young, her father had taught her the ways of the sword, every day, hour after hour of repetitive motion until the foreign movements became second nature. Yet in front of her were true geniuses, men and women who moved and fought in a way that was impossible to teach, their naturally born talents overshadowing their need to learn proper forms. Observing the way each member of the Diamond Guard moved, Perphilia started to imagine how she would fight them, thinking of ways to exploit their lack of proper forms.

  Lost in her violent imagination, she barely heard Zenrom walk up to the carriage, his voice not even strained from the fight.

  “Lady Lia, the bandits have all been dealt with; you’re safe now. It’s quite surprising they would dare attack us so close to town, but rest assured, we’re more than capable of handling the likes of them. In just two or three days, we’ll reach the territory of the Great Shrine. Once within their borders, you’ll be beyond danger. No one will dare violate the laws of the Great Shrine.”

  “Thank you, master Zenrom,” Perphilia answered, her controlled voice sounding hollow even to her; her festering anger pushed deep within her soul. She would not let him know how much she hated him. She would patiently wait for the right time to strike.

  Walking back to his horse, Zenrom turned to Reges, a worried look crossing his face. “The bandits are too organized,” he whispered, not wanting to be heard by Lady Lia.

  “I agree. I don't think they’re bandits,” Reges replied, his bloody sword still in his hand. Cleaning his blade using the cape of a dead man, he started searching the corpse, his hands quickly finding a couple of hidden daggers. Looking up at Zenrom, he lifted the man’s shirt, showing him the dead man's undershirt.

  “Too clean for bandits, the quality is also good. If I had to guess, they are from an assassination guild, maybe White Chorus? or The Lost Men?”

  Grunting and nodding at Reges, Zenrom waved his hands to his team, calling them over. “Reges and I think that we are protecting Lady Lia from an assassination guild,” he informed them, cautiously glancing at the carriage. “If we are right, we’ll be attacked once more near the border of the Great Shrine; it's the last chance this guild has to kill her.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Do we know why a guild is after her?” San hissed, his dirty blond hair framing his face as he tried to keep quiet.

  “No, but that's not our concern. She paid us two hundred gold coins for our strength and silence,” Zenrom reminded them.

  “So, what’s our play?” Winks grunted, his axe resting on his shoulder.

  “Nothing fancy,” Zenrom answered, walking over to his horse and jumping on. “We outrun them.”

  Over the next two days, Zenrom and his team moved swiftly, their senses sharpened by constant vigilance. Each member felt the unpleasant weight of being hunted, their natural instincts urging them to go on the offensive. But they could not!

  Slowing down, Zenrom raised his fist above his head and brought the team to a silent halt.

  “We’re surrounded,” he said, his head swiveling back and forth.

  “Oh, good. I was getting tired of running,” Shina muttered, cracking her knuckles and tilting her head back and forth.

  Zenrom gave a short nod, silently agreeing.

  “Reges, Winks, and Shina, focus on attacking. San, Cam, you’re with me on defense. June, provide support, and shoot at your discretion. Is that understood?” he said.

  “Yes, sir!” came the unified reply.

  With his orders given, Zenrom dismounted, moving to the carriage’s front. Fighting on horseback without room to maneuver would only be a liability. He would fight on foot. Copying Shina, he tilted his head back and forth before taking a deep breath and drawing his sword.

  To his right, San stood ready, longsword held in a defensive guard, his hair tied in a tight knot above his head. On the left, Cam waited with bucker and sword drawn, his body radiating danger.

  Zenrom stepped forward, pushing his nerves down.

  “We know you’re out there!” he shouted, his power-enhanced voice reverberated out. “We can fight now, or we can fight later. But if you don't attack soon, we’ll move on towards the border of the Great Shrine. And we both know—if we cross that line, you lose your chance!”

  His words rolled out like thunder, sending a flock of birds scattering into the sky.

  A stifling silence settled over the surroundings, so tense that even the sound of the horses’ breathing seemed deafening. Counting his breaths, Zenrom carefully drew more Aether into himself, rotating it throughout his body. Arcane Light slowly emerged from his crest, covering his body in a faint glow as his strength surged outward.

  Almost as if planned, as soon as Zenrom reached his peak in power, the silence was shattered, June’s bow singing out. His small arrow disappeared into the underbrush, followed by a grunt, and the crash of a body tumbling into view.

  Not giving the wounded man time to recover, Winks dug his heels into his horse and charged forward. Shina and Reges close on his heels, their war cries tearing apart the silence

  Dozens of assassins burst from the trees, no longer disguised in bandit rags. Their dark leather armor blended into the shadows, their movement flowing like living waves.

  As the battle started, Zenrom watched as Reges trampled an assassin into the dirt—his horses' hooves splitting the man's skull in half.

  Gripping his sword tightly, Zenrom clashed with the first assassin who was able to reach the carriage. Stepping to the side, he thrust his sword straight into the man's eye. As the man fell, Zenrom’s sword dipped down, still embedded in the man. Kicking the corpse free, he closed ranks with San and Cam, their years of fighting side by side giving him strength.

  Allowing Cam to deflect an attack that was headed towards his head, Zenrom fearlessly stepped forward, his sword viciously finding the sliver of space under an assassin's chestplate, piercing his lower abdomen. The stench of blood and urine filled the air as the man screamed, only to be silenced as Zenrom took his head.

  Drawing more Aether into his body, Zenrom spun and spotted San struggling against a quick-footed assassin. Snatching up a fallen assassin’s sword, Zenrom hurled it with all his might. Like a flash of lightning, the sword flew at true, burying itself deep in the man’s back. Arching his back in surprise, the assassin barely cried out before San slit his throat, a spray of blood misting across his face.

  “Thanks,” San panted, raising his sword in a salute.

  Not having the time to respond, Zenrom turned back to the fight, the rhythmic twang of June’s bow cutting through the chaos as he fired from the top of the carriage. Scanning the battlefield, Zenrom noticed that the dead now outnumbered the living, formless bodies strewn across the ground.

  “Just a little more!” he shouted, stepping to a cleaner patch of grass and wiping the blood from his boots. “San, Cam! Go on the offense. I’ll guard the carriage!”

  Cam’s roar of acknowledgment echoed back, and Zenrom tightened his grip on his sword, standing firm at the carriage doorway.

  The fight ended soon after, the last assassin’s head split open by Winks’ axe before his body fell awkwardly to the dirt.

  The battlefield was silent except for the sounds of panting, the Diamond Guards glancing at each other before laughing out loud.

  “That's the last one!” Shina called, her flushed face bright with a victorious smile.

  Nodding at Shina’s words, Zenrom turned to the carriage. “Lady Lia, that should be the last time we’re attacked. In less than two hours, we’ll be in the territory of the Great Shrine, and from there another half a day to the Shrine itself.”

  “Thank you, Mr Zenrom,” Lia replied quietly, her voice barely carrying out of the carriage.

  Turning his head slightly to make sure he’d heard correctly, Zenrom turned to his team. “Is anyone hurt?”

  “Some of us have superficial wounds but nothing life-threatening,” Reges reported, helping Winks clean a cut on his shoulder that was staining his light-colored shirt. “I think Cam got the worst of it. He’ll need a couple of stitches, but nothing serious.”

  Zenrom signaled June for the medicine kit and strode over to Cam. The man sat holding his forearm, muscles rigid as he kept pressure on the wound. Blood trickled between his fingers.

  “Keep pressure on it. Wait until June brings the kit,” Zenrom instructed.

  Grunting in response, Cam sat down, his face devoid of emotion.

  Less than a minute later, June came running up, a leather satchel in hand. Quickly snatching the bag from him, Zenrom searched the contents, pulling out a salve.

  “You’re lucky,” Zenrom said, holding up the salve for Cam to see. “Veston just gave this to me the other day. I don’t think you'll even have a scar.”

  He rubbed the salve into Cam’s wound, then motioned for San to stitch it closed. Everyone in the group knew the procedure, but San was the fastest and most careful.

  Once the injuries were tended, Zenrom walked to his horse. The well-trained animal had returned after the fight and was now waiting patiently. In one fluid motion, Zenrom swung onto the saddle and whistled sharply between his teeth. “Let’s go.” They still had a couple of hours of hard riding ahead.