Their horse-drawn carriage sped down the rocky path, dust dancing in the wake of the wheels. The thunder of hooves from the pursuing party grew louder and louder, like war drums overtaking the rhythm of Riven’s heartbeat.

Suddenly—

Drappp!

A massive black horse burst out from the side and cut across the narrow road. Its rider yanked the reins harshly, making the beast rear and scream. Riven’s carriage screeched to a halt. The front horse reared up, nearly toppling.

Riven cursed inwardly when he saw who was blocking the way.

Damn it.

That face—unmistakable. One of the men he had seen back at Jacky’s shop. A comrade of the two he had killed on the battlefield while scavenging weapons.

‘How unlucky can I get?’ His blood surged, but he forced himself to stay calm.

Meanwhile, the carriages behind them closed in, wheels rattling and hooves pounding. Soon they too halted, sealing the path in a complete encirclement.

The rider on the black horse fixed Riven with a sharp stare. His voice was deep, heavy with pressure. “Have we met before? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

Riven straightened, his gaze steady, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. “Unfortunately, I don’t recall ever meeting you.”

Inside, however, his thoughts were racing. ‘How the hell do I get out of this?’

From inside the carriage, Ashtoria turned her head slightly. Her crimson eyes flicked to the rider, then swept back toward the pursuers behind. Her expression remained calm, her gaze glinting faintly as though measuring every angle, every number.

Melly, on the other hand, wore her fear openly. Her lips trembled, her hands clutched her dress, yet she dared not speak.

The rider leaned forward slightly, studying Riven from head to toe as if dragging up a memory. His brows rose. “Ah… you’re the one who showed up at Jacky’s shop that day.”

Riven’s expression darkened. Outwardly, he remained composed, but his eyes tightened, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know what shop you’re talking about.”

The man’s lips curled into a faint, cold smirk, dripping with suspicion. Behind him, several men climbed down from their carriages and began striding toward Riven’s.

Riven narrowed his eyes, his voice rising sharp and cold, laced with pressure. “Why are you blocking my path? Do you even know who I work for? I’m in the middle of a delivery. If I’m late, I’ll report you directly to my master.”

The man blinked, surprised for a moment. He hadn’t expected the youth before him to remain this steady, even when surrounded. But his face quickly hardened again.

“One of our friends just died,” he said coldly. “He was a weapons dealer. Yesterday, when I went to his shop, I found him murdered. Strangely enough, most of his finest weapons were gone… along with his large carriage.”

His gaze slid toward Riven’s cart. A thin, mocking smile crept across his face. “And when I saw your wagon… well, it looked a little too familiar. So I began to wonder, could you be the one who killed him?”

Heat shot up through Riven’s skull. He turned, fury flashing in his eyes. “HEY!” he shouted. “Don’t you dare lay a filthy hand on my belongings!”

But his warning was ignored. Several of the men reached the back of his carriage, tugging at the heavy cloth cover.

Suuttt!

The tarp ripped back—revealing gleaming steel, neatly stacked weapons catching the sunlight.

The men froze for a moment, wide-eyed. “Look at this…” one of them muttered, awe in his voice. “High-quality weapons! Just like the ones missing from Jacky’s!”

“No doubt about it… this is it!” another barked with certainty.

Riven’s expression darkened further.

Melly shrank deeper into her seat, clutching her dress, her face drained of all color. “Brother…” she whispered, barely audible.

More men dismounted, boots stomping the dusty ground, swords clinking against scabbards. The encirclement thickened.

Riven knew, he had no chance of winning against all of them. Escape was impossible.

Melly curled up in the corner, pale and trembling. Ashtoria sat still, her posture relaxed, though her crimson eyes flared faintly with a spark like fire ready to ignite. Riven swallowed hard, knowing that one wrong move would drag all three of them into shallow graves by this roadside.

So he chose the only path left to him: deceit.

Grinding his teeth, Riven barked with feigned outrage. “What did you say?! How dare you claim these weapons from Sunken Forge belong to that lowly peddler’s shop?! Are you looking to start trouble with us?!”

His words cracked through the air like a whip.

The men stiffened instantly, exchanging uneasy glances.

Sunken Forge.

That was no ordinary name. One of the three greatest weapon forges in the kingdom. And beyond that, directly under the protection of House Dragonhart—the wealthiest, strongest, most feared noble family alive. A name so untouchable, even the Mad Queen herself, even foreign kingdoms, would not dare trifle with it.

Riven saw their reaction and pressed harder. “I know who you are. You don’t give a damn about Jacky or whoever he was. You just want to rob me, don’t you? Kill us here and take the wagon for yourselves.”

A tense silence settled over the road. The midday wind swept past, heavy with the smell of dust, sweat, and steel.

Then—

“Hahahahaha!”

A booming laugh shattered the stillness. From the rear carriage, a man emerged. Massive. His shoulders as broad as a doorway, muscles straining beneath scarred leather armor. His face was carved with old wounds, his eyes gleaming with predatory malice. One look, and Riven knew—this was their leader.

But more than that, since learning to sense mana, Riven could feel it. This man wasn’t ordinary. Most likely… a Lawbearer.

The giant strode forward, grinning wide, revealing yellowed teeth. “You’re right, boy. We only want to plunder you. You claim you’re from Sunken Forge, eh? Then show us your emblem.”

Riven did not flinch. His stare was cold, unwavering. “Why would I show it to you? Do you plan to let us go if I do?”

“Hahaha!” the man roared, the sound more like a wolf’s bark. “Of course not. I don’t care where you’re from, or who you serve. All I need to do is kill you all. Then I’ll strip this wagon clean and no one will ever know who did it.”

Riven’s breath sharpened, but his face remained composed. He already knew—whether or not he had the emblem, they didn’t care. Their goal had always been slaughter and plunder. So he thrust forward with one more line, sharp and defiant: “You think Sunken Forge would send me here without any escort?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” He scanned Riven mockingly from head to toe. “All I see are three people. A scrawny boy, a weak whore, and a trembling little girl. What can you possibly do?”

The word “whore” left his mouth, and suddenly every bandit’s eyes shifted to Ashtoria. Their stares crawled over her body, lecherous and filthy. Some whistled low, others laughed crudely, whispering vulgar suggestions.

Riven’s blood boiled, but he forced himself not to snap. He lifted his chin, his voice steady and sharp with conviction. “This woman is a Lawbearer.” He flicked his gaze toward Ashtoria.

“Maybe you can kill me. Maybe you can take this wagon. But if you push her, you’ll suffer badly. And if she gets away… every last one of you is finished.”

To survive this, Riven knew he had to use Ashtoria as a shield. He didn’t know how strong she truly was, but she had felled a wild boar effortlessly. All he needed was for her to display power, not even fight. Enough to make them hesitate and abandon their intent. Enough to make them back down.

His words hung in the air, cutting through the crowd.

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then, explosive laughter. Crude, mocking, vicious. Some doubled over, clutching their bellies. And beneath that laughter, their taunts grew fouler, uglier.

“Hey, if she’s really a Lawbearer, I want to test how tough she is when I ride her from behind!”

“Hahaha! Or maybe she’ll teach me magic, naked on this dusty road!”

“Lawbearer, huh? All I see is a ripe body begging to be pinned down!”

“Shit, that red hair…” another man stepped forward, eyes blazing with lust. “I thought only high-class whores in the capital dyed their hair like that. If I get her, I’ll yank that hair hard while I force her mouth open!”

Laughter erupted again. Some even mimed obscene gestures, mocking what they planned to do to her.

Ashtoria sat still. Her face blank, her lips unmoving. But deep within, fire smoldered. Their gazes cut like knives. Their words crawled into her ears like maggots. Every strand of her crimson hair seemed to quiver with the rising heat of her rage.

‘Should I burn them all right here?!’

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep