The atmosphere was thick with anticipation.
Habil had gathered every notable noble who had aligned themselves with him. Their carriages and armed escorts moved steadily along the road that led to White Beauty—the grand villa of the Ravenhart family in Rinasita. The night air was cold, but excitement and greed burned hotter than ever among the gathered men.
At the forefront of the convoy rode Roadie, his face set in a wicked grin. His hands gripped the reins of his horse with ease, his battle-worn sword strapped tightly to his side. Beside him, Zander, his most trusted second-in-command, rode silently, his expression unreadable.
Behind them, the bandit crew, the most ruthless and cunning raiders to ever roam these lands, were alive with energy. This was it their final raid. The end of a long road paved with blood and stolen gold.
They had already stripped the wealth of every rich noble, drained fortunes from all four states under Ravenhart's influence. Nothing remained, nothing except the final step Zed Ravenhart himself.
Roadie's grip on his weapon tightened as he envisioned the moment.
They wouldn't just kill him.
No.
Zed Ravenhart would die slowly.
His screams would echo through the forest. He would be humiliated, broken, his pain witnessed by Habil and his gathered allies. The once-feared Ravenhart name would be reduced to nothing but a bitter memory, a whispered legend of a house that once stood mighty and fell in a single night.
And once it was done, once Zed was dead and the last chest of gold was in their hands, they would disappear.
No more running. No more raiding.
For the first time, they would truly live.
The night air was thick with tension as Zed's chariot rolled steadily down the lonely road, its polished frame glinting under the pale moonlight. Four guards rode ahead, another four trailed behind, their armor faintly rattling as their eyes scanned the darkened forest on either side. The journey to White Beauty was supposed to be uneventful, yet an unshakable sense of foreboding lingered in the air.
Then—
A sudden, piercing whistle split through the silence.
Before the guards could react, shadows emerged from the treeline, moving like phantoms in the night. Arrows rained down with merciless precision, striking two of the front guards before they could even draw their swords. One slumped over his horse, lifeless, while the other tumbled onto the dirt, choking on his own blood. Chaos erupted in an instant.
"AMBUSH!" a guard shouted, raising his shield just as another volley of arrows shot through the air.
The remaining guards scrambled into defensive positions, blades drawn, their breaths ragged as figures in dark, tattered cloaks charged from the forest with weapons gleaming in the moonlight. The air was filled with the sickening clash of steel and the guttural cries of dying men. One by one, the guards fell, their bodies crumpling into the dust.
The bandits moved with ruthless efficiency, surrounding the chariot in mere moments. Roadie, standing at the front with a sadistic grin, rested his sword on his shoulder as he approached the motionless carriage.
"Is this really all the great Ravenhart has for an escort?" he taunted, his voice laced with mockery.
The chariot door remained eerily still.
Then, with a soft click, the door opened.
Zed stepped out, his polished boots landing gently on the blood-soaked earth. He adjusted the cuffs of his dark coat, as if unbothered by the massacre unfolding around him. The moon cast an ethereal glow on his face—calm, unreadable, utterly unshaken.
He let his cold blue eyes wander over the scene before him, taking in the bodies of his fallen guards, the ragged bandits with weapons raised, the triumphant sneers on their faces. His gaze finally settled on Roadie, who met his stare with an arrogant smirk.
Silence hung between them, thick with unspoken menace.
Then, ever so softly, Zed exhaled.
"So this is how you want to do it?" he mused, his voice smooth, quiet, almost disappointed.
The bandits hesitated for a fraction of a second. Something about the way he spoke, the way he stood, sent an uneasy shiver through the air.
Roadie chuckled, twirling his sword.
"What's the matter, Ravenhart? You look a little lonely without your little army."
Zed tilted his head slightly, a faint, almost amused smile tugging at his lips.
"And you look a little too eager to die."
A tense pause followed.
The bandits hesitated for a moment. Something about his demeanor was unsettling. Where was the fear? The panic?
Then, just as suddenly as the ambush had begun, the tide of battle shifted.
One by one, the bandits started falling, each faster than the last. Their bodies crumpled to the ground before they could even react. Some tried to scream, but their voices were cut off before a sound could escape. Blood sprayed the air, pooling beneath them. Their numbers were dwindling rapidly, and yet, not a single soul could see what was happening.
Something, no, someone was moving among them like a specter of death. A shadow darting from place to place, a force beyond human comprehension.
Zander felt a cold sweat trickle down his spine. His hands trembled as he gripped his sword tighter, his mind racing. "What... what is this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
He turned to Roadie, panic evident in his eyes. "End it now!" he shouted.
Roadie, unfazed, let out a low chuckle. "Tch. Making me do all the work, huh?" he muttered, lifting his massive sword. With a roar, he swung it down with all his strength, aiming to cleave Zed's head clean off.
The moment the blade was about to strike—
A crimson figure appeared.
A flash of red. A skull-shaped mask. The faint glint of a blade coated in a ghastly blue aura.
CLANG!
Sparks erupted as steel met steel. The masked entity had intercepted Roadie's attack, effortlessly halting the deadly swing with his soul blade—a weapon that pulsed with an eerie, almost hungry glow. The pressure of the clash sent shockwaves through the ground, dust and leaves swirling into the air.
Zander's heart stopped. His eyes widened in sheer horror.
"No... No, no, no... That's not possible," he stammered, stepping back. "Who is he?!" His mind was unraveling. "I thought Zed was the masked one! But then who the hell is this?! And how, how can he block Roadie's attack?! Roadie is at peak Ascended stage!"
His carefully crafted plan, his flawless strategy was crumbling before his very eyes. He had orchestrated everything to perfection. He had sent a message to Ravenhart, feeding them false information that an ambush would occur in the morning, forcing Zed to travel secretly at night. He had ensured the royal guards were stationed far away at White Beauty, leaving Zed vulnerable.
And yet, none of it mattered now.
This... thing, this masked warrior, had shattered his plans in an instant.
Around them, the remaining bandits began to falter, their confidence draining as the forest filled with the sounds of their comrades being struck down. From the shadows, royal guards emerged, their blades gleaming in the moonlight. They surrounded the nobles allied with Habil, forcing them to their knees. The bandits who still lived were captured, shackles being clamped around their wrists.
The battlefield had been turned against them.
Zander, kneeling along with the others, clenched his fists.
This couldn't be happening. It wasn't supposed to end like this.
Only two remained standing: Roadie, gripping his sword tightly, and the masked copy of Zed, Alex, his cold, piercing blue eyes locked onto his opponent.
Tension hung in the air. Neither moved. Both were waiting. Calculating.
And Zed?
He simply sat on the steps of his chariot, one leg lazily crossed over the other, his chin resting on his palm as if he were watching an uninteresting play unfold before him. His expression was unreadable.
Roadie stood frozen for a moment, his chest rising and falling heavily. Around him, the remnants of his empire the bandits who had once worshipped him as their leader lay dead or shackled, their faces etched with fear and despair. Zander, the once-cocky strategist, knelt trembling in disbelief, his mind unable to process how his meticulous plan had crumbled so easily.
The realization that everything he had built was falling apart… it made Roadie's blood boil.
A deep, guttural roar erupted from his throat. It wasn't just rage, it was the cry of a wounded beast.
The very air trembled as a violent shockwave burst from his body, sending dirt, blood, and shattered weapons flying in all directions. His muscles tensed, veins bulging, his eyes burning with fury. The raw killing intent radiating from him made even the royal guards take a step back, their hands tightening around their weapons.
Then, through gritted teeth, he spat,
"You punk… I should've killed you that day with Jaeger. But it's fine… because you're going to die today!"
Just as he was about to lunge forward, a deep voice interrupted.
"I don't think so, Roadie."
The sound of hooves against the blood-soaked dirt echoed through the battlefield as a figure rode forward. A man with broad shoulders, golden blond hair, and a chiseled face sat atop a majestic warhorse. His golden chestplate gleamed under the moonlight, adorned with the royal family's crest—a mark of his high standing. His sharp orange eyes locked onto Roadie with an expression of disappointment and disdain.
Roadie narrowed his eyes, a bitter smirk forming on his lips. "Edgar… so you really became a Captain of the Royal Guard division , huh?"
Edgar exhaled, shaking his head. "And you became a filthy beast who does nothing but murder and steal." His voice was firm, yet there was a trace of sorrow in it. "Back in the academy, I respected you. I thought you and Jaeger would rise to the top, that you would make something of yourselves." His expression darkened. "But looking at you now… all I feel is disgust."
Roadie's fingers tightened around his sword hilt, his knuckles turning white.
"Tch. Let's see who smiles at the end, Edgar."
Before the tension could explode, Zed, still seated on the steps of his chariot, finally spoke. His voice was quiet, but it carried an undeniable authority.
"Sir Edgar, if you may, please do as I have instructed you."
Edgar turned to look at the boy, his brows furrowing slightly in irritation.
"Kid, you don't give me orders here."
Zed met his gaze with an expression as cold as ice. His piercing blue eyes held no fear, no hesitation—just an unwavering, absolute command.
For a moment, Edgar felt something strange. A chill ran down his spine. It was as if the boy before him wasn't a noble heir, but a king one who expected obedience, not negotiation.
Zed's stare alone told him to step aside.
Clicking his tongue, Edgar finally looked away and signaled to his men.
"Spread out."
Then, without another word, he turned his horse and rode away, disappearing into the forest.
Zed watched him leave, then slowly turned back toward Roadie, his fingers lightly tapping against his knee. The air grew still, thick with unspoken tension.
The real battle was about to begin.