Torrent carried Lucian and the spectral form of Melina effortlessly across the rugged terrain. The spectral steed's hooves made impossible leaps, traversing broken paths and wide chasms.
As they descended toward a crumbling ruin, it seemed they wouldn't make the last few meters. Lucian tensed, the breath caught in his throat.
Then—thump—Torrent kicked off the air itself, landing nimbly atop a crumbling stone pillar.
Double jump. MVP!
Lucian exhaled deeply. That was… unnecessarily dramatic.
He patted Torrent's neck. "Left, boy."
The steed understood, bounding up a rocky slope in two elegant hops.
Soon, they reached a flat plateau just beside the main road. From here, they were a few hundred meters from the Bridge of Sacrifice—far enough to stay out of sight.
Lucian dismounted and crept to the nearby Grace to touch its warm golden light. After that, he returned to the road, scanning ahead.
He was looking for Irina.
He spotted her not long after.
A young woman with pale gold hair tied in a high ponytail stood by the side of the road, her eyes covered with cloth bandages. A few loose strands clung to her face, damp with sweat.
She wore a leather longcoat over a linen tunic and pants. Her pointed black boots dug lightly into the soil as she slowly stumbled forward, using the low stone wall for balance.
Lady Irina of Castle Morne—alone, blind, and vulnerable.
But she was not alone.
Lucian's eyes narrowed as a figure in black armor, hooded and silent, crept up behind her. He recognized the man immediately: a Two Fingers' agent—an assassin.
He wasn't here to protect Irina.
As the agent reached for his blade, their eyes briefly met.
Lucian didn't hesitate.
"Behind you! Someone's there!" he shouted, kicking Torrent into a gallop.
The assassin flinched, realizing his cover was blown. His footsteps quickened.
Irina froze, panic washing over her pale face. She'd heard only silence behind her—now someone was telling her danger was mere steps away.
She clutched a Sacred Seal in her hands and began to pray.
Rejection.
A golden wave of force blasted out from her body, catching the assassin mid-lunge and hurling him through the air.
That was close. Lucian's heart raced.
The agent rolled back to his feet. But by then, Lucian was there, planting himself firmly between Irina and her would-be killer.
"You all right?" he asked.
Irina nodded shakily, still trembling. She couldn't speak, but her gratitude was clear.
"No one's going to hurt you. Not while I'm here."
Lucian helped her onto Torrent's back and turned to face the assassin.
The agent scowled. "This has nothing to do with you."
Lucian drew two Ornamental Straight Swords, crossing them loosely at his sides.
"It does now."
The assassin sneered. "We're both Tarnished. I don't want to kill you—but I will, if you keep interfering."
Behind him, Irina paled further. Her heart pounded. If this man changed his mind, if he handed her over, she'd be doomed—and so would Castle Morne.
But Lucian just… laughed.
"Ha! You're panicking. If you were strong enough, you wouldn't need to talk so much—you'd just kill me. And even if you did? My horse would still get her to safety."
The assassin growled and rushed forward, sword and shield in hand.
"I'm doing this for the greater mission!" he roared.
Their blades clashed—Lucian blocked with one sword, stabbed under the assassin's arm with the other. The agent deflected with his shield, but Lucian kicked it hard, breaking his stance.
Twin blades danced in a deadly rhythm. Blood sprayed from cuts on the assassin's arm and leg.
"You talk about missions and duty," Lucian spat, "but you're just weak. Pathetic."
Seeing himself outmatched, the assassin shifted tactics.
"Listen! I wasn't going to tell you this—but I'm under direct orders from the Two Fingers. This girl must die. If you interfere, you defy The Greater Will."
Lucian said nothing.
The agent pressed on. "Help me. Complete the task, and I'll vouch for you. I'll get you an audience with the Two Fingers. You could be chosen. A blade of their will, like me!"
"We follow the Grace, don't we? Surely you've seen its guidance. Then you know what path is right."
Lucian nodded slowly. "You're right."
A flicker of hope lit the assassin's face. Irina's heart dropped.
"But I refuse."
The agent's smile cracked.
Lucian struck.
He closed the gap instantly, raining blows on the assassin, forcing him to defend with his shield. But arms and legs were exposed—slashes drew fresh blood. The agent screamed.
"You madman! Heretic! You'll regret this!"
Lucian feinted, then slashed across the assassin's throat. Blood gurgled. The man collapsed, lifeless.
Lucian stood over him and muttered, "Following the guidance… doesn't mean following the Fingers."
He cleaned his blades and turned to Irina.
"Come on. Let's get you to safety."