While Sylvaris was lost in fiery mories that stirred his wicked desires, the carriage driver had a headache of his own to deal with. Sothing wasn't right.
Wherever his eyes wandered, everything seed far too calm. As soone with years of experience navigating these roads, he knew that silence like this was rarely a good sign. Most of the ti, it ant soone was lurking nearby, waiting for the perfect mont to strike. Other tis, it was just paranoia gnawing at his mind, the kind that cos from too many long, stressful years spent escorting nobles through dangerous territories. Either way, he knew better than to dismiss the feeling.
This wasn't one of those simple days.
Even the horses moved differently — tense, restless, their heads twitching at the slightest noise. The driver could feel their unease bleeding into the air, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he beca that sothing was coming.
And to make matters worse, he had witnessed everything that had happened at the coming-of-age ceremony — every twisted mont, every unnatural power that erupted from that damned brat. Still, the one good thing that ca out of it? The driver couldn't deny that seeing the royal family stripped bare had been a once-in-a-lifeti feast for the eyes. Even now, the mory made the old perv drool just thinking about it. For that alone, he supposed he owed Sylvaris one — a man-to-man kind of gratitude, even if the kid was the most revolting brat he'd ever had the misfortune to et.
The horses suddenly jerked, snorting and stamping as if sothing unseen was closing in.
"Young Master Elyndor..." The driver's voice broke the silence, low and serious. "I'm sorry to bother you, but you should prepare for anything that might happen. The air reeks of blood... it might rain crimson today."
It was an old saying in their country — a grim warning every noble knew by heart. Blood rain ant only one thing — an imminent attack.
Those words dragged Sylvaris out of his intoxicating thoughts, forcing his eyes to narrow as he glanced out the window. The trees looked still, yet the air felt heavy.
"Thank you, Richard. Let know if you spot anyone... I'll be ready." His calm yet confident words carried out of the carriage, earning a small nod from the driver.
No matter how much Richard despised the arrogant brat, even he knew Sylvaris wasn't just so sheltered noble. Rumor had it the young genius had once taken down a legendary monster — a beast that had slaughtered an entire A-rank party before Sylvaris ended it himself. Whether those rumors were true or exaggerated didn't matter. Right now, Richard could only hope those whispers had so truth behind them... because if sothing was out there, they would need more than luck to survive.
The two of them didn't have to wonder for long.
About an hour later, the rhythmic pounding of horse hooves echoed from the distance, faint at first but steadily growing louder. The ground trembled beneath the weight of approaching riders. Monts later, a group of n erged from the horizon, their dark figures blending with the road ahead.
They didn't bother with masks, each one riding openly as if they were nothing more than passing travelers. There were at least thirty, perhaps forty of them, and each man carried a sword holstered at his right hip. Their black robes, woven from rich silk, suggested wealth — a sign that they ca from a background of power or influence. At first glance, they appeared harmless, just a group of well-dressed travelers sharing the road.
But when they caught up to the carriage and began to surround it on all sides, their intentions beca painfully clear. The horses slowed to a halt, their anxious snorts filling the air.
The driver grimaced, his hand already drifting toward the small dagger hidden beneath his seat. "What is the reason for this intrusion?" he called out. "As you may already know — and if you don't, let tell you — I'm transporting a very important person from the kingdom. He's a noble from a prestigious family, and if you dare to offend him—"
His voice cut off abruptly as cold steel pressed against his throat.
The blade was black as night, its surface glinting like starlight, and the hand that held it belonged to a man in his forties with sunken eyes and a wicked grin.
"Save your breath, brother," the man sneered, twisting the driver's head to the side as his gaze flicked toward the carriage door. "This might be the last day you get to breathe if you're not careful." His grin widened as he gave the door a sideways glance.
"Young Master Sylvaris Elyndor," he called mockingly, "please co out and follow us if you want this poor man to live. I suggest you cooperate. You wouldn't want innocent blood on your hands... would you?"
His laughter was sharp and twisted, and the rest of the riders joined in — their booming voices echoing across the road like a pack of hyenas. Despite their polished robes, they carried themselves like common thugs, their sneers and jeering laughter betraying whatever noble background they once claid.
But they had made one crucial mistake — they had severely underestimated who Sylvaris was.
Without warning, a brilliant beam of white light tore through the wooden carriage door, shattering it in an instant. The beam shot straight through the head of the nearest rider — the poor fool who had been closest to the door. His body slumped from his horse like a ragdoll, hitting the dirt with a dull thud, his face frozen in twisted shock.
The once-booming jeers were replaced by stunned silence, their wide eyes reflecting nothing but shock and confusion. For a mont, none of them dared to move, frozen in disbelief.
They were attacking a noble, right?
"What an interesting brat..." the middle-aged man chuckled, his grin twisted with amusent. "Let teach you what happens when brats like you try to play the hero."
The blade resting on the driver's neck slid across his throat, and the man's head dropped to the ground with a dull thud. His lifeless eyes widened in terror, frozen in that final mont of panic. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the dirt road in crimson.
For a few fleeting seconds, his severed head still clung to consciousness — just enough ti for him to curse Sylvaris to hell before his vision faded to black.
"Who said I'm playing the hero?!"
Sylvaris's voice cut through the air, cold and lazy.
He stepped out of the carriage with a white-as-snow blade resting on his shoulder, his gaze calm yet sharp enough to make the thugs instinctively pull back.
The air turned heavy, and an unsettling chill seed to seep into their bones. Their horses shifted uneasily beneath them, their riders gripping the reins a little tighter.
Sylvaris smirked. "What's wrong?" he drawled. "You looked more confident a mont ago..."
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