Clashing Blades

The clash on the perimeter erupted almost at the exact same moment.

Dalian's guards were all veteran soldiers who had gone through life-and-death situations with him for years. Without waiting for orders, the front row slammed their shields into the ground, lowering their centers of gravity and bracing their shoulders against the shield faces.

Spear-wielders thrust their spears diagonally through the gaps between the shields at tricky angles, forcing back the first wave of elite soldiers rushing forward.

The clashing of metal and the grinding of boots against gravel mingled together, neither side able to gain the upper hand for the moment.

But the discrepancy in numbers was undeniable.

The men Aubrey had brought were elite house guards of the Morehurst family, uniformly equipped and coordinated with seamless teamwork.

He held the upper hand in both quality and quantity.

No sooner had the front-row guards blocked the elite soldiers' spear thrusts than the second-row spearmen flanked them, sliding their spearheads past the edges of the shields.

The guards were forced to contract their formation, retreating step by step toward the carriages, the gravel road crunching loudly beneath their boots.

The horses panicked, neighing and rearing on their hind legs. The coachman pulled back frantically on the reins, his soothing words cracking into a high-pitched panic.

Although the purebred trotters drawing the carriage were well-trained, the sound of crossbow bolts whistling through the air was simply too close—

The crossbowmen brought down two of the guards' warhorses. The beasts collapsed sideways with a heavy crash, throwing their riders. Before the unseated guards could even stand after rolling twice on the ground, two elite soldiers pinned their chests down with their shields.

Taking up high positions on both flanks, the crossbowmen fired a relentless barrage of bolts from above.

The guards' shield wall blocked the front, but it could do nothing against the bolts flying in from the sides.

A veteran soldier took a bolt to his left shoulder. Grunting in pain, he dropped to one knee, his shield tilting slightly. A spearhead from the opposing side immediately jabbed through the gap, piercing his thigh.

He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out, swinging his sword backhand to slice off the spear shaft, but blood was already pooling on the ground, spilling down his leg armor.

“Tighten the formation! Fall back behind the carriages!”

Dalian's voice barked from the front, but he himself could not turn around—Aubrey's rapier was currently pressed hard against his longsword.

Aubrey's swordsmanship was light and agile. His rapier was half the weight of a standard longsword, yet his striking speed was more than twice as fast.

Dalian's swordplay was steady and powerful, each strike backed by decades of experience, but Aubrey gave him no opportunity for a direct clash of strength.

Like a venomous serpent, the rapier bypassed Dalian's blade at the precise instant his momentum peaked, darting toward his wrists, elbows, and armpits—places where his heavy armor could not protect him.

Dalian already had three gashes on his right arm. The deepest lay on the outer side of his forearm, the flesh torn open. Blood dripped down his wrist and onto the hilt, compromising his grip.

Rayne cut in from the side, gripping his sword with both hands, and delivered a powerful horizontal slash toward Aubrey's waist.

There were no flashy flourishes to this strike, only pure speed and weight—Dawnbreak.

Aubrey was forced to pull back his weapon to defend. He angled his rapier to parry, and the collision between the two blades produced a piercing screech.

His blade bent into a sharp arc, and he was forced back half a step.

But that was all.

As he retreated, he dragged the tip of his sword across the ground in an arc, kicking up gravel and dust right into Rayne's face.

Rayne instinctively turned his head and closed his eyes. By then, Aubrey had already bypassed him, thrusting his sword toward Dalian's chest.

Dalian barely managed to bring his sword back to block. The impact of the rapier hitting his blade sent a shockwave through his arm, turning it numb.

He stumbled back three steps before stabilizing himself, his back slamming against the carriage's shaft. A corner of his old gray cloak had been sliced off, the scrap of cloth fluttering briefly in the wind before being trampled into the mud by horse hooves.

Rayne had no time to worry about Dalian's situation.

He had already moved the instant Aubrey bypassed Dalian—his greatsword swung out from his hip, its edge cutting off Aubrey's path. The two swords collided with a brief, sharp screech.

This middle-aged man's footwork was impossibly fast for someone his age. Every time Rayne's blade pursued him from behind, he would slip aside at the very last moment, leaving Rayne's sword to slash empty air.

On another part of the battlefield.

By the time Balen charged out of the carriage, he had already raised his shield over his head.

A crossbow bolt thudded into the shield's face, its fletching still vibrating with a low hum.

Without stopping, he used his momentum to ram into an elite soldier sneaking up from the flank, knocking him over with his shield. He then swung his hand axe backhand against the man's helmet, producing a sickening, metallic thud.

The soldier collapsed backward, a deep dent in his helmet, and lay completely still.

“Come on!”

Balen roared, slamming his shield into the ground to protect the carriage's flank. A spearman trying to slip past him was jabbed in the throat with the butt of Balen's axe. The man collapsed, clutching his neck, his spear slipping from his grasp.

But one person could not guard three directions at once.

On the other side, elite soldiers had already reached the rear of the caravan and were currently prying open the lock of the baggage carriage.

Balen wanted to rush over, but two shield-bearing soldiers blocked him firmly, his axe leaving nothing but white scratches on their shield faces.

Gerak rolled out from the other side of the carriage, his movements far quieter than Balen's.

His ears flattened and his pupils narrowed, making him look like a predatory beast lying in ambush.

A crossbowman was looking down to reload when Gerak slipped up from his blind spot. A short dagger plunged precisely into the back of the crossbowman's head, and the man slumped to the ground without a sound.

Gerak picked up the fallen crossbow, dropped to one knee behind a carriage wheel, and aimed at another crossbowman on the opposite slope.

The bolt flew, and the target on the far side fell.

But before he could load a second bolt, two elite soldiers spotted him and advanced side-by-side with raised shields.

Gerak threw down the crossbow and drew his twin daggers, their tips scraping across the shield faces to produce two bright sparks.

Lacking Balen's raw strength, he could not push past two heavy shields in a head-on clash. After struggling briefly, he was forced back step by step until his back hit the side of the carriage.

Inside the carriage, Misha raised a Holy Light Barrier with her staff, shielding Liz behind her.

The barrier glowed with a pale golden light, blocking two crossbow bolts that had pierced through the gaps in the window curtains.

Liz's face was even paler than before, her lips trembling, but she did not cry out. She simply gripped the hem of Misha's robe tightly.

Misha gritted her teeth, the light at the tip of her staff brightening.

Under the continuous pressure, the patterns of light on the barrier began to flicker, and tiny cracks appeared along its edges.

Outside, Aubrey disarmed Rayne with a flick of his sword, sending the longsword flying.

The longsword flipped twice in the air before embedding itself diagonally into the mud a few paces away.

Aubrey did not kill him, choosing instead to strike him hard on the back of his neck with the hilt of his rapier.

Rayne let out a muffled groan and dropped to one knee, his vision blurring. Yet, his hand still groped along the ground, trying to crawl toward his sword.

“Don't move,” Aubrey warned. He rested his rapier against the back of Rayne's neck, not thrusting down, but not moving it away either.

He was waiting—waiting for Dalian to make his choice.