Morning light spreads thinly over the road as a steam carriage rolls out of the city gates.
Metal wheels grind against stone.
Steam hisses from the engine at its front.
Behind it, riders on horseback follow in disciplined formation.
The convoy moves steadily along the forest road.
For hours, nothing disturbs the rhythm of hooves and pistons.
The road narrows.
Trees grow thicker on both sides.
Their branches lean inward, forming a partial canopy.
The driver suddenly pulls the reins.
The steam carriage jerks to a halt.
Steam vents sharply from the front boiler.
Ahead, a damaged carriage lies sideways across the path.
One wheel shattered.
The horses attached to it lie motionless.
Bodies are scattered around.
Rosalyn pushes open the carriage window.
"What happened?" she asks.
The driver answers grimly, "A carriage. And dead bodies blocking the road."
Brooke steps down first.
He surveys the scene.
The bodies lie unnaturally still.
No visible struggle.
He exhales.
"I didn't hear of bandits on this path."
He turns to the mounted riders.
"Dismount. Check how they died. Clear the road."
The riders obey immediately.
Rosalyn steps down as well.
"Bury the bodies after," she adds calmly.
The riders approach cautiously.
Several kneel beside the nearest corpse.
The body lies face down.
One rider grips the shoulder and rolls it over.
The corpse turns.
Something metallic glints beneath it.
A small device.
Steam bombs.
Hidden under the bodies.
As the corpse shifts, pressure plates release.
A rider's eyes widen.
"Lie down! Bomb!"
Every rider reacts instantly.
They drop flat.
Those still mounted yank their horses backwards violently.
The bombs detonate.
Explosions rip through the road.
Flames and shrapnel burst outward.
Dirt and stone fly into the air.
The steam carriage rocks violently.
Rosalyn reacts without hesitation.
A translucent barrier forms around her and Clive.
The explosion slams into it.
The carriage splinters on one side.
Rosalyn blasts open a panel and leaps out.
Clive follows, landing beside her.
Smoke fills the air.
The knights lie scattered.
Some groan.
Some clutch wounds.
Shrapnel cuts and burns mark their armour and skin.
Brooke stands upright.
Uninjured.
Rosalyn quickly expands her barrier into a dome around the group.
Just in time.
From both sides of the forest, chains shoot up the trees.
Each chain is tipped with a heavy spike.
They crash against the barrier with metallic force.
Behind the chains, black-armoured figures stand on tree branches.
They wear masks shaped like hounds.
Expressionless.
Ominous.
Among them stands one with a bronze hound mask.
He stands higher than the rest.
Watching.
Then, as one, they leap down.
The bronze-masked figure pulls back his chain with his right hand.
With his left fist, he punches downward.
Fighting energy erupts.
A massive black hound head forms from his strike.
Crimson eyes burn.
The hound slams into the barrier dome.
The barrier trembles.
Holds,
For a single second.
Then shatters.
Fragments of light dissolve into the air.
Brooke reacts immediately.
He thrusts his hand forward.
"Steam Cut!"
Blades of superheated steam form like compressed wind.
He casts repeatedly.
The steam blades slice through the air toward the masked figures.
Trees hiss and split where the blades miss.
Clive draws both guns in a fluid motion.
He fires.
Shots echo sharply.
Bullets streak toward the attackers.
The black-armored figures raise their weapons.
Black energy shields bloom around them.
Bullets strike and ricochet.
Steam blades crash against shields in bursts of vapour and dark energy.
The attackers land around the convoy.
The slightly injured knights struggle to their feet.
Despite burns and cuts, they rise.
They move quickly.
Forming a defensive circle.
They shield the more seriously wounded behind them.
The forest closes in.
Black-armored figures advance slowly.
Weapons raised.
Chains dragging across the ground.
The bronze hound stands at the front.
Crimson eyes fix on them through the bronze mask.
Then the bronze-masked figure moves.
He vanishes from his spot and reappears before Rosalyn, fist wrapped in violent black disaster qi.
At the same time, three black hound–masked figures break formation and rush toward Clive.
Clive exhales once.
He slides both guns back into their holsters.
Steel flashes.
His sword comes into his right hand.
On his left, shadows gather unnaturally, twisting and lengthening until they form a dark whip.
Hatred burns in his chest.
The Church of Disaster.
But his face remains calm.
The three masked figures attack in coordination.
One swings a chain spike low.
Another thrusts a curved blade toward his throat.
The third leaps from the side, aiming to bind him.
Clive steps into the shadow.
His body blurs.
The Shadow Cat bloodline activates.
He reappears behind the first attacker, sword intercepting the curved blade mid-strike.
Metal clashes.
The whip snaps outward, striking the chain wielder's wrist and redirecting the spike into the ground.
The third attacker's strike slices through empty air.
Clive keeps his Life Alchemy hidden.
No bone runes flare.
No life energy erupts.
Only shadow.
He moves unpredictably, phasing between patches of dimness cast by smoke and trees.
Steel rings repeatedly.
The three masked figures attempt to surround him.
Clive ducks, pivots, lashes, parries.
Their coordination is sharp.
Each attack is precise.
But they cannot catch him.
A masked figure suddenly lunges and grabs the shadow whip mid-swing.
The grip tightens.
Clive's eyes flash.
He does not pull back.
Instead, bio-electricity surges through his body.
It follows the whip like lightning along a wire.
The masked figure convulses violently.
Electric arcs crawl across black armour.
A scream escapes beneath the mask.
The other two hesitate.
Only for a fraction of a second.
Clive decides.
Enough.
Life energy erupts from within.
It bursts outward from his bones.
Runes carved along his skeleton ignite.
They expand.
Thicken.
Flow like molten lines beneath his skin.
His muscles swell.
His frame enlarges.
Clothes rip apart as his body grows into a towering, reinforced form.
A little giant.
Steam hisses faintly from the heat of transformation.
In one explosive step,
Boom.
He disappears from his spot and appears before the stunned masked figure.
His fist drives forward.
The masked figure cannot even raise a guard.
Impact.
A sickening crunch echoes.
The chest caves inward.
The body is flung across the forest floor like broken timber.
Before Clive can reposition, a chain hook pierces into his back.
Black disaster energy pours through the chain, attempting to invade his body.
He feels it.
An irritation.
Nothing more.
Life energy absorbs it instantly.
He does not even consciously process the conversion.
He simply turns.
His hand clamps around the chain before it retracts.
He pulls.
The second masked figure is yanked violently off balance.
Dragged through dirt and leaves straight toward him.
Electricity surges again through the chain.
The figure spasms mid-air.
Clive steps forward and drives his knee into the attacker's abdomen.
Armour cracks.
Air bursts from lungs.
He follows with a palm strike to the throat.
The masked figure collapses.
Still breathing.
Barely.
The third attacker attempts to retreat.
Clive steps into the shadow and appears directly behind him.
The whip wraps around the masked figure's legs.
A sharp tug.
The attacker crashes face-first into the ground.
Clive places a foot on his back and strikes precisely at the spine with the pommel of his sword.
The body goes limp.
Alive.
But defeated.
Clive does not finish them.
He wants answers.
He turns.
Brooke is in trouble.
Brooke fights two masked figures simultaneously.
Steam blades flash wildly, but one masked attacker has already slashed Brooke's side.
Blood stains his coat.
Another chain wraps around his arm.
Clive moves.
The ground explodes beneath his step.
He arrives in a blink.
His fist smashes into one attacker's ribs.
Bones shatter.
The masked figure is hurled into a tree.
Clive tears the chain from Brooke's arm and flings the second attacker overhead, slamming him into the earth.
The forest trembles.
Then,
A howl rings out.
Deep.
Commanding.
From somewhere within the forest.
All remaining masked figures freeze.
Then, as if responding to a single will, they disengage instantly.
They retreat.
Leaping into trees.
Vanishing between trunks.
Leaving the defeated behind.
Silence settles heavily.
Moments later, Rosalyn emerges from the trees.
Her clothes are cut.
Blood stains fabric.
But her posture remains steady.
The bronze-masked figure is gone.
She walks toward them calmly.
They approach the captured masked figures.
But before they can remove the masks,
The faces beneath begin to melt.
Skin liquefies.
Bone collapses.
Within seconds, all three are dead.
No information left to extract.
Clive clenches his jaw.
They assess injuries quickly.
Several knights are too wounded to continue.
Rosalyn makes the decision.
"The injured return to Rainer City."
She looks at Clive.
"And we go forward."
Three lightly injured knights step beside them.
Without delay, Rosalyn, Clive, and the three knights begin running toward Arlen Town.
The forest swallows them.