Chapter Eight: Fierce Battle in the Passageway

Just as Grant’s dagger, hidden in his sleeve, was about to pierce his opponent’s chest, Carlos felt the ground vanish beneath his feet. Both men, accompanied by the dark sorcerer’s cruel grin, plummeted from the rooftop.

They had fallen for the trap. Carlos realized this immediately and hurriedly untied the mist scroll on his body, preparing for whatever might come.

Amidst the shattering tiles, they slid from the roof and crashed down together. Below was a narrow passage, arching like a sewer tunnel. Seizing the light from above, Carlos twisted his body mid-air and landed in a roll, coming to rest unscathed.

The passage was steeped in shadows, making it impossible to discern what lay at either end. Grant pulled Carlos behind him. “Be careful, there’s a cavalryman.”

Carlos wondered where a cavalryman could have come from. At that moment, from the far end of the passage, the heavy pounding of hooves echoed.

Thud. Thud.

The hoofbeats were muffled but solid—by the sound, a heavily armored cavalryman for certain.

Carlos narrowed his eyes, peering into the gloom, and soon spotted a towering knight clad in black plate armor at the far end of the passage. Even seated astride a warhorse armored head to hoof, the knight’s huge frame made both horse and rider appear more imposing than any Carlos had ever seen.

The warhorse pawed the ground, muscles tensed, clearly ready to charge.

Carlos’s gaze fixed on the three-meter-long, thick lance the black-armored knight wielded. In this confined space, if the knight charged, there would be nowhere to escape.

Grant watched the horseman warily, while Carlos quickly surveyed their surroundings. The other end of the passage was fifty meters off—too far to run. Looking up at the broken rooftop, he estimated it to be three meters overhead; climbing back up would not be easy.

Worse yet, the loathsome dark sorcerer was standing right above, sneering coldly down at master and servant through the gaping hole.

Carlos squinted up, eyes locked on the sorcerer’s shadowed face beneath his cloak, then slowly turned his head. The black-armored knight was already beginning his charge.

Ordinarily, in single combat, a knight’s lance charge was no advantage at all. The weapon’s massive momentum made it unwieldy; a simple roll or leap could allow even a common footman to dodge the thrust. In such fights, knights favored sabers or longswords over lances.

But in a space this narrow, the logic was reversed.

An ambush in the street was nothing compared to one in a passage like this, where there was truly no escape. Here, the power of a heavy lance was unmatched—just a glancing blow could be fatal, especially when paired with a charging warhorse.

As the black knight thundered forward, Death incarnate, Grant stood fast. Carlos was right behind him; to dodge would mean exposing Carlos to the deadly steel. The old horseman would sooner die than let that happen.

He raised the dagger in his sleeve.

Its blade, black as midnight, flashed with a dazzling cold light in the shaft of sunlight pouring through the ruined roof. As the armored rider bore down, the dagger suddenly flared with a misty, brilliant glow.

Grant’s focus was absolute, eyes fixed on the oncoming warhorse. He took two deep, heavy breaths, and then held his breath.

Twenty steps. Ten steps…

At the instant the lance thrust toward him, Grant crouched low, ducking under the tip. As the steel point grazed his shoulder, he roared, seized the shaft, and nimbly leapt onto the warhorse.

Metal screamed as the dagger scraped against the horse’s armor.

In that split second, as Grant and the black knight clashed, Carlos shattered his mist scroll.

Swathed in a swirl of black mist, he sprang up, stepping on Grant’s shoulder, then vaulted higher. As the lance swept past Grant’s shoulder like a thunderbolt, Carlos, hidden in the mist, tapped the steel shaft for leverage and launched himself upward.

A dark energy surged in his hand, forming a blade of blackness. Using the momentum, he shot from the mist toward the rooftop.

A flash of shadow!

The dark sorcerer, watching from above, saw only a blur erupt from the swirling fog. Before he could react, his shriveled face twisted, and his eyes contracted in terror.

From the depths of those eyes, a pale, handsome face loomed, burning with fury and murderous intent.

A final arc of darkness flashed.

The black blade, forged from Carlos’s shadowy power, swept across the sorcerer’s throat.

The sorcerer’s hands flew to his neck, blood seeping between his fingers. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he died never understanding what had happened.

Within the shroud of mist, Carlos had used Grant and the knight’s violent collision to vault upward twice, executing his deadly ambush.

The effort drained him; with his strength spent, his slender body dropped limply to the ground below.

Meanwhile, in the passage—

Grant’s dagger sliced through the heavy armor, finally finding the weakest spot at the horse’s neck.

The black-armored knight, robbed of mobility, could only watch in helpless rage.

His lance, already thrust forward, was lost in the mist, his vision wholly obscured. Immobile, the knight could only let his warhorse, mortally wounded, charge forward blindly.

Grant’s killer instincts did not fail him. Clinging to the lance, he swung himself in front of the horse, then, with practiced agility, slipped to the right side, slashing a long gash beneath the horse’s belly.

A torrent of blood gushed forth. The horse screamed, and a few meters beyond the mist, crashed to the ground.

The black knight was hurled forward by the force of the fall.

Grant hesitated a moment but did not pursue. Behind him, Carlos finally crashed to the ground, landing with a heavy thud.

The old horseman rushed to his side.

“Don’t worry, I’ll live!” Carlos muttered, holding his waist. He glanced up at the ruined roof, a crooked smile playing at his lips.

He was unharmed, only utterly exhausted.

“Go finish him off. Don’t damage that black armor—I think it would suit Conrad nicely,” Carlos added, catching his breath.

Grant grinned, showing his yellowed teeth in a confident smile.

A knight without his horse was nothing at all.