Miralyn Valen was preparing to leave the Enchanted Palace herself. She'd lost track of Crystal in the crowded marketplace, the tracking orb Noah had given her suddenly going dark as if blocked by some interference.
She was frustrated but not overly concerned. She'd observed enough to know Crystal had met with someone in the specialized services area, which meant assassination contracts or similar arrangements. That information alone would be valuable to Noah.
Miralyn walked across one of the bridges leading away from the floating palace, her purple hair catching light reflected off the water below.
She'd just stepped onto a section of rooftop on the far side, using cultivation-enhanced jumps to travel faster than street-level movement would allow, when three figures appeared around her.
They materialized from different directions simultaneously, moving with coordinated precision. Each held a blade—swords of varying lengths, weapons that suggested serious training rather than just street fighting experience.
Miralyn looked around quickly, assessing the situation. She was surrounded. The rooftop gave her no easy escape route, and the three attackers had positioned themselves to cut off all obvious exits.
She jumped backward immediately, creating distance before they could close in and make this a pure close-quarters fight. As she moved, her hand went to the sword she'd been carrying concealed beneath her robes this entire time.
The blade cleared its sheath with a soft metallic whisper. It was a beautiful weapon, well-balanced and clearly expensive, inscribed with formation arrays that would enhance her techniques when she channeled qi through it.
In front of her stood three assassins. Miralyn could read their cultivation with a glance—all three were at the Vital Vessel Realm, a full major realm above her own Blood Tide Realm cultivation. The power difference wasn't overwhelming, not insurmountable, but it was significant. Especially three-on-one.
She took a deep breath, centering herself and drawing on the training she'd undergone for years. Then she moved toward the nearest assassin, refusing to let them dictate the pace of combat.
The fight was happening on a rooftop, which meant no one at street level could see it. The tiles beneath their feet were slick with moisture from earlier rain, making footing treacherous for anyone who didn't have cultivation to enhance their balance.
Miralyn engaged the first assassin with a direct assault. She used Purple Cloud Sword Art, First Form: Morning Mist Slash. Her blade moved in a horizontal arc at chest height, the steel trailing faint purple qi that gave the technique its name.
The assassin blocked with his own weapon, metal ringing against metal. But Miralyn was already flowing into her second strike, using the deflection to redirect her momentum. Purple Cloud Sword Art, Third Form: Scattering Petals. Her sword split into multiple slashing paths, creating the illusion that several blades were attacking simultaneously from different angles.
The assassin was forced back, his defense turning desperate as he blocked three strikes and took a shallow cut across his shoulder from a fourth.
But the other two weren't standing idle. They closed in from both sides, attacking in coordination that suggested extensive training together.
Miralyn had to abandon her offense and pivot into pure defense. She used footwork her master had drilled into her for years, moving in a circle that kept all three opponents in her field of view, never letting them get completely behind her.
The second assassin attacked with Earth Cleaving Blade, Second Form: Mountain Splitter. His sword came down in a vertical strike with enough force behind it to crack the roof tiles. Miralyn sidestepped, let the blade pass within inches of her body, then countered with Purple Cloud Sword Art, Fifth Form: Phantom Needle. A precise thrust aimed at his extended wrist.
He jerked his hand back just in time, the point of her blade scratching his forearm but not penetrating deeply.
The third assassin was already moving, using Wind Step movement technique to close distance explosively. His attack was Flowing River Sword Art, Fourth Form: Cascading Rapids. A series of rapid slashes that built momentum with each strike, forcing Miralyn to give ground or be overwhelmed.
She retreated, her blade deflecting attacks rather than meeting them head-on. Meeting strength with strength would favor the higher-realm cultivators.
But there were three of them and only one of her. No matter how skilled she was, no matter how efficient her technique, she couldn't maintain this pace indefinitely.
The first assassin, recovered from her initial assault, rejoined the attack. Now all three pressed her simultaneously, their blades creating a web of steel that forced Miralyn into increasingly desperate defensive positions.
She used Purple Cloud Sword Art, Seventh Form: Dissipating Fog. A defensive technique that created multiple small deflections rather than solid blocks, redirecting attacks by minimal angles to make them miss. It was energy-efficient but required perfect timing.
One sword grazed her side, cutting through her robes and drawing blood. Another nicked her thigh. She was accumulating small wounds, nothing critical yet, but the pattern was clear.
She was losing.
Miralyn changed tactics, abandoning pure defense for a risky counter. She deliberately left an opening, letting one assassin's thrust come dangerously close to her center mass. Then she used that committed strike as a pivot point, grabbing the man's extended wrist and pulling him off-balance while simultaneously driving her blade toward his throat.
But the other two were ready for exactly this kind of desperation move. They struck simultaneously from both sides, forcing Miralyn to release her captive and twist away to avoid being skewered.
The tile beneath her foot cracked under the stress of her movement. Her ankle turned slightly, just a fraction of a second's loss of balance.
That was enough. One assassin's blade scored a deep cut across her back. Another's sword caught her arm, forcing her to nearly drop her weapon.
Miralyn stumbled, blood flowing from multiple wounds now. Her breathing was labored, her qi reserves depleting rapidly from maintaining enhanced movement and defensive techniques.
The three assassins sensed victory. They pressed harder, coordinating their strikes to give her no chance to recover.
Just as one blade was descending toward Miralyn's shoulder in a strike that would likely disable her sword arm entirely, something changed.
A throwing knife appeared from nowhere, intercepting the descending blade with a sharp clang. The assassin's strike was deflected just enough to miss its target.
Then three more figures appeared on the rooftop, moving with the enhanced speed of cultivators. These were different from the assassins—their robes marked them as belonging to some organization, though Miralyn's vision was too blurred by pain and exhaustion to make out the specific insignia.
One of the newcomers engaged the nearest assassin immediately, his sword flashing out in a technique Miralyn vaguely recognized. The two began fighting with the focused intensity of people who knew exactly how skilled their opponent was.
The other two newcomers positioned themselves defensively around Miralyn, creating a barrier between her and the remaining two assassins.
"Lady Miralyn," one of them said urgently. "Prince Noah sent us to ensure your safety. Can you stand?"
Miralyn tried to respond but found she was having trouble breathing properly. The wound on her back was deeper than she'd thought, possibly hitting something important.
The assassins, seeing reinforcements arrive and their mission complicated, exchanged quick glances. Then, with the same coordinated precision they'd shown in combat, they disengaged.
All three used movement techniques to retreat rapidly, jumping from the rooftop and disappearing into the maze of buildings and alleys below. Within seconds, they were gone as if they'd never been there.
The newcomers didn't pursue. Their priority was clearly protecting Miralyn, not engaging in extended combat.
One of them produced a pill from his robes and held it out to her.
"Take this, my lady. It will stabilize your injuries until we can get you proper medical attention."
Miralyn's hand shook as she accepted the pill and swallowed it. The medicine worked quickly, numbing the pain and slowing the bleeding. Her vision cleared slightly.
"How… how did you know where I was?" she managed to ask.
"Prince Noah placed protective formations on you before you entered the capital, my lady. When they detected significant injury, we were alerted and dispatched immediately."
Of course Noah had. He protected his assets carefully, and Miralyn was one of his most valuable operatives.
She tried to stand fully upright and nearly fell. One of the men caught her, supporting her weight.
"Easy, my lady. You've lost a lot of blood. We need to get you somewhere safe to recover."
As they helped her down from the rooftop, moving carefully to avoid aggravating her injuries, Miralyn's mind was working despite the pain.
Who had hired those assassins. And why me?. To send a message? To test my capabilities? To slow down Noah's operations?
And what had Crystal been doing about in the Enchanted Palace again ?
Too many questions. Not enough answers.
But she would recover, would heal, and would report everything to Noah. He would understand the implications better than she could.
For now, survival and recovery were the priorities. Understanding could come later.