The Back Alley of "The Gilded Toad." Blackhold City – 02:00 AM.
"Hand over the draft," the assassin repeated. His voice was a dry, rasping grate, like stones grinding together. In his hand, a curved kris glinted under the moonlight, dripping with a thick, vibrant green fluid that smelled sharply of rot—a lethal neurotoxin.
Sir Riven didn't answer. He simply took one step forward. THUD. The cobblestone floor of the narrow alley groaned and cracked beneath the weight of his iron-soled boots. The air pressure around him shifted, turning heavy and suffocating.
"Five of them, Brother," Rhea whispered from behind Riven's back. Her eyes, sharp and predatory, scanned the shadows along the rooftops. "Two in front, two on the roof, and one circling back for Roland."
"Roland, get on the driver's bench now," Riven commanded. His voice was low, far too calm for a life-and-death situation. "Prepare the horses."
"But, Riven—"
"GO!" Riven barked without turning his head.
Roland flinched and scrambled onto the driver's seat. His hands shook violently as he gripped the cold, coarse leather reins. Sir Roland's memories provided the technical knowledge of how to handle the beasts, but the adrenaline surging through his veins made his fingers feel like stiff wood.
Shring!
The first assassin lunged. He moved like a shadow sweeping across the ground, aiming for Riven's throat from an impossible angle. But Riven was no longer a soft, pampered youth. Instead of retreating, he met the attack head-on. His left hand, encased in a heavy steel gauntlet, caught the assassin's wrist mid-air.
CRACK!
The sound of shattering bone echoed through the silent night.
"Aaarggh!" The assassin let out a guttural scream as his dagger clattered onto the stone.
"Too light," Riven growled. With a terrifying surge of strength, he slammed the man against the brick wall. CRUNCH! The figure slumped, motionless, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.
Seeing their comrade fall, the remaining four didn't flee. They were professionals who had long since discarded fear.
"Kill the big one! Secure the cargo!"
Two figures dropped from the roof toward Rhea, while another sprinted around the back, intent on ambushing Roland.
"Roland! Move it!" Rhea shouted.
Rhea executed a parry with lightning speed. Clang! Clang! Her rapier moved like a steel fan, deflecting every thrust from the enemies' shortswords. She was outmatched in raw power, but her superior reach kept the assassins from closing in.
Meanwhile, Roland saw an assassin nearly reach the side of the carriage. "Hey! Stay back!" Roland panicked. He had no sword, but he had control over two tons of equine muscle. He yanked the left rein with all his might.
The black horse on the left let out a piercing neigh—Hiiiiiin!—and bucked sideways with wild instinct.
THUD!
The horse's rear hooves connected squarely with the assassin's chest. The man was launched backward, crashing through a stack of crates into a heap of splintered wood.
"Eat that! Hyah! Move!" Roland snapped the reins. The two massive black horses lunged forward, the carriage jerking so hard the wheels shrieked against the stone pavement.
"Riven! Rhea! Jump!"
Riven swung his greatsword in a wide, horizontal arc—forcing the attackers back—before scooping Rhea up with one powerful arm. Together, they vaulted onto the back of the accelerating carriage.
"After them! Don't let them escape!"
The Main Street of Blackhold.
The carriage tore through the night markets like a runaway train. Roland stood in a half-crouch, the night wind lashing at his face.
"Out of the way! Watch out!" he screamed at the staggering drunks in the middle of the street. The horses were pushed to their limit, reaching speeds nearly sixty kilometers per hour. On the slick, uneven ground, the carriage bucked and rattled as if it were about to shake itself apart.
"Roland! Sharp turn ahead!" Rhea shouted from inside the cabin.
A ninety-degree turn loomed. If Roland braked, they were caught. If he didn't, they'd flip. Roland reached into his memories of illegal street racing in the hills of Bandung. An old technique.
"Hold on to something!"
Roland didn't pull the brake. Instead, he lashed the horse on the outside of the turn to make it run faster, while throwing his entire body weight into the pull of the reins.
The inner wheels lifted off the ground. The timber groaned in agony. Creeeeeak! The carriage performed an impossible drift. The back end swept across a fruit stall, sending watermelons and apples flying in a pulverized mess. SMASH!
But they made it. The carriage stabilized on the straight path without flipping.
"Wooohoo! Bandung style, baby!" Roland cheered hysterically, his adrenaline hitting a fever pitch.
But the joy was short-lived. Thump. Thump. The sound of footsteps landing on the roof.
"We have company up top!" Riven warned from inside.
An assassin had managed to leap from a resident's balcony onto the roof of the carriage. He crawled forward, dagger unsheathed, ready to plunge it into Roland's back. Roland saw a shadow looming over his head. "Oh, I'm dead. I'm so dead."
KABOOM!
The wooden roof right above Roland's head exploded. A massive armored hand punched through the timber from inside the cabin, seizing the assassin's leg with a crushing grip. It was Riven.
"Get down here, you bastard!" Riven snarled.
He yanked the leg downward with savage force. The assassin was dragged through the splintered roof, falling into the cabin right in front of an expectant Riven and Rhea. In that cramped, jolting space, it took only one thrust from Rhea's rapier to the heart to end the man's life. Riven kicked the corpse out the back door without a hint of emotion.
"Keep going! The gate is in sight!"
The South Gate of Blackhold.
A major problem awaited. The massive iron portcullis was slowly descending. The gate guards were already leveling their spears at them.
"Halt! By order of the City Lord!"
The gap beneath the gate was barely half a meter. Not enough for a carriage to pass.
"Roland! The gate is closing! We're going to crash!" Rhea panicked.
Roland scanned his surroundings. Beside the guard post, there was a pile of wooden planks left over from road repairs—a natural ramp. And the portcullis was a grate; the upper section was still wide open.
"I'm not braking," Roland muttered, his eyes narrowing. He steered the horses toward the wooden ramp.
"ROLAND! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Riven roared.
"YOLO, Brother!"
The carriage hit the wooden ramp at full speed. The horses took flight. The wheels left the ground. In that heartbeat, time seemed to slow down.
The guards looked up, their mouths agape. The carriage soared gracefully over the spear barricade, over the heads of the guards, and slammed hard into the grassy earth outside the walls.
CRASH! SNAP!
The rear axle finally gave way and snapped. One wheel went rolling off into the bushes. The carriage skidded across the dirt for ten meters, throwing sparks before finally grinding to a halt at the edge of the forest.
Silence. Only the heavy, labored breathing of the horses and the chirping of crickets.
The tilted cabin door opened slowly. Riven stepped out with a staggered gait, then immediately dropped to his knees and threw up. His motion sickness had reached its zenith. Rhea crawled out with disheveled hair, but she was laughing—the hysterical laugh of someone who had just cheated death.
Roland sat frozen on the slanted driver's seat, his hands still locked onto the reins.
"Are we..." Roland swallowed. "Are we still breathing?"
Rhea limped over and slapped her brother's cheek hard. Slap!
"Ouch! That hurt!"
"Good, means you're not a ghost yet," Rhea grinned widely. "You're insane, Lan. Absolutely mental."
Riven wiped his mouth and walked over to check the cargo. He reached into Roland's cloak. The draft was still there. Secure. Fifty thousand gold coins.
"We need to head into the woods now," Riven said, his combat instincts returning. "They'll send cavalry soon. Captain Thorne is waiting at the rendezvous point, two kilometers from here."
Riven crouched in front of a weakened Roland. "Get on my back. Your legs must be like jelly."
Roland didn't argue. He climbed onto his brother's broad back.
"Brother…" Roland whispered as they began to penetrate the darkness of the forest.
"Yeah?"
"Next time… let me just sell things from home. This 'pick-up' business is not healthy for my heart."
Riven let out a soft, genuine laugh. "Welcome to the real world, little brother. Welcome to House Sudrath."
That night, under a pale moon, they vanished into the forest carrying a fortune that would change the destiny of their family. But they didn't realize that their reckless stunt had drawn the eyes of many spies. The name of the "Masked Lord" began to spread among the shadows of the continent.