After several minutes of careful walking, the trees thinned and then abruptly ended. Klaus and Shane stepped out from the forest's shadow into an open stretch of land, where the ground flattened, and the sky widened above them. The road ahead cut cleanly through the plain—a broad, well-maintained route of packed earth and gravel. Sparse grass clung to the edges, and the treeline sat far away, offering little cover for any ambush.
Klaus stopped at the forest's edge and slowly turned his head, surveying the terrain with a practised eye. No rocks large enough to hide behind. No natural bends. No elevation worth mentioning.
"This," he said at last, sounding almost pleased, "is a terrible ambush site."
Shane glanced along the road, then nodded. "Wide visibility. Clear flanks. Anyone with half a brain would avoid fighting here."
Klaus smirked. "Exactly. Which is why it'll work."
He walked a few steps out onto the road, boots crunching softly against gravel, then paused when something caught his eye. A fist-sized stone lay half-buried near the center of the path—unremarkable, weather-smoothed, the kind no one would spare a second glance.
Klaus crouched and placed his palm against it.
"Trap Master."
The world answered.
A massive rune circle bloomed outward from beneath his hand, swallowing the road and a wide portion of the surrounding land. Lines of arcane script etched themselves into the air and soil alike, overlapping and interlocking with frightening complexity. Normally, the runes would fade into near-invisibility the moment they formed, but this time—because of the sheer scale—they lingered as a dim, ghostly glow, as heat shimmer caught in moonlight.
Shane instinctively took a step back, eyes narrowed as he traced the circle's boundary. "That's…it's my first time seeing that."
Klaus didn't look up. Sweat had already begun to bead at his temple. "First time doing it this big. Normally, small traps don't need circles like this."
He worked for hours.
Klaus moved methodically, carving invisible sigils into the ground, occasionally pausing to steady his breathing before continuing. The night thinned into dawn. Pale sunlight crept over the horizon, washing the runes until they finally faded completely, leaving nothing but ordinary earth behind.
Shane folded his arms, watching in silence until the sun fully broke free. "You done yet?"
Klaus gritted his teeth as he finished the last sequence. "Almost."
A few tense minutes later, he straightened and rolled his shoulders, then walked back toward the forest. "It's finished. Now we wait."
Shane reached into his storage ring and pulled out a black cloak and a featureless mask, dark enough to drink in light. "Then we need to prepare."
Klaus produced an identical set and donned it without ceremony. Soon, two indistinct figures melted back into the treeline, motionless as shadows.
Minutes stretched into hours.
Shane finally broke the silence. "Where's the trigger?"
Klaus lifted a finger slightly. "That stone."
Shane followed the gesture, eyes resting on the unassuming rock at the edge of the road. He nodded once and said nothing more.
Time crawled. The sun climbed higher.
Shane checked his pocket watch. "Nine already."
"And still no movement," Klaus muttered.
"They're not in a hurry," Shane said. He produced a small pack of salted biscuits and offered one. "Eat."
Klaus accepted it with a quiet nod. "Thanks."
They were midway through chewing when a low rumble reached them—faint, rhythmic, unmistakable.
Klaus froze. "That's them."
Shane's posture sharpened. "Be ready."
Klaus casually picked up a pebble, fingers flexing.
Then—
A sparrow swooped down, wings fluttering, aiming to land straight for the stone.
Both men stiffened.
"—Don't—" Shane started.
Too late.
Klaus vanished.
A phantom jump cracked the air as he snatched the bird mid-flight and reappeared instantly beside Shane. His afterimage lagged behind for a split second before dissolving.
Shane stared at him. "That was reckless. You nearly blew everything."
Klaus raised his hand, the sparrow chirping indignantly between his fingers. "Same outcome if it landed." He released it, and the bird shot skyward.
They both went still.
The convoy halted.
Shane's breath caught. "Did they notice?"
"I hope not," Klaus said carefully.
From one of the refined wagons, a sharp woman's voice rang out. "Why are we stopping?"
A soldier jogged forward and bowed beside the wagon. "My lady, we spotted something ahead."
"Then check it," she snapped.
The soldier rode his horse and advanced, scanning the road. He saw nothing. No movement. No threat. Just dirt and stone.
He returned. "My lady, nothing out of the ordinary."
A pause. Then, irritated, "Then move. We're behind schedule."
The soldier muttered under his breath as he returned to position, signaling the convoy forward. "She causes the delay and blames everyone else…"
The wagons rolled on.
Klaus's lips curled into a thin smile beneath his mask. "Showtime."
He lowered himself into a crouch, fingers closing around the small pebble he had picked up earlier. His gaze never left the road. He counted silently—not numbers, but rhythm. Hooves. Axles. Breaths.
Shane stood a step behind him, posture relaxed yet alert, eyes flicking between the lead riders and the wagons that followed. His voice came low and even.
"When the vanguard crosses the midpoint… is it time?"
Klaus didn't answer. His shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. The pebble grew warm in his palm.
The lead riders passed the stone.
Then the first wagon.
Then the second.
Klaus exhaled.
Without warning, he flicked his wrist.
The pebble struck the unassuming stone with a sharp click.
For half a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the road screamed.
A spark burst outward from the point of contact, spiderwebbing across the ground in blinding white-blue veins. The rune array—hidden, dormant, patient—ignited all at once. Lightning surged forward like a tidal wave, leaping from sigil to sigil, swallowing the convoy whole.
Horses reared and screamed, muscles locking mid-motion as arcs of energy wrapped around them. Soldiers shouted in surprise—some mid-command, others mid-curse—before their bodies seized and collapsed where they stood. Armor rang sharply as men hit the ground, weapons clattering uselessly from numb hands.
The air filled with the crackle of electricity and the sharp scent of ozone.
And then—silence.
The lightning faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a convoy frozen in place. Horses lay on their sides, eyes wide but alive. Soldiers sprawled across the road, jaws clenched, limbs trembling, utterly paralyzed yet painfully conscious.
Not a single corpse.
Klaus waited a full second longer, watching for movement. Satisfied, he straightened.
"Let's go."
Shane nodded once. They stepped out from the forest together.
Boots crunched softly on gravel as they walked down the road, unhurried, deliberate. The soldiers could only watch—eyes tracking the two cloaked figures as if predators had stepped into a pen of trapped animals.
One man, likely the ranking officer, strained against his own body until his face flushed red. With enormous effort, he forced words past clenched teeth.
"W–who… are you?"
Shane opened his mouth to answer—
—but Klaus swept past him and bowed theatrically, cloak flaring as though caught by a nonexistent wind.
"Ah," Klaus said, his voice dropping into a hoarse, exaggerated rasp, "permit us to enlighten you, unfortunate souls."
He spread his arms wide.
"We are the Phantom Reavers— shadows birthed from forgotten wars,
collectors of unpaid, hunters of gilded arrogance, and silent judges of those who believe steel and gold make them untouchable. We walk unseen, strike unseen, and leave only memory behind."
The officer blinked. Then frowned.
"…Never heard of you."
"Of course you haven't," Klaus replied smoothly. "We live in darkness. We feast quietly upon the oblivious."
Behind his mask, Shane shook his head.
The officer swallowed. "Then… why now? Why show yourselves?"
Klaus stepped forward and casually placed his boot on the officer's helmet, pressing his face into the dirt.
"To have fun."
The man beneath his foot let out a muffled growl, every muscle in his body screaming in defiance while refusing to obey.
Klaus lifted his foot and gestured lazily toward the wagons. Shane understood immediately. Without a word, he moved.
Storage rings flashed faintly as Shane opened chests and crates, his hands efficient, precise. Gold vanished. Jewelry followed. Ledgers, seals, and anything marked with insignia were discarded—anything marked can be easily traced. He worked like a man doing inventory—not a raider, but an accountant under pressure.
Klaus, meanwhile, kept the soldiers' attention firmly on himself.
Then a sharp, furious voice cut through the air.
"You bunch of carnival monkeys! You dare rob me?!"