Ronnel shook his head, straightened his posture, and followed the Westin family onto the suspension bridge, moving as light as a feather.
Despite his expectations, what happened next still managed to surprise him.
Including Ronnel, there were six people in the Westin family's group. Aside from the "eldest brother," who seemed to be the backbone of the family, and the "second grandfather," who led the team, there was a capable butler and two elderly members accompanying them.
Under the gaze of one elder, the butler reached into the cloth pouch he carried and scattered small black spheres onto the bridge deck.
The moment the black spheres touched the wooden planks, they dissolved into an inky substance that spread quickly, coating the entire surface of the bridge.
Caught off guard, several people trailing behind stepped onto the blackened surface—only to find their feet stuck as if glued to the bridge.
"You filthy Westins! I'll kill your entire family!"
An enraged shout echoed through the gorge, reverberating off the cliffs. The sound was eerie enough to send a shiver through anyone who heard it.
Turning back, Ronnel saw a group of people struggling to free themselves from the sticky bridge. Their shoes seemed rooted to the ground, making escape impossible.
Unfazed, the Westin family pressed on, their expressions indifferent.
What a shameless bunch of schemers, Ronnel thought, suppressing a grimace.
On the narrow suspension bridge, the immobilized group became an immediate bottleneck. Those behind them could only try to climb over the stuck individuals—a near-impossible task. Frustrations quickly boiled over, sparking chaos and loud arguments.
The Westin family's strategy was simple but effective. The ensuing disorder made it almost impossible for anyone to catch up.
"Don't worry about them," said one elder of the Westin family, his red turban bobbing as he spoke.
"Focus on what's ahead," added another elder, his voice muffled by a strange green mask.
Meanwhile, the butler reached into his pouch again, preparing to toss another round of black spheres toward the next group.
"Damn them!" someone ahead of the Westins growled, their expression dark.
Had they not been on such a precarious bridge, where even the slightest misstep could lead to disaster, they might have turned back to retaliate. But the risk was too high.
Grudgingly, the other assassins moved closer to their leader. Sensing the group's mood, the head of the Westin family wisely adjusted their pace to follow just behind Keyence's team, keeping a strategic distance.
Keyence's group said nothing, though their irritation was palpable. No one wanted to deal with the Westins' shameless tactics, especially under these circumstances.
As a result, the assassins on the suspension bridge naturally split into two distinct groups. The Westins and those near them occupied the front, while the rear remained a chaotic mess, with angry shouts and curses filling the air.
Somewhere near the entrance of the bridge, a woman sitting beside a stone monument puffed lazily on a cigarette, watching the spectacle with mild amusement.
No matter how much the rear group screamed and cursed, it was futile. The bottleneck only worsened. Before long, the chaos devolved into physical altercations—an all-out brawl between frustrated examinees.
Ronnel, now walking near the front, sighed. He secretly regretted missing a chance to witness such a messy free-for-all. Fights between skilled combatants, especially killers, were always worth watching.
The suspension bridge, obscured by the valley's thick mist, appeared much longer than it actually was. In truth, it didn't take long to traverse, especially at the brisk pace set by the Westins and Keyence's group.
Before long, the faint outline of the other side came into view.
As they approached, Ronnel's gaze shifted to the left, toward the cliffs below. Something caught his attention, and he stopped briefly to get a better look.
A moment later, others in the group noticed his pause and followed his gaze.
It was a testament to Ronnel's sharp perception. His reaction time and awareness were leagues above most of the others here.
What they saw next made their eyes widen in shock.
On a rocky outcrop below the suspension bridge, a massive cave had been carved into the cliffside. From within, a strange, majestic creature emerged.
It had four sharp black claws, a pointed beak, and milky-white feathers streaked with dark red. Sunlight glinted off its golden wings, which shone like polished metal.
Its wolf-like tail swayed lazily as it perched near the cave entrance. The creature's face—an unsettling blend of lion and eagle features—added to its mythical aura.
"A griffon?" someone muttered in awe.
"Not just any griffon…" another voice whispered. "That must be the three-headed griffon of the Matar family!"
Sure enough, the creature wasn't a typical griffon. Its three heads, each supported by a long, slender neck, gave it a monstrous appearance—more grotesque than majestic.
"I'd heard rumors about the Matar family's three-headed griffon," one examinee said, his tone incredulous. "But I never thought they were true."
The others murmured in agreement, staring at the beast in uneasy silence.
Then someone pointed to the cave. "Look at the cable!"
A thick, sturdy rope connected the cave to the cable car station near the suspension bridge.
The group's expressions darkened as realization dawned.
Anyone who took the cable car here had likely been sent straight into the griffon's lair.
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