Northern Highway – The Black Forest. Two Days Travel from Iron Hearth.
The old carriage shook violently as its wheels slammed into a muddy pothole.
Inside the cramped cabin, Sir Roland hugged the wooden box containing "The Goddess's Tears" as if it were his firstborn child. His face was deathly pale.
"I swear," Roland muttered, fighting back motion sickness. "If we ever get back to Earth, I'm going to kiss the asphalt of the Cipularang toll road. Even Bang Rivan's off-road car suspension wasn't this destroyed."
Opposite him, Lady Rhea sat with a stiff, upright posture. She wore light leather armor that hugged her athletic frame. At her waist hung a rapier—a slender thrusting sword—the kind she used for fencing practice. The difference was, this tip was sharp, not blunted like sports equipment.
"Focus, Land," Rhea said sharply, her eyes constantly scanning the window which revealed giant black pine trees looming like ghostly fingers. "We've entered the Red Zone. 'Lady Rhea's' memories say this forest is a bandit den."
Outside, sitting on the coachman's seat, Sir Riven controlled two massive black horses. He wasn't alone; he was accompanied by Captain Thorne and two loyal guards.
The forest was silent. Too silent.
No birds sang. Only the creaking of carriage wheels and the horses' breath steaming in the cold air.
Suddenly, Riven's ears twitched.
His knightly body's memories caught a faint whistling sound cutting through the air.
Not the wind.
"GET DOWN!" Riven shouted.
THWACK!
An arrow flew from behind the bushes, embedding itself deep into the carriage's wooden wall, mere centimeters from Riven's head.
"Ambush!" Captain Thorne bellowed. "Protect the carriage!"
From the dark trees, six figures leaped out. These weren't starving, skinny bandits. They were muscular, wearing mismatched stolen armor, their faces covered by dirty scarves. Their eyes were savage.
"Kill the guards! Take the cargo!" shouted the bandit leader, a large man wielding a rusted axe.
Chaos erupted.
The two Sudrath soldiers immediately clashed with three bandits. Metal crashed against metal. Clang! Clang!
Riven jumped down from the coachman's seat. His heart (the heart of Rivan, the operations manager) was pounding like it was about to explode.
This wasn't martial arts practice. This wasn't a school brawl. This was murder.
A bandit sprinted toward him, swinging a short sword.
"Die, you pampered noble!"
Riven saw the swing in slow motion. His eyes spotted a gaping opening in the bandit's defense.
Rivan's brain screamed: Run!
But Sir Riven's muscles moved on their own: Kill.
Riven didn't dodge. He stepped forward, slamming his left shoulder—clad in hard armor—into the bandit's chest.
THUD!
The bandit staggered, the wind knocked out of him.
Without mercy, Riven's right hand, gripping his greatsword, swung horizontally.
SPLAT.
No beautiful technique. Just pure, brute force.
The bandit's head separated from his neck. Blood sprayed like a burst water pipe, soaking Riven's face.
Riven stood frozen. He felt the warmth of the blood on his cheeks.
I... I just...
"BROTHER RIVEN! BEHIND YOU!"
Rhea's scream snapped him back.
The carriage door flew open. Rhea leaped out with a beautiful somersault.
Another bandit was trying to sneak into the carriage to kill Roland.
"Don't touch my brother!" Rhea screamed.
The bandit turned, grinning dismissively at the woman holding a thin sword. "Oh, a pretty little toy..."
He lunged at Rhea with an iron mace. To the eyes of a national athlete, the attack was sluggish and full of openings.
Rhea performed a Lunge. Her legs stretched far, her body dropping low.
Zwing!
The tip of her rapier pierced the gap in the bandit's armor at the armpit, stabbing directly into the lungs.
Rhea pulled her sword back.
The bandit dropped his mace, clutching his chest, coughing up blood, then collapsed. His eyes stared at Rhea in shock before the light faded from them.
Rhea stepped back, breathing heavily. Her hands trembled violently. She watched fresh red blood drip from the tip of her elegant blade.
The battle ended quickly.
Six bandits dead. Two Sudrath soldiers lightly wounded.
The forest returned to silence.
Roland crawled out of the carriage, still hugging the glass box. He saw the scene before him.
Riven stood like a statue next to a headless corpse. Half his body was painted red.
Rhea was kneeling on the ground, vomiting violently.
"Hurrrkk... cough..." Rhea emptied her breakfast. Tears streamed down her face. "I killed a person... I killed a person..."
Roland felt his legs turn to jelly. He wanted to run, wanted to hug his sister, but the metallic stench of blood and spilled entrails made his own stomach churn.
Riven dropped his greatsword. Clang.
The muscular 32-year-old man stared at his own hands. Trembling.
"Van..." Roland called softly. "You okay?"
Riven turned his head slowly. His face was pale beneath the bloodstains.
"It felt... too easy," Riven whispered, his voice sounding horrified at himself. "I cut his neck like cutting tofu. There was no guilt in my muscles. But my brain... my brain feels like it's going crazy, Lan."
Captain Thorne approached, cleaning his blade casually. He was oblivious to his masters' internal turmoil.
"Good work, Sir Riven! Your strength reminds me of young Duke Lucian. And Lady Rhea... a lethal thrust."
Thorne kicked the corpse of the bandit leader.
"These aren't ordinary bandits. This armor... it bears the forging marks of the Southern region."
Thorne looked at Riven seriously.
"These are mercenaries, My Lord. Most likely sent to ensure 'The Goddess's Tears' never reached the auction."
Riven took a deep breath, then exhaled harshly. He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve, leaving a long red smear.
He walked over to Rhea, helping her stand. Rhea was still sobbing quietly, in deep shock.
"Listen," Riven said. His voice changed. Harder. Colder.
He looked at Rhea and Roland in turn.
"We aren't in Bandung anymore. There are no police. There are no Human Rights. If I or Rhea had hesitated for even a second... it would be your head rolling on the ground, Lan. Or Rhea being raped by these corpses."
Riven grabbed his greatsword again. He sheathed it on his back.
"From this second on, bury your pity. Save our morality for when we are rich and safe. Right now? We are just animals trying not to be eaten by other animals."
Rhea wiped her tears roughly. She nodded, though her hands still shook as she sheathed her rapier. "Okay. Okay, Bang. I get it."
Roland swallowed hard, tightening his grip on the wooden box. The box felt much heavier now. Lives had been lost to protect it.
"We move," Riven ordered, climbing back onto the coachman's seat. "Don't stop until we see the gates of Black City."
The carriage wheels turned again, crushing the mud that was now mixed with red.
Inside the cabin, Roland stared at his reflection in the dark glass window. The face of the innocent college student slowly faded, replaced by the face of a man ready to do anything to survive.
House Sudrath had drawn their First Blood.
And they realized one thing: They were talented at it.