Chapter 329 - Three Hundred And Twenty Eight

Chapter 329: Chapter Three Hundred And Twenty Eight

Kade was already standing in front of the horses. Kade had drawn his own steel sword. He was glaring at the masked men, his body tense and ready to fight.

Damon walked slowly forward. He stood right beside Kade. He let the tip of his sword rest slightly near the dirt. He looked at the six masked attackers. He looked profoundly annoyed.

One of the masked men took a slow step forward. He pointed the sharp tip of his sword at Damon’s chest.

"We were sent to take your life, General," the masked man spoke out loud. His voice was rough, harsh, and slightly muffled by the black cloth covering his mouth.

Damon stared at the man. His eyes were as cold as solid ice.

"Who sent you?" Damon asked simply. His voice was flat, showing no emotion or fear.

The man who spoke earlier let out a short, mocking laugh.

"You don’t deserve to know," the masked man replied coldly.

Damon slowly raised his right arm. He lifted his sword high into the air. The polished metal caught the fading orange light of the setting sun.

"Then you don’t deserve to take my life," Damon spoke quietly.

He took his stance. He bent his knees slightly, lowering his center of gravity. He gripped the handle tightly with both of his large hands.

Seeing the General prepare to fight, Kade followed suit. Kade raised his sword, stepping slightly to the side to cover Damon’s blind spot.

The six masked men looked at each other. They nodded their heads simultaneously, agreeing to attack at once.

Damon did not wait for them to charge.

"Take my life if you dare," Damon challenged them loudly.

The fight started instantly.

The masked men lunged forward with aggressive shouts. Damon swung his broadsword with brutal force.

Clang!

The loud, sharp sound of steel hitting steel echoed violently across the quiet dirt road.

Damon blocked an incoming strike and kicked the attacker hard in the chest, sending the man stumbling backward into the dust. Kade engaged the other two men, his sword moving in fast, defensive arcs.

The road outside the carriage became a loud, chaotic battlefield filled with shouting, kicking dirt, and clashing metal.

Inside the carriage, Camilla was alone.

She sat on the velvet seat. She did not cover her ears or shake with terror like a normal noblewoman would.

Camilla listened to the loud sounds of fighting outside.

"Six men," Camilla thought to herself, her mind analyzing the sounds of the footsteps and the clashing swords. "One dead. Damon and Kade are fighting the remaining five in the front."

But her instincts told her that something was wrong.

"An ambush is never just a frontal assault," Camilla reasoned internally. Her eyes scanned the small, enclosed space of the carriage. "If they want to kill the target, they always send a backup to clear out the witnesses. Someone will come for the carriage."

She knew she had to prepare herself to fight.

She quickly leaned forward. She reached her hands deep into the open secret compartment under Damon’s seat. She felt around in the dark space. Her fingers brushed against cold, hard metal.

She pulled the object out. It was a sharp dagger. Damon always kept extra weapons hidden just in case.

Camilla gripped the leather handle of the dagger tightly. The weight felt perfect in her hand.

She looked down at her dress. The skirts were very wide, and the tight corset around her waist was restricting her breathing.

"This dress will be a big problem," Camilla thought practically. "If I have to dodge a sword, I cannot trip over my own skirts. I need to be able to move."

She did not hesitate. She dropped the dagger onto the velvet seat for a second.

She reached her hands behind her back. She grabbed the tight silk laces of her corset. With a sharp, forceful tug, she pulled the laces loose. She took a deep, full breath as her ribs were finally free from the tight binding.

Next, she reached down and grabbed the silk skirts of her dress. She pulled the thick fabric up to her knees, exposing her legs and hoop. She gathered the cloth tightly and held it securely in her left hand, freeing her feet so she could step and move smoothly.

She picked the dagger back up with her right hand. She held it with a firm, reverse grip, the sharp blade pointing downward along her forearm.

She sat still on the velvet seat. She waited.

She listened carefully over the loud noise of the swords clashing outside.

A few seconds later, she heard it.

It was a soft quiet sound.

Crunch.

A boot had just stepped very lightly onto the dirt right outside her side of the carriage. Then, a soft creak sounded as someone stepped onto the small wooden step of the carriage door.

Camilla narrowed her hazel eyes. She stared blankly at the brass handle of the carriage door.

Slowly, very carefully, the brass handle began to turn.

Someone was trying to open the carriage door forcefully.

Camilla’s instincts were correct. A masked man had left the main group. While Damon and Kade were distracted fighting the four attackers in the front, this fifth man had sneaked quietly around to the back. He had come to the carriage to silence anyone hiding inside to avoid having any living witnesses.

He broke the handle and entered the carriage, unbeknownst to him that a deadly predator was waiting patiently inside.

The door pushed open.

The masked man poked his head and his shoulders inside the carriage. He held a short, sharp sword in his right hand. He looked into the shadows, fully expecting to see a crying, terrified noblewoman cowering on the floor.

He saw Camilla sitting on the velvet seat.

But before his brain could even process that she was not crying, and before he could even raise his short sword against her, Camilla moved.

As soon as he made physical contact with the interior space of the carriage, she struck.

Camilla lunged forward from her seat. She did not hesitate. She swung her right arm in a fast horizontal arc.

The sharp edge of the dagger sliced deeply across the masked man’s exposed throat.

It was a flawless, fatal cut.

Blood sprayed instantly. A warm, wet splash of blood hit Camilla on the left side of her face. Small red drops spotted the blouse of her dress.

The masked man’s eyes widened in shock. He dropped his short sword immediately. It clattered against the floorboards. He let out a wet, gurgling gasp. He quickly raised both of his hands, grabbing his bleeding neck desperately, trying to stop the flow of blood.

But it was useless. The cut was too deep.

The man stumbled backward. He fell heavily onto the wooden floor of the carriage, half of his body still hanging out the open door. He lay there, twitching slightly as he gasped for air.

Camilla stood over him. She looked at the blood covering her hand and dripping from her cheek. She did not feel sick. Her face remained a cold, unfeeling mask of stone. She had done what she had to do to survive.

She needed to get out of the carriage. She needed to go outside and help Damon finish off the remaining attackers.

She lifted her foot, preparing to step over the dying man’s body and walk out the door.

But as she moved to leave, she suddenly felt a tight grip on her leg.

She paused midway.

She looked down at her feet.

The dying masked man was lying on his stomach on the floorboards. He was choking on his own blood, but he refused to die quietly. He had reached out with one trembling, bloody hand. His fingers were wrapped tightly around Camilla’s bare ankle. He was trying to hold her in place.

Camilla looked at his bloody hand holding her leg.

She did not kick him. She did not try to pull her leg away. She just felt a deep, cold annoyance.

"You should just let go," Camilla thought to herself, her internal voice completely flat.

She turned her body slightly. She crouched down, bending her knees smoothly despite the tight space.

She raised her right hand high into the air, holding the bloody dagger with a firm, tight grip.

She brought her arm down with brutal force.

She stabbed the dagger deeply and violently into the center of the masked man’s chest. The sharp blade easily pierced through his dark clothing and broke through his ribs, burying itself into his heart.

She killed him instantly.

The man’s body gave one final, violent jerk.

Then, his bloody hand went limp. His fingers loosened their tight grip and fell heavily away from her ankle, hitting the floorboards with a soft thud. He stopped moving.

Camilla breathed slowly. She grabbed the leather handle of the dagger and pulled the sharp blade smoothly out of his chest, her silk gloves staining red.

She calmly wiped the wet blood off the blade using the dead man’s cloth. She stood back up to her full height. She raised her left hand, casually wiped the drops of blood off her cheek with the back of her wrist and stepped carefully over the dead body.