CHAPTER 438: PLAN IN MOTION (2)

Jorin and Myla moved like shadows woven into the darkness itself, their strikes swift, precise, and merciless. The first guards never had a chance to react—throats opened, chests split, steel driving deep before they even understood what was happening. In a blur of movement and blood, ten men lay slain, their bodies collapsing into silent heaps, staining the stone floor in crimson. Only then did the surviving guards at last realize the slaughter that had erupted behind their orderly ranks.

Panic flashed across their faces as they turned to see the cloaked figures cutting through their comrades like death given form. Two of them, realizing the danger, broke formation and sprinted forward, desperation guiding their steps as they sought to reach Drosmir’s reinforcements stationed farther up the hallway, two hundred meters away.

They didn’t make it ten.

The ground beneath them shuddered and split as Jorin invoked his earth magic. He sank into the stone floor like water into sand, vanishing from sight in an instant. Before the guards could even process his disappearance, he erupted from beneath them with explosive force. His body twisted midair, momentum carrying his axe into a brutal arc. The blade swept cleanly through both their necks, severing heads in a spray of blood that misted across the stone. The corpses collapsed where they stood, lifeless before their heads had even struck the ground.

Landing with a predator’s grace, Jorin straightened and turned his gaze toward the cluster of guards now rallying against him. His lips curled into a menacing grin, the edge of madness glinting in his eyes as he dragged his tongue across the bloodied steel of his axe. The guards faltered at the sight, their steps stuttering in hesitation, fear gripping them like chains.

"Come on then," Jorin growled, his voice low and taunting as his free hand reached behind him, drawing a second axe. He held both weapons wide, welcoming their charge. "Come. Let’s play."

While Jorin cut off their reinforcements with feral joy, Myla remained at the rear of the formation, her twin daggers weaving death into the tight cluster of men who dared press forward. Each motion of hers was a dance—quick, elegant, and soaked in blood. She moved with the grace of a phantom, each strike carving through flesh and armor with surgical cruelty. The corridor behind them became a trail of bodies, her handiwork painting the stones in gruesome crimson as she carved her own silent bloodbath.

***

Back at the parking area of the underground chamber, Kael was already deep into his own work of destruction. He had begun from the shadows at the far end, moving with quiet precision, his blowgun spitting dart after dart into the necks and arms of unsuspecting coachmen. One by one they dropped, their bodies going limp as the paralyzing poison took hold, until fifteen men lay sprawled across the carriages and cobbles, silent and helpless, their eyes wide with terror.

But Kael was far from done.

Shifting his weapon, he strung his bow with fluid ease, his eyes narrowing on the two guards stationed at the entrance of the hallway. Two arrows were nocked onto the string, his aim steady, breath calm. With a sharp exhale, he loosed.

The arrows flew swift and true. One found its mark in the neck of the first guard, bursting through flesh and windpipe with a wet snap. The second slammed straight into the helmet of the other, piercing metal and skull alike, dropping him instantly.

Even as their bodies began to fall, Kael’s hands were already raised, arcane words forming beneath his breath. A faint ripple spread across the parking area as the Silent spell took hold, swallowing sound in its entirety. The thuds of the dead guards, the clattering of steel, even the sharp gasps of shock from the paralyzed coachmen—all erased into nothingness.

The coachmen’s wide eyes told the story their voices couldn’t. They had seen the guards fall, had felt the terror claw at their throats, but no cry could escape their lips, no sound could carry to the guards deeper within the hallway. Kael had sealed their fate in silence.

"Perfect," Kael muttered coldly, his eyes sweeping across the helpless men still lingering.

He leapt atop one of the carriages, the wood groaning beneath his boots as he discarded his now-empty blowguns. Reaching into his quiver, he pulled free three arrows, their shafts catching the faint light as he notched all of them against his bowstring at once. Drawing the string back to his cheek, he cast a disgusted glance down upon the trembling coachmen.

"Time to put you all to rest."

The bowstring snapped forward, releasing death in a flurry. Arrows rained into the cluster of men, piercing chests, throats, and skulls with merciless accuracy. Kael fired again and again without hesitation, his hands steady, his eyes cold. In that parking area, under the cover of silence, mercy ceased to exist. The coachmen fell one after another, their bodies collapsing in a crimson heap, their terror swallowed by the quiet void that Kael had cast around them.

And Kael, standing atop the carriage with his bow still drawn, didn’t pause for a second.

***

Within minutes, the parking area was nothing more than a graveyard, its ground littered with bodies of coachmen—those whom Kael had slain with arrows and those who now lay paralyzed, frozen in helpless silence, their eyes wide and unblinking. The air carried no sound, only the heavy weight of death, blanketed beneath the Silent spell.

Perched atop the roof of a carriage, Kael sat with his bow laid beside him, his gaze sweeping slowly across the sea of corpses sprawled at his feet. For a moment, he said nothing, his lips pressed into a grim line as he counted the sheer scale of what he had done.

"Damn," he muttered at last, his voice low. "Looking at them like this only makes me realize... there had to be close to a hundred coachmen here." His jaw tightened, but he shook his head. "Well, there’s no use in thinking about that right now."

Reaching for the glowing bracelet around his wrist, he tapped against a specific rune carved into the band. The stone pulsed faintly, a dull blink of light running through it before a familiar voice echoed in response.

"Yeah."

On the other side of the link, Jorin’s voice sounded steady despite the chaos, though the faint background told its own story—he and Myla were standing amidst their own carnage, the bodies of guards strewn across the floor around them.

"Progress?" Kael asked simply.

"Yeah," Jorin replied. "We’re done here. Our Silent spell kept things clean—no unnecessary noise and no interruptions. You?"

"Same," Kael answered without hesitation.

"Good." Jorin’s tone shifted, sharp but thoughtful. "Anyway, has Commander Kroiph arrived yet? Because listen—we may have handled these nuisances without alerting Drosmir’s main force, but it’s only a matter of time before they notice the unnatural silence hanging over this place and start suspecting something. And more importantly, when I passed through the hallway earlier, there were still more men stationed deeper in. Reinforcements will make things much smoother."

Kael exhaled through his nose, his eyes narrowing as he glanced toward the entrance. "Yeah. I sent the signal some minutes ago. They should be here any mo—"

His words cut off abruptly as his eyes caught movement. Shadows stretched long across the stone floor of the chamber entrance, shapes that multiplied quickly as if the night itself was spilling inward. At first it was a single dark outline, but soon it became many, overlapping, growing larger with every passing step.

Kael’s hand instinctively reached for his bow, his fingers pulling three arrows from his quiver in one smooth motion. His stance shifted, ready to draw and fire at a moment’s notice. But just before he could release, his eyes sharpened and recognition dawned.

The figures emerging from the shadows were not enemies.

It was Commander Harald Kroiph—broad, imposing, and unmistakable with his red cape catching the faint torchlight. Behind him followed the line of his men, a full hundred soldiers advancing in disciplined formation. Though they marched, no sound accompanied them, their footsteps swallowed by the silence. The mages among them had cloaked the entire force, ensuring not even the scrape of armor could betray their arrival.

Relief and satisfaction flickered across Kael’s face as his tense grip loosened. A smirk spread slowly at the corner of his lips.

On the other end of the rune connection, Jorin’s voice crackled with curiosity. "Hey, Kael, what’s wrong? You went quiet all of a sudden."

"Oh, it’s nothing," Kael said, the smirk still tugging at his face. His eyes remained fixed on the advancing reinforcements. "Just that your worry got taken care of."

He leaned back slightly on the carriage, watching as the army of steel and silence filled the chamber’s approach.

"Commander Kroiph is here."