Volume One, Chapter 9: The Assassin Arrives
“Ah—”
A soldier let out a long yawn, his eyelids heavy as if weighed down by a thousand pounds, unable to keep them open any longer.
“I can’t hold on… I’m so sleepy, I’ll just rest for a bit.”
Before he finished speaking, his head tilted, and he slumped against the luggage behind him, falling into a deep sleep.
“I can’t take it either…”
Like the first domino falling, the drug’s effect spread irresistibly throughout the entire camp.
Soon, except for the three bodyguards who remained alert as spies for the crown prince, the other seventeen imperial guards all collapsed, snoring loudly, completely unaware of their surroundings.
The three exchanged cold glances, each seeing a cruel satisfaction mirrored in the other’s eyes.
The plan was flawless.
One of them slowly rose, pacing toward the prisoner carriage. The dim firelight stretched his shadow long and eerie, like a specter.
He bent down and whispered mockingly to the cold iron bars, his tone like a cat playing with a mouse:
“Eighth Prince, are you asleep?”
“In this desolate wilderness, so late at night, one must be wary of prowling wolves and tigers.”
His voice dripped with undisguised malice and contempt.
Inside the carriage, Ye Xuan remained motionless, his breathing steady and deep, as if already lost in profound slumber.
“Shut your filthy mouth!”
Another spy hissed softly, anxiety lacing his voice.
“Don’t cause trouble! Stay put. When the others arrive, our mission will be completely accomplished!”
The leader nodded, suppressing the faint urge to torment, and sat back by the fire, his eyes sharp and vigilant as a hawk scanning the darkness.
Time ticked by, second by second.
The campfire flickered weakly, leaving only faintly glowing embers struggling against the cold wind.
The surrounding chorus of insects had vanished without a trace.
An unsettling stillness filled the air, as if even the wind had frozen.
They had arrived.
A barely perceptible tremor flickered on Ye Xuan’s long eyelashes.
Shh… shh…
The softest footsteps emerged from the distant forest.
So faint, they resembled dry leaves stirred by a night breeze—imperceptible unless one focused intently.
Five dark figures slipped silently from the shadows among the trees, melding seamlessly into the deep night.
Clad in tight black nightwear, their faces masked, only emotionless eyes like bottomless abysses were visible.
Their movements were synchronized and soundless, each step landing precisely on withered grass and loose soil, minimizing any noise.
These were true assassins.
Entirely different from the lazy, slovenly soldiers in the camp.
The three alert spies tensed instinctively the moment they spotted the shadows, their hands grasping the handles of their knives.
The leader of the black-clad group made a calming gesture toward them.
Then his finger, like a drawn sword, pointed directly at the solitary prisoner carriage.
The message was unmistakable.
The target was the Eighth Prince, Ye Xuan, inside the carriage.
The three spies released their tension, muscles relaxing, even curling their lips into cold, schadenfreude smiles.
They stepped back cautiously, clearing a path for these professional executioners to approach the carriage.
A faint trace of satisfaction flickered in the leader’s eyes.
With a slight wave of his hand, two black-clad figures split off behind him, their forms blurring like weightless smoke as they drifted toward the sleeping imperial guards.
Their task was to eliminate all potential witnesses.
Not a single one would live.
The other two followed closely behind their leader, moving straight toward the carriage.
A chilling, deadly intent enveloped the carriage and Ye Xuan inside like an invisible net.
To the leader, Ye Xuan was a caged bird with broken wings, a powerless fool ripe for slaughter.
He had already planned how to break the prince’s neck swiftly and stage the scene to look like a wild beast’s attack.
Clean and efficient.
Reaching the carriage, he drew a strangely shaped brass key from his waist, ready to unlock the rusted iron lock.
The other two silently raised their poisoned daggers, blades aimed at the throats of the sleeping soldiers nearby.
Everything was unfolding perfectly, exactly as planned.
Yet, just as the leader inserted the key into the lock and was about to turn it—
“Pfft!”
A barely audible sound of a sharp object piercing flesh suddenly rang out in the deathly quiet night.
The leader froze abruptly.
Time seemed to pause.
He looked down in disbelief.
A sharpened wooden spike, as if thrown by a viper’s tongue, shot out through the iron bars of the carriage with lightning speed.
It struck precisely and deeply into the wrist holding the key.
The spike seemed meticulously calculated, piercing straight through his tendons.
Agonizing pain exploded, tearing through every nerve like wildfire.
“Ugh!”
He was about to emit a muffled groan of warning.
A sudden change erupted!
“Clang—!”
A crisp, piercing metallic clang shattered the silence.
It was Ye Xuan.
While thrusting out the wooden spike, his shackled right foot kicked the iron bars of the carriage with all his might.
The impact was fierce and thunderous.
The collision between shackle and iron bars sounded like a clap of thunder, a clarion bell ringing through the dark night.
Instantly, it roused the three spies, who had believed themselves safe and uninvolved.
It also startled the two black-clad assassins poised to slit throats.
“Trouble! Something’s wrong!”
The black-clad leader was shocked and furious, his spirit shattered.
He could never have imagined that a heavily shackled, grievously wounded crippled prince could unleash such a swift, precise, and deadly counterattack.
He tried to withdraw his hand but found the cursed spike embedded so firmly it felt fused to his bones, pinning him to the carriage.
The two assassins ready to slaughter the soldiers were caught off guard, their movements faltering as they instinctively looked back.
That brief hesitation sealed their fates.
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