The torches of the nobleman's
carriage convoy
flickered weakly in the cold night air, the wheels creaking as they rolled over the rough dirt road.
In the center of the procession,
Count Darion Vale
sat inside his
luxurious black carriage
, his face
pale and hollow
, his eyes locked onto the
headless body of his daughter
wrapped in white silk beside him.
He had been silent the entire journey.
His rage had burned out.
All that was left was an empty,
cold abyss in his heart.
The knights surrounding him rode in grim silence.
Their lord had fallen from a mighty nobleman to a grieving father, humbled by the brutal justice of the night.
But Seraphis wasn’t done yet.
She watched from above, her
white raven form
gliding effortlessly through the dark clouds.
This hunt wasn’t over.
The Ambush
The convoy reached a
narrow valley road
, thick with trees on both sides.
The perfect place for an
attack.
Seraphis
dove
from the sky, shifting into her human form in midair.
With a flick of her wrist,
ten of her razor-sharp metal cards fanned out
between her fingers.
She whispered a single word.
"Shatter."
The cards
split into dozens of smaller blades
and rained down like a steel storm.
Screams erupted as the
first row of knights collapsed
, their throats slit, their armor pierced.
The remaining knights
drew their swords
, eyes wide in shock.
"AMBUSH!" one of them roared, but the moment he turned—
A card severed his windpipe.
Seraphis
landed on the lead horse
of the convoy, her feet light as a feather.
Before the knight holding the reins could react, she
stabbed a card into his skull
and kicked his body off.
With a flick of her wrist, her cards
whirled through the air, slicing through armor, flesh, and bone.
The battle was
swift and brutal.
The knights fought desperately, but they were
outmatched.
Seraphis was
faster. Deadlier.
Within minutes, the once-strong convoy was
reduced to corpses
, their blood soaking the dirt road.
The last knight
staggered back
, raising his sword with trembling hands.
Seraphis
tilted her head.
A single card
flashed forward.
The knight's
eyes went dark
as the blade lodged into his skull.
And then there was only
one left.
Count Vale.
A Noble’s Last Words
The count had fallen out of the carriage, landing on his hands and knees in the bloodied dirt.
His daughter's
headless corpse
had tumbled beside him, its silk covering now stained
deep red.
He didn’t beg.
Didn’t scream.
He simply looked up at Seraphis as she
slowly approached,
her white hair glowing under the moonlight.
She crouched beside him, her silver eyes piercing into his
broken soul.
"Well," she said,
mocking pity in her tone.
"I’d say I’m sorry for your loss, but—"
She leaned in close, whispering.
"Did you ever say sorry for everyone else's loss?"
His
bloodshot eyes
flickered with rage.
But
he had no words.
"So, I won’t either," Seraphis said flatly.
And then—
She
swung her blade.
A clean
decapitation.
His
head rolled onto the ground,
eyes frozen in eternal regret.
A False Scene
Seraphis wiped her blade clean, then turned to the
bloodied battlefield.
Time for the
final act.
She
broke a spear in half
, jamming the sharp end into the ground.
Then she
grabbed the nobleman’s severed head—
And
slammed it down onto the pike.
The once-powerful count was now nothing more than
a grotesque warning.
But Seraphis wasn’t done.
This couldn’t be traced back to her.
So she
needed a cover story.
She
scanned the area
and took off into the forest, tracking nearby movement.
Bandits in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time
A few miles away, she found them.
A bandit camp.
Perfect.
There were about
twelve of them
, sitting around a campfire, drinking and gambling over stolen loot.
Seraphis stepped forward, her
presence barely noticeable in the shadows.
One of the bandits glanced up—
A
metal card
lodged in his eye before he could scream.
The others
jumped up in panic.
And then—
The massacre began.
Seraphis moved through the camp like
a ghost
, her cards slicing through
tendon, throat, and heart.
Within
minutes
, eleven corpses lay scattered in the dirt.
But one man still breathed.
The
bandit leader.
He was on his back,
panting, bloodied, trembling.
Seraphis knelt beside him, placing a hand over his
gasping mouth.
"Shhh…" she whispered, her fingers glowing with
illusion magic.
His eyes widened as his mind was
flooded with images.
Visions of
himself attacking the noble’s carriage.
Himself slaughtering the knights.
Himself decapitating Lady Annalise.
The false memories took root,
overwriting his reality.
Now, he truly
believed
he had done it.
Seraphis
smiled.
"Run," she whispered, pulling her hand away.
The man
scrambled to his feet, screaming, and bolted into the night.
He would be caught.
He would confess everything.
And the
world would believe him.
As for Seraphis?
She faded back into the shadows, her
work complete.