The silence in the carriage was as solid as ice, so thick that even breathing seemed to stop. The last trace of color drained from Isolde's already pale face, her lips pressed into a bloodless line. Her fingertips clutched the hem of her dress, twisting the fabric into wrinkles.
Finn's gaze swept over her despairing face. His voice was as placid as a mountain stream, without a ripple of emotion. "Lady Vance, it seems the situation is more complicated than we thought." He leaned against the carriage wall, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on his scabbard. The soft tap, tap was starkly clear in the silence. "My deal with you was to escort you to Silverwood Prefecture. The terms did not include making an enemy of a hegemonic power like the Trident League."
The meaning was unmistakable: if you want me to force my way through, you'll have to pay more.
Isolde was sharp and understood his unspoken meaning instantly. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she forced herself to calm down—this was her last chance, and she couldn't afford to let it slip. "My family... my parents and brother are still at our home in Silverwood Prefecture," she said, her voice trembling slightly, but her eyes regained their resolve, like a newly kindled flame. "House Tenebris has clearly made a deal with my... dear fiancé. They won't spare my family. They are in grave danger."
She looked up, meeting Finn's gaze, and played her final, greatest card. Her voice was low but clear. "Besides the one hundred thousand gold coins, I also have... a fragment of a treasure map. If you can rescue my family, the map is yours."
A treasure map.
A faint ripple finally broke the calm surface of Finn's eyes, like a stone tossed into a still lake. It was no wonder House Tenebris and the Trident League had gone to such lengths—it wasn't just for the gold. But his expression remained impassive, and his fingers stopped tapping. His tone was unrelenting. "Lady Vance, you must understand," he said, his voice cold and pragmatic, devoid of any warmth. "I will do my best, but I will not risk my life for some vague treasure. Rescuing your family is possible. But the price must be settled now."
He raised a single finger, pointing toward the roadblock outside. His voice left no room for argument. "One hundred thousand gold coins. That is my price for breaking through this checkpoint. As for your family and that map... once I have the money, we'll see if I decide to continue."
It was blatant extortion, but Isolde had no other choice. She gritted her teeth, forcing the words out. "Fine. I agree."
"Done."
Finn stood and pushed open the carriage door, letting in a gust of dusty wind. Just before he stepped out, he turned back to Isolde and said, his voice soft but clear, "From now on, my name is not Finn Adler."
He stepped out of the carriage. The sunlight cast his shadow long upon the ground. He walked toward the dozens of wary eyes at the checkpoint, each step steady and sure. The longsword in his hand hummed softly in its sheath, as if in anticipation.
"Stop! Who goes there!" a member of the Trident League shouted, stepping forward with his hand on his hilt. His voice was harsh and aggressive.
Finn didn't answer, merely continuing his advance.
He looked up, revealing a plain, unremarkable face, but the corner of his mouth curved into a bloodthirsty smile as an icy chill spread from his eyes. "Faelan. Crimson Snow."
The moment the words left his lips, a flash of silver erupted from its sheath, as fast as lightning!
The man's shout died in his throat. He never even saw the blade being drawn. All he felt was an icy coldness on his neck before the world spun, his vision filling with a sky of red.
Squelch!
Blood sprayed from the severed neck like a fountain, blooming into a bizarre crimson lotus in the air before spattering onto the ground in tiny droplets.
The battle had begun.
"Enemy attack! We're under attack!"
The entire checkpoint exploded into chaos. Men drew their blades, their shouts and the clash of steel merging into a tumultuous roar.
"You're courting death!" The man in charge of the checkpoint—a bald, powerfully built man in a grey monk's robe with a crazed look in his eyes—roared, his voice so loud it made ears ache. He leaped out from the crowd. He had a savage scar etched on his forehead. This was Brother Thrax the Mad, a Mortal Rank 8 expert of some renown within the Trident League.
Without a word, he flung his hands forward. Dozens of silver needles, fine as ox-hair, shot from his sleeves with a sharp whistle, covering Finn's vitals like a dense rainstorm, leaving no room to dodge.
Faced with such a wide-ranging, deadly attack, Finn advanced instead of retreating. He pushed off the ground, his body surging forward as his longsword became a silver whirlwind, the light from the blade forming an impenetrable barrier before him.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang—!
A series of sharp, grating clangs rang out, each sound piercing the ear. Every single needle was deflected by his wall of steel. Not one broke through his defense, all of them falling to the ground with soft tinkling sounds.
At the same time, Finn's left hand shot into his coat, retrieving a handful of Copper Shards he'd taken from the shrine. With a flick of his wrist, he sent them flying.
The dozen copper pieces became projectiles even more lethal than the needles. They whistled through the air, their trajectory almost invisible as they unerringly struck the throats of the men trying to flank him.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Cries of agony rose and fell. Several men collapsed without another sound, blood gushing from the holes in their necks. This display of equally exquisite throwing skill made Thrax's pupils constrict in shock. This technique... it's not something a common mountain bandit would know!
"All of you, attack! Don't give him an opening!" Another expert beside Thrax, dressed in a tight-fitting green outfit, bellowed. He was also at Mortal Rank 8 and wielded a slender, curved blade. The two of them flanked Finn like a pair of hungry wolves, attacking high and low in a pincer movement.
Thrax's iron palm struck with fierce power, the force of it stinging Finn's cheeks as it aimed for his face, intending to end the fight in one blow. The other man's curved blade viciously slashed at his legs, its edge glinting coldly, trying to prevent him from defending both attacks at once.
However, they were facing a monster whose strength far surpassed others of the same rank since his breakthrough.
Finn's swordsmanship was without flourish, devoid of any unnecessary movements, yet it always seemed to find the most unbelievable angles. He would strike second but land first, his blade hitting the weakest point in his opponent's technique like a key turning a lock, effortlessly dismantling their defense.
Clang!
The tip of Finn's sword lightly tapped the spine of the expert's curved blade. With just a small burst of focused energy, he deflected the powerful slash, the blade scraping past his pant leg and striking the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Thud!
Simultaneously, the hand holding his sword hilt swung upward, the pommel smashing heavily into Thrax's wrist with a dull thud. Thrax felt his wrist go numb, the force of his sure-kill palm strike instantly dissipating.
Fighting two against one, Finn was completely at ease, even finding time to scan his surroundings for sneak attacks.
The Vital Essence in his body was so abundant it felt beyond the Mortal rank. Every exertion was backed by a wealth of energy, allowing him to perform explosive maneuvers that exceeded the limits of his peers, his movements a dazzling blur.
After only a few exchanges, the battle became a one-sided slaughter. Sweat beaded on the foreheads of Thrax and the other expert, their breathing growing ragged and their techniques becoming sloppy. Finn, however, remained calm and composed, his breathing even.
After once again parrying their combined assault, Finn seized a fleeting opening—in his haste to attack, Thrax had exposed his right side.
Finn's figure closed in on Brother Thrax the Mad like a phantom. His footwork shifted, so fast it left an afterimage. His longsword carved a cold arc through the air, the whistling blade slashing straight for Thrax's right arm.
"Not good!"
Thrax's soul nearly fled his body, alarm bells screaming in his mind. He desperately tried to defend himself, but it was too late. Finn's blade was too fast, so fast he had no time to react.
CRACK!
With a sickening crack of bone that made one's scalp crawl, Thrax's entire right arm was severed, bone and all, by Finn's single strike. Blood erupted from the stump, splattering all over Finn. The searing pain ripped a bloodcurdling scream from Thrax's throat, a sound filled with agony and terror. He staggered back, crashing into a wooden post behind him to keep from falling.
In that instant, the victor was decided.
Finn stood with his sword in hand, its tip pointed slightly downward. A single drop of blood slid slowly down the blade and dripped into the dust, blooming into a tiny, crimson snowflake—a perfect reflection of the name he had just declared.
Crimson Snow.