Chapter Forty-Two: Slaughter (Part One)

As the tremors of the earth were felt by all, the streets had already been swept into chaos by the charging horses of the bounty hunters from the Astrolabe Guild. Clods of earth and dust flew up, casting the already smog-shrouded sky into a dim, yellow haze.

The night patrols of the Stevenson family found themselves surrounded by the bounty hunters. Clad in chainmail, the patrolmen’s faces were etched with panic; it was the first time in Salt Wells Town that they had faced an enemy more numerous than themselves, and the situation unnerved them.

Yet their young master displayed a rare composure. Carlos had no choice but to remain calm, surveying the large group of bounty hunters, their faces still bearing grim smiles, caked in dust and dirt. These were not hunters, he realized, but marauders. The greed in their eyes as they looked upon people was unnatural.

True bounty hunters only showed such expressions toward beasts and demons—creatures worth gold. Old Rod, a fellow member of the Astrolabe Guild, understood this all too well. He knew these men had come for more than just the beast tide.

Old Rod swallowed hard. Heaven help us, he thought, is Laurent leading these men here to plunder the town?

When onlookers, frightened by the sudden appearance of the terrifying hunters, tried to slip away from the Astrolabe Guild’s encirclement, the butcher’s knives were raised above their heads and fell swiftly, without hesitation.

These murderous blades, special curved knives used in hunting, had thin blades with a blood groove running down the center. They could pierce skin and slip deep into bone; a single thrust and twist would fill the blood channel. Despite their paper-like delicacy, they were remarkably tough.

When several bystanders attempted to flee and were beheaded in surprise, the town suddenly became eerily silent, as if dead.

Laurent swept his gaze arrogantly around him, then looked at Carlos and said mockingly, “As long as there’s valuable prey, my hunters don’t care whose rules they break.”

Carlos kept his face stern, realizing the opposition had meticulously prepared for Salt Wells Town.

“What is it you want?” he asked.

Laurent sneered, fixing his gaze on the youth before him who showed no fear despite the bloodshed. “It’s simple. The Stevenson family must get out of East Cyprus. Sylin City is not for fallen nobles like yours to covet.”

Carlos nodded slightly, barely audibly letting out a breath. As expected, they had come for the great prize of Sylin City.

At that moment, flickering shadows appeared in the alleys and upon the rooftops, moving swiftly into the houses lining the street. Their agile figures gathered atop the tavern behind Carlos, or in the stables behind it.

Carlos noticed this, and a familiar silhouette on the rooftop across the street signaled a gesture only he could understand.

It was his elder brother, Dericht—Carlos recognized him instantly.

He quickly looked away, returning his gaze to the imposing Laurent of the Astrolabe Guild and said calmly, “Perhaps you should ask my father about this, not me.”

“The cunning reputation of Baron Mori is known even in Cyprus City,” Laurent replied in an elegant tone. “Controlling his beloved son will make negotiations much easier.”

Carlos turned his head toward Charles and Old Rod, who stood before him.

“My friend Charles being invited into the hunter squad—is that part of your plan?” he asked.

Laurent gave a mysterious smile and shook his head. “It’s one step of the plan, just as things happen. Rod has owed the Guild headhunter fees for some time now, so it’s only natural the Guild arranges someone to keep an eye on him.”

As he spoke, the bearded trapper in the hunter squad strode out, laughing, to stand before Laurent.

“Pierre, you bastard!” Old Rod cursed, almost bewitched with rage.

The burly man beside Laurent didn’t even glance at him, nor at the hunter squad leader, whom he had previously shown such respect.

Everything was clear now. There seemed to be no other choice.

Laurent was surprised to find the youth before him still showed no fear.

On the contrary, the groom at his back naturally let two assassination daggers slide from his sleeves, holding one in each hand, poised and silent.

The rest of the Stevenson family’s night patrol gathered tightly before Carlos, gripping their long knives, ropes, and muskets, ready for action.

“So you want me to unleash a bloodbath?” Laurent said coldly, finally waving his hand to the assembled bounty hunters behind him.

Grant watched as the Astrolabe Guild’s bounty hunters drew their various weapons and readied themselves.

“Young master, in a moment, you and your friends should take shelter in the tavern. Those fools never aim straight, their shots always hit the most unexpected places. This old servant fears he won’t be able to protect you.”

Outside the tavern window, the old man Flint solemnly instructed his granddaughter, Geoffrey, “Go inside.”

“But there’s nothing to see in there,” she protested.

“There’s nothing worth seeing about dead men,” Flint replied. He kept his gaze fixed on Carlos’s position, feeling somewhat reassured only as he sensed more allies gathering around.

“Who is that boy? Will you help him?” asked the beautiful woman, Geoffrey.

“From the old line,” Flint answered.

No sooner had he spoken than the thunderous roar of muskets echoed. The bounty hunters of the Astrolabe Guild began their slaughter against the night patrol.

Rows of fire snakes spat from the barrels of hunters in the front line, filling the street with tumult.

The patrols quickly returned fire.

Grant delivered Carlos and Sidis to the tavern door, then became a shadow slipping into the smoke-filled street. His sharp dagger stabbed into the chest of a hunter preparing to reload, wasting not a moment to withdraw the blade; with a flash, he slashed the chest and turned, striking another hunter who hesitated at the sudden appearance of the assassin.

After the first volley, the Astrolabe Guild’s bounty hunters found their movements slowing. Figures leapt down from rooftops into their crowded ranks, making it impossible to reload for another round.

Some abandoned their firearms, drawing axes and curved blades from their backs.

Dericht leapt from the rooftop, sword raised, landing in the thickest of the hunters. This swordsman, hardened by wilderness wanderings, cut down heads as if harvesting melons.

The Stevenson family’s night patrols, having prepared on rooftops, launched a round of counter-fire, then tossed long hooks down into the street, snagging bounty hunters by the shoulder or back and yanking bloody wounds open.

The guards blocking Carlos had almost all been destroyed by the first volley.

Once Grant joined the battle, Carlos retreated into the tavern.

Laurent’s servant, the blond, scarred-faced man Jink, locked onto Carlos amid the chaos. He and several bounty hunters hacked down night patrolmen with savage smiles, rushing for the tavern door.