Chapter 163: The Serpent Strikes

Jay, Mira, and the traitor raced through the palace corridors, their footsteps pounding against the stone floors. The air was thick with tension, every shadow now holding the threat of death. They had barely escaped the council chamber, but the night was far from over.

"Where are we heading?" Mira asked, her voice sharp as she kept pace beside Jay.

"The armory," Jay replied, his mind working quickly. "We need weapons, and we need to regroup with the royal guard."

The traitor followed behind them, their heart still pounding from the narrow escape. The woman from the Order, now their unlikely ally, was silent, her face drawn in grim focus. Every step felt like borrowed time; Isolde would be coming for them, and when she did, she would show no mercy.

As they neared the armory, the traitor felt a twinge of doubt. The plan had worked so far, but they knew better than to think the Order would give up easily. Isolde was a predator, and predators always struck when their prey least expected it.

Jay pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the armory, and the group slipped inside. The room was lined with weapons—swords, axes, bows, and arrows—each gleaming in the dim torchlight. Jay wasted no time arming himself with a broadsword, while Mira strapped on her usual twin blades.

The traitor hesitated, their hand hovering over a dagger. They had spent years training to kill for the Order, but now everything was different. They had made their choice, but the weight of it pressed down on them like a heavy shroud.

"You're going to need something better than that," Jay said, his voice low but firm. He handed the traitor a short sword. "You might have turned on the Order, but Isolde won't give you the chance to hesitate."

The traitor nodded, accepting the sword and fastening it to their belt. They glanced at the woman from the Order—she, too, had armed herself, though her eyes remained distant, as if she was calculating every possible outcome of the night.

"Do you think the guards will make it in time?" the traitor asked, knowing full well how fast Isolde moved.

Jay shook his head grimly. "We don't have the luxury of waiting for reinforcements. We need to get to the throne room and hold our ground there. The Order knows this palace as well as we do, and if they're already inside, they'll try to take out the royal family before anyone can react."

Mira tightened her grip on her swords, her eyes hard with determination. "Then let's make sure we're ready when they come."

Isolde stormed through the palace halls, her fury barely contained. She had known something was wrong the moment the smoke filled the passage, and now her suspicions had been confirmed. The traitor had turned on them, and the woman who was supposed to help with the mission had betrayed her trust.

But this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Isolde moved with deadly precision, her mind already calculating her next steps. She had enough loyal disciples with her to finish the job, and even though the element of surprise was gone, the mission remained the same: kill the king, destabilize the kingdom, and leave no witnesses.

As she approached the council chamber, one of her scouts ran up to her, out of breath. "They've escaped," he reported, his voice trembling slightly. "The king and his group—they're heading for the throne room."

Isolde's lips curled into a thin smile. "Good. Then we'll meet them there."

She turned to her disciples, her voice cold and commanding. "No more games. We strike hard, and we strike fast. We take the throne room by force. Kill anyone who gets in your way."

The disciples nodded, their expressions a mix of fear and reverence. Isolde was not someone to be crossed lightly, and failure was not an option.

Jay and the others had just reached the throne room when they heard the distant sound of footsteps—many footsteps—approaching from the palace halls. Jay exchanged a quick glance with Mira. "They're coming."

The traitor's stomach clenched. There was no going back now. Isolde was close, and the next few minutes would decide everything.

"We hold them here," Jay said, his voice calm despite the tension in the air. "Mira, take the left flank. I'll take the right. You"—he turned to the traitor—"stay with her and make sure nothing gets past."

The traitor nodded, gripping their sword tightly. This was it—the moment they had dreaded since joining the Order. The life they had known was crumbling, and now they had to fight to survive in a world where no one could be trusted.

The doors to the throne room burst open with a deafening crash, and Isolde stepped inside, her eyes burning with cold fury. Behind her, a dozen disciples spread out, each armed and ready for battle.

Isolde's gaze locked onto the traitor, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "I should have known you'd turn, but I didn't expect it to be so soon. You always were weak."

The traitor's jaw tightened, but they held their ground. "I'm not afraid of you, Isolde."

"That's your first mistake," Isolde hissed, her dagger gleaming as she drew it from her belt. "You should be."

Jay stepped forward, his sword raised. "This ends here, Isolde. You've already lost."

Isolde laughed—a cold, sharp sound that echoed through the room. "Lost? No, Jay. This is just the beginning."

Without warning, she lunged, her dagger aimed straight for Jay's heart. But Jay was ready. He sidestepped the attack and countered with a swift strike of his sword, forcing Isolde to dodge back.

Chaos erupted as the disciples charged forward, clashing with Jay, Mira, and the traitor in a flurry of steel. The traitor fought alongside Mira, their movements instinctive, honed by years of training under the Order's ruthless regime. But now, every strike, every parry, was driven by a new purpose—a desperate need to break free from the shadows that had once controlled them.

Isolde moved with deadly grace, her dagger flashing in the dim light as she weaved through the chaos. She was faster than the others, more skilled, and her eyes never left Jay.

The fight raged on, the sound of metal on metal filling the air as Jay and Isolde engaged in a deadly dance of blades. Mira cut down one disciple after another, her movements fluid and efficient, but the numbers were overwhelming.

The traitor found themselves face-to-face with one of Isolde's lieutenants—a tall, muscular man with a cruel smile. He swung his sword with brutal force, but the traitor blocked the blow, their arms shaking from the impact. They fought back, every muscle straining as they pushed against him, their movements fueled by a mix of fear and determination.

But it wasn't enough. The lieutenant was stronger, faster. He slammed the traitor's sword aside and swung for their head.

The traitor ducked just in time, the blade whistling past their ear. They scrambled to recover, but the lieutenant was already moving in for the kill.

Just as the traitor braced for the final blow, the woman—their ally—appeared out of nowhere, driving her dagger into the lieutenant's side. He let out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with shock, before collapsing to the ground.

"Don't thank me yet," the woman said, her voice breathless as she helped the traitor to their feet. "This isn't over."

Across the room, Jay and Isolde continued their battle, their swords clashing with a ferocity that sent sparks flying. Isolde's eyes were wild with fury, but Jay held his ground, matching her blow for blow.

With a sudden burst of speed, Isolde feinted left, then spun around, aiming for Jay's side. But Jay was ready. He blocked the strike, then delivered a powerful kick that sent Isolde stumbling back.

"Enough!" Jay shouted, his voice echoing through the throne room. "It's over, Isolde."

Isolde straightened, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth, her eyes burning with hatred. "You think you've won? You think you can stop what's coming?"

Jay's expression hardened. "I know I can."

Isolde's smile was chilling, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "We'll see."

And with that, she disappeared into the shadows, leaving Jay and the others standing amidst the aftermath of the battle.