Chapter : 709
The old trade road was a faded scar on the landscape, a ribbon of packed earth and worn cobblestones that wound its way through the rolling green hills and dense, ancient forests of the duchy’s southern territories. For centuries, it had been a primary artery of comrce, bustling with rchant caravans and travelers. Now, with the construction of the newer, wider King’s Highway to the west, it had fallen into a state of quiet disuse. It was a path for locals, for those seeking solitude, and, as Lloyd Ferrum was acutely aware, for those who wished to travel unseen.
The journey began in a state of profound, almost ditative silence. The ducal carriage was a small, self-contained world, its steady, rhythmic rocking a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil of the past few days. For the first day, Lloyd did not speak, and neither did Ken. Lloyd spent the ti imrsed in the dical texts he had borrowed from his mother. He sat with The Inner Architecture open on his lap, his eyes scanning the intricate, hand-drawn diagrams, while his new [All-Seeing Eye] was subtly activated.
It was a fascinating, and at tis disorienting, process. He would look at the detailed illustration of the human muscular system on the page, morizing the nas and functions of the deltoids, the pectorals, the latissimus dorsi. Then, he would shift his gaze to his own arm, and through the translucent veil of his skin, he would see those very sa muscles, rendered in perfect, living detail. He was cross-referencing the textbook of this world with the divine, real-ti data provided by his Void Power. He was building his lexicon, his ntal library, learning to put a na to every glowing fiber and pulsing vessel his new sight revealed.
Ken, seated opposite him, remained as still and silent as a statue carved from shadow. He did not read. He did not sleep. He simply… watched. His gaze was not fixed on Lloyd, but on the passing landscape outside the window. His senses were a net cast out into the world, constantly probing, sampling the air, listening to the silence between the birdsongs, searching for the slightest hint of a threat.
The first indication that they were not alone ca late in the afternoon of the second day. They were passing through a dense stretch of old-growth forest, the ancient trees forming a thick, green canopy that plunged the road into a perpetual twilight. The air was cool and damp, and the only sound was the creak of the carriage wheels and the steady clop of the horses’ hooves.
Lloyd, deep in a chapter on the diagnosis of spirit-sickness, felt a subtle, almost subliminal prickle at the back of his neck. It was a new sensation, a passive function of his enhanced bond with his Transcended spirits. Even when they were not summoned, a sliver of their perception now bled into his own. Fang Fairy, the huntress, was warning him. A predator’s instinct, not his own, was telling him that they were being watched.
He slowly closed his book, his movents calm and deliberate. He looked across at Ken. His bodyguard’s posture had not changed by a single milliter, but his eyes, fixed on a point in the forest far ahead, had narrowed almost imperceptibly. He had seen or heard sothing.
“Trouble?” Lloyd asked, his voice a low murmur.
“Potential trouble,” Ken corrected him, his own voice barely a whisper. “A disturbance in the canopy, two hundred ters ahead. A flock of crows taking flight in an unnatural pattern. And… a scent on the wind. Freshly cut wood. Green pine. Out of place here.”
Lloyd’s mind instantly processed the data. A disturbance. A specific scent. It pointed to a hastily constructed trap. Likely a deadfall. The classic, simple, and often brutally effective ambush for a carriage on a narrow road. Amateurs. Or professionals making it look like the work of amateurs.
He activated his [All-Seeing Eye], focusing his perception forward, through the walls of the carriage and down the road. The world dissolved into its underlying structures. He saw the trees, the road, the earth beneath it. And then he saw it. A massive, sharpened log, weighing at least half a ton, suspended in the high branches directly over the road. It was held in place by a thick, new-looking rope, which was in turn tied to a complex trigger chanism hidden in the undergrowth. The scent Ken had detected was from the sap of the freshly cut trigger branches.
It was a crude but powerful trap. It would have crushed their carriage like a child’s toy.
Chapter : 710
“Confirm,” Lloyd whispered. “A deadfall, directly over the road. Trigger chanism on the right.” He then noticed sothing else, a detail a normal observer would have missed. He could see the faint heat signatures of two figures, hidden in the dense foliage a further fifty ters down the road, waiting for their trap to be sprung.
So, not just a trap. An ambush team. Waiting to pick off any survivors.
He had a dozen ways he could handle this. He could have Iffrit incinerate the entire section of forest. He could have Fang Fairy atomize the log with a lightning strike. He could use his own Steel Blood to simply catch the falling log. But all of those options were loud, flashy, and would confirm the assassins’ suspicions that their target was a powerful, supernatural being.
The Major General in his mind opted for a more elegant, more insulting solution. Deception.
He reached out with his Void Power, his will a fine, invisible needle. He did not touch the log or the main rope. He focused on the trigger chanism. He could perceive its simple, chanical structure. With a subtle, precise pulse of kinetic energy, he nudged a single, critical pin in the trigger assembly, shifting it by less than a milliter. It was now jamd. The trap would not spring.
“The driver,” Lloyd said to Ken. “Tell him to proceed at the sa pace. And to not look up, no matter what he hears.”
Ken leaned forward and rapped a coded signal on the carriage wall. A mont later, a muffled affirmative ca back from the driver’s seat.
The carriage continued its steady, unhurried pace, rolling directly into the kill zone. Lloyd watched through the lens of his All-Seeing Eye as they passed directly under the massive, suspended log. He could feel the tension in the two hidden assassins, could almost hear their frantic, silent prayers for the trap to spring.
Nothing happened.
The carriage rolled on, erging from under the shadow of the deadfall and continuing down the road. Lloyd watched the heat signatures of the two assassins. He saw one of them move, likely going to check on the faulty trigger. He saw the frustration, the confusion, the dawning realization that their perfect ambush had failed for no discernible reason.
They had not been outfought. They had been out-thought. Their trap had been neutralized without a sound, without a trace. To them, it would seem like a one-in-a-million chanical failure, a stroke of impossible, infuriating luck on their target’s part.
Lloyd leaned back against the leather seat, a cold, thin smile on his lips. The ga of shadows had begun, and he had just scored the first, silent point. He had let his enemies know that he was not a simple, blundering nobleman. He was sothing else entirely. He was the ghost they thought they were hunting.
The aftermath of the failed deadfall trap was a profound and unsettling silence. From their hidden vantage point, Jager and Kael watched the ducal carriage continue its placid journey down the forest road, its steady, rhythmic pace a mocking testant to their own failure. Kael’s massive fra was tense, his knuckles white where he gripped the rough bark of the tree he was concealed behind. Jager, however, was unnervingly still, his cowled head tilted as if listening to a conversation no one else could hear.
“It jamd,” Kael growled, his voice a low, frustrated rumble. “The trigger pin must have jamd. Of all the cursed, rotten luck.”
“Luck,” Jager murmured, the word a soft, contemplative hiss. “Yes. Perhaps. Or perhaps our young lord is a more interesting vintage than we anticipated.” He did not sound angry. He sounded… intrigued. The puzzle had beco more complex, and he seed to be savoring it.
They had lost their first, best opportunity. The elent of surprise was a fragile, one-use weapon, and they had squandered it on a faulty chanism. They retrieved their gear and began to shadow the carriage once more, but the nature of the hunt had changed. A new, unwelco variable had been introduced into Jager’s perfect equation: doubt.
For the rest of the day, Lloyd and Ken traveled with a heightened, yet calm, sense of awareness. They knew the enemy was still out there, licking their wounds, recalibrating. They were no longer just prey being hunted; they were a lure, drawing the predators out into the open.
The second attempt ca at dusk. The road began to climb, winding its way through a series of rocky foothills. The terrain was more open here, offering fewer opportunities for a simple ambush. The assassins would have to be more creative.
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