The short blade flew rapidly toward Napoleon's chest, its edge slicing through his tunic in one clean cut.
Napoleon's masked face remained motionless as he stared at his attacker, appearing completely stunned.
Jasper Whitmore's lips curled into a vicious sneer.
"Don't blame me—blame yourself for crossing people you shouldn't have!"
The blade tip tore through Napoleon's clothing, scratching against his skin.
BANG!!!
In that instant, Napoleon leaned backward and drew a black steel war halberd from behind his waist—his signature weapon.
The halberd swept out from behind him with tremendous force, its blade striking hard against Jasper Whitmore's short sword. The speed was incomparable to Jasper's desperate, failing sword technique.
The short blade was knocked away, flying high into the air.
Napoleon flipped his halberd blade and brought down a devastating *Howling Wind Strike* directly toward Jasper's head.
Whoosh!
The howling wind accompanied the whistling blade as it approached. Jasper's pupils contracted in terror.
Every hair on his body stood on end. No matter what, he never could have imagined that this wealthy young lord—protected by three guards—would suddenly explode with such terrifying combat prowess.
This reaction speed, this technique!
Not good!!
He had no time to think further. Rolling backward on the ground, his feet touched down seven or eight times in rapid succession as he spun to retreat.
The halberd tip emerged from his chest.
Blood slowly seeped from the wound.
Napoleon walked over and pulled the halberd from the corpse, wiping the blade clean on the dead man's clothes.
"Let's go. Take me home."
He calmly climbed into the carriage as the curtains fell, leaving behind three personal guards and two gate sentries.
Five men plus the carriage driver stared at the corpse. No one spoke.
Especially the three guards—their faces had gone pale. They silently boarded the carriage without a word.
"Hya!"
The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage slowly began moving.
For a time, only the sound of rolling wheels filled the cabin.
The three guards sat facing Napoleon for a while, but unable to bear the oppressive silence, they excused themselves one by one and walked alongside the carriage.
Soon Napoleon was alone in the carriage.
He sat upright on a cloth cushion, expressionless, his eyes slightly closed as if dozing.
But only he knew how violently his heart was pounding.
He had killed someone...
He had actually killed someone...
In neither his previous life nor this one had he ever even seriously injured anyone.
Let alone killed.
Yet in that split second, his body had reacted purely on instinct. Seeing his opponent trying to escape, he instinctively raised the halberd and hurled it forward.
His enhanced muscle memory flowed smoothly, throwing the halberd using the second technique of *Gale Force Slash* with perfect form.
Then it struck his target's heart with precision.
And then, the man died.
The vivid scenes replayed continuously in Napoleon's mind. That man had truly intended to kill him—it wasn't a game or jest.
Under that stimulus, his instinctive response was to eliminate the threat completely.
And the result was indeed a complete resolution.
But his martial skills were now exposed.
Moreover, he had killed someone.
"Fortunately, the Kaer Morhen Blade Techniques have distinctive characteristics. A little investigation will clearly trace them back to Garrett. That's not a problem. But I need to be more careful in the future..."
The carriage rolled along steadily, leaving the village after about half an hour.
Ding-a-ling...
Ding-a-ling...
Suddenly, the clear sound of bells rang from the roadside.
Napoleon opened his eyes and lifted the carriage curtain to look outside.
A beautiful woman in flowing azure robes was walking along the road, her sleeves swaying gracefully as silver bells chimed with each step.
She appeared to be in her early twenties, with an exquisite face like polished jade, skin as pale as snow, and lips red as cherries. Her long raven hair was styled in an elegant bun secured with a silver hairpin.
But what caught Napoleon's attention most was her eyes—a deep violet, like precious amethysts, mysterious and enchanting. This was unmistakably Morgana whose beauty had already destroyed multiple noble houses.
"Such beauty..." Napoleon murmured, genuinely impressed.
In his previous life, he had seen many beautiful women, but none possessed this ethereal, almost supernatural allure.
The woman seemed to notice the carriage and looked up with a gentle smile.
Their eyes met through the carriage window.
Napoleon felt his heart skip a beat, as if struck by lightning.
"Your Lordship?" the driver called back questioningly.
"Keep going," Napoleon replied, though his gaze lingered on the mysterious woman.
As the carriage passed, she turned to watch them, that enigmatic smile never leaving her lips.
Ding-a-ling...
Ding-a-ling...
At some unknown point, the clear sound of bells began echoing from behind them in the pitch-black night.
The driver looked back to see another carriage—this one pure white—racing up from behind at extraordinary speed.
It appeared they too were heading toward Oxenfurt along this road.
The three guards also spotted the white carriage approaching.
Two pure white stallions pulled an elegant carriage decorated with intricate silver patterns. A faint fragrance drifted on the wind around the vehicle.
The three guards exchanged glances and slowly placed their hands on their sword hilts. They had already failed to protect their charge once and nearly lost him—if something happened again, the Goldwin family would never forgive them.
Their wrists were still injured from earlier, but after rest and medicinal treatment, they retained about seventy to eighty percent of their combat effectiveness.
All three were former soldiers who could form a small military formation when fighting together. Even seven or eight ordinary men would be no match for their coordinated efforts.
The white carriage itself wasn't particularly unusual, despite its obvious luxury.
What made the guards extremely nervous was that this pursuing carriage carried no lanterns whatsoever!
On the desolate country road, especially on this moonless, overcast night, the darkness was impenetrable without lights. Travel would be impossible.
Yet this carriage was moving faster than theirs—even faster than their lantern-lit pace!
"Something's not right," one of the three guards whispered.
Napoleon also pulled back the curtain to look behind them, spotting the dark white carriage traveling without illumination.
The carriage driver was a man—the same handsome, gentle-featured man who had stood protectively beside the woman at the Underground Market auction.
The white carriage showed no signs of slowing as it pulled alongside Napoleon's vehicle.
"Ah-wine, stop for a moment," came a melodious woman's voice from within the white carriage.
The white carriage immediately slowed to match their pace.
The curtain slowly parted, revealing a slightly frowning, enchanting face illuminated by their carriage lantern.
It was the woman from before—Morgana!
Napoleon's expression remained unchanged as he regarded her.
"The night road is treacherous and dark. Young master, might we borrow the light of your lantern to illuminate our path? We could watch out for each other on this journey."
Morgana noticed Napoleon and smiled at him warmly.
"...Lady Morgana, as you wish," Napoleon replied indifferently, preparing to lower his curtain.
"Young master, I have one more small request," Morgana called out before he could retreat into his carriage.
"Our carriage lantern has broken, making travel quite dangerous in this darkness. Could I perhaps join your carriage for safety? It would be much safer than continuing blind."
Napoleon narrowed his eyes, a wave of caution rising in his chest.
Morgana's appearance was suspicious, and her claim about the broken lantern—yet this would actually explain why her carriage had been traveling in complete darkness. But was it really broken, or was this merely a convenient excuse?
Yet she had pursued them from the darkness and seemed intent on conversation. Even if he refused, Morgana might not let the matter drop.
"If the lady doesn't mind the humble accommodations of my carriage, please join me for a brief respite." Having mastered the fourth level of Kaer Morhen techniques and succeeded in two recent confrontations, Napoleon felt a growing confidence in his abilities.
Against ordinary masters—even someone like Captain Garrett, Oxenfurt's finest warrior—he was confident he could hold his own in single combat.
Though he lacked extensive fighting experience, the fourth level of Kaer Morhen seemed to grant him explosive power that might even exceed Garrett's capabilities.
In a short engagement within confined space, he truly couldn't say who would emerge victorious between himself and Garrett.
So even if Morgana possessed supernatural skills, he had the means to protect himself.
"Then I'm deeply grateful, young master."
Napoleon instructed the driver to halt. Under the flickering lantern light, the white carriage also came to a stop.
The door slid open, and Morgana—still wearing her form-fitting black dress from before—gracefully stepped down.
She looked up at Napoleon, who had opened his carriage door, and smiled gently. Her exquisite, pale features, cherry-red lips, and the pink tongue that occasionally darted between them made the nearby guards and driver's hearts flutter involuntarily.
She slowly climbed into Napoleon's carriage, brushing past him.
Her long, pale legs were slender and perfectly curved. As she stepped up into the carriage, her tight black dress stretched slightly, revealing the briefest glimpse beneath—just enough for Napoleon to catch a hint of what lay hidden, yet not enough to see clearly.
"Oh my!"
Suddenly Morgana's body swayed, her foot twisting as she pretended to stumble, falling directly toward Napoleon.
"Careful!"
Napoleon quickly reached out to catch her.
His mind, however, remained coldly alert. This scenario, this convenient "accident"—he recognized it from countless melodramas from his previous life on Earth.
He was wary of Morgana but chose not to show it overtly, instead responding in a manner that appeared naturally logical.
Morgana fell delicately into his arms, her ample chest accidentally brushing against Napoleon's forearm.
She immediately blushed and lowered her head, straightening herself as if shocked by the contact.
Napoleon felt his heart race but steadied her firmly.
"Thank you, young master..." Morgana murmured softly.
"Think nothing of it. Please, be seated."
Napoleon helped her to a seat along the side of the carriage.
The carriage interior was spacious, with two rows of four seats facing each other.
Napoleon and Morgana sat opposite one another as the carriage resumed its gentle motion.
Morgana sat with flushed cheeks, her legs positioned at an angle, tightly pressed together without the slightest gap.
Yet from Napoleon's vantage point across from her, he could glimpse a hint of shadow between her dress hem and thighs. If Napoleon wished, he could easily follow that shadow to steal a look beneath her skirt.
After all, they were alone in the carriage with no witnesses, and Morgana's head remained bashfully lowered, unable to see his gaze.
The carriage suddenly jolted as if rolling over something, causing a slight bounce.
Morgana's legs separated slightly due to the motion, creating a small gap.
Now her beneath-skirt territory was partially exposed to Napoleon's view. From the corner of his eye, he could glimpse a flash of white.
"Is the young master traveling to Oxenfurt?" Morgana asked softly, seemingly unaware of her exposed state.
"Indeed. Is the lady also bound for Oxenfurt?"
Napoleon responded with meaningless pleasantries.
"Yes, if I may be honest, I'm currently staying at the Fortune Inn within the city. I heard about the Underground Market here and brought my guard to observe. I didn't expect everyone to wear masks—it was quite disappointing."
Morgana sounded rather dissatisfied.
"For Lady Morgana and a single bodyguard to travel such distances alone demonstrates remarkable courage born of superior skill."
Napoleon replied calmly.
"What skill do I possess? We were merely rescued by a merchant caravan along the way and followed them here to Oxenfurt. Otherwise, my guard and I might have frozen or starved to death in some remote corner."
Morgana explained with apparent vulnerability.
"Speaking of which, the young master who saved me also possessed martial prowess similar to yours."
Morgana laughed lightly.
"Is that so?"
Napoleon immediately understood she had witnessed his earlier combat display.
"At the Underground Market, I noticed you seemed particularly interested in battle energy manuals?" Morgana continued, her violet eyes studying his reaction with predatory focus.