Four days into their journey, the carriage was traveling through a dense, rocky pass. The towering cliffs on either side created long, dark shadows, even in the middle of the day. Suddenly, the carriage came to an abrupt, jarring halt.
From outside, the attendant's voice called out, sharp and alert. "My Lord, we have company."
The four students inside were instantly on alert. Alaric's hand went to his greatsword. Seraphina's eyes turned cold. Orion and Arthur stood up, moving to the window.
Surrounding them, on the cliffs above and blocking the path ahead and behind, were dozens of figures. They were clad in mismatched leather armor, stained a dark, ominous red. Their faces were hidden by snarling beast-masks, and they carried a motley assortment of crude but deadly-looking weapons.
"The Crimson Vultures," Orion whispered, his face grim. "Infamous bandits. They're known for being ruthless. They don't usually operate this close to the capital's main roads."
"They dare to stop a carriage bearing the Citadel's mark?" Seraphina said, her voice laced with ice.
From inside the carriage, Maelon's voice was calm, almost amused. "It seems they do. Go on. A bit of practical experience before the trials will do you good. The attendant and I will watch."
The door opened. Alaric sneered, then strode out confidently, eager for a fight. Seraphina followed, a silent storm of cold energy. Orion and Arthur exchanged a look, then exited together, drawing their swords.
The bandits laughed, their voices rough. There were at least forty of them. Most, Arthur could sense, were Pawns of varying skill levels. But one man, standing at the forefront, was different. He was a tall, scarred man with a cruel smile, and the mark of a Knight glowed on his arm. His aura was strong, aggressive.
"A Skilled Knight. High-grade, at least," Arthur assessed.
"Look what we have here," the Knight laughed, his eyes scanning the four students. "A carriage full of noble little fledglings from the academies. Your fancy robes will fetch a nice price."
Alaric stepped forward, his expression full of contempt. "You dare address me, filth? I'll give you one chance to run."
The bandit Knight just laughed harder. "I like your spirit, boy. I'll enjoy breaking it." He pointed his jagged sword at Alaric. "I'll take the arrogant one. The rest of you, kill the others. Watch out for the deacon, he still hasn't appeared."
The horde of bandits roared and surged forward.
Orion and Arthur immediately moved, their backs to the carriage, ready to meet the charge. "Just like old times, huh?" Orion grinned, though his eyes were focused.
Seraphina simply raised a hand, and a wall of sharp ice erupted from the ground, blocking the path of a dozen bandits, giving them a moment.
But Alaric had already moved. He ignored the Pawns, his entire focus on the enemy Knight. "You want me? Come and get me!"
He drew his greatsword and charged. The bandit Knight met him with a savage grin, his own sword flaring with murky, brown mana. They clashed in the middle of the pass, the sound of steel on steel echoing off the cliffs.
The bandit was strong and his moves were dirty and unpredictable, but Alaric's technique was far superior. After a brief, furious exchange, Alaric found his opening.
"Tyrant's Descent: Second Stance, Crushing Dominion!" he roared.
His greatsword came down, not with a simple cut, but with an immense, oppressive weight. The bandit Knight tried to block, but his sword bent under the strain, and he was forced to his knees, his arms trembling. Alaric followed through, kicking the man hard in the chest, sending him sprawling.
Just as Alaric stood over him, ready to deliver the final blow, a new voice cut through the sounds of battle. It was slow, calm, and dripping with authority.
"That's enough, Joric. You've played with the boy long enough."
A figure stepped out from behind a large boulder on the cliffside. He was a tall man, older than the rest, with a long, grey-streaked beard and a single, ugly scar running down his left eye. He wasn't wearing a mask. The air around him felt heavy, dangerous. The mark on his arm was that of a Knight, but it glowed with an intensity that dwarfed everyone else's.
Arthur stared at this man, his eyes turning cold. He tried to sense how powerful this man was… but he couldn't.
"He… is strong." Arthur thought to himself as he moved his sword, defending against another bandit that came at him.
The defeated Knight, Joric, scrambled back. "Captain…"
The bandit leader looked at Alaric, his eyes filled with a lazy, predatory amusement. "A Rook, are you? Impressive. For a child."
Alaric, still flushed with his victory over Joric, sneered. "You'll be the second man I defeat today." He charged, bringing his greatsword down with the same crushing force.
The leader of the Crimson Vultures didn't even move to block. He just raised one hand.
With a flick of his wrist, a wave of pure, condensed sword qi—visible, like a shimmering distortion in the air—shot from his fingertips. It wasn't a technique. It was just raw, controlled power.
The sword qi slammed into Alaric's greatsword. Alaric was thrown backward as if hit by a giant, invisible hammer, his greatsword flying from his grasp. He landed in a heap, spitting up a mouthful of blood, his arm bent at an unnatural angle. Defeated. In one move.
Seraphina's face was like stone. Her hands moved, the air chilling around her. "Nine Winters Heart: Second Verse, Glacial Serpent's Bite!"
A massive serpent made of solid, jagged ice materialized in the air and shot towards the bandit leader with blinding speed, its fangs bared.
The leader just sighed, as if bored. "Impressive control. But still just a child's magic."
He didn't move. He just swung his arm, and another, wider wave of sword qi erupted from him. It didn't look like much, just a ripple in the air.
But when it met the ice serpent, the massive construct shattered into a million tiny shards. The qi didn't stop. It continued forward and slammed into Seraphina. She cried out, a fine spray of blood escaping her lips as she was thrown back several steps, clutching her chest. Her face was pale, her mana in disarray.
The bandit leader took a slow step forward, a cruel smile on his face. "Now then. Who's next?"
The situation was hopeless. The other bandits, seeing their leader in action, began to advance again, their confidence restored.
Then, the door to the carriage opened.
Maelon stepped out. He looked at the scene, at his two injured Rooks, at the terrified Knights, and then at the bandit leader. His expression was one of mild disappointment.
"You should not have done that," he said, his voice quiet.
The bandit leader laughed. "Ah! The deacon finally appears. You think the Citadel's name scares the Crimson Vultures?"
Maelon just smiled. A faint, sad smile.
He raised one hand and simply flicked his finger.
A single, shimmering thread of golden light, thin as a needle, shot from his fingertip. It moved without sound, without disturbing the air. It wasn't fast. It wasn't slow. It just drifted through the air, floating towards the bandit leader.
The bandit leader's eyes went wide. He tried to raise his sword, to summon his qi. But the it seemed to pass through everything .
The golden thread touched his forehead.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, a single, perfect hole appeared in the center of the bandit leader's forehead. His eyes went dull. His body went limp, and he crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Dead.
The remaining Crimson Vultures froze. Their laughter died. The one who they thought was a simple deacon, a glorified babysitter, had just killed their Master Knight captain without even taking a step. They realized, with dawning, gut-wrenching terror, who they had just provoked.
They screamed. They dropped their weapons. They turned and fled, scattering into the cliffs and forest like startled rats.
Maelon Virestone looked at his four shocked and wounded charges, his expression calm once more.
"Good job. You did better than I expected."