Steel shrieked.
The first assassin's curved dagger, aimed for Malrik's heart, was met by his sword. A desperate parry. Sparks flew in the dim moonlight.
He felt the shock travel up his arm. His body, still healing, protested.
Three figures. Moving as one. Dark. Lethal.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Fast. So fast. Not like the bandits. Their movements are economical. Every strike has intent. Their coordination is flawless.)
He used the Veil Step. Shifting his weight. His mana. Trying to blur his form. To make himself just… not quite there.
It helped. Their initial attacks missed vital points. Grazing hits. Cuts that burned. But didn't cripple.
He danced around their blades. Sword moving in arcs of defense. He tried a counter-attack. A lunge towards the assassin on his left.
They anticipated it. The other two closed the gap instantly. Cutting off his retreat. Forcing him to parry simultaneously.
He deflected one blade with his sword. Used a sudden burst of mana. A rough shield. Against the second.
It wasn't Elara's effortless grace. It was raw power. Desperate defense.
The impact threw him back a step. His side screamed with pain. A new cut appeared on his arm.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: They cover each other too well. Like a single entity. Break their unity. Draw one away.)
He feigned a stumble. A more pronounced limp. Exaggerating his injured state. Drawing the attention of the closest attacker.
The assassin lunged. Believing him vulnerable.
Malrik shifted. Mana surged. He used his sword. Not to strike. But to push. Redirecting the assassin's momentum. Sending them stumbling past him.
He turned to face the remaining two. But they were relentless. Pressing their advantage.
He parried a high thrust. Then a low sweep. The steel rang. A frantic, desperate sound.
He was pushed back further. Towards the edge of the dell. Towards the thicker woods. His breath came in ragged gasps. His vision narrowed.
He felt a sharp blow to his leg. A disabling strike aimed at the muscle. His leg buckled.
He fell to one knee. Sword raised defensively. The two assassins closed in. Blades glinting. Aimed for his exposed throat.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Down. Exposed. This is it. They're too skilled. Too fast. My training... not enough. Not yet.)
Just as the blades arced down. The air shattered. Not with sound. But with a sudden. Impossible disruption.
One assassin. Mid-strike. Froze. A statue of impending death.
A dark shape. Moved from the shadows. Faster than the eye could follow. Faster than thought.
It was Elara.
She didn't appear. She simply was. Materializing from the background. Like night coalescing into form.
She moved with terrifying fluidity. Not running. But flowing. Through the space between attackers.
Her blades were in her hands. Short. Dark. Unseen until needed.
She engaged the two remaining assassins. Simultaneously.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Elara! She came! But... how? And her technique... this is... impossible.)
It was a dance of shadows. A brutal, elegant ballet.
Elara weaved between their attacks. Her body a fluid line of motion. Her Shadow Weave was absolute.
She wasn't just avoiding their blades. She was negating them. Making herself momentarily non-existent. To their senses.
One assassin swung a wide arc. She was simply no longer there. Appearing a foot to their left.
Another adjusted their stance. To meet the void. She was already behind them. A dark shape. Delivering a precise. Disabling strike.
Her blades didn't just cut. They found nerve clusters. Pressure points. Disabling vital functions. With chilling efficiency.
Malrik watched. Stunned. From his kneeling position. The sheer mastery on display. Was overwhelming.
He struggled to make himself less present. She simply erased herself.
His parries were desperate blocks. Hers were elegant deflections. Creating openings. For lethal counters.
He pushed himself up. Acknowledging his injured state. His role had shifted.
He was no longer the primary target. Or the main fighter.
He was support. A distraction.
He engaged the assassin Elara had already wounded. The one he had pushed past earlier.
He used his sword. His Veil Step. To harry him. To distract him. Keeping the killer focused on him. While Elara dealt with the others.
He learned as he fought. Watching her. Seeing the subtle shifts. In her posture. The minuscule mana manipulations. That accompanied her apparent 'disappearance'. It was a real-time lesson.
The fight became brutal. Uneven. The assassins were skilled. But Elara was a master. In her element.
One tried to grapple her. Sensing they couldn't match her with blades. Believing physical restraint would work.
She dissolved from their grasp. Like smoke. Reappearing behind them. To deliver a disabling strike. That crumpled them to the ground.
Another attempted a desperate lunge towards Malrik. Seeing him as the weaker target. The easier kill.
Elara intercepted. With blinding speed. Her blades silencing their attack. Permanently.
The sounds of combat. Initially sharp steel on steel. Were now punctuated by choked cries. And the heavy thuds. Of falling bodies.
Elara moved through the chaos. She created. With a chilling calm. Her masked face. Revealing nothing.
Finally. Only one assassin remained. Wounded. And clearly terrified. Backing away from Elara. His eyes wide. With a desperate. Dawning realization. Of being utterly outmatched.
Elara approached him slowly. Her blades held ready. The assassin. Seeing no escape. Made a final. Desperate lunge.
A wild. Untrained attack. Born of pure panic.
Elara didn't even seem to move. The assassin simply… ran. Into her blade.
A clean. Final strike. He collapsed. Adding to the growing pile. Of dead killers.
Silence fell over the dell. Once more. Heavy and absolute.
The only sounds were their ragged breathing. And the faint. Unsettling rustle. Of the Whisperwood.
Five assassins. Dead. Eliminated. With ruthless efficiency.
Malrik stood. Panting. His side burning. Sword in hand.
Elara stood a few paces away. Her blades dripping. Her posture still radiating a coiled readiness.
The contrast between them was stark. His bloodied. Weary form. Her unnervingly composed presence.
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Five. Elite. Trained. Assassins. Eliminated. By her. She didn't just join the fight. She ended it. Her skill… It surpasses mine. By an order of magnitude. And these assassins… who were they? Why were they here? They came for me. I was certain. But her techniques were specifically effective. Against them. Why?)
He sheathed his sword. The metal slick with blood.
He looked at Elara. The masked figure. Who had appeared from nowhere. To fight beside him. Then ended the fight. Single-handedly.
His mind. Though still reeling. From the encounter. And his injuries. Raced with questions.
Elara lowered her blades. Returning them to concealed sheathes. Malrik hadn't seen her wear. Before.
Her gaze settled on him. Her expression unreadable. Behind the mask.
"You were struggling," she said. Her voice quiet. Devoid of accusation or praise.
"Your Veil Step is improving. But it is not yet a second skin. Not against targets of this caliber."
She gestured to the fallen assassins. With a subtle tilt of her head.
"They are skilled. Their training is rigorous. But they rely on conventional methods. My techniques are designed to bypass those very methods."
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: Conventional methods. Their stealth. Their coordination… she deems it conventional? What does that make the Holy Church. Or Kaelen's men? And she confirmed it… her techniques are specifically effective. Against their training. This wasn't a random encounter. There is a connection. A reason these specific assassins were here. And a reason her specific skills. Neutralized them. So utterly.)
He looked at her. Unable to vocalize. The questions screaming. In his mind. Who sent them? Why were they here. In the Whisperwood. Targeting someone. With her level of skill? And why did she intervene?
Elara seemed to sense. The unspoken questions. Radiating from him.
She stepped closer. Her gaze holding his.
"They were not here. For you," she stated. Her voice low. Final.
"They were here. For me."
The words landed. With the force of a physical blow. Shattering Malrik's carefully constructed assumption. The foundation of his understanding. Of this fight.
Not for him? They were here… for her?
(Internal Monologue - Malrik: For her? Impossible. But… her mastery… their failure… her words… It aligns. They weren't here. To silence the exiled prince. They were here. To eliminate the woodcutter's wife. But… why? Who would send assassins. Of this caliber. After her? This goes deeper. Than Elian. Than the Duke. This is a different game entirely.)
Elara watched his reaction. The sudden. Undeniable shift. In his posture. The realization dawning. In his eyes.
She offered no further explanation. Simply allowed the truth. To settle between them. In the blood-soaked clearing.
"Three more days," she said. Her voice returning. To its usual instructional tone. A chilling contrast. To the revelation. She had just delivered.
"We will continue. Your training. You need to be ready."
"The world is becoming. A dangerous place. And not all threats. Wear the marks of corruption."
With that. She turned. Melting back into the shadows. Of the Whispering Forest. With the same silent. Impossible grace. With which she had arrived.
One moment she was there. A lethal presence. In the moonlight. The next. She was gone.
Leaving no trace. No sound. Only the lingering scent. Of pine. Blood. And the chilling realization. That Malrik had been. Fundamentally wrong. About the night's events.
He stood alone. In the clearing. Surrounded by the bodies. Of the assassins. He had believed. Were sent for him.
His side ached. His sword was heavy. But the physical pain. Was secondary. To the shock. Of Elara's words.
They weren't here. For him. They were here. For her. The woodcutter's wife. His teacher.
A master assassin. Targeted by... who? And why?
The layers of deception. Of hidden power. Of a world. Far more complex. And dangerous. Than he had imagined. Were peeling back. Revealing a terrifying reality.
The hunt. Was far from over.
And he had just learned. That he was still only beginning. To understand. The true players. And the true stakes.