Chapter 124: An Ambush [1]

The heavens opened up in a furious, blinding torrent.

A violent, midnight downpour lashed across the rocky terrain of the Opark Mountain range, turning the winding dirt trails into slick rivers of mud.

Jagged forks of blinding white lightning violently fractured the bruised, ink-black sky, followed instantly by concussive crashes of thunder that shook the stone foundations of the cliffs.

The wind whipped in wild, howling gales, driving sheets of cold rain horizontally across the wilderness and swallowing the night in absolute gloom.

Through the heart of the raging storm, four powerful war stallions thundered relentlessly across the treacherous mountain paths.

This was the third route—the vital overland pass winding toward the Asherian Viscounty.

Leading the small, disciplined vanguard was Craig von Darkstar.

His transfigured silver-white hair was plastered against his forehead, and his deep emerald-green eyes scanned the winding trail with piercing clarity through the sheets of rain.

His hands held the reins with absolute, steady control, guiding his mount over slippery roots and rocky ledges without a single hesitation.

Riding closely by his right flank was Ser Hughway.

The veteran knight sat tall in the saddle, his hand resting casually near the hilt of his broadsword, his battle-hardened senses stretched outward to cut down any stray Abomination or opportunistic mountain bandit daring to cross their path.

Behind them, every trace of their departure had been methodically erased; all hoofprints, discarded rations, and spiritual residue had been scrubbed to ensure that no intelligence network or spy from the Myrain Viscounty could track their current location.

To Craig’s left rode Annie Blacksun. Wrapped tightly within her heavy, water-repellant traveling cloak, she kept her head ducked low against the driving rain, focusing her remaining spiritual energy on maintaining her physical endurance.

Bringing up the rear of the formation was Ser Damian.

His dark eyes scanned the mist-shrouded trail behind them, his hand locked onto his sword hilt to intercept any pursuit.

The formation was a masterclass in tactical travel: Ser Hughway anchored the vanguard to clear whatever dangers lay ahead, while Ser Damian guarded the rear against any unseen ambushes.

Hours had bled away since they departed the absolute security of the Myrain Viscounty, the relentless gallop pushing man and beast to their physical limits.

Craig furrowed his brow against the stinging rain as his stallion surged forward.

The Opark Mountain range was a critical geographic artery—a high-altitude trade route serving as the primary commercial bridge connecting four major frontier viscounties.

Both Craig’s Myrain Viscounty and the neighboring Asherian Viscounty sat directly along its expansive network.

However, before they could slip unnoticed across the borders into the Asherian Viscounty—and subsequently secure access to the grand imperial seaport—they had to navigate a treacherous gauntlet consisting of six isolated mountain villages nestled deep within the crags.

They had already successfully bypassed the first two settlements.

Utilizing strict stealth protocols and riding far off the beaten paths, they had slipped past the regional watchtowers and village patrols without a single soul detecting their passage.

Tilting his head slightly against the howling wind while keeping his eyes locked on the trail ahead, Craig raised his voice to carry over the roar of the storm.

“Hughway!” Craig called out sharply. “How much distance and time do we have left before we cross out of this range and reach the borders of the Asherian Viscounty?”

Ser Hughway turned his head slightly, shouting back through the sheeting rain. “We have only a few more outlying mountain settlements to slip past, My Lord! At our current pace, we should reach the border checkpoints within a few hours at—”

Before the veteran knight could finish his sentence, his entire demeanor locked up.

A sharp, violent twitch crossed Hughway’s weathered face as his advanced Sword Sage Initial-stage battle skill violently flared to life.

His internal spiritual radar, honed by decades of surviving continental warfare, instantly picked up a sudden, massive spike in ambient atmospheric pressure and rapid, coordinated motion cutting through the storm.

His eyes widened beneath his soaked hood, his eyebrows knitting into a harsh, warning frown.

“Halt!” Hughway bellowed instantly, pulling hard on his reins and bringing his massive war stallion to a skidding, mud-splattered stop.

Craig reined his horse in smoothly, his eyes narrowing as he instantly mirrored Hughway’s vigilance.

Damian and Annie pulled up beside them, weapons and senses coming to immediate readiness.

“What is it, Hughway?” Craig asked, his voice low and razor-sharp.

Hughway stared intently into the blinding wall of rain ahead, his hand gripping his sword hilt so hard his knuckles turned white.

His tactical instincts were screaming warnings directly into his mind.

“My Lord… my battle aura just caught something,” Hughway reported, his voice tight with urgency. “There is a large group of armed men moving at breakneck speed directly toward our position, less than a few hundred meters down the trail!”

Hughway’s jaw tightened as the rumbling approach of hooves began to vibrate through the wet stone beneath them, cutting through the thunder.

“They are moving with disciplined military coordination,” Hughway warned, his eyes scanning the dense treeline shrouded by the storm.

“And based on their approach speed and formation, they are not simple mountain bandits. They are interceptors—and they are heading right for us. We must prepare for immediate conflict!”

**

The storm did not merely rage; it seemed to actively conspire against them, pressing down upon the Opark Mountain range with a suffocating, atmospheric weight.

Jagged veins of violet lightning tore across the ink-black canvas of the night sky, illuminating the jagged cliffs and slick, treacherous switchbacks of the third overland route for fractions of a second before plunging the world back into absolute, consuming darkness.

The thunder that followed was deafening, a concussive shockwave that vibrated deep within the marrow of their bones and rattled the breastplates beneath their travel cloaks.

Through this tempest of wind, rain, and mud, the four war stallions stood like statues carved from granite.

Their flanks heaved heavily, thick plumes of white steam venting from their nostrils as they fought to steady themselves against the howling gales.

Ser Hughway remained frozen in the vanguard, his posture rigid as his advanced Sword Sage Initial-stage battle skill continued to pulse warning signals directly into his consciousness.

The sudden, violent disruption in the ambient mana of the storm was unmistakable.

Something heavy, fast, and entirely uninvited was tearing through the mountain mist, closing the distance at a terrifying velocity.

Craig sat atop his mount with absolute, chilling composure.

Despite the sudden ambush, his transfigured silver-white hair clung motionlessly to his forehead, and his deep emerald-green eyes pierced through the sheets of driving rain with predatory clarity.

He did not panic.

In the grand theater of the continent’s power struggles, unexpected variables were simply new pieces on the board to be evaluated and eliminated.

“How many, Hughway?” Craig’s voice cut through the howling wind with calm, razor-sharp authority, devoid of any hesitation.

Hughway narrowed his eyes, straining his veteran senses against the roaring downpour.

The vibrations running through the wet stone beneath his horse’s hooves were growing sharper, heavier, and more defined by the second.

“At least twenty mounted combatants, My Lord,” Hughway reported tightly, his thumb resting over the release latch of his broadsword.

“Their formation is far too disciplined for ordinary mountain brigands. They aren’t riding haphazardly; they are maintaining a tactical wedge. Someone knew we were taking this route, or they have spotters positioned at every single village outpost along the Opark range.”

Hearing those words, Ser Damian slowly guided his stallion forward from the rear, bringing his mount shoulder-to-shoulder with Craig’s left side, perfectly mirroring Ser Hughway.

Damian’s hand was locked firmly around the grip of his shealthed weapon, his dark eyes sweeping over the dark, densely forested tree line flanking the narrow mountain pass.

“If they are disciplined, they are either private enforcers belonging to a rival house or elite bounty hunters tracking our movements out of the Myrain Viscounty,” Damian noted, his tone laced with cold tactical calculation.

“Shall we intercept them before they close the gap, My Lord? Or do we let them walk straight into our trap?”

Before Craig could issue his decree, the dense thicket of towering pine trees roughly two hundred meters down the winding trail exploded outward in a shower of splintered wood and flying mud.

CLOP-CLOP-CLOP-CLOP!

The thunderous, synchronized roar of heavy warhorses stampeding across the wet stone suddenly overwhelmed the sound of the rain.

Torches flared to life through the gloom—dozens of crimson-fire magic integrated crystals mounted upon iron lances, casting a harsh, bloody glow across the rain-slicked trail and revealing the approaching interceptors in all their terrifying glory.

They were heavy cavalry clad in head-to-toe matte-black plate armor.

Every single rider bore an unidentifiable, featureless iron visored helm, completely concealing their identities.

Their mounts were massive, bred specifically for frontline cavalry charges, and their hands held long, razor-sharp steel lances primed for a lethal, momentum-driven impact.

They moved with the terrifying, synchronized precision of a professional death squad.

“Ambush!” Ser Hughway bellowed, his voice ringing out like a war horn.

With a blinding flash of silver steel, Hughway drew his broadsword from its scabbard.

The moment the blade cleared leather, a dense, shimmering wave of high-tier battle aura erupted from his body, parting the driving rain around him in a wide, circular shockwave.

His horse reared slightly, but Hughway’s masterful horsemanship kept the beast completely under control as he braced himself at the vanguard.

“Hold your ground!” Craig commanded smoothly, his voice carrying an unshakeable sovereign weight that instantly steadied the entire party.

At his side, Annie Blacksun pulled her mount slightly backward, her hands disappearing beneath the folds of her heavy travelling cloak.

Even though she carried no physical blade, the air around her fingertips began to shimmer with a delicate, electric blue luminescence as she quietly initiated a high-frequency mana-shield protocol to protect herself and the horses from stray spells or physical debris.

The black-armored cavalry unit saw the four travelers blocking the narrow trail, but instead of slowing down to interrogate or halt, their pace quickened.

The lead knight raised a gauntleted hand, signaling the formation to split slightly and execute a classic, wide-arc encirclement designed to trap their targets against the sheer rock face of the mountain.

“They aren’t here to capture us for questioning,” Ser Damian observed coldly, his eyes tracking the lateral movement of the enemy flankers.

“They came with explicit orders to exterminate us.”

A slow, dangerous smirk curled the corners of Craig’s lips.

Beneath his transfigured silver hair and emerald-green eyes, the ruthless, calculating mind of the Regressor was already spinning miles ahead of the enemy’s formation.

They thought they had caught an isolated noble party slipping through a mountain pass during a storm.

They had no idea they had just walked directly into the jaws of a dragon lord.

An expert military commander.

“Hughway, Damian,” Craig spoke softly, his voice cutting cleanly through the roaring wind.

“Do not kill them all. Leave the commander alive… I want to personally ask him who sent these disposable dogs to bark at my feet.”

“Consider it done, My Lord,” Ser Hughway grinned, a fierce, bloodthirsty veteran’s gleam flashing in his eyes.

With a deafening battle cry, the Indestructible Sword kicked his heels against his horse’s flanks and charged straight forward into the oncoming storm of steel and lightning, ready to paint the mountain trail with the blood of their uninvited guests.