The tension was palpable—each guard's grip tightened on their weapons, anticipating an attack from anywhere.

It did.

The mercenaries emerged with military precision, slipping from multiple points in the underbrush. Their weapons glinted menacingly in the fading light, and they communicated through subtle hand signals, each gesture coordinated and deliberate. Their leader gave a nod, and with seamless coordination, the mercenaries struck from all sides, exploiting the momentary confusion of the royal guards.

"Defend yourselves!" barked the captain of the guards, his sword already drawn.

Steel clashed with steel, and the air filled with the sounds of battle—grunts of exertion, the clang of weapons, and the thud of bodies hitting the ground. Arrows imbued with elemental magic streaked through the air, their fiery trails illuminating the growing chaos. A water mage among the guards quickly conjured a swirling water shield, deflecting the blazing projectiles.

Meanwhile, a fire mage among the mercenaries launched a fireball, only to have it intercepted by a water-infused arrow, the collision creating a hissing cloud of steam that momentarily obscured the battlefield.

In the chaos, Linus’s gaze locked onto a mercenary breaking away from the group, advancing with deadly intent. The man moved like a seasoned fighter, his curved blade glinting ominously. But as Linus readied himself, something else caught his eye—a second mercenary joining the fray, his blade ablaze with flames. Linus’s eyes narrowed. A channeled one, he realized, and a dangerous one at that.

The first mercenary closed in, his blade flashing toward Linus in a swift downward arc. Linus parried with ease, his calm expression betraying nothing.

The mercenary snarled, pressing his attack harder. “You fight like a coward,” he spat, his strikes coming faster, more aggressive. Steel clanged against steel, each blow deflected with Linus’s unnerving composure. But Linus wasn’t about to fight them head-on.

With a subtle shift in his stance, Linus began maneuvering them, his movements seamless and fluid, slowly drawing the two mercenaries toward the shadows cast by ancient trees. Neither fighter noticed nor did they sense his intent.

The second mercenary joined in, his fiery blade searing the air as he lunged forward. Linus twisted away, his blade deflecting the flaming arc carefully. He could feel the heat radiating from the channeled mercenary’s sword, each strike a promise of scalding pain.

Yet Linus stayed eerily calm.

The first mercenary swung for his chest again. Linus sidestepped, his blade nudging the mercenary’s attack just enough to throw him off balance. The mercenary stumbled forward, his footing lost—and that was when the shadows took hold.

Suddenly, a tendril of darkness coiled around the mercenary’s ankle, pulling him down. He fell to one knee, confusion flashing in his eyes as he tried to understand what had happened.“What—?” He glanced down but saw nothing. Seeing him falter, his companion moved to cover him, his fiery blade raised. But the channeled fighter paused when the first mercenary failed to get back up, glancing down in alarm. Only then did he notice the dark tendrils creeping over his companion, holding him fast.

The second mercenary’s face twisted in shock and anger. He glared at Linus, the flames of his sword burning brighter. “You’re not a regular, like the report said.”Linus smiled—a chilling, knowing smile.

At that moment, another tendril shot toward the channeled mercenary. He slashed at it with his flaming sword, slicing through the darkness. But the brief distraction was all Linus needed. Closing the distance swiftly, he thrust his sword forward, striking with deadly precision.“Never reveal your entire hand,” Linus murmured, his voice a cold whisper.

The channeled mercenary’s eyes widened as he fell, the flame of his sword extinguished. Linus then turned to the remaining mercenary, trapped and defenseless in the shadow’s grip. "You were never going to win this fight," he said, his voice low, cold. He raised his sword and, with a swift, precise motion, delivered the final blow.

The mercenary crumpled to the ground, a look of surprise etched across his face as the life faded from his eyes. Linus stood over him for a moment as the dark tendrils of his shadow magic retreated back into the ground.

Marcus, wielding his heavy mace, engaged a mercenary whose spear crackled with water magic. As their weapons clashed, Marcus channeled earth magic through his mace, sending a powerful shockwave through the ground. The mercenary stumbled, water splashing from his spear. Marcus seized the moment, delivering a crushing blow to the man's chest, the impact reverberating through the forest floor.

Without hesitation, Marcus turned his weapon against a nearby guard, striking with lethal precision. The guard's eyes widened in shock as Marcus's blade cut through him. Blood trickled down Marcus's arm from a minor wound, but he ignored it, using the pain to fuel his resolve. He ensured that it appeared the mercenaries were responsible for the guards' deaths, though his blade accounted for many of them.

Linus moved with a similar cold efficiency. Shadow tendrils crept out from the darkness, unseen, tripping a guard and leaving him vulnerable to a mercenary's lethal strike. No one saw the tendrils; they only witnessed the guard's fall and the swift killing blow that followed.

The guards regrouped, using the fallen tree as a makeshift barrier. The mercenaries launched another coordinated assault, their movements efficient and deadly. A fire mage mercenary hurled a fireball toward the guards, but a water mage among them intercepted it, causing a steamy cloud to blanket the battlefield. In the confusion, Linus subtly extended his shadows, causing a mercenary to stumble into a guard's strike, meeting a swift death.

Marcus created small fissures that destabilized his opponents. Nearby, a guard wielding wind magic dueled a mercenary whose staff crackled with lightning. The wind whipped around, deflecting the lightning bolts, while Linus used shadow tendrils to bind the legs of a guard, allowing a mercenary to strike him down.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

One of the mercenaries, an earth mage, slammed his mace into the ground, sending a section of the fallen tree exploding into splinters. The sharp fragments flew through the air, forcing the guards to shield their faces. Linus used the chaos to slip behind a tree, the shadows wrapping around him. In the cover of darkness, he slit a guard's throat, his movements silent and deadly.

As the battle raged on, neither side realized the true orchestrators of the carnage. Linus and Marcus moved with calculated precision, ensuring that neither the guards nor the mercenaries would leave the battlefield alive. Their goal was clear: eliminate the witnesses and leave no loose ends. Marcus dispatched another guard with a powerful mace strike, using his earth magic to knock another off his feet. In the shadows, Linus finished the prone guard with a quick, silent strike.

As the light faded, Linus's magic grew stronger. Shadow tendrils wrapped around multiple guards, binding them in place and allowing the mercenaries to finish them. The battlefield was littered with bodies, blood soaking the ground.

Amidst the chaos, Linus suddenly felt a sharp break in his mind—a connection severed. It was the signal he had been waiting for.

Without missing a beat, Linus turned his head toward Marcus, catching his gaze. A subtle nod was all it took—Marcus's eyes flashed with understanding, his grip tightening on his mace.

It was time.

Linus returned to the carriage, his breath heavy, dirt and blood smeared across his face. Inside, Mary shrank back, her wide eyes filled with confusion and fear.

"Master Linus, what's happening?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Linus's gaze hardened. "You remember the message I received?" he said, his voice cold and detached. "It said my second brother has spies in this group heading to Thornfield. I don't know who it is, so I'm sorry, my dear, but I have to eliminate everyone."

Mary's eyes widened in horror, realization dawning on her. "Master, no! Please!" she begged, her voice breaking.

Linus's expression remained unyielding. "That's why I hired the mercenaries anonymously to attack us. I'm afraid this is the end for them and you."

With swift precision, Linus plunged his dagger into Mary's heart, silencing her pleas. Her body slumped to the floor of the carriage, her eyes wide with shock and betrayal.

Outside, the battle raged on, though the numbers were dwindling. Linus and Marcus moved with renewed urgency—they could feel the vibrations of approaching horses. Mara's party was near.

They hastened to eliminate the remaining royal guards, ensuring the scene would appear as a desperate struggle between guards and mercenaries.

Linus made sure to inflict a few cuts on himself and Marcus, adding to the illusion of a hard-fought battle. The pain was sharp but necessary, a small price for the greater plan. They staggered and stumbled, making a show of their efforts to fend off the attackers.

As the first few scouts from Mara's party came into view, Linus and Marcus coordinated their final moves. With synchronized precision, they dispatched the last of the mercenaries in a flurry of strikes. Blood sprayed into the air as the final mercenary crumpled to the ground just as the scouts rode into the clearing, their horses snorting and stamping at the scent of blood.

The scouts, eyes wide with the scene of carnage before them, reined in their horses and quickly surveyed the battlefield. One of them, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a deep scar running down his cheek, dismounted and approached Linus and Marcus cautiously, his eyes narrowing at the sight of their bloodied forms. He gestured to the others, who spread out to inspect the bodies, both of the royal guards and the mercenaries.

Moments later, Mara herself rode into the clearing, her horse moving with the swift, deliberate pace of someone used to control. She took in the scene immediately—bodies strewn across the road, the stench of blood thick in the air. With grace, she dismounted, her gaze locking onto Linus and Marcus as they slumped against the carriage, bloodied, bruised, and breathing heavily.

"What happened here?" Mara demanded, her voice cold and sharp with suspicion as she strode toward them.

Linus, panting heavily, looked up at her, his face a mixture of exhaustion and relief. "Ambush, Princess Mara," he gasped, his voice convincingly strained. "Mercenaries… they came out of nowhere. We barely survived."

Mara's eyes narrowed as she scanned the battlefield—the lifeless bodies of both guards and mercenaries, the torn earth where the battle had raged. Her gaze lingered on Linus and Marcus, searching for any sign of deceit.

"An ambush?" she echoed slowly, her tone laced with doubt. Linus met her gaze, his expression calm despite his labored breathing. "It was unexpected," he repeated, his tone measured. "The royal guards sacrificed their lives to protect us. They fought bravely."

One of Mara's scouts, the scarred man, stepped forward. "Princess, we've checked the bodies. There's nothing—no markings, no emblems, nothing identifying who sent these mercenaries."

Mara's lips pressed into a thin line. Her fingers twitched slightly at her side, betraying the frustration she kept hidden behind her stern expression.

Mara turned back to Linus and Marcus, her eyes still filled with a wary mistrust. "We'll inform the capital once we reach Thornfield," she said curtly. "They'll want to know about this ambush."

Linus nodded in agreement, bowing slightly, masking the grim satisfaction within him. "Of course, Princess. The capital must be informed."

Mara's eyes flickered with doubt, but she held her suspicion in check. "For now, we move forward. We can't linger here." She gave another swift order to her soldiers, her commanding presence leaving no room for argument.

As Mara's men worked to clear the area, Linus allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. The first mission in Thornfield was now clear, and with Mara's presence secured, the next phase of his strategy could begin.

Linus exhaled slowly, allowing the tension to drain from his body. For now, he could rest—if only for a fleeting moment. The road in Thornfield stretched ahead, full of uncertainty and danger, but Linus had always thrived in the unknown. The game had only just begun, and already his mind was calculating the next moves.

Unlike most, Linus was one of the rare few who could wield magic without the aid of an artifact or weapon. The Unchanneled, they were called—those who could manipulate raw elemental power, unbound by tools or the traditional crystals others needed to harness magic. For Linus, it was shadow magic, a dangerous gift he guarded fiercely. The royal families across the kingdoms would never tolerate an Unchanneled living freely.

Unchecked, unaffiliated power was a threat, too unpredictable to be allowed. Keeping his abilities hidden was not just prudent—it was survival. He had used his shadow magic to create a shadow bird to monitor Mara's arrival. The dark creature, circling high above the trees, had silently dissolved when it noticed a group approaching. In its final moments, it had sent Linus a fleeting image—a flash of movement: the faint outlines of horses and soldiers emerging from a wooded path.

That image had been enough to push him into action, leading him to eliminate Mary, whom he suspected of being a spy. The decision had been swift and brutal, yet necessary—a harsh reminder of the world he inhabited.

A world where power and survival often demanded ruthless choices.