A tanned man, tall and muscular, with greasy hair pulled into a loose ponytail, rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, his lips curling into a sneer as he looked Lara up and down. His voice dripped with amusent and malice.
"Boss! We’ve hit the jackpot today—a pretty little girl and a fine-looking young man. I bet the madams in Zura would pay a hefty price for this handso one."
Lara’s expression darkened. Her fingers twitched at her sides, but before she could react, she felt a small tug at the hem of her shirt. Ivy’s tiny hand clung to her, trembling.
She must protect Ivy first.
With a furtive glance that spoke volus, she locked eyes with Ivy, urging her to seek refuge behind the carriage. The little girl, sensing the urgency in the silent communication, darted away with her heart pounding. Just as she was about to slip behind the carriage, a bandit lunged forward, his rough hand swiping through the air in a desperate attempt to seize her.
However, he was too slow, fart too slow.
A sudden movent.
Lara twisted, her body moving with instinctive precision. In a blur, her left leg shot up, her boot connecting with the underside of the man’s chin. A sickening CRACK echoed through the air. A white object—speckled red—flew from his mouth and landed in the dirt.
The bandit staggered back, his hands flying to his bloody lips. He looked at his hand, and he saw red, when he noticed that he had lost two teeth.
"My teeth! My front teeth, you son of a—!" He shrieked, spitting out more blood, his fury morphing into pure rage.
Lara barely spared him a glance. "Go!" she commanded, her voice sharp and unwavering.
Ivy didn’t hesitate. She darted behind the carriage, her small fra pressing against the wooden planks. Her breathing was rapid, and her heart hamred in her chest as she peeked out, eyes wide with fear.
The injured bandit wiped the blood from his chin and let out a guttural snarl. His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, and in a blind rage, he thrust it forward—straight at Lara.
Lara sidestepped effortlessly, the blade slicing through empty air. The man who lost two teeth almost fell when he hit nothing.
The other bandits roared with laughter, so slapping their thighs in amusent. To them, this was re entertainnt. After days of tedious travel, watching their comrade get humiliated was an unexpected delight.
But amusent quickly turned to disbelief.
The ’delicate young man’—who they assud would be easy prey—was toying with their companion, evading every strike with ease. No... not just evading—mocking.
Their pride bristled. Their smirks vanished.
With a collective snarl, the remaining n surged forward, their amusent replaced by anger.
"Hah! Eight n against one man. Interesting, right?" Lara smirked, her stance relaxed yet poised for battle.
The bandit leader, a burly man with grizzled stubble, had been about to draw his sword—but at his words, his grip hesitated. A flicker of sha crossed his face. Was he mocking them? Surely, it was just luck. What could one man do against eight seasoned fighters?
His doubt was short-lived.
The mont his n attacked, they fell—one by one. Each strike they threw was countered, each movent effortlessly dodged. Within minutes, four of his n lay groaning on the ground, clutching bruises or gasping for breath.
The leader’s jaw tightened.
"Damn it," he growled under his breath. His fingers moved swiftly to his lips. A sharp whistle.
From the shadows of the trees, fifteen more figures erged.
These weren’t ordinary bandits.
Their movents were disciplined, their grip on their weapons firm. rcenaries. Hired blades. n who had seen blood and battle.
Yet, as they encircled Lara, the leader noticed sothing unsettling—she was still calm. Too calm. While his n twitched with anticipation, shifting their grips, she stood motionless, as if utterly unfazed by the sudden escalation.
The quiet arrogance in her posture made his blood boil.
"Enough playing around! Kill him if you have to—just subdue him!" the leader barked, his patience snapping.
At his command, the rcenaries attacked as one.
Lara moved like water.
Her hands darted to her upper garnt, retrieving a hidden knife—a small blade, but razor-sharp and deadly in the right hands. And in her hands, it was lethal.
She ducked. Steel whistled past her ear. She twisted, her knife flashing. A cry rang out as her blade found its mark—a deep gash on a rcenary’s arm. He stumbled back, clutching the wound.
Another opponent ca at her from behind. Lara spun, the hem of her shirt flaring as she brought her blade up—slash. A hiss of pain. Blood seeped through a fresh cut on his thigh.
Screams and curses filled the air.
The leader’s fists clenched as he watched, disbelief and fury warring within him.
"You useless idiots!" he roared. "One person! He’s just ONE person, and you can’t handle him?!"
Lara exhaled, her muscles burning. It had been too long since she had fought like this—her stamina wasn’t what it used to be. She needed more training. Maybe she could convince her brothers to spar with her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a furious shout.
"Damn you! You ruined my favorite shirt!"
A rcenary, his once-white shirt now marred by a crimson gash across his abdon, charged at her, his sword raised. His grip was too tight, his movent sloppy—driven by rage rather than skill.
Lara simply sidestepped.
His own montum betrayed him.
His foot caught on a loose stone. He stumbled forward—his arms flailing—before he crashed face-first into the dirt.
His own sword pierced straight through his stomach.
Silence.
The bandit leader stood frozen, his mouth slightly open.
"..."
For a long mont, nobody spoke. Then—
"Tch." Lara dusted off her sleeve, barely sparing the fallen man a glance. "Sloppy."
The remaining rcenaries exchanged wary glances.
For the first ti, a flicker of doubt passed through their eyes.
Was this really a fight they could win?
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