Chapter 83

Crow blinked, a rare flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise composed face. *The Bandit Lord?* He hadn't expected the infamous Ulrich to be guarding the princess, let alone showing up like this.

Ulrich gave a casual nod past him. "Hey, Princess Zara!" he called, grinning as though they were meeting over tea. "We haven't met face-to-face yet, but I think we've heard enough about each other to skip introductions." He chuckled as if the situation wasn't a razor's edge.

Then—with a sharp yank—Ulrich pulled on the rope still wrapped around Crow's wrist. But Crow was ready this time. He braced and pulled back—hard.

Ulrich lurched forward. "Woah, crap—!" He released the rope just in time, dropping into a roll as Crow's dagger slashed overhead. The blade whistled past as Ulrich tumbled low and popped up beside Zara, brushing dirt off his clothes.

"I was not expecting him to be that strong," he muttered, flashing her a quick glance. "You alright, Princess?"

Zara's answer came with a sharp scoff and an even sharper glare.

"Worry about yourself, Bandit Lord. I'll be fine once that assassin's dead."

Ulrich let out a low whistle. "Damn, I like your fire." He reached behind his back and handed her one of his cutlasses. "Here. Better than your fists."

Zara took it without a word. Her grip was firm.

Ulrich didn't wait. He lunged back into the fight, cutlass in his left hand flashing forward to parry Crow's dagger. His right hand slipped into his sash mid-motion, and with practiced speed, he flung a handful of crushed glass into Crow's face.

"You weren't here for day one of the tournament, huh?" Ulrich grinned. "That's a shame. I gave a real nice performance."

Crow staggered half a step. The glass bit into his skin and eyes, but he didn't cry out. Pain didn't register the same for him. His face didn't twist. His focus didn't break.

Instead, he responded in kind.

A second weapon formed in his hand—white, jagged, unmistakably made of bone. He slashed with it, fast and vicious, aiming for Ulrich's ribs—

But Zara stepped in.

Steel clanged as she deflected the blow with her borrowed cutlass, the recoil biting through her arm. She didn't falter.

Ulrich blinked. "Okay, why didn't that work?"

Zara kept her stance tight beside him, breathing steady, eyes tracking every movement Crow made.

"He's not a normal assassin," she said sharply. "And that second dagger—" She narrowed her eyes. "Is that bone?"

Crow stepped back a single pace, his teeth clenched behind the cloth.

*This is not going the way I thought it would!*

He could feel the trap tightening. If he stayed, he risked failure—but if he fled now, the opportunity might never come again.

He'd fired that gun earlier on purpose—meant to draw guards, not just for chaos, but to witness the Aerunan blade planted in Zara. It was supposed to sow distrust, panic, and start a war. But now?

Now he was down to two opponents, the guards would be here soon, and that window for a clean exit was closing fast. All he had done was start a countdown.

But before Crow could make a decision, they were on him again—Ulrich from the left, Zara from the right. He barely raised his weapons in time, their blades flashing in tandem. Blocking them both was nearly impossible—Ulrich's strikes especially carried a weight he hadn't shown before.

*Is he enhancing himself?* Crow realized, teeth clenched as he fought to stay upright.

With a strained shout, he shoved them both back, staggering as he spun around and bolted into the street.

*Fuck this! Just showing the dagger's enough!*

"Oh no you don't!" Ulrich barked.

He reached into his sash and pulled out a small bomb. With a sharp flick, he arced it high overhand—it detonated just ahead of Crow's path, the concussive blast sending him flying backward through the smoke.

Ulrich was already charging. He planted his boots hard into the ground and brought his cutlass up with both hands, letting his momentum and gravity do the rest.

The blade drove straight into Crow's back with a sickening crunch—the tip bursting out through his front in a spray of thick, dark blood.

"Done and do—!"

Crow's elbow drove hard into Ulrich's ribs, stealing the breath from him in a sharp grunt. Zara didn't hesitate. She slashed her blade across Crow's upper thigh, hoping to cripple him—but there was no cry of pain, no stumble. Just movement.

Crow ran.

Both cutlasses stuck in him as he went, arms swinging wildly. He reached back, ripped the blade from his thigh with a snarl, then slammed his fist against his own chest, forcing the other sword out. Both weapons clattered to the cobblestone as his ragged form vanished into the night.

Zara and Ulrich stood in stunned silence, breathing hard.

"Okay," Ulrich finally muttered, walking over and retrieving his cutlasses. He glanced down at them, then sheathed them with a sharp motion. "That was not normal."

"No, it wasn't," Zara agreed, her voice cold. "That bastard was undead."

Ulrich turned to her, brows raised. "Seriously? That… would explain it. The no reaction to pain, the weird weapons, and—yeah, the face."

Zara exhaled sharply, catching her breath before narrowing her eyes at him. "Did Calvinel send you after me?"

Ulrich raised both hands in mock surrender. "You caught me. Sir Knight was worried."

She scoffed. "If he'd accepted my proposal, he would be the one here right now."

"Wow," Ulrich muttered. "Tell me how you really feel."

"You're a criminal, and I hope you hang."

"That was rhetorical, Princess…"

Zara rolled her eyes, but the edge of her fury had dulled into tired annoyance.

Then, in the distance—shouts. Marching boots. The guards were coming.

"Come on," Zara said, gaze falling to the two corpses on the street. "We have to explain what happened before some idiot decides we killed them."

Ulrich gave a casual shrug. "As you command, Your Highness."