By the time Kaster and his men arrived, the fight was already long over. As guards, they should have rushed in to protect their lord the moment the commotion started. But upon receiving Blake's silent signal, Kaster had deliberately held back. Instead of storming into the room at the first crash, he ordered his men to seal off the surrounding corridors to prevent any unwanted intruders. It was only when Blake's whistle echoed through the halls that Kaster finally "rushed" into the room with a contingent of soldiers—though Dara was already long gone, leaving nothing but a pile of lifeless bodies behind.
This outcome did not trouble Dara in the slightest. Killers were always high-risk, disposable tools; losing a few was nothing out of the ordinary. From his perspective, fewer rivals meant greater favor from the family. Dara was no fool—he knew full well the ambitions that lurked in the hearts of his subordinates, how many of them longed to take his place. So why not seize this opportunity to eliminate those idiots once and for all?
"My lord! Are you unharmed?!" Kaster shouted, sword in hand as he positioned himself protectively in front of Blake. His eyes scanned the room vigilantly, embodying the very image of a loyal retainer ready to lay down his life for his master.
That is, if one ignored the *timing* of his arrival.
"Of course we're fine," Blake raised an eyebrow, cutting off Kaster's overly dramatic concern.
"How goes things on your end?"
"The men have secured the inn and detained the guests, my lord. But with all this noise, I suspect the city watch will be here any moment now," Kaster reported promptly, dropping the pretense now that they were among allies.
"That's of no consequence," Blake waved a dismissive hand, his gaze drifting through the hole in the wall to the unconscious young master Zachary.
"Take these men and lock them in your quarters—keep them under strict guard. I'll handle the city watch. As for these bodies... search them thoroughly for any clues to their identity."
"At once, my lord!"
Upon receiving Blake's orders, Kaster turned and issued a series of hand signals to his men. The soldiers exchanged confused glances. Some had already noticed the unusual dynamic between their captain and the young noble—they were supposed to be men of House Byrd, after all. Was it really wise to take orders from an outsider?
None of them suspected that Kaster had already resolved to abandon House Byrd entirely. Though they harbored their doubts, only Kaster knew the true purpose of their mission to Twilight Forest. Thus, they did not find his sudden shift in allegiance overly strange. After casting a few curious looks at their captain, the men quickly set to work as ordered. They dragged the unconscious Zachary guards and the young master to their rooms, while others disposed of the bodies and searched them for any identifying marks.
Just then, the distant sound of shouting and commotion began to echo through the inn.
"It seems we ought to go see what all the fuss is about," Blake said, tilting his head to listen to the noise outside. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he held out a hand to Ophelia.
"Shall we, Miss Ophelia? If we make this quick, we might still get back to bed for a few more hours of sleep."
Staring at Blake's outstretched hand, Ophelia couldn't decide whether to laugh or scold him. To be fair, she had faced no less danger than Blake that night. Though she had received Blake's warning beforehand, Ophelia was still a young woman with no combat experience to speak of—how could she possibly stand against seasoned killers?
Of course, Dara had never intended for his men to kill Ophelia. After all, if a member of the royal family were to die on House Zachary's territory, the consequences would be catastrophic for everyone involved. Dara's plan had been to take Ophelia hostage if things went south, using her as leverage to cover their escape.
When Dara's assassination attempt failed and his scream of pain rang out, the killer stationed in Ophelia's room had immediately lunged at her, unprepared as she was. But before he could even lay a finger on her, a second dagger—thrown by Blake—had pierced his heart, dropping him dead on the spot.
For the former princess, it had been quite the harrowing experience. One moment, her room had been quiet and empty; the next, a black-cloaked man had come hurtling out of the shadows at her, only to collapse lifeless at her feet. It was not every day one survived such an ordeal. No wonder she had screamed her lungs out. Though the outcome had been favorable, Ophelia still felt shaken and more than a little indignant at the fright she'd been put through.
But now was hardly the time to argue with Blake. After a moment's hesitation, Ophelia shook her head with a wry smile and placed her hand in his.
"I do hope the rest of the night will be peaceful, my lord," she said.
"I can promise you that much, Miss Ophelia," Blake replied with a grin.
While Blake and Ophelia went to deal with the aftermath of the commotion, Dara knelt trembling before a man dressed in the rich robes of a noble, his face ashen and his jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to crack.
"FOOL!" a low, furious roar echoed through the dimly lit room, sending a shiver down Dara's spine.
"Did I not explicitly order you to leave that High Swordsman alone? Your only mission was to eliminate the target! Look what you've done! Seven men of the Shadow Killers sent out—and only you crawled back alive! Is this how you repay my trust?!"
"The failure is mine alone, my lord!" Dara bowed his head, his voice thick with shame and gritted teeth.
"I am ready to accept any punishment you see fit to inflict!"
"What good is talk of punishment now?" the noble snapped, waving a hand in exasperation.
"Tell me—did you reveal our identity?"
"Never, my lord! None of us bore the family crest, and our weapons and attire were carefully chosen to leave no trace. Even if the city watch were to investigate, they would never suspect us," Dara assured him quickly.
"Good," the noble's tone softened slightly. He was not a man without reason. Though Dara's recklessness had cost him several good men, Dara was still a highly skilled assassin—one he could ill afford to lose, especially now that his ranks were depleted. As much as he might have liked to kill Dara to tie up loose ends, practicality dictated otherwise.
"Very well. You may rise and leave," the noble said, his eyes glinting with cold calculation. But to his surprise, Dara remained kneeling on the floor.
"My lord... I have more to say."
"Oh?" The noble raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He was not known for his leniency—a fact Dara knew well. He should have taken the reprieve and fled before the noble's anger flared again. Yet here he was, daring to speak further after a catastrophic failure. Had he uncovered some vital piece of information?
"It concerns the High Swordsman," Dara said, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing.
"The truth is... I was no match for him. He may be young, but his power far exceeded anything I could have imagined. To be perfectly honest, my lord—I did not escape by my own strength. That man *let* me go. He bid me deliver a message to you: he has delivered the goods safely to their destination. If you wish to claim them, you must come and negotiate with him in person... otherwise, he will be forced to seek out new buyers."
"Oh?" The noble's eyes widened in genuine surprise.
"He said that? Verbatim?"
"Every word, my lord," Dara confirmed without hesitation.
The noble frowned deeply, falling into deep thought. If Dara had indeed been released by Blake, then the message was likely genuine—but what did it mean? Was Blake not supposed to be escorting the young master back to House Zachary to root out their faction? Could this be a trap, designed to lure him into the open so that he and his allies could be eliminated in one fell swoop? It was certainly possible. After all, Blake had entered Roya without immediately delivering the young master to the main Zachary estate—a clear sign that his motives were not as straightforward as they seemed. By choosing to stay in an inn on the fringes of the common district, he was practically waving a red flag, using the young master as bait to draw out his enemies.
But... the message itself was puzzling. If one took it at face value, it sounded as if the young High Swordsman did not view the young master as a person to be protected, but rather as a *cargo* to be delivered.
Wait a minute. What if that was exactly what he was?
A chill ran down the noble's spine as a horrifying realization dawned on him. His initial assumption—that Blake was an enemy sent to protect the young master and crush their faction—might have been completely wrong. What if Blake had escorted the young master back to Roya not out of any sense of duty, but to auction him off to the highest bidder? To the side that wanted to protect the heir, or the side that wanted him dead—whoever paid more would get the boy.
If that were the case... the implications were staggering. Blake was currently in the heart of House Zachary territory. Whether he chose to kill the young master or protect him, he would inevitably make enemies of one faction or the other. That meant Blake's goal was not merely to profit from playing both sides against each other—he must have known that handing the boy over to either faction would spark a full-scale civil war within House Zachary. If the side he backed lost, he would find himself with a powerful enemy on his hands. He would never allow that to happen... which meant he intended to ally himself with the winning bidder and help them *unify* House Zachary!
In short, whoever secured Blake's services would not only get the young master (alive or dead) but also the support of a High Swordsman in the upcoming power struggle!
A High Swordsman's support!
The noble's hands clenched into fists, his heart pounding with excitement. By the saints! A High Swordsman was a once-in-a-lifetime ally—something most nobles could only dream of! Internal power struggles over succession were common among noble houses, but they rarely attracted the attention of someone as powerful as a High Swordsman. It would be like a gang of street thugs brawling in an alley, only to have the royal guard march in and declare their support for one side. With a High Swordsman on their side, victory would be all but guaranteed!
How had the current Zachary patriarch managed to hold onto his position for so long, suppressing all other factions? Precisely because he had a High Swordsman in his personal retinue!
Of course, someone of Blake's caliber would never agree to be anyone's mere retainer. But if their faction could forge an alliance with him, they would be unstoppable in the upcoming battle for the patriarch's seat!
Naturally, the risks were enormous. All of this was merely his speculation—Blake's true motives remained a mystery. If Blake really was loyal to the young master and had laid this trap to eliminate their faction, they would be walking into certain death.
But at this point, the risks no longer mattered. If Blake was indeed their enemy, their defeat was only a matter of time. But if his intentions were as the noble suspected, then this was their one and only chance to turn the tide!
If they let this opportunity slip through their fingers, they would be doomed.
"I will write a letter at once," the noble said, his mind made up as he turned to Dara, his voice brimming with resolve.
"Deliver it to the honorable Mr. Blake. Tell him—as he requested—I will meet with him in person. He may choose the time and place!"
This was an opportunity he could not afford to miss.