Damn this weather.
The squad leader tilted his head back, squinting at the scorching sun blazing overhead, before quickly refocusing his gaze on the flat road ahead. Glancing at the endless stream of people passing by, he curled his lip in disdain, then roughly shoved the idiotic recruit beside him to claim a sliver more of the meager breeze.
**The Golden Trade Route**—a thoroughfare that cut straight across the continent, a path paved with flowing gold. Every day, hordes of travelers trod this road, chasing their dreams of fortune, status, and glory. Here, one could find all manner of folk and goods alike: humans from every corner of the realm, reclusive elves rarely seen in public, even bands of orc mercenaries patrolling the route—though to most, these talking brutes were little more than savages in armor.
For many soldiers, being stationed on the Golden Trade Route was a coveted plum assignment. It wasn't just about getting to gawk at exotic sights and regale folks back home with tales of far-off lands—no, the real perk was the power to levy tolls on passing merchants. Of course, the lion's share of the profits went straight to their superiors, but that didn't stop the rank-and-file from lining their pockets. After all, this was the Golden Trade Route, where illegal smuggling and under-the-table deals were rife. A merchant who smiled obsequiously and slipped a few gold coins into a guard's palm would find their journey smooth sailing. But woe to those who skimped on bribes—these dutiful soldiers would promptly seize their "contraband goods" in accordance with the law, lining their own pockets even fuller and earning themselves commendations to boot. What a sweet deal.
Why else would they stand here roasting under the sun, if not for those glittering pieces of precious metal?
"Alright, move along," the squad leader snapped, waving a dismissive hand at the merchant before him. He curled his fingers around the two gold coins in his palm, savoring their cool weight—suddenly, this godforsaken heat didn't seem so unbearable after all. Without even glancing up, he stuffed the coins into the leather pouch at his waist and barked, "Next!"
Another wagon trundled forward at once. Just as the squad leader steeled himself for the usual routine of perfunctory questions and not-so-subtle hints, a commotion suddenly erupted from the crowd waiting patiently behind.
What are these country bumpkins squabbling about now?
The squad leader shot them an irritated glare, then turned back to the wagon. "Who are you? What's in the cart?"
Before he could finish, a hand suddenly tapped him lightly on the shoulder—one of his soldiers from behind. "Captain… look over there…"
"Can't you see I'm busy? Save it for later," the squad leader snapped, not even bothering to turn around. These green recruits were always getting distracted—last time, they'd practically drooled themselves silly over a passing elf. Who knew what had caught their fancy this time? Orcs?
"Captain, you really should see this for yourself," the soldier insisted, his voice trembling with excitement.
Idiots, every last one of them, the squad leader grumbled to himself. He pocketed the coin he'd just filched from the merchant, waved him away impatiently, then finally turned to follow the soldier's pointing finger.
"What's so damn interesting—"
His words trailed off mid-sentence, his eyes widening in shock as he stared at the sight before him.
It was a carriage.
Now, carriages were a dime a dozen on the Golden Trade Route—flashy ones belonging to nouveau riche merchants, imposing ones emblazoned with noble crests, the soldiers had seen them all a hundred times over. This one, however, was… *weird*.
Its size was ordinary enough, but in every other aspect, it was bizarre beyond belief. The entire carriage was split clean down the middle, half brilliant white as snow, half pitch black as night—a stark, eye-catching contrast that extended to every detail: the body, the lanterns, even the wheels. The left side was pure white, the right side jet black. Even the four horses pulling it were perfectly matched: two snow-white steeds on the left, two coal-black ones on the right.
If the carriage itself was merely odd, then the two figures sitting on the driver's seat elevated it to the realm of the utterly surreal. Normally, a single coachman was more than enough to handle a carriage—but this one had two drivers. Both were swathed head to toe in robes, one white, one black, sitting ramrod straight on the seat. One extended their left hand, the other their right hand, and together, they gripped the reins in perfect unison, guiding the carriage forward.
What in the world is this? A circus act?
The squad leader's mouth hung open in astonishment. He'd never seen anything like it on the Golden Trade Route. It didn't look like the gaudy carriage of a wealthy merchant—it had the air of nobility about it. But he knew all the prominent nobles in the kingdom, and none of them had a carriage like this. None of them were this… *strange*.
Ordinarily, he'd have let them pass without a fuss to avoid trouble. But today was different. Every eye—his men's, the merchants', the passersby's—was fixed on him and that bizarre carriage, waiting to see how he'd handle it. If he backed down now, word would get around, and his precious position would be gone before he could blink.
"Who are you? Where are you coming from?" he demanded, mustering up his courage and putting on a nonchalant air.
...
But to everyone's surprise, no answer came from the carriage. Instead, the two drivers suddenly raised their free hands in unison. A split second later, the sound of coins clinking echoed through the air as several gold pieces landed at the feet of the guards stationed at the gate.
Pfft!
A snort of laughter rippled through the crowd. The message was crystal clear: they had no interest in wasting words with petty underlings—here's the money, now open the gate and let us through.
Bribery was common enough on the route, but it was always done discreetly, under the table. To fling gold coins directly at the guards in broad daylight like this… it wasn't a bribe—it was charity, the kind you'd toss to a bunch of homeless beggars.
The squad leader's face darkened instantly. The nerve of these bastards—treating his men like a bunch of street urchins!
"Who are you? Where are you from? Who is inside the carriage?" he barked, abandoning all pretense of politeness and switching to an official, no-nonsense tone. It was his duty to vet travelers entering the Byrd family's territory, after all. If they wanted to be rude, then he'd return the favor in kind!
...
Still, no answer came from the carriage. They maintained a stubborn, icy silence.
"This is the territory of the Byrd family!" the squad leader roared, his voice rising. The Byrds were one of the most powerful noble families in the entire Kingdom of Wester—no matter who was inside that carriage, they'd have to bow to the Byrd family's authority here! With that thought, he made a subtle hand signal. In an instant, his soldiers closed ranks, surrounding the carriage in a tight circle. The onlookers, sensing trouble brewing, quickly scattered to the sides, keeping a safe distance.
"I'll ask you one last time! Who are you? Where are you from? Who is inside?!"
This time, a voice finally drifted out from the carriage—but it was not an answer to his questions.
"Sister, we're running late," a clear, bell-like voice said, soft as wind chimes.
"Yes, sister, we're behind schedule," another voice echoed, identical in tone and pitch.
"I want to see Father soon."
"I want to see Brother quickly."
"Why are these people blocking our way?"
"Why are these people getting in our path?"
The two voices wove together in a melodic duet, rising and falling like a song. Then they paused for a heartbeat, before speaking in perfect unison.
"Then let's kill them all."
At those chilling words, the soldiers surrounding the carriage stumbled backward in unison, their faces draining of color. At that exact moment, the carriage's double doors swung open slowly—one white, one black.
Two girls stepped down from the carriage.
When the crowd caught sight of their faces, a collective gasp of awe rippled through the air.
They were two of the most beautiful, delicate girls anyone had ever seen.
The girl who emerged from the white door had hair as white as freshly fallen snow, cascading down her back like a waterfall of silk. Her features were exquisitely lovely, with a small, delicate smile playing on her pink lips, and large, innocent lavender eyes that sparkled like gemstones. She wore an elegant white gown, holding a matching white parasol in her right hand. Her slender legs were sheathed in white silk stockings, and on her feet were tiny white leather boots—she looked like a porcelain doll straight out of a fairy tale, too perfect to be real.
The girl who stepped out of the black door was her mirror image in every way—save for her color scheme. Her hair was as black as midnight, her gown, parasol, stockings, and boots all a deep, velvety black. From their identical faces to their synchronized movements, they were two halves of a single whole. The only difference was that the black-haired girl held her parasol in her left hand, while the white-haired one used her right. They moved with mechanical precision, like reflections in a mirror.
"Who exactly are you?" the squad leader demanded, his tone softening despite himself. After all, they were just two young girls—what harm could they possibly do? "Answer my questions at once, or I'll refuse to let you pass into the Byrd family's territory!"
At his words, the black-haired girl tilted her head slightly to the left. The white-haired girl tilted hers equally to the right—perfect, mirror-image movements.
"I don't like him, sister," the black-haired girl said, her voice sweet as honey.
"I don't like him either, sister," the white-haired girl echoed.
"We don't have much time left."
"We can't afford to waste any more."
They paused, turning to look at each other, and broke into identical, brilliant smiles.
"Let's finish this!"
Their sweet, melodic voices still hung in the air when the scene descended into a bloodbath of unspeakable brutality.
In the blink of an eye, the two girls reached out simultaneously, their slender fingers tightening around the handles of their parasols. Then, a flash of black and white light crossed the air—followed by a sharp, ear-splitting shriek that made everyone's teeth ache. The invisible air around them seemed to be seized by an unseen hand, twisted and compressed into a solid, deadly form, then hurled violently outward in a deafening roar.
No one had time to react to the sudden attack. The soldiers didn't even have a chance to draw their swords before the invisible air blades sliced through their bodies like butter. They stared down at their midsections in stunned disbelief, their upper bodies toppling forward, while their lower halves swayed for a moment before crashing to the ground in a pool of blood.
A cloud of dust exploded outward, whipped up by the violent gusts of wind, obscuring everyone's vision. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the dust was sucked back into the air, vanishing without a trace, leaving behind only bright sunlight and the sickening stench of blood.
The onlookers stood frozen in shock, their eyes wide as saucers, unable to process what they had just witnessed. Every single soldier surrounding the carriage lay dead on the ground, cut cleanly in half at the waist—without exception. Even the poor squad leader had met a far grislier end: his body had been sliced into four neat pieces, scattered across the splintered ruins of the massive wooden gate that had once blocked the way. The gate itself was now nothing more than a pile of splinters and rubble.
"We killed them all, sister," the white-haired girl said, her voice tinged with excitement.
"We killed them all, sister," the black-haired girl echoed, her lavender eyes glowing with delight.
They glanced around at the carnage at their feet, then turned to each other, their small hands intertwining. They smiled brightly at one another, then leaned in, pressing their soft, pink lips together in a kiss, their tongues dancing together as if savoring sweet honey.
"Mmm~"
"Mmm~"
Their delicate bodies trembled with excitement as their tongues tangled. After a long, lingering moment, they pulled apart, their faces flushed with pleasure.
"Then let's hurry, sister," the white-haired girl said, her voice still breathless. "Father must be waiting for us."
"Yes, let's go," the black-haired girl agreed. "Brother is definitely waiting."
Breaking into a pair of pure, innocent giggles, they turned and stepped back onto the carriage.
The black-and-white carriage rumbled forward, crushing the splintered remains of the gate beneath its wheels, rolling over the dismembered bodies of the dead soldiers without a second glance.
And then, it vanished down the road, heading straight for the Duskwood.