The suspended stone bridge stretched like a colossal tongue over the abyss, guarded by the cold valley winds that howled between its massive iron chains. At the bridge's entrance, the Eclipse Cult checkpoint bustled with organized activity. Black tents, torches spewing dark smoke, and dozens of guards wearing silver armor that gleamed cruelly under the afternoon sun.
Kael and Lyra slipped behind a cluster of large boulders that provided perfect cover fifty yards from the camp. Kael gently lowered his master, Faren, to the ground. The old man was breathing heavily, his eyes closed in a semi-coma.
"We cannot breach that camp by force," Lyra whispered, her silver eyes scanning the area with the precision of a hunting falcon. "There are over thirty guards, plus a second-tier priest sitting in the central tent. If the priest senses even a speck of your dragon mana, we'll be dead before we reach the middle of the bridge."
"Then how do we cross?" Kael asked, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.
Lyra pointed the tip of her black dagger toward the far right of the camp. Away from the main checkpoint, two guards stood at the edge of the cliff, watching a narrow side path. They were isolated from the rest, separated from the main camp by a small rocky hill.
"We cross through that side path," Lyra said coldly. "I will take the guard on the left. And you..." She looked directly into his eyes, "Will take the one on the right."
Kael's heartbeat quickened, and his grip tightened around the hilt of his worn sword. "I've never killed a man before. I've spent my life striking iron, not human necks."
Lyra stepped in until her cold breath brushed his face. "Iron doesn't bleed, blacksmith, but it also doesn't try to kill you. These men slaughtered women and children in cold blood, and they won't hesitate to flay your master alive while you watch. Either you kill him, or he kills you."
She gave him no time to reply. Lyra melted into the shadows like a drop of ink in water, vanishing with supernatural grace. Kael took a deep, trembling breath. He looked at Faren, who was shivering from fever, then drew his rusty sword and began to crawl between the rocks and thorny bushes, closing in on his target.
Every step felt like it was making a deafening noise, but Lyra's harsh lessons were starting to pay off. He placed his weight on the balls of his feet, avoiding dry twigs.
When he was merely ten paces away, he hid behind a broad rock. He could see the guard clearly now. He was a massive man, clad in full silver armor covering his chest and arms, with a helmet obscuring half his face. He stood firmly, his long spear planted in the dirt beside him.
On the far side, Kael caught sight of a black shadow rising behind the first guard. It was Lyra. In one fluid, deathly silent motion, she covered the guard's mouth with her hand and drove her dagger into the base of his skull. The man's body convulsed for a single second before collapsing into her arms without making a sound.
Lyra turned toward Kael and gave a single nod: Your turn.
Kael braced himself to lunge. He raised his sword and gauged the distance. One step, two, then he would strike.
But in that critical moment, from behind the rocks where they had left Faren... a muffled cough rang out, just harsh enough to cut through the valley's silence.
Kael froze in his tracks.
The massive guard snapped to attention. He spun toward the source of the sound, raising his spear into a combat stance. "Who goes there?" he barked in a gruff voice, advancing with heavy steps toward the rock Kael was hiding behind.
We're exposed. There was no room left for stealth. Kael stepped out from behind the rock, his worn sword in hand.
The guard smirked beneath his helmet when he saw the young man in torn clothes wielding a rusty blade. "A rat from the neighboring villages playing adventurer?" the guard mocked, then lunged forward with a powerful, direct thrust aimed at Kael's chest.
It wasn't a wild thrust; it was fast and lethal. But something strange happened to Kael. Thanks to the mana that had rewired his muscles, the guard's attack seemed slower than it should be. Kael twisted his body to the left at the very last second, the spearhead whistling past a mere inch from his ribs.
Kael launched a counterattack, swinging his sword with all his might at the guard's chest.
Clang!
The rusty sword struck the silver armor, and sparks flew. Kael's arm shuddered so violently he nearly dropped his weapon. The armor wasn't even scratched, but Kael's sword gained a deep, new notch.
"Trash weapon," the guard laughed, pulling his spear back for another strike. "You die here, insect!"
Kael retreated, dodging the second strike that shattered a chunk of the rock behind him. He remembered Lyra's words: "You rely on brute force... stop swinging your weapon like you're striking an anvil." Kael focused his eyes. He no longer looked at the guard as a man, but as a blacksmith examining a piece of steel. The silver armor... it's very hard, yes. But it's heavy and made of assembled plates. Kael's expert eyes began to scan the armor in fractions of a second. He noticed how the metal plates shifted when the guard raised his arm to thrust. The maker of this armor was skilled at protecting the chest, but neglected flexibility. There is a gap...
When the guard lunged for his third attack, raising his right arm to its limit to deliver a crushing downward thrust, Kael saw what he was looking for: a small gap, no more than two inches wide, beneath the guard's right armpit, where the chest plate met the chainmail. A fatal weak point left by the blacksmith who forged the armor to allow for arm mobility.
Kael didn't retreat this time. Instead, he surged forward, slipping past the spear's reach and stepping right into the guard's personal space. He didn't strike with brute force; he used terrifying precision. He aimed the broken blade of his sword directly at that small gap beneath the armpit and thrust with his entire body weight.
The blade pierced the weak chain links and sank deep into the guard's chest, tearing through lung and heart in a single path.
The guard's eyes widened in shock, and the spear slipped from his slackened grip. Kael yanked the sword out swiftly, clapping his free hand over the guard's mouth before he could scream, supporting his weight until he fell slowly and silently onto the ash-covered ground.
Kael dropped to his knees beside the corpse, panting heavily. He stared at his hands, stained with warm blood. He had done it. He had just taken a human life. A bitter lump formed in his throat, and he felt the urge to vomit, but he swallowed it down. There was no room for regret in this world.
Lyra emerged from the shadows and looked at the massive guard's corpse, then at the precise gap where Kael had struck. She raised an eyebrow in a rare flash of surprise she couldn't entirely hide.
"A blacksmith's eye, and an assassin's thrust," Lyra said in a hushed tone, wiping the blood from her dagger. "It seems you aren't completely useless after all."
Kael stood up and wiped the blood from his face, his eyes gleaming with a harsh new resolve. "I told you, I learn fast. Now, let's take their cloaks. We have a bridge to cross."