“Then, prepare to die...”
The knight raised his two-handed sword slightly, preparing his strike.
But he couldn't finish his sentence.
Bang!
The oak door behind the knight was suddenly smashed open with violent force.
He froze, turning his head to look behind him.
In that exact instant, Rosie moved.
A puff of dust exploded beneath her feet.
The knight felt only a sudden rush of wind before a chill washed over his left knee.
The sharp blade sliced cleanly through nerves and blood vessels in an instant; before his brain could even process the signal of pain, all he felt was an untimely coldness.
Immediately after, his center of gravity pitched to the left without warning, and he crashed heavily to the floor.
The metal plates of his armor clattered violently against the stone.
Lying on his side, his vision shuddered violently from the helmet's impact before slowly steadying.
“What happened?” he muttered, his voice laced with confusion, entirely failing to comprehend his situation.
Then, excruciating pain surged from his left leg.
“Sir Derek!”
Terrified shouts echoed from around the corner.
It was an emotion he had never heard in his subordinates' voices before.
His leg had been cut off?
When had that happened?
Before the knight could fathom how his leg was severed, a heavy blow slammed into his helmet.
Clang!
A deafening metallic impact detonated inside his helmet, setting his skull ringing.
A vast shadow swallowed his vision, leaving only a continuous, high-pitched ringing in his ears.
Clang!
With another heavy strike, he lost consciousness completely.
Rosie stood beside the fallen knight, the rim of the shield on her left arm slightly deformed from the heavy blows.
She glanced at the guards who had just arrived—frozen in place by the knight's brutal defeat—calmly sheathed her sword at her waist, bent down, and picked up the fallen two-handed sword with one hand.
The weapon was easily more than twice as heavy as her single-handed sword, but with her current strength, she could handle it well enough.
Raising the two-handed sword high above her head, the blade traced a heavy arc.
Amid the guards' gasps, she brought it down.
Crack!
The full helm split open, splattering dark red liquid and greyish-white matter across the floor, spreading into a horrifying stain.
Under dozens of terrified gazes, Rosie flicked the hilt with one hand, snapping off the grime clinging to the blade.
“Did you think thick armor made you invincible?” she muttered.
The guards crammed around the corner, their faces pale with shock.
Someone's voice cracked first: “She... she killed Sir Derek!”
The words were like a drop of cold water in boiling oil, causing chaos to erupt among the guards.
“Quick... alert the other knights!”
“Form up! Form a shield wall, quick!”
The guards quickly locked their shields together into a shield wall, blocking the corridor.
“There are more of us! Charge through and rescue the lord!”
Relying on their numbers, the shield wall began pressing forward toward Rosie.
Rosie raised the two-handed sword and her shield, preparing to stall for time.
Just then, a voice came from behind her—calm and pleasant, not particularly loud, yet clear enough to easily drown out the noise and shouts.
“No need to save him. Your lord is already here.”
The double oak doors swung open.
A figure completely cloaked in black stepped out, escorting a middle-aged man wearing a velvet coat.
The man was none other than the master of the castle, Baron Rhodes himself.
When the baron caught sight of the knight lying on the floor, his pupils constricted for a split second, but he quickly averted his eyes from the crushed helm and regained control over his expression.
The cloaked figure tilted her head slightly toward the baron and spoke in a tone that left no room for argument: “Have them fall back.”
Baron Rhodes' facial muscles twitched slightly, but he made no move to resist.
He raised his head, barking at the guards in a voice that tried to maintain authority, though it sounded strained: “Fall back!”
The guards exchanged uncertain looks, but none dared disobey the lord himself.
They broke the shield wall, sheathed their weapons, and backed down the corridor.
The corridor fell quiet and empty once again.
Rosie hoisted the two-handed sword onto her shoulder and turned around.
Alysia, who had reverted to her human form, stood beside the middle-aged man.
His face was tight with tension, his eyes filled with a mix of humiliation and resentment.
“I will guide you out as agreed. Stop killing my men.”
Rosie shrugged. “I didn't want to kill them either. It was just self-defense.”
Baron Rhodes glared at her, his eyes cold. “Self-defense in someone else's home?”
Rosie didn't back down. “You should say that to the people you kidnapped—including me!”
Baron Rhodes stared at her for several long seconds, his jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly, before he finally let out a cold snort and turned his eyes away.
Because their lord was held hostage, the guards along the way held their weapons tight, but not a single one dared step forward to stop them.
They could only watch helplessly as the girl carrying the greatsword and the figure wrapped in the black cloak escorted their lord, one on each side, across the castle courtyard and out through the heavy, iron-reinforced wooden gates.
The night wind whipped small grains of snow into their faces, causing the torch flames on either side of the gatehouse to flicker violently.
Rosie exhaled a puff of white mist and shifted the greatsword on her shoulder to a more comfortable position.
The three figures cast broken shadows across the snow.
Once they passed beyond the borders of Frostmoon Town, the surrounding fields were entirely swallowed in white, and the road ahead stretched into a greyish-white wilderness in the dark.
Baron Rhodes halted, wrapping his velvet coat tightly around himself—though it clearly offered little warmth against the cold—and spoke with a cold edge of impatience: “You're out now. You know everything you needed to know. Now release me as promised.”
Alysia stopped as well, turning to face him, and gave a calm nod.
“A Harper never breaks a promise.”
She reached out and lightly patted Baron Rhodes on the chest.
Baron Rhodes lurched forward abruptly, bending over as he broke into a violent coughing fit.
A bright green seed the size of a fava bean tumbled from his throat, landing on the snow before him. It rolled across the white surface and dissolved into a small pile of green powder.
Alysia pulled back her hand, her tone remaining even. “You may leave, Lord Baron.”
Baron Rhodes straightened up and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his face pale and sinister.
He glared at the melting green residue on the ground, then looked up at Alysia. “Hmph! So what if you know? You can't even get into that place right now.”
Without another word, he turned, preparing to head back to the castle along the path they had come.
But before he could take a second step, a figure blocked his path.
Baron Rhodes froze.
He turned his head toward Alysia, letting out a cold sneer. “What? Going back on your word? Is a Harper's promise worth so little?”
Alysia stood a few paces away, her black cloak fluttering gently in the night wind.
Faced with Baron Rhodes' accusation, she merely shook her head calmly. “No. I fulfilled my promise and released you. From this moment on, what happens to you is no longer my concern.”
Baron Rhodes' mouth twitched. “You—”
He didn't finish.
A broad flash of sword light traced a frigid arc through the snowy night.
Thud.
The headless corpse remained standing in the snow for a brief instant before slumping over, blood gushing from the severed neck to soak into the surrounding snow, spreading a warm, dark red stain.
The head rolled twice before coming to rest a few feet away, face up, its expression frozen mid-sentence just as he was about to hurl a final threat.
Rosie drove the two-handed sword into the snow with a dull thud.
“You didn't actually need to kill him,” the elf said calmly.
“That guy was clearly bad news. If he sent out any word, do you think things would be easy for us later?” Rosie countered. “I'm just prioritizing safety first. Besides, human traffickers deserve to go to hell anyway.”
The elf remained silent for a moment before stepping forward. “You're right. We should go.”
Rosie let go of the two-handed sword and stepped forward to follow the figure ahead.
Although the weapon was decent, it was stolen property, heavy, long, and inconvenient to carry, forcing her to reluctantly abandon it.
Two sets of footprints stretched parallel across the snow toward the depths of the grey horizon, their outlines soon erased by windblown snow, as if no one had ever passed by.
From the direction of Frostmoon Town, the faint sounds of hurried footsteps and shouting echoed through the night.
Torchlight flickered against the dark sky, stumbling about in the snowy darkness like headless flies.
Rate on N.U.
