The full moon was not shy, its light illuminating the ten men dressed in black who now stood before Chinua, Khunbish, and Khenbish. Their faces were covered, and their hands were on the hilts of their swords. The moonlight reflected off their silver steel blades, and the gleam was as cold as the eyes lurking behind their masks.
The ten assassins stood in silence, their eyes fixed on their targets. With a synchronized move, they surged forward, their polished swords raised. The moonlight glinted off the blades as they slashed at Khunbish and Khenbish, who drew their own swords and began to counterattack the two lead attackers, creating a flurry of steel and sparks in the quiet night.
Four more assassins broke off from the group, cutting through the line of defense that separated Chinua from Khunbish and Khenbish. Two of them joined the initial attack on the guards, creating a frantic, desperate clash of steel. The remaining four, their purpose clear, ignored the fighting and headed straight for Chinua, their primary target.
The assassins worked together with brutal efficiency, pushing and pulling to separate Chinua from Khenbish and Khunbish. Their strategy was grimly clear: they knew that if the two bodyguards fell, Chinua would be defenseless and, should she die, the entire army within Nue-Li City would lose its leader. They were not just assassins; they were tacticians, aiming to sever the head and cripple the body of the invading force.
To their surprise, the princess-general was not as gentle as the rumors described. The force she unleashed with her sword was as strong as any man who had years of training, a power that sent the two unprepared assassins staggering back.
With their eyes locked, the assassins regained their confidence and moved in for the attack. They had underestimated the princess-general once, but they wouldn't make the same mistake again. They now moved together, attacking with more force than originally planned, a calculated and dangerous assault meant to overwhelm her.
Having fought through countless battles and survived one assassination attempt after another, Chinua feared no men. As far as she was concerned, all those who came for her life were simply her enemies. Her years of training and experience had prepared her, and when the enemy launched at her, she held nothing back. Her aim was to kill and take no prisoners, for she already had a good idea of who was behind this assassination attempt.
Chinua met their combined force with a lethal grace born of countless battles. The clash of steel was sharp and swift. She parried the first blade with a block so firm it sent a jolt of shock through the assassin's arm, then twisted her body, using his own momentum against him. In a fluid motion, her sword drove into his exposed chest, the moonlight glinting on the steel as it found its mark. The second assassin, unprepared for the cold speed of her counterattack, lunged forward only to meet the returning blade. Chinua ripped her sword from the first man's chest and with a single, brutal slash, cut a deep gash across the second's throat. The man clutched at the wound, his body collapsing to the ground with a soft thud.
Seeing her two guards surrounded and overpowered by the assassins, Chinua charged forward, her sword held tightly. The moonlight flashed as she brought her blade down in a swift, deadly motion, burying it in the back of a surprised assassin. Without a moment's pause, her left hand shot out, grabbing a second assassin's wrist. She used his own momentum to spin him into the path of a third attacker, all while her sword was being pulled free. With a brutal arc, she slashed it across the second assassin's throat before the blade, still slick with blood, flew from her grasp to pierce the back of another collapsing assailant.
After Chinua rejoined the fray, the tide of the battle turned instantly. The assassins, surprised by the sudden, brutal efficiency of the princess-general, were no longer a cohesive unit. Chinua's sword flashed, a deadly extension of her will, as she engaged the two remaining men targeting Khenbish. She parried a blow and twisted, letting the momentum of her opponent's swing carry him directly into Khenbish's waiting blade, which thrust forward and ended the man's assault.
Meanwhile, Khunbish, seeing his general fighting by his side, fought with renewed ferocity. He drove his sword forward, disarming one assassin before delivering a fatal blow to his chest. As the final assassin lunged at Chinua, she dodged his desperate swing and brought her sword down in a single, powerful arc, slicing through the man's neck with the ease of a well-practiced executioner.
Silence returned to the street, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing. The moon shone on the three figures standing amongst the ten fallen assassins, a testament to their skill and a grim warning to anyone who dared to challenge them.
Khunbish and Khenbish quickly checked the fallen assassins, finding no marks or identifying documents on their bodies. They didn't need to speak the obvious truth, however, as the two guards understood, just as Chinua did, that as the Eastern General of Hmagol, she had countless enemies. But the most terrifying enemy wasn't an outsider—it was someone who was kin to her and knew her every move.
"Chinua," Khunbish said, his voice flat as he straightened up from the last body. "There is nothing on them."
A faint, chilling smile touched Chinua's lips. "It seems they learned from their previous failed attempts," she said. "They knew not to carry anything that could identify who they are." Her tone was not of frustration, but of a quiet, lethal satisfaction, as if a dangerous game had just begun.
"What to do with the bodies?" Khenbish asked.
"Leave it the way it is," Chinua commanded, her voice cutting through the silence. "It's a good thing for the mastermind to know of his multiple failures. Perhaps he'll finally learn to stay in his own corner." She turned her head straight into the dark alley as if speaking directly to an unknown person. "The hiding position was good, but the skills were poorly executed," Chinua said with a teasing smile. "It's not fast enough for your eyes." She gently tapped Khenbish's shoulder.
Peeking through the side of a building, the person holding the bow stared out into the street. He slowly pulled out another arrow and fixed it on his bow, aimed directly at Chinua. He was ready to release it when Chinua's words stopped his action, her voice carrying clearly in the quiet night.
As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of soft gray and crimson, the cold moonlight that had illuminated the night's deadly fight faded away. From atop the city wall, the army camp below came to life in the gentle morning light. The quiet city of Nue-Li lay before them, a stark contrast to the growing commotion of the soldiers.
"As you all know," Chinua's voice carried over the city walls, making the soldiers below fall silent. "I set my rules the moment I stepped foot inside the Northeast military camp. What are those three rules?"
The unison voices of the soldiers roared in response, their words a powerful, disciplined chant. "No torture of surrendered enemy soldiers and civilians! No killing of surrendered enemy soldiers and civilians! No stealing from civilians!"
Chinua stood at the parapet, her face grim. She addressed her soldiers, her voice cutting through the morning stillness. "Jochi's five soldiers looted, killed, and raped. They went against the very rules I set for every soldier under my command. Those five soldiers were killed yesterday, and their bodies are to be displayed as a reminder. But their commander's actions cannot go unpunished."
The soldiers below stood in silence, their eyes fixed on Chinua and Jochi on the city wall. She knew she had to be the one to wield the whip herself. Jochi was a senior captain, and she understood that no soldier would have the courage or the will to carry out her punishment to its full extent. This was a display of authority that could not be delegated. She had to show them all that her rules, and her command, were absolute.
She turned, her gaze fixed on the man kneeling behind her. "Jochi," she said, her voice like ice. "You are not being punished for the actions of your men, but for failing to control them. As a commander, their sins are your own." Chinua raised the whip in her hand. The first lash landed with a sickening crack, breaking the skin on Jochi's back and drawing a gush of red blood. She delivered nine more lashes, each one landing with a precise, cold force that sent streaks of blood flying and left deep, raw wounds on his back.
Jochi was carried away by two of his men, his body limp and his back a crimson mess. The soldiers below remained utterly silent, their earlier roar of unity replaced with a profound stillness. They had seen the punishment delivered firsthand and understood its significance. This wasn't merely a display of brutality, but a clear lesson. Their new general didn't just give orders; she enforced her rules with ruthless and absolute authority.
The princess-general they had envisioned was nothing like the reality. The woman who stood before them was a fearless, skillful general, a commander who stood as tall as any man they had ever followed. In that moment, the soldiers understood that their new leader was not defined by her title, but by her lethal authority and her unwavering resolve.
Dzhambul arrived at the city walls like a storm, his face a thundercloud of fury. The news of Jochi's public humiliation had consumed him. He shoved past the startled guards, a human battering ram, his boots pounding on the stone as he stormed toward Chinua.
"Jochi has given two decades of his life to this army!" Dzhambul's voice, low and dangerous, was a physical presence in the air between them. "What you did was an insult. Not just to him, but to every man who has bled for this city. You've undermined our authority. You've broken our men's morale." He didn't ask a question; he delivered a verdict.
Chinua did not flinch. She simply held his gaze, her expression unreadable. "You're wrong," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "Savage brutality doesn't strengthen an army; it weakens it. You've forgotten the most basic truth: a leader is only as strong as the people who stand with them. When you rule with cruelty, you lose their support. And when the people turn against you, second royal brother, the soldiers won't be far behind." The words were not a philosophy but a final, chilling observation of his failure.
Her steps carried her past Dzhambul without a hitch, her posture as straight and unyielding as a spear. But then she paused, the sudden stillness more jarring than any shout. She turned, her gaze meeting his not with a challenge, but with a familiar, almost sorrowful intensity.
"Second royal brother," she said, her voice barely a whisper, a private secret between them. "Are you not tired of sending them to their deaths? All for nothing?"
A slow, sad smile ghosted across her face, a fleeting memory of a different time. "Because I'm so very tired of sharpening my sword after each one of your failed attempts." The words were an intimate confession, a grim shared truth that hung heavy in the air.
Their eyes met, but there was no warmth, no flicker of recognition—only the cold, hard glint of a truth they both now shared. The bond that had tied them together was irrevocably severed by the previous night's events. With the new day dawning, they knew there was nothing left between them other than the shared blood running in their veins. By birth, they were kin, but with the new light of day, they stood as nothing more than adversaries.