The woman's shout made everyone inside the carriage jolt in shock. The door burst open—Lyanna, Daphne, Sally, and Riven, who was carrying his younger sister, immediately leapt out.

But they hadn't even landed properly when an arrow shot out from the darkness, striking the side of the carriage and…

BRAAAK!!

A deafening explosion rang out, shrouded in crackling lightning. The carriage shattered, wooden fragments flying, and the shockwave hurled them all through the air.

Bodies were flung and rolled across the ground, tossed several meters away. Dust billowed, leaves scattered, and the air filled with the scent of ozone and burning wood.

Breathing heavily, they all rose—aching, tingling from the electric aftershock. The ground around them still hummed faintly with residual energy that made the air shiver.

Riven quickly looked to his side. His sister lay there, wide-eyed and trembling in confusion and fear. He held her tightly, making sure she wasn't hurt.

Then his gaze lifted, scanning the surroundings.

Shadows began emerging from behind trees and bushes. Dozens, maybe more. Footsteps pressed into the earth in silent, rhythmic advance. In the darkness, glints of weapons and the glimmer of beastlike eyes confirmed one thing:

They were surrounded.

The people encircling them wore dark, lightweight armor—well-maintained and uniform. Clearly, these were no ordinary bandits.

The young coachman, somehow still alive, ran out from the wreckage, shouting breathlessly, "Are you all okay?! I'm sorry, I didn't get the chance to warn you!" His voice cracked between panic and guilt.

But there was no time to reply. Several of the mysterious attackers were already charging forward.

The young coachman let out a furious yell, drawing his sword with a sharp motion. "You lowborn scum! Do you even know who you're attacking?!"

With defiant resolve, he threw himself into the fray to hold them off.

Meanwhile, Riven stood quickly. He pulled Melly behind him and drew his sword with his right hand.

"Melly, don't stray from me. No matter what happens, stay behind me." His voice was firm, even if his breath was unsteady.

Lyanna rose with a sharp motion. Veins bulged along her neck and arms, magic surging through her body without restraint. Her face flushed, her eyes burned with fury.

"They dared… to ambush us!" she snarled more than she spoke.

Daphne had also stood. She adjusted her grip on her sword and took a long breath.

"Steady… steady…" she whispered to herself, then scanned the surroundings sharply, analyzing the enemy's formation.

But one person still hadn't moved.

Sally.

She lay not far from the carriage wreck, unconscious, her body limp. Whether from the blast or the lightning strike, she remained unresponsive. A thin line of blood trickled down her temple.

"Daphne, protect Sally!" Lyanna shouted.

The assault began. The attackers surged forward like a dark tide in the night, and the brutal clash became inevitable.

The young coachman fought with deadly precision. Every swing was light but efficient—he darted forward, slashing through one neck, spinning, and plunging his blade into the gut of another. Blood sprayed, but his footwork didn't falter. Riven recognized the technique instantly—a swift and agile sword style, relying on speed and exploiting weak points.

Lyanna, on the other hand, was like a storm of flesh and fury. She wielded no weapons. Her fists and legs were weapons themselves. A single punch shattered a helmet, a kick sent bodies flying and broke bones. Her body was wrapped in a thin veil of mana, flaring with her rage. Every blow carried lethal, unnatural force.

Daphne was no less formidable. Though her expression was tense, her eyes remained sharp and focused. Her sword danced with graceful lethality, every swing flowing like water. No movement was wasted. She stood in front of Sally, cutting down any enemy who approached. Her soft and flowing sword style was like silk that could slice through steel.

These nobles were no ordinary people. They were raised to survive chaos, forged to be instruments of power in war and bloodshed. Even unarmed, they were dangerous.

And Riven knew, this wasn't the time to be impressed.

Two men advanced on him. Their movements were nimble, their gazes sharp, and the aura radiating from them was too dense for mere humans. One glance told Riven everything, these were Lawbearers. Most likely Seeker.

One held a massive sword radiating heat like embers. The other raised his dagger, and the air around him twisted with waves of searing wind. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their eyes said it all—this boy with the fine sword wasn't worth their time.

Riven raised his blade. His breath was short, but his gaze stayed focused. His body moved with pure instinct: survive.

The first strike came. Riven was forced back, barely deflecting the massive sword that nearly cleaved him in two. The impact rattled his bones. Before he could catch his breath, the second blade sliced through his shoulder, blood sprayed.

He was being overwhelmed.

Too fast.

Too strong.

From the beginning, ordinary humans could never fight Lawbearers head-on. But still he stood, swinging, blocking, surviving. And slowly… the two men began to show signs of surprise.

"Why hasn't this brat gone down yet?!"

Riven gritted his teeth. One swing nearly took his leg. He dove back, nearly falling, then lifted Riftmaker once more.

In his heart, he repeated a single line.

'I can cut anything if I understand it.'

He blocked.

'I can cut anything if I understand it.'

He ducked beneath a swing, slicing one man's arm.

'I can cut anything…'

The two men grew angry. They started to raise their hands, gathering the first sparks of their powers.

"You're tougher than expected, brat. But the world of Lawbearers isn't something your kind can—"

They never finished the sentence.

Just as the first flicker of flame and the first swirl of wind began to form, Riven finally moved.

Riftmaker in his hand dimmed, then vanished into translucence, turning into a thin, hollow shimmer that cut through light itself. A blade with no weight, no resistance, no surface. A blade that everything passed through.

The men blinked.

Riven was already in front of them.

There was no explosion. No clash. No sound.

The sword slipped through the chest of the first man like mist. He didn't even realize he was already dead. His power died in his throat before it could leave his body.

Riven's wrist twisted.

Riftmaker hardened.

CRACK.

Blood burst in a violent spray as the man's body jolted, collapsing forward with eyes frozen wide.

Riven didn't stop.

He stepped past him with a quiet grace, Riftmaker dissolving into intangibility once more—passing cleanly through the ribs of the second man, who only managed a strangled gasp as the blade slid through him like a ghost.

Then Riven solidified it again.

THNK.

The man convulsed. His power—barely summoned—vanished instantly.

Both men fell together, knees buckling, their bodies hitting the ground almost at the same time. Their eyes were wide with disbelief.

Riven stood firm, breathing heavily, blood dripping from wounds both his own and theirs. Riftmaker dimmed slightly, still trembling, almost as if savoring the taste of stolen life.

"I only fought two… and I'm already about to faint," he muttered through clenched teeth. He scanned the battlefield frantically, eyes darting in search of his sister.

Sally was still unconscious, Daphne defending her with difficulty. The coachman still fought on the far edge. And Lyanna? She stood atop a pile of corpses, her face flushed and a slight smile at the edge of her lips.

Riven turned again and his heart dropped.

In the distance, a big man had broken through the lines and now stood directly in front of his sister. The man's eyes gleamed with murderous intent, and his massive hand raised high, swinging a heavy axe toward Melly, who sat frozen in fear, unable to move.

Time slowed.

"MELLY!" Riven screamed, his voice hoarse with panic and fury.

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