Infiltration

Baron Rhodes' castle, at the foot of the stairs leading to the upper level.

Torches crackled in iron wall brackets on either side of the corridor, their orange-red glow illuminating a short passage.

Two guards leaned against the wall, chatting in low voices. One of them had just yawned, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand while muttering complaints about how tough night shifts were.

Two faint sounds of tearing air rang out almost simultaneously, blending into the crackle of torches and the howling wind outside, making them nearly impossible to distinguish.

The two guards froze in the exact same instant.

The one rubbing his eyes stopped midway, his hand instinctively flying to cover his neck. But the moment his fingertips brushed the edge of the wound, warm blood seeped out between his fingers.

He opened his mouth to shout, but only a wet, raspy gasp escaped his throat. Losing all strength, he slid down the wall into a sitting position.

The nearby guard couldn't even react. His body pitched forward, knees striking the floor first before he collapsed onto his side.

At that exact moment, a shadow darted out from the corner. Reaching them before their bodies hit the floor, she caught one with each hand and gently leaned them against the wall.

Rosie drew her two daggers, wiped the blood on the guards' clothes, and slid them back into their leather sheaths on her waist.

A black panther stepped out from the shadows with fluid, silent grace.

Opening its jaws, it spoke with human speech in Alysia's voice. “Nice work. But we don't have time to dispose of the bodies. We must capture the baron before we're discovered.”

Rosie's eyes lingered on the panther for a second before shifting away.

An elven druid—an ancient and mysterious class.

Given Rosie's extensive gaming experience from her past life and her thorough reading of web novels, unless an elf turned into an attack helicopter, nothing would surprise her too much.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Rosie muttered, stepping toward the stairs.

“There is a full-fledged knight guarding the baron's door,” the panther said, keeping pace beside her at an unhurried tread. “I need you to keep him occupied so I can capture the baron.”

“Just keep him occupied?” Rosie didn't slow her pace. “I'll try.”

The panther padded silently beside her.

As they neared the top of the stairs, the panther reached out a forepaw and lightly tapped the toe of Rosie's boot, signaling her to stop.

It raised a paw, pointed toward the exit above, and held up two claws: Two people above.

Then it angled its paw toward the left and pointed to itself: I'll take the left.

Rosie glanced where the panther pointed and nodded.

The panther's figure blurred for a moment before vanishing completely into thin air.

Rosie straightened up, adjusted her breathing, and casually stepped onto the final stair like a regular guard changing shifts, turning into the upper corridor.

The moment she crested the stairs, she saw two guards standing on opposite sides of the hall.

The guard on the right happened to look up, spotting a figure clad in brigandine armor coming up the stairs.

At first glance, the style of the armor plates and the helmet's outline closely resembled the castle guards' standard equipment, making it easy to confuse them in the dim torchlight.

Upon closer inspection, however, the shape of the pauldrons differed noticeably from the standard gear, and the face beneath was entirely unfamiliar.

In the brief instant he froze, Rosie's wrist flicked.

Her blade swept past the left side of his neck, swift and steady, tracing a bright silver arc in the torchlight.

The guard's pupils dilated instantly. Swaying, he slid down against the wall, leaving only a faint gurgle trapped by blood in his throat.

Hearing the odd noise, the guard on the left whipped his head around. His first sight was his falling comrade; his second was a stranger standing a few paces away, blood dripping from her blade.

Instinctively, he opened his mouth to cry out.

A dark shadow pounced from midair, snapping his neck with predatory efficiency.

The guard's shout choked off in his throat as he fell sideways to the floor.

The panther released its grip, shook its head, and melted back into thin air.

“Now that's a nice ability,” Rosie said with a hint of envy, taking in the layout of the castle's upper corridor.

The passage was wide enough for three people to walk side by side. Tattered, faded tapestries hung along the walls, and the torchlight cast flickering patterns of bright and dark across the hall.

A turn lay roughly ten meters ahead. Judging by the direction, rounding it should lead directly to the baron's quarters.

“Infiltration successful,” Rosie muttered under her breath.

With a flick of her blade, she moved down the corridor toward the turn.

Just then, three guards stepped out from around the corner.

They took in the scene at a single glance.

A stranger stood near the top of the stairs, and not far behind her, two guard corpses lay stretched out on the floor, blood spreading across the pale grey stone in deep, dark stains.

The lead guard shouted almost on instinct: “Intruders!—”

The alarm echoed through the upper floor of the castle, reverberating back and forth along the corridors and stairwells in a chaotic, piercing crescendo.

Rosie had no time to ponder tactics.

Her body acted before her brain could, raising her weapon and charging toward the three guards.

All three guards drew their swords at once, the distance closing rapidly in a full sprint.

The first guard struck first, slashing his sword diagonally toward Rosie's shoulder in a fast, aggressive arc.

Rosie raised her left arm, catching the strike cleanly on the face of her round shield. A sharp metal clang exploded through the corridor.

Simultaneously, her right hand thrust forward. Her blade entered through his chin and pierced out the back of his neck.

The second guard roared, stepping over his falling comrade's body to thrust straight at her chest.

Rosie sidestepped, her left shield swatting his blade aside, forcing the thrust off course so it skittered harmlessly off the edge of her brigandine armor.

Flipping her wrist, her blade swept cleanly across his throat.

The guard's movements stiffened. His longsword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor before he pitched forward.

The third guard was sturdier than the other two. Seeing his two companions cut down in a matter of seconds, he didn't recklessly swing his sword. Instead, he raised his standard iron-plated wooden shield before him, charging at Rosie with his full weight and momentum.

A classic shield bash, intended to knock a smaller opponent off balance through brute force and create an opening for a follow-up attack.

The two shields collided heavily, sending a dull thud echoing through the corridor.

Rosie didn't budge an inch.

The guard, however, stumbled back from the recoil, the force driving his shield out of defensive position and exposing his right chest and side of his neck.

Before he could adjust his stance, a flash of sword light arrived.

Rosie's blade sliced through the exposed gap, cutting cleanly into the space between his neck and collarbone.

His knees slammed into the stone floor with a heavy thud, and he collapsed face-first.

Three instant kills.

However, the alarm was calling guards from every corner of the castle.

The sound of hurried footsteps and shouting rose from down the stairs—someone yelled to “lock down the main gate,” while others shouted to “protect the baron.”

Rosie stepped over the dead guards and sprinted around the corner.

Past the turn, double oak doors stood at the end of the hall.

That had to be the baron's room.

In front of the doors, directly in the center of the corridor, stood a man.

Standing over two meters tall with broad shoulders and a thick back, he looked like a solid iron wall planted before the double doors.

He wore brigandine armor as well, but it was drastically different from the standard issue worn by ordinary guards.

His armor offered far more comprehensive coverage, featuring a hardened steel gorget around the collar that enclosed the front and sides of his neck in metal.

Instead of an open helmet, he wore a closed helm with only a narrow horizontal slit for vision.

His torso was layered with thick leather and metal plates, large curved steel pauldrons covered his shoulders, and dense steel plates were riveted across his chest, ribs, and back.

The set seamlessly combined flexibility with high protection—clearly custom-made reinforced armor for a high-tier warrior.

The moment Rosie rounded the corner and halted, the towering figure locked his gaze onto her through his visor's slit.

“To slip in here and kill three men in an instant... you've got skill.”

As he spoke, he reached behind his back and gripped the hilt of a sword slung across his shoulders.

It was a two-handed sword.

The blade was broad and unadorned, existing from tip to pommel for a single purpose: splitting armor and severing bone.

The man lowered the blade, pointing its tip at the floor, his tone remaining unhurried. “Derek does not kill nobodies. State your name.”

Rosie's eyes lingered on the two-handed sword for a moment before shifting to his full helmet, which concealed his entire face.

Her lips curled slightly into a smirk. “Listen carefully. The name of the man who is going to kill you is 'Jackal' Hawk.”

The knight's helmet shifted slightly. “'Jackal' Hawk? What a stupid name...”

He raised the two-handed sword, drawing a wide arc of light in the torchlight, its tip pointing straight at Rosie from afar.

Meanwhile, the heavy footsteps and shouts from the stairwell grew louder and clearer as castle guards gathered from every direction toward the upper level.

Rosie tightened her grip on her hilt, her gaze locked onto the vision slit of the knight's helm, saying nothing more.

A life-or-death battle was on the verge of breaking out.