Chapter 121: Fake escape
A bright, flickering orange light suddenly illuminated the walls of the tent from the outside. The thick canvas started to burn.
The air in the tent grew hot and filled with the sharp, piercing smell of burning kerosene.
"When the House of Lyra fell, the order from the Crimson Sun family was to neutralize every direct descendant," Princess Emma said, her voice strangely calm amid the growing chaos.
"My father was a man who valued sons above all else. He had six of them. I was his first child, a daughter. For a man like him, that was a great shame, so no one except my mother, her loyal steward, and a few trusted maids ever knew I existed.
After my family was destroyed and I escaped, I thought I could live in silence. I thought no one would bother with an unknown daughter.
However, even before my last brother was killed, the swords of our enemies reached my neck."
Princess Emma averted her gaze from him, looking down at the teacup in her hands. Rhys leaned back in his stool, tapping his fingers on the small table.
The sounds of burning and excited shouts from outside were a chaotic backdrop to their quiet conversation.
"You look so peaceful for someone who is about to be trapped inside a burning tent," he said, his lips pursed in a thin line.
"Am I?" she glanced up at him, her green eyes unreadable behind the veil. "So do you."
The fire crackled loudly now.
"So," Rhys asked, his voice still even, "even after knowing that steward of yours might be a traitor, why didn’t you act back then?"
"Having a few helpers to build a camp isn’t a bad idea, is it?" she replied simply.
Rhys let out a stifled laugh. It was a cold, appreciative sound. She was ruthless. She had used her own people as labour, knowing they were being led into a trap by a traitor in their midst.
Those idiots had entered her trap without knowing their fate was sealed the moment she saw them.
Ironic, wasn’t it?
"If I ever see your stupid father, I will surely curse him," Rhys said, shaking his head. "For his poor judgement of character. No wonder the House of Lyra fell."
Emma’s head snapped up, and she glared at him. The calm mask was gone for a second, replaced by a flash of accusative anger.
"Well... sorry, if that was offensive," he said, raising both of his hands in a gesture of surrender. The apology was clearly not sincere.
The roof of the tent finally caught fire. Small, burning pieces of canvas began to fall around them like orange snow, landing on the floor and fizzling out with small hisses.
The heat was becoming intense.
"How are you so sure we aren’t going to die today?" he asked, genuinely curious now.
"Are we?" she asked back, her composure completely restored.
"But you see," he said, leaning forward slightly, "I am merely a Tier 3 cultivator. Even if I am strong, there is no way for me to break through a Spirit Tier trapping formation, is there?"
Emma narrowed her eyes.
"You can call it instinct. You selecting my mission might have been a mistake on your part, not knowing the consequences. But you must have inquired about this mission. You must have known why no one took it, despite the high rewards, right?"
Rhys said nothing. She continued, her voice steady.
"Yet you still chose to come to me. There are only two possible reasons for that. Either you are a fool, or you are confident in yourself. Confident enough that you never considered the repercussions of offending the Crimson Sun family."
She put down her teacup on the table, the small sound loud in the burning tent.
"As far as I can see, you are not a fool."
Rhys clapped his hands together slowly, a single, sharp sound. "Sure enough, a princess is a princess. I am adamant in my first opinion. Your father was really a fool. A dead fool, now."
He then stood up. The burning roof was beginning to collapse. The main support pole groaned, threatening to give way.
"Time to go."
He activated his Low-distance Jump skill, anchoring it on Princess Emma. She let out a small yelp of surprise as her body was yanked from her stool and into his arms.
In the same fluid motion, he anchored a second jump on the burning roof of the tent, pulling them both upwards just as the main support pole finally snapped.
His one arm supported Emma firmly, her own arms reflexively wrapping around his shoulder for balance.
His other hand moved in a blur, his fingers forming a series of complex seals that glowed with a faint, internal light.
Outside, the glowing lines of the trapping formation that surrounded the camp flickered violently.
He held his free hand forward, and a controlled burst of his Spark Fist shot out. The red flame was not a wild explosion.
It was a compressed, focused drill of fire that punched a clean, round hole through the burning canvas above them.
They shot through the opening and into the cold night sky. For a moment, they were suspended above the chaos of the camp.
Below, all the retainers’ tents were raging infernos. The small group of Lyra followers was being systematically slaughtered by a larger group of sect disciples, their blue and silver robes stark against the orange flames.
The old steward was in front, swinging his sword and mercilessly killing the people who had followed him until now.
The Spirit Tier formation that had trapped them wavered, then shattered into a thousand points of light, its energy dissipating harmlessly into the night.
They landed softly on the ground outside the ring of burning tents. The tent they had just escaped collapsed into a pile of fire and smoke.
He put Emma down. She took a step back, her breathing a little fast as she composed herself.
"Are you shy?" he teased, a small smirk on his face.
"I am surprised at how quickly you broke that formation," she said, her voice returning to its usual calm.
"That’s natural," he said with a confident shrug. "I am the best in this profession in the entire world, after all."
"How did you guys get out?" a surprised cry was heard from their left.
"Of course, by breaking the formation, fool." Rhys laughed. The disciple who had spoken was suddenly yanked through the air, his body pulled towards Rhys as if by an invisible rope.
Before the other assassins could even process what was happening, Rhys’s fist, glowing with a dull red light, found its target.
A scream of pure terror was cut short by the sickening crack of a sternum breaking. The disciple’s body went limp and crumpled to the ground, dead.
The chaotic fighting stopped instantly. Every disciple, from both the attacking Crimson Sun group and the defending Lyra retainers who were still alive, froze.
They turned to stare at the source of the sudden, brutal violence.
"Y-you... y-you..." Austin, the old steward, muttered in disbelief, his eyes wide with shock as he pointed a trembling finger at Princess Emma.
He, like everyone else, had assumed she was a helpless victim trapped in the burning tent.
"What ’you’? Is this how you greet your princess?" Rhys rolled his eyes. He activated his skill again, and Austin’s body was pulled through the air towards him.
"Wait..." Emma said, her voice calm and clear.
Rhys paused his prepared Spark Fist. He was a man of his word, at least when it suited him. He stopped the killing blow, but his momentum was already in motion.
Instead of a fist, he met the old steward’s chest with his elbow. The impact was heavy and solid.
Austin spat a mouthful of blood, his body flying backwards to land in a heap near Emma’s feet, gasping and clutching his chest.
"You... she said to wait..." Austin gnashed his teeth, glaring at Rhys with pure hatred.
Rhys blinked innocently. "You see, I am a bit deaf in battle."
"Why?" Emma asked, her voice cold as she looked down at the traitorous steward. She ignored Rhys completely, her entire focus on the man at her feet.
"Come on... there is no need for emotional drama. Just kill him and let’s go," Rhys said, already bored.
He was cut off by the princess. Her voice was no longer calm. It was as cold and sharp as a shard of ice, filled with intense killing intent and, above all, anger.
"He is supposed to be dead. Yet he is alive and wants me to die?"