To Blake, lying in wait was a skill that demanded extraordinary patience, precise judgment, and unwavering confidence. If he had idled here for half a month only to find his targets had not acted as predicted, all his efforts would have been in vain. But Blake was utterly certain of his deduction—he had personally witnessed the construction of Orlt's secret passage, and this knowledge gave him absolute assurance.
And sure enough, fortune favors the prepared. With just one day left until Blake's self-imposed deadline, the "prey" finally emerged.
"Quite a number of them," Blake whispered, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he lay hidden in the underbrush, watching the soldiers emerge slowly and cautiously from the cave mouth. The two sisters lay quietly beside him, their eyes fixed intently on the scene below, not uttering a single word. It was deep night. Clearly, these men knew exactly how to evade pursuit—they lit no fires, relying only on the moonlight to spread out silently through the forest, scanning their surroundings vigilantly. Instead of Orlt's royal armor, they wore the leather jerkins common to adventurers—a prudent choice, for they were fugitives, not tourists. Marching in full regalia would have been tantamount to announcing their identity to the enemy.
These soldiers possessed obvious expertise in combat and wilderness survival. After spreading out to scout, they moved with wordless coordination to sweep the area. Only when they confirmed there were no threats nearby did another figure step out of the cave.
He was a composed man with deep brown hair combed back neatly, framing a face of noble bearing. His attire was similar to Blake's—a long coat typically worn by merchants or aristocrats, draped in a jet-black cloak. Two sharp longswords hung at his waist, exuding a faint but unmistakable aura of killing intent.
Upon exiting the cave, the man first scanned the surroundings warily. Then he turned, bowed slightly, and extended his right hand in an inviting gesture.
Afterward, two figures wrapped head to toe in gray robes stepped out of the darkness.
The main targets had arrived.
Blake narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the figures ahead. The moonlight was dim, and the forest's shadows obscured their faces; to make matters worse, the distance was too great. But a knight was still a knight—if mere poor visibility could hinder his perception, he would be far too weak for his station.
"Your Highness, we must depart," the man said, clearly the leader of the group. His tone was respectful, yet underlined with a subtle urgency. At his words, the shorter of the two robed figures did not respond immediately, but turned to gaze back at the dark cave mouth, seeming hesitant. Nevertheless, the robed figure soon turned and followed the man toward the depths of the forest.
"Let's follow," Blake murmured. Everything was unfolding exactly as he had planned.
If Blake's earlier assessment of the situation had been mere conjecture, he now held absolute certainty. As long as the Orltans appeared and their movements remained under his watch, he could ensure the entire scenario would proceed according to his design. Frankly speaking, he cared little whether King Wester V would prove a spineless coward who betrayed his former allies. Of course, if Wester chose to do so, Blake would gladly reap the benefits as a third party. But even if the king lacked such treachery, Blake had already prepared a contingency plan. If things came to that, he would simply wait for the Orltans to make contact with Wester's envoys, then find an opportunity to tip off the Sith Imperial Army. No matter who struck first, Blake was determined to remain a spectator on the sidelines—that was the crux of his plan.
As the saying goes: if the conditions are favorable, advance; if not, create favorable conditions and advance anyway. That was precisely his philosophy.
It must be said that these soldiers knew their homeland intimately. They traversed the forest with ease and slipped through the Sith Empire's first line of defense without incident. Their movements were swift and efficient—but in Blake's eyes, they were already too late.
"If they had left two days earlier, their journey would have been much smoother," Blake said, a smile playing on his lips as he rode Esti, watching the Orltans below disguise themselves as merchants and head toward the river valley border. Clearly, the Orltans had planned meticulously. After leaving the forest, they had holed up in a small village for two days, then purchased large quantities of provisions before setting out for the border. Blake understood their strategy perfectly—crossing the border legally was impossible for them now. But the ongoing war had strained food supplies along the frontier; by posing as grain merchants, they would stand a far better chance of passing Sith inspections. And once they reached the border area, they could quickly use their knowledge of the terrain to shake off pursuers and vanish into the wilderness.
They never suspected that three of the deadliest foes imaginable were tailing closely behind them.
General Surt felt an inexplicable surge of anxiety.
He stared fixedly at the road ahead, his hands tightening around the reins, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. As Orlt's most renowned general, he instinctively sensed that something terrible was about to happen. Ever since leaving the secret passage, the general had been plagued by a constant sense of unease. On the surface, everything seemed normal—too normal. But Surt knew this was merely the beginning. They had only managed to slip through because the Sith Empire's final line of defense was not yet fully operational, seizing a fleeting window of opportunity. Now, that window had slammed shut.
According to his calculations, the Sith would discover their escape in two days at most. His greatest challenge now was to spirit the two remaining heirs of the royal bloodline to safety before then.
As a soldier, Surt would have far preferred to die on the battlefield. He knew exactly what was happening in the capital—the king and queen had resolved to stay and perish with their country. The people had taken up arms, and the kingdom's mana core had been charged to its maximum capacity. They awaited one final battle, a glorious blaze of glory to accompany the nation's demise—the last brilliant spark of a dying civilization.
Surt ached to stand beside them, to give his life for his country. He was a general—he should have stayed. But in the end, he had yielded to duty, obeying the king's command to escort the royal heirs to safety via the secret passage. His sole mission now was to protect and nurture these last vestiges of Orlt's royal line, until the day came when they could rise up, overthrow the Sith Empire, and reclaim their homeland.
Yet now, General Surt was overcome with a profound sense of foreboding.
He had witnessed firsthand what the Sith Empire was doing in his homeland—and this filled his heart with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he felt immense relief that Orlt's people had not been subjected to the brutal fate that usually befell the vanquished. But on the other hand, he could not help but worry: if the Sith continued to win over the populace with such lenient policies, popular resentment toward their rule would inevitably fade. If this went on, even if they one day managed to return, would the people here still be willing to embrace another war?
Of course, these thoughts remained locked in his heart, unspoken. He knew this was no time for doubts. Even so, a gnawing sense of unease and danger lingered in the depths of his soul. Surt could not pinpoint the source of this feeling; he had ordered his men to scout repeatedly, but each time they reported nothing amiss. As they drew closer to the border, Sith patrols grew more frequent, forcing Surt to abandon any further reconnaissance. He tried to convince himself that this overwhelming anxiety was merely a product of stress. But could a battle-hardened general really be so easily rattled?
That was a question best left for another time.
Before Surt could unravel the mystery of his unease, however, another problem arose—one that demanded his immediate attention.
"We apologize for the inconvenience," two Sith soldiers said, their expressions stern as they rested their hands on their weapons, blocking the group's path. They looked coldly at the gold coins the disguised Orltan soldiers offered, disdain evident in their eyes.
"By imperial decree, sirs. Despite your complete documentation, we are required to conduct a thorough inspection. Please step aside at once and submit to examination!"
Trouble. Big trouble.
General Surt took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he stared at the checkpoint ahead. He knew this was only the Sith Empire's third outpost—and intelligence indicated two more lay ahead. Forcing a breakthrough here was impossible; Surt was certain they would never make it past the remaining two checkpoints if they did. So far, they had encountered only reserve troops—there was no sign of the Sith's elite legions, a fact that filled Surt with growing anxiety.
And now, they were trapped here.
Should they charge? Or gamble on passing the inspection?
Some of his soldiers had already begun to reach for their weapons, turning to him with questioning glances. Surt hesitated for a moment, then nodded heavily.
"Very well. We submit to inspection," he said reluctantly.
"It seems our friends have run into trouble," Blake murmured, tearing his gaze away from the merchant caravan in the distance. Even from this far, he could not hear the exchange—but he knew full well that the caravan's failure to pass through smoothly, unlike before, meant something had gone wrong. And according to his plan, this was not supposed to happen yet.
"So what do you intend to do, Brother?" the sisters asked in unison.
"Have you already devised a plan, Father?"
"Naturally," Blake replied, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he leaned forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his waist.
"I think it's time to draw the Sith Empire's elite legions out of their hiding places."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Blake's figure merged with the shadows, streaking forward like a bolt of darkness.
In the blink of an eye, the dark streak shot out of the forest and surged unimpeded into the military camp adjacent to the checkpoint. The Sith soldiers were caught completely off guard by the sudden attack—they saw only a blur before them, a shadow streaking past like an arrow. Then, a flickering black light flashed, and blood erupted into the air, blooming like grotesque flowers as bodies crumpled to the ground one after another.
"To arms!"
The alarm horn blared.
Despite the suddenness of the assault, the Sith Imperial Army demonstrated exceptional discipline. The soldiers sprang into action at once, erecting wooden barricades in an instant to cut off Blake's retreat. Fully drawn bows and crossbows emerged from the walls above, trained on the elusive figure darting about.
"Stop him! Stop him at all costs!"
Orders were shouted left and right. The soldiers rallied quickly, forming a wall of spears pointed straight ahead—a steel-tipped barrier designed to impale any attacker foolish enough to charge. But Blake's speed far outstripped their expectations. Before the soldiers could fully form their defensive formation, the shadow had already streaked past them like a frigid cyclone. The hastily assembled spear wall shattered like a burst balloon, rendered useless in an instant.
Faced with this onslaught, the commander had no choice but to order more soldiers into the fray.
"Your Excellency! This is our chance!"
Seeing the number of guards at the checkpoint dwindling rapidly, the Orltan soldiers grew excited. Though two guards still stood firm at the gate, they were confident they could slip away amid the chaos—and eliminate the two annoying sentries without a trace.
"…"
General Surt did not issue an order immediately. He fell silent, glancing back at the carriage behind him, his jaw clenched tightly. He knew this was his only chance—but if he mishandled it, they would never make it past the remaining two checkpoints once the attack subsided. So far, they had encountered only reserve units; there was still no sign of the Sith's elite legions, a fact that filled Surt with dread.
But now, they were stuck here.
Before Surt could make up his mind, however, a sudden turn of events forced his hand.
Two beams of light—one black, one white—flashed across the sky, followed by a deafening explosion. A powerful shockwave rippled outward in all directions, scattering the remaining guards at the gate like leaves in a storm, their bodies vanishing without a trace amid the blast.
"Move out! Now!" General Surt bit out, casting one last glance at the forest behind him before issuing his command.
"By the Holy Light!"
Unlike Surt, the Sith commander's eyes widened in shock as he saw the two beams of light, his mouth falling open in disbelief. When the attack first began, he had speculated about the enemy's identity—perhaps stragglers from the Orltan army, or rebel militias made up of common folk. But the moment he saw those two beams of light, all his previous assumptions were thrown out the window. He knew exactly what they signified. By the Holy Light—those were soul blades! Two high-ranking swordsmen were attacking his camp!
Without a moment's hesitation, the commander grabbed a nearby soldier, his face ashen as he roared:
"Send word to headquarters at once! We are under attack by high-ranking swordsmen—two of them! Request immediate reinforcement from the Imperial Legion! Now! Do you hear me?!"
"Yes, sir!"
The messenger turned and sprinted into the command post. A moment later, a brilliant yellow signal flare shot into the sky, blazing brightly even in the glare of the midday sun, impossible to miss.
By then, however, the camp was already in complete chaos.
The Sith soldiers were utterly helpless against Blake's assault. They had originally hoped to seal off the entire camp and catch the intruder in a pincer movement—a classic case of closing the door to catch a thief. But it was not until they executed their plan that they realized the "thief" they had trapped inside was no mere dog, but a ferocious, man-eating wolf.
"Left flank! Secure the left flank!"
When Blake broke through their defensive line yet again, he finally came to a halt. Spotting this, the Sith commander immediately seized the opportunity to issue new orders. At his command, the soldiers scrambled to form a new phalanx, blocking Blake's path once more. This time, however, the mysterious swordsman did not evade as he had before. Perhaps the constant fighting had finally taken its toll. As Blake wheeled his mount around, he seemed to have lost his last chance to escape.
"Excellent! Capture him!"
Seeing that Blake had chosen to stand his ground instead of charging again, the commander breathed a sigh of relief. In the earlier skirmishes, he had realized the strange warrior's tactic relied entirely on exploiting the gaps before their formations could fully solidify, allowing him to slip away time and again. But this time, whether due to fatigue or a miscalculation, he had failed to seize the opportunity before the soldiers could form up. The rest of the battle would be far easier now!
"Advance!"
With two high-ranking swordsmen still at large and lurking nearby, the commander wasted no time, ordering his troops forward immediately. Then his eyes widened in shock.
Instead of retreating in the face of the spear wall before him, Blake smiled gracefully. He pressed his knees firmly into his mount's sides, and the black steed beneath him surged forward once more—this time, charging straight toward the forest of spears without any hesitation.
Suicide attack?
The commander's mouth dropped open in disbelief, unable to comprehend the enemy's reckless tactic. But in the very next moment, he realized his mistake—his fatal mistake.
Faced with the spear wall ahead, Blake did only one thing. He gripped the reins tightly in his left hand, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his waist. As Esti thundered toward the soldiers, a brilliant white sword light erupted from his blade, shaped like a crescent moon, sweeping across the entire battlefield in an instant. At the same time, Esti let out a low roar, and an aura of bone-chilling cold surged forth, spreading outward like a tidal wave.