Lexi raised her dagger. The dull steel reflected the morning sun. She did not stab him in the throat.
Instead, she flipped the blade in her grip and slammed the heavy iron pommel directly into his temple.
Lexi did not kill Gareth because of the absolute rule imposed by Kian long ago.
In her mind, Kian hates killing humans because he pities them as insects. She does not know Kian was just afraid to be held responsible for his party members getting out of control.
The Level 7 Swordsman's eyes rolled into the back of his head. He collapsed into the rubble, completely unconscious.
From the driver's bench of the black carriage, Kian watched the huge man hit the ground. His mind was currently experiencing a total, catastrophic meltdown.
What did she just do?! Kian panicked, his hands gripping his knees so hard. She completely destroyed a charity building! Now she is knocking out the local civilians! This is a heavy property crime! If the imperial knights catch us, I might rot in an imperial prison for the rest of my life!
Kian stood up.
"Lexi," Kian called out while keeping his voice strictly level. "We are leaving. Now!"
Lexi turned away from the ruined facade of the orphanage. She walked back to the black carriage, easily hopping over a collapsed stone pillar.
"Understood," Lexi said. She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the big, unconscious man bleeding on the ground. "What do we do with this guy?"
Kian looked at Gareth. He swallowed hard.
That guy is incredibly buff for a random civilian, Kian thought. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck. Who the heck is he? A very muscular janitor? If we just leave him here bleeding on the ground, he will definitely wake up and press heavy assault charges against my clan! I might go bankrupt paying the settlement!
"Bring him," Kian ordered flatly. "We will drop him somewhere."
We have to bring him to a healing ward and hope he will not press charges, Kian thought. I need to bribe him of golds to keep him quiet.
Lexi did not question the reason behind his instruction. She walked back, grabbed the unconscious three-hundred-pound Swordsman by his heavy leather collar, and hoisted him effortlessly onto her shoulder.
She jumped onto the reinforced alloy roof of the carriage. She dropped him onto the metal and quickly tied his wrists and ankles with thick, heavy-duty leather straps from the luggage rack.
Kian sank back into the padded interior of the carriage. He leaned out the small front window to look at his twelve-year-old driver.
"Go," Kian instructed. "Do not use the main roads. Stick entirely to the dirt paths. Keep us hidden."
If we use the main roads, Kian reasoned desperately, the angry charity workers from the orphanage will definitely spot and recognize my carriage and report me to the local guards. We have to go completely off the grid until the heat dies down.
"Okay," Mirelle said. She snapped the leather reins. The heavy horses pulled them away from the dust cloud and plunged directly into the dense, overgrown forest paths.
Kian looked to his left. The blue-haired orphan in the scratchy peasant dress was still sitting on the bench, driving his carriage.
Damn, Kian groaned internally while rubbing his temples. I completely ruined my only chance to dispose of this kid. Now we are running from the law, and I am still stuck paying for her meals. I need to find another orphanage fast.
Outside, the carriage rattled over the uneven dirt.
Mirelle kept her eyes on the narrow path, but her mind was entirely focused on what she had just witnessed.
She remembered the blinding speed of the pink-haired maid. She remembered the big Swordsman swinging a blade large enough to cut a horse in half. And through all of that deafening, earth-shaking violence, she remembered looking to her right and seeing Kian.
He just sat there. While the dust kicked up around him, he pulled out a handkerchief to cover his face, his eyes remaining dull and heavy. He looked completely bored.
My eyes couldn't even track their movements, Mirelle thought, her small hands gripping the reins. The ground was literally exploding. But he just watched it like it was a cheap street performance.
A strange flutter of admiration hit her chest. *He's kind of coo—*
She aggressively shook her head, instantly cutting the thought off.
No. He is not, she corrected herself, her face twisting into a deep scowl. He is a lazy jerk! He makes me boil water with a stick! He is the absolute worst king of the underworld in the entire world!
A low growl echoed from the bushes ahead. Three large, mutated forest wolves stepped onto the dirt path and barred their yellow teeth at the horses.
Mirelle did not even flinch, let alone step on the wooden brake pedal.
A blur of pink hair dropped from the carriage roof. Three dull thuds echoed in rapid succession. The wolves dropped dead on the ground before they could even lunge. Lexi vaulted back onto the roof without making a single sound.
Mirelle drove the carriage directly over the corpses, her posture flawless and confident. She was completely untouchable.
Up on the roof, the cold wind whipped across the metal.
Gareth groaned. A blinding pain throbbed behind his right eye. He slowly blinked, his vision blurry. The sky was moving above him.
He tried to sit up, but thick leather straps dug into his wrists and ankles. He was pinned flat against a cold, hard surface.
He turned his head. Lexi sat cross-legged just three feet away from him. She was casually wiping the dust off her plain steel dagger with a rag.
Gareth's heart beat fast. The arrogant, hot-blooded Swordsman instantly assessed his tactical situation.
He was tied down. He did not have his heavy greatsword. Even if he snapped the leather straps with pure brute force, he could not outrun a high-level Thief on foot.
He opened his mouth to shout, to demand answers, to threaten her.
Lexi stopped wiping her blade and slowly turned her head. Her eyes were completely dead. They were the cold, empty eyes of a predator looking at a struggling insect.
"Don't move," Lexi said. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried a terrifying, absolute weight.
Gareth froze.
"The person sleeping directly below us is a Level 8," Lexi stated flatly and pointed the tip of her dagger at the metal roof. "He is far stronger than I am. The exact moment he senses a single drop of malice coming from you, you will die in one second. He will crush your body without mercy."
All the blood drained from Gareth's face.
The realization hit him like a physical anvil dropping on his chest. He had been so incredibly arrogant. He had stood in that basement and boasted that he could bash a Level 8's skull in with raw physical density, for he thought the power gap was just a matter of hitting harder.
He was completely wrong.
The pink-haired girl sitting in front of him was not even a Level 8, and she had dismantled his heavy defenses in seconds without taking a single scratch. If this terrifying, biological anomaly was just a party member of Feeble Soul... what kind of unfathomable party leader was resting below them?
Gareth swallowed the heavy lump in his throat. He did not speak, and he did not struggle against the leather straps.
He held his breath, absolutely terrified that breathing unevenly might be interpreted as "malice" by the sleeping monster downstairs. He lay completely paralyzed while staring at the passing clouds.
Fifty miles to the West, a completely different type of panic was unfolding.
A closed carriage tore down the main highway, the horses foaming at the mouth.
Inside, Silas gripped the edges of the wooden window, his expensive leather coat soaked in cold sweat.
He kept violently throwing his head back to check the empty road behind them.
"Whip the horses!" Silas screamed at his driver. "Faster! Do not stop for anything!"
He is coming, Silas panicked, his pupils completely dilated. Thousand Strings is hunting me! He eradicated my entire regional base in five minutes! He is probably tracking me right now!
The Regional Boss of the Obsidian Vipers huddled in the corner of his carriage, entirely unaware that the man he feared was currently complaining about a stiff mattress on a completely different road.
By late afternoon, the dust had finally settled over the ruined Oakhill Home for the Destitute.
The heavy iron locks on the basement had been shattered during the battle. Over a thousand thin, shivering children had crawled out of the wreckage.
They had wandered blindly down the road until they reached the edge of the nearest logging town.
A local Adventurer, carrying a bundle of pelts, stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at the massive crowd of dirty, crying children stumbling into the town square.
"What happened to you?" the Adventurer asked as he rushed forward to catch a collapsing boy.
"The orphanage," the boy coughed while pointing a trembling finger back down the road. "It blew up. The bad men ran away."