The intelligence is unclear. The current Lands Between is not at the end of the Tarnished era. Although it has been affected, the various factions still retain their strength. To be safe, it is better to—
"Who is it!?" Throne turned his head abruptly and saw a dark shadow lunging out from the fog.
The sight startled him, and he initially thought it was a Black Knife Assassin, but after drawing star-frost and parrying the opponent's short blade, he realized it was not. The scout had already discovered the sneaking Throne. Perhaps eager to make a contribution, or perhaps to test him, she lunged forward first. Blades grated against each other, illuminating each other's helmets.
After a brief stalemate, the scout suddenly kicked Throne in the chest. Clatter—the roof tiles shifted, and Throne stepped back several paces, while the person landed with great agility and pulled a signal flare from her bosom. "Don't even think about it!" Throne threw two bone throwing daggers, forcing her to crouch down to dodge.
As soon as she looked up, the knight who had clearly been several meters away just a moment ago lunged forward, long sword raised high. Ichimonji! A swift strike, with ice spreading across the roof. Throne looked coldly to the side as the person rolled away, and then—he swung his leg, wreathed in a storm, sweeping across the rooftop.
The roof tiles flew off with a clatter, shattering against the body. A knight could easily withstand such fragile items with heavy armor, but the hunter only had leather armor. In intense pain, with debris exploding in front of her, the scout, sensing danger, crossed her hands in front of her chest. Before she could retreat, she saw a cold glint pierce through the debris. Pfft!
There was no final flash of life; the Cleanrot Rapier pierced through her forehead and was then swiftly withdrawn. Throne coldly glanced at the delicate face behind the shattered mask. To him, there was no difference between male and female enemies. Just as the corpse rolled off the roof, he turned his head to look toward the lake.
Even though they were a hundred meters apart, the enemies were not deaf or blind. The exchange of blows had already drawn their attention, and Throne's gaze happened to meet the burly man's. There was no lingering, passionate stare; the swordsman looked away in an instant, and then locked his gaze onto the Tibia Mariner below his feet.
Continuous fighting had forced the Tibia Mariner to the north bank. A moment later, Throne jumped off the roof and launched a plunging attack. There was no need to overthink it now. Since things had come to this, then—he would snatch the food from the tiger's mouth!
The sword was too fast; from the initial encounter to ending her life, it only took a dozen seconds. Truth be told, the scout's strength was not bad, but she happened to run into Throne. He knew too well how to deal with his own kind. "That idiot!" A saw this scene.
It wasn't that she felt sorry for this inexperienced companion—hunting death was equivalent to embracing death, and getting killed was perfectly normal. It was just that her recklessness had ruined her own big plan! "G, tie him down!" There was no need for a reminder; the hunter who was chasing the Tibia Mariner had already changed targets, but Throne's speed was faster than his.
Jumping from the roof, his right hand holding the long sword above his head, his sharp teeth biting onto the slender rapier, Throne was falling. Below him was the Tibia Mariner, which was in a state of stagnation after consecutive teleports. Throne flicked his wrist, holding the Sacred Seal in his hand, and input energy at the same frequency as the priest. Stay calm.
Light burst in the air like a halo. The rapier-wielding hunter shielded his eyes—just long enough to see Throne falling—and brought his blade down in a plunging slash. Steel met bone as the strike cleaved through the Tibia Mariner's skull and buried itself in the rotting gunwale. Golden light pulsed through the undead vessel.
The skeletons aboard stiffened, their essence sucked away like water down a drain. Gone in an instant. "It's really him!" The massive skeleton beneath the hunter's feet crumbled to dust. He dropped into the lake, sinking fast before charging along the silty bottom like a rabid beast.
A pale wake cut through the water—a shark's approach. Throne didn't flinch. He twisted at the waist and slashed backward. Steel shrieked as his blade intercepted the rapier mid-thrust, deflecting it with brutal force. His free hand snatched the weapon from the air. Then—
Sword Dance.
Clang. Clang. Clangclangclang—
Metal screamed as blades became a blur. Fast against faster, Throne pressed the advantage. The hunter staggered back, cornered. A heartbeat's pause in the storm of steel—instinct made him cross his swords overhead just as Throne's longsword and stolen rapier came down together.
SLASH.
The impact shuddered through the hunter's bones. His knees buckled. Before he could recover, Throne's boot connected with his face.
BOOM.
Bricks exploded. The house's wall caved in as the hunter hurtled through it, blood spraying from his ruined nose.
Throne didn't follow. He pivoted, Bloodhound's Step carrying him aside just as a boulder smashed the ground where he'd stood. Beast incantation? He turned toward the lake. The burly hunter hauled himself onto shore, chest heaving, water sluicing off his muscle-corded frame. His breath came in ragged growls, but the feral gleam in his eyes never dimmed.
The brute tensed to lunge—
A round object spun through the air. No time to dodge. The Lightning Pot detonated at his feet, golden current spiderwebbing across the water's surface. His muscles locked. Then came the daggers—three glinting streaks. Teeth gritted, he swung his iron fists.
Ding. Ding. Ding—
Two deflected. The third buried itself in his forearm. He left it there, bracing for the knight's charge.
Throne didn't come.
He was already running.
The hunter stared, numb arm throbbing, then roared at the sky. "I'LL KILL YOU!"
Pointless. Throne had covered a hundred meters by then. He knew reinforcements were coming—they'd recognized his Banished Knight armor, which meant they knew about the dragon. These hunters weren't weak. Their leader edged past knightly skill into hero-tier strength.
Still not enough to slay a dragon.
Which meant they had backup. The Lands Between had no radios, no telepathy—but Sellen's intelligence network was thorough. She wouldn't risk exposure without cause.
A whistle split the air. Throne rolled as a boulder smashed the wooden bridge behind him. Splinters flew. He sprang up, Bloodhound's Step carrying him forward just as—
CRASH.
The rock pulverized cobblestones. Roof tiles shattered. Glass rained down in lethal shards.
Facts proved that while Bloodhounds Step had too short a movement distance for close-quarters combat against strong opponents, it was perfectly suitable for dodging long-range attacks. This incantation-based warrior didn't look like the type to use area-of-effect attacks either.
But Throne had no smug expression; looking toward the pitch-black area outside the village, his brows were already furrowed. "He isn't wasting his energy; is he passing information to his teammates?" The bridge leaving Summonwater Village was right in front of him; rushing across it would lead into the wilderness.
Looking behind him, that hunter was still a hundred meters away, and he could completely escape from sight. But something was wrong! Throne stopped abruptly in front of the bridge, turned sharply to the east, and incidentally pulled out a Fire Pot and threw it on the ground. The wooden trestle bridge was immediately ignited, but a figure quickly rushed out.
A didn't even care about her burning cloak; she kicked a log away with her right foot, shattering the pot flying in the air. A foul smell and green smoke descended, causing the lake water to become murky. It was clearly filled with some nasty stuff. "Still pursuing relentlessly?" Throne saw her rushing over again, possessing a terrifying perseverance of not giving up until death.
This time he didn't throw a pot; he jumped onto a small boat at the pier, slashed the other boats to pieces with one sword, and then raised his palm. Storm Assault! White air currents swirled; he slapped the water, letting the storm push the small boat to dart away quickly. In the blink of an eye, it was over a dozen meters away.
The hunter also rushed to the shore and, without thinking, threw a giant rock. There was no way to dodge on the boat, but Throne was not prepared to hide either. Magic gathered into a sword, then was elongated to form a three-meter-long light spear, and he then thrusted it directly at the giant rock. Carian Piercer!
Boom—incantation and magic collided in the air, and stone debris exploded in the air. The falling dust actually obscured his tracks. At this moment, Throne saw a group of heavily armored warriors rushing out from the bridge and finally smiled. As I expected, there really was an ambush. This was not just intuition; driving prey into a trap was a basic skill.
An ordinary knight might not see it, but Throne himself liked to do this, and he was too familiar with similar methods. The golden light spear fell from the sky; this was another incantation, but unfortunately, under the pervasive dust, it was impossible to lock onto the target. It just landed around the gunwale, splashing large waves, while the small boat continued toward the east bank.
"Don't waste your energy." Monk raised his hand to stop his subordinates' wasteful, frustrated behavior, and turned to look at the hunter: "When were we exposed?" No one was a fool; the Tibia Mariner would not come ashore. When he heard the consecutive sounds of Beast Claw and ground bombardment, he immediately took his men around to the north side to intercept.
"You weren't exposed; it's just that this person is too cunning." A darkened her face. This person was not as strong as imagined, but more cunning than imagined, actually able to predict the ambush. "Then what about the other person?" "I don't know, it seems they aren't in Summonwater Village." A frowned tightly. She herself was a bait, yet she hadn't managed to lure the other person out.
Judging from the dragon-hunting situation, the other person was even more powerful. Everyone was silent; their probing had failed, and they had no choice but to reveal a trump card. "Lord Oleg will be waiting for him on the east side; let's pursue." "Good!" There was no need for more words; the group bypassed the village directly, but just as they reached the bridge, they stopped again.
Torches spat orange tongues into the night. Steel clashed against steel as dozens of Brant family knights stormed the village perimeter. With the new count's inauguration looming, Summonwater Village couldn't afford disturbances—every soldier stood razor-edged. If Mohg's ears caught the commotion, theirs certainly did.
The Brant forces assembled in formation, meeting the intruders at the stone bridge. On one side, disciplined ranks of tabarded soldiers. On the other, scarred warriors with no colors or crests. A plated knight broke formation, his voice a thunderclap: "Drop your arms or die where you stand!" The air between both forces crackled like drawn bowstrings.
Monk's moon-bladed halberd whispered from its sheath. No parley would come—not without surrender first. Morgott's face carried weight, but only after blades hit dirt. "Wipe them out. Fast." Across the lake, the din of combat carried—steel shrieks, dying gurgles, the wet crunch of parting flesh.
A lesson for next time: check for rangers before hunting. No helping it now. Slaughtering their count had set the entire territory on edge. When unknown marauders hit Summonwater, what choice did noble knights have? Look the other way?
That mistake wouldn't end in exile. It'd end at the hangman's noose. "Chase me?" Throne's grin split his face like a knife wound. He crammed jerky between his teeth, chewing hard between gulps of air. Every second counted—his muscles drank in the respite. The battle's chorus tempted him to circle back for spoils, but sense won out.
Danger hadn't dissolved. Distance meant survival. Once he unraveled who these enemies were, he'd return with hunting lessons of his own. The lakeshore loomed, choked with waist-high reeds that hissed like serpents in the wind. The encirclement was broken.
No sign of Sellen, but his teacher's presence prickled at his nape. First escape, then regroup. Any pursuers would walk into an ambush of his making. Throne's mind raced through angles of attack as he vaulted onto the bank, sword scything through reeds—
He froze.
The treeline stood twenty paces off. Before it, a knight towered at two meters tall, his armor drinking moonlight and spitting back silver. Plumed tassels streamed from his helm like a warlord's standard. A Banished Knight? Throne's eyes flicked to his own armor—similar in make, worlds apart in intent. Only the killing intent was familiar, smothering any thought of kinship.
"Name yourself." Throne's grip tightened on his sword. What business did a Banished Knight have here?
"Oleg." The voice grated like rusted chains. The knight's hands found the twin greatswords crossed on his back. Steel shrieked as they cleared their scabbards, catching the moon in their edges.
In an instant, that aged and rigid feeling disappeared, leaving only the sharpness of blades hungry for blood.