Gaemon gave his blade a sharp twist, and with a crisp swish, cleanly snapped the arrow shaft lodged in his shoulder.
Then, using that momentum, he spun into a fierce, sweeping strike. His steel sword carved through the air with a rush of wind, slashing hard at the two assassins charging toward him.
A flash of silver exploded in the dark like a crescent moon tearing across the night sky.
Clang! The clash of metal rang out, sparks flying on impact.
The two frontmost assassins had their weapons knocked clean from their hands by the sheer force of Gaemon's blow. At the same time, a deep gash opened across each of their chests. They screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground.
"Aegon! Fall back and protect yourself!"
Gaemon's eyes were bloodshot as he held the line, shouting back without hesitation.
Aegon clenched his jaw and followed closely behind, holding position at Gaemon's left rear.
He'd almost turned and run just moments ago. After all, he'd been a desk worker for over twenty years. What experience did he have with life-and-death combat like this? The fact he wasn't frozen in place was already the limit of his self-control.
But Gaemon had thrown himself into danger to save him. That thought alone made Aegon grit his teeth harder. If I die, I'm dying with Gaemon, he swore silently.
Thwip! The sharp twang of a bowstring cut through the chaos again.
This time, Gaemon didn't even need to warn him. Aegon instantly looked toward the upper left. His chip highlighted a red arrow target in his field of vision.
You can do this.
He urged himself on. Tightening his grip on the sword, he swung upward with all his strength—only to miss the red cross completely.
His heart sank. He turned his head instinctively—just in time to see Gaemon twist his waist with sharp precision, narrowly dodging the incoming arrow.
Thunk! The arrow embedded itself in the stone pavement nearby, its fletching still quivering from the force of impact.
Sweat beaded on Aegon's forehead. He'd never trained with weapons like these. Hitting a high-speed target with a blade was simply beyond him.
Enraged by the hidden archer, Gaemon let out a furious roar. "Cowards! I'll show no mercy!"
He tore off his outer robe and hurled it toward the approaching assassins. The muscles in his arms rippled like coiled cables. His steel sword moved like a living serpent, slashing twice across the obscured assassins.
One assassin caught the blade across the neck. His head snapped to the side and hung limp.
Gaemon's ferocity gave the attackers pause—but only briefly. They quickly regrouped and began to spread out, trying to encircle the trio from behind and cut off their retreat.
Even though Aegon couldn't land a hit on the fast-moving red markers, the chip's defensive prompts allowed him to barely hold Gaemon's left flank. Red lines lit up in his vision, showing where to block each attack.
The three of them fought while steadily falling back.
Aegon's gaze landed on the round shield in Alequo's hand.
"Give me the shield! I can block the arrows!" he shouted.
Alequo had just driven back another assassin. Hearing Aegon's cry, he didn't hesitate—he spun and hurled the shield toward him.
Aegon caught the handle in one quick motion.
They were nearly back at the carriage now. The hidden archer, sensing things turning against him, grew anxious and let loose a volley of arrows.
Thud-thud-thud! The arrows struck with a series of harsh metallic clanks.
But this time, Aegon had the wide shield to cover him. He blocked every arrow cleanly.
"Nice work!" Gaemon called out with a glance, flashing a rare smile of approval.
In the dark, poor visibility made archers the biggest threat. But now that Aegon had neutralized them, a huge weight lifted from Gaemon's shoulders.
They fell back to the carriage, using it as cover. With their flanks protected, the assassins' encirclement had failed.
Seeing this, the attackers hesitated. Gaemon's sword was Valyrian steel—ordinary blades would snap after a few clashes. Already, several of their comrades had fallen to his strikes. Just during their short retreat, nearly five assassins had died—every one of them cut down by Gaemon.
The trio had earned a brief moment to breathe.
"What now? There's still over twenty of them!" Aegon asked nervously, eyes darting toward the shadowy figures stalking the darkness.
Gaemon flicked blood from his sword and gave a savage grin.
"What do you think? We kill them all. Hand me your sword."
Seeing Gaemon's large hand reaching toward him, Aegon passed over the steel sword without hesitation.
Gaemon took it, spun the long sword in his left hand with a practiced flourish, then reversed his grip. His right-hand sword remained in a standard grip, while the left-hand sword sat low and steady, ready for the next onslaught.
"Your Highness, it's an honor to witness your dual-blade swordsmanship!" Alequo, the coachman, was practically glowing with excitement, his voice brimming with barely contained enthusiasm.
Aegon gripped his shield tightly with both hands. In that moment, it all clicked: So Gaemon hadn't handed me an extra weapon—he's a true dual-wielder. By taking one of his swords for protection, I'd actually weakened him in battle.
"Kill!"
With a roar, Gaemon sprang forward, low to the ground like a charging predator. He launched himself headfirst into the swarm of assassins.
Aegon stood stunned for a second, nearly missing the rhythm of Gaemon's charge.
Snapping to action, he raised his round shield and closed in on Gaemon's left flank, holding tight to cover him.
The archers hidden in the shadows resumed their assault the moment the battle reignited, loosing a flurry of arrows—but Aegon blocked them all, holding the line with his shield.
What happened next showed Aegon what it truly meant to face a monster in battle.
The twin blades in Gaemon's hands moved like a storm of steel, sweeping and cutting in every direction. As he clashed with the assassins, the ring of steel-on-steel filled the air like the rhythmic pounding of a forge—constant, deafening.
His movements were fluid and precise, his dominant-hand sword slashing in wide, powerful arcs, while the reverse-gripped blade flicked, dragged, sliced, and cut in seamless rhythm. Every motion was controlled chaos—brutal yet elegant.
It felt like Gaemon was performing a deadly form of martial ballet, a dazzling, blood-soaked dance across the battlefield. He was a sword in bloom—beautiful and terrifying all at once.
With Aegon at his side intercepting arrows and covering his blind spots, Gaemon could fight freely, unrestrained. And when he did, he absolutely overwhelmed his enemies.
He wasn't defending—he was chasing them down, cutting through multiple attackers at once. The way he moved, it was as if these assassins were nothing but helpless prey.
Aegon had to maintain a careful distance just to avoid being caught by Gaemon's wide, sweeping sword arcs.
At the same time, he noticed something else: even though Gaemon was fighting like a wild beast, his movements remained anchored around the carriage. He wasn't nearly as reckless as he appeared. He was calculating every step.
Clang! Clang! Two crisp impacts rang out—an assassin's iron sword snapped clean in half.
The last one still resisting took a vicious slash to the thigh. He crumpled, half-kneeling, shrieking in pain. A moment later, Gaemon's dominant-hand blade came down in a clean arc, severing his head from his shoulders.
With that final blow, the tide turned. The assassins—those who were still alive—finally broke.
In just a few brutal minutes, nearly ten of their number had been cut down. Such staggering losses would shake even the boldest killers.
"Demon!"
"Monster!"
They shouted in panic, stumbling backward. Once they'd put enough distance between themselves and Gaemon, they saw he wasn't pursuing—so they turned and fled into the darkness, vanishing within moments.
Aegon was bent over, gasping for breath, hands braced on his knees. It took him a long while to recover.
His round shield was riddled with arrows—over twenty of them.
The chaos had finally quieted. Moonlight spilled over the blood-slicked square, serene and cold. The scene before him was grim and beautiful—a battlefield painted in red, a rose in full bloom of violence and death.
Tap. Tap.
Gaemon walked over, boots squelching through blood as he stepped closer to Aegon.
Aegon looked up at him. Gaemon's face was streaked with blood—lines of it smeared across his features like war paint, making him look even more fearsome in the pale glow of the moon.
Gaemon extended a hand. Aegon grabbed it and hauled himself to his feet.
"You're not safe here anymore. Let's get you back to Targaryen lands."