Screams of pain.

The sound of a commotion and pained screams break the conversation. Everyone turns to the back of the cart to see one extra person standing there, the corpses of the one mercenary and the two other guards laying at their feet. The moss green cloak that covers the assassin’s whole body is stained with blood.

‘How!? Where did they come from and how did they kill three people in so little time!?’

Arthur’s body tenses. His blood runs cold and his thoughts stop for but a second, more than enough to die in battle.

“Dammit!” Marina screams and unsheathes both swords, holding one on each hand.

With an enraged scream and the flow of magic enhancing his body, Aryn charges with his spear towards the cloaked figure, leaving Arthur to deal with the two mercenaries in front of him… if they truly are mercenaries.

His body is stiff, but he quickly draws his mother’s sword. The blade is duller, heavier and thicker than a usual one, but he’s familiar with it. He holds it in front of himself, his stance practiced and ready as he covers Aryn’s back.

Cold sweat runs down his forehead and the back of his neck. He thought he was ready for anything. Just now he realizes how stupid it was to think that.

“What the hell happened!?” Donald’s pained question lingers in the air.

“Get out of the way! They’re not with us!” Marina shouts at Arthur, her face twisting in anger.

The one other mercenary feels something behind him and turns, but two crossbow bolts hit him in the left shoulder and in the right leg, making him fall to his knee in pain.

Where did those come from? Arthur follows the trajectory and sees a faint glint of metal coming from the grass, 10 meters away. That blew their cover.

Two men stand up from their hiding spot, the grass itself. Their clothes, as green as the grass they laid on, starts to discolor. No, it would be best to say they’re returning to their normal black color, as if some green, gooey substance was sliding off of them.

“You fucking BASTARDS!” Marina shouts at the top of her lungs, and the familiar sensation of flowing prana can be felt oozing from her. She’s using Prana Flow, too.

…No. There’s something more to it. She lunges forward, covering the same as five steps in a single instant, swords at the ready.

Arthur shakes his head and snaps himself out of his surprise and hesitance. The people who already know conflict moved immediately while the rookie still doesn’t know what to do. His mind starts running again, and he knows that the first thing is to secure Donald and Melvin, his bosses. As much as he wants to help Aryn, he has to do his job, first.

Besides, the senior guard is actually holding his own. The thrusts of his spear are sharp and precise. He keeps his distance from the unfamiliar foe while they step back further and dodge the attacks.

Arthur takes advantage of the commotion and secures the caravan owners, pushing himself through his shaking legs to lead them to crouch behind the cart, safe from the crossbow fire. They follow, and poor Melvin is looking absolutely miserable. He’s shaking and his face is pale. Arthur doesn’t blame him. It turned out he was right.

Once they’re both secure, Donald shouts. “Go help Aryn! That girl is keeping the other two busy!”

It only takes a glance to confirm he’s right.

The two bandits had to throw their crossbows aside and draw their swords to fight Marina. Even in a two against one, the girl is holding her own, using her two swords to parry their attacks and keep them at safe distance. Her movements are swift and precise, but Arthur has no time to watch.

Prana runs through his body, and he allows himself to build some confidence. Prana can be felt by those who can use it, almost like a faint heat signal. Right now, he can feel 5 people using it: Marina, Aryn, the two bandits and the cloaked figure. They’re all more experienced than him. They know how to fight, so Arthur has to press his only current advantage.

He grits his teeth, kicks off the ground and raises his sword. He doesn’t bother with some sort of sneak attack, because there’s no way people aren’t noticing him.

If the heat signals from the five veterans are like candles, then Arthur’s is a flaming torch. His Prana burns with a higher intensity, giving him the simple, yet effective advantage of raw power.

He can’t do fancy moves like Marina’s quick lounge, so he dashes as fast as his legs can carry him, covering five meters in a second. The speed and power of his charge manages to take the assassin by surprise.

The young guard brings his sword down. It’s a practiced, fast and heavy strike, form nailed into his body by brute **** by his mother so he could do it in his sleep if he needed to. Yet the sword is stopped.

Naked arms come out of the obscuring cloak and stop the blade, putting both forearms in front of their face. Not only that, but the loud clang of metal hitting metal echoes across the plains. Despite his strike carrying enough power to push the assassin back and make them drag their feet, their arms are completely unharmed.

Arthur doesn’t have the time to be surprised. He notices a knee coming his way, directed at his stomach. But the blow never reaches him. The tip of Aryn’s spear finds their enemy’s head, making it recoil with the sound of metal on metal once more.

The spear’s blade did pierce through the cloth of the cloak, however, catching it. Aryn yanks it with all his might, hoping to bring the assassin down with it, but they slip out of their covering garments in a simple, fluid motion before stepping back.

Both Arthur and Aryn are shocked by what they see. It’s a woman. A… lightly dressed woman. She has an athletic body which they can see because the only thing covering the upper half of her body is a black leather breastplate that only protects her ample chest. Her toned stomach, arms, shoulders, neck and head are completely exposed. She’s wearing thick black linen pants and matching boots.

‘Hot. Wait, no! Why would I focus on that!? Is it a tactic to distract men, perhaps? If so, it almost worked on me.’

Arthur swallows and curses himself mentally for letting the thought of how attractive she is even cross his mind. Her long, black hair is tied up in a high, wild ponytail. Her small, dark eyes look at them… expressionless, almost dead.

Even as Aryn and him are gritting their teeth and tightly holding onto their weapons, the woman in front of them shows… nothing. She killed three people and she feels… nothing?

Aryn takes a quick glance back. It lasts less than a second.

“The girl is still fighting the other two. Her partner is wounded on the ground.” He informs. “Donald and Melvin are still hiding.”

“Do we charge her?” Arthur asks with a whisper.

“Yes. Try to pin her down.”

“Got it.”