Chapter 189: Interception and a Statement

"Are we sure those followers of the Lady of the Night will be withdrawing from the capital soon? What's the point of us just sitting here waiting?"

"What's it to you? We're just trying to make a living. The noble lords want us to wait here, so we'll wait. Just focus on getting the job done right, got it?"

Outside the capital, not far from the main road, an abandoned relay station that had long been deserted and crumbling now echoed once more with voices.

A dozen or so men, dressed in ragged clothing that made them look like deserters from some battlefield, loitered inside the dust-covered, broken-down relay station.

Surprisingly, despite their scrappy appearances, nearly all of them were advanced knights-in-training or even official knights.

They took turns watching the passing carriages through the windows. The two currently on lookout were in the middle of a conversation.

"Waiting around just seems so pointless. Don't we have any solid info on when the Church of Nightfall people are leaving the city?" the first one insisted.

"The nobles said the Church will be withdrawing soon. That's all we've been told. Who knows where their intel comes from? That underground network—what's it called, the Darknet?—has been booming lately. I'd guess it came from there."

"Guess that's that, then. I just don't know how strong the Church of Nightfall really is. We've done our share of killing, sure, but doing it so close to the capital? That's a first..."

The first man didn't say anything more. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a match on the window ledge, and took a long drag. His nervousness showed.

"Aren't we all on edge? Those nobles from the investigation team said we just need to act like soldiers returning from the front lines.

"Then, we just so happen to run into the Church of Nightfall's people retreating, get into a fight, and oops—accidentally kill this group of supposed Selwynian collaborators. Even if it happens near the capital, they said they'd cover us.

"But who knows if they'll keep their word? You know how shady these nobles are. They could easily wipe us out too, and there'd be no one left to say otherwise."

Watching his comrade blowing out smoke, the man beside him couldn't help but light a cigarette up himself.

"Damn it, it's all ‘cause we got greedy. This payout, though... if we land it, we won't have to live on the edge for a long time."

He slammed a fist on the windowsill, furious at himself for being tempted by the money.

"Hold up—enough talking. That's the signal. That carriage!"

His partner's sharp voice cut through his frustration. He looked toward the capital—on the towering walls, rhythmic flashes of light signaled their ambush squad. The target had left the city.

On the main road departing from the capital came a large carriage at a sedate pace. The strong, muscular horses pulling it clopped along, hooves hitting the road in a comfortable but weighty rhythm.

Driving the carriage was a fierce-looking orc with a focused expression.

"An orc at the reins? There's no doubt about it. That must be the church of Nightfall. Everyone, get ready!"

The two lookouts alerted the others inside the ruined relay station. These mercenaries, hired by the nobles' investigative team and given tacit royal approval, swiftly prepared themselves.

Though they weren't formal soldiers, they had extensive combat experience—after all, the nobles had trusted them to carry out a high-risk mission. Their honed coordination let them form an efficient strike team.

This kind of mission demanded trust—mutual suspicion would ruin everything. Even strangers could fight like brothers when a massive payday was on the line.

A dozen knights and knights-in-training, kitted out in armor that looked ragged but concealed quality gear beneath—took advantage of their superior speed to beat the carriage to a key chokepoint on the forest's edge just outside the capital.

"Here—Silent Binding scrolls, and herbal powders to suppress your scent. One for each of you. When we hit, hit hard. Don't give them a chance to react. The intel says the Church of Nightfall isn't that strong, but don't underestimate them. Got it?"

One of the lookouts pulled several enchanted scrolls from his pack, along with small glass jars of white powder, and handed them out.

The mercenaries tore open the scrolls, then dusted themselves head to toe with the powder. A faint ripple of magic silenced all sound they made, including their footsteps and the rustle of the underbrush.

The powder masked all other scents with a strange, nearly odorless one that was all but undetectable.

Now that they could no longer talk, the mercenaries exchanged silent hand signals, scattered, and concealed themselves. Every pair of eyes was now fixed on the approaching carriage.

A mercenary readied his alchemical crossbow under the protection of the silence spell. Where a string should have snapped as it grew taut, there was instead no sound at all.

"One shot. Take out the orc driver first. If he goes berserk, he'll be a nightmare."

Silently muttering to himself, the knight channeled his fighting spirit into the intricately crafted crossbow and activated his potential, Galeforce.

When the first bolt fired, it would be followed by several high-pressure air projectiles, unseen but deadly. The visible bolt was a decoy. The true kill came from those invisible bolts forged from air.

The bolt fired silently thanks to the scroll's magic. The first physical bolt was a prelude to the devastating Galeforce burst that followed.

As the spinning bolt exited the field of silence, it screamed through the air, a high-pitched, piercing whistle.

That noise alone was testament to its terrifying power. Its weighted tip would easily punch through iron plate.

Following behind were several invisible piercing bolts, each emitting an eerie screech as they tore through the air. They were even more dangerous than the physical bolt.

The moment the bolt was loosed, the mercenary was certain that the orc was done for.

The moment Emmon heard the shriek, he instantly looked up. His green pupils turned blood-red in less than a quarter of a second as he triggered his orc racial ability, Berserk.

But even so, Emmon couldn't move fast enough. The field of silence had made this ambush near-perfect.

Without being able to anticipate the attack, Galeforce boasted frightening potential.

By the time Berserk was fully active, the bolt had already reached his face. Even with his physique, which was closing in on that of a grand knight when enhanced via Berserk, he couldn't lift his hand in time.

The bolt struck his forehead.

But instead of piercing flesh, it screeched against something invisible. A high-frequency grinding sound rang out—there was a barrier. The bolt was halted in mid-air by some unseen shield.

After a second of grinding, the bolt was repelled, its momentum lost.

The Galeforce bolts arrived next and collided with the same barrier. The rapidly revolving air struck the barrier with intense power.

After several moments, the first layer shattered, but behind it was another.

The second barrier resisted for a moment before breaking as well, only for a third to emerge.

Galeforce was frighteningly strong, but even the invisible arrows couldn't deal with the multiple layers of shielding.

By the time they impacted the eighth barrier, they too were weak enough to dissipate.

By that point, Emmon had begun to move.

The red-eyed orc locked onto his attacker. He needed to vent his bloodlust—and what better target than the man who had just tried to kill him?

There was a reason why Emmon was sitting so conspicuously and appeared completely undefended—his body was wrapped in no less than eight layers of third-tier barriers. His role had been to draw enemy fire from the ambushers they had long foreseen.

These layered barriers had come from scrolls that his "stingy" gnome boss had dug out from a dusty corner of the guild warehouse in the capital, items that couldn't be sold. Who knew how many life-saving treasures that cowardly gnome had hoarded? But this time, they proved immensely useful.

The mercenary who fired the shot couldn't have imagined how terrifying Emmon's current defenses were. He never even considered the possibility that the orc coachman might remain completely unaffected after being attacked—and would even directly launch a counterattack. That unexpected outcome sealed his fate.

In Emmon's Berserk state, his physical capabilities were boosted to the threshold of a grand knight. The sheer speed with which he now moved was something that the mercenary who was caught off-guard and whose forehead was now pinned down could testify to.

In the blink of an eye, the orc was before him. A coarse, heavy hand gripped his entire head. He felt the intense pressure of his skull being crushed and splitting apart.

But in the very next moment, the pain was gone—along with his head, which was smashed into pulp against the ground.

This sudden, violent event stunned all the ambushing mercenaries. None of them had expected that the Church of Nightfall members would have been forewarned of the ambush by the Nightblades.

While it had appeared that this group of mercenaries was lying in wait to ambush the Church of Nightfall's convoy, in truth, the Church had been fully prepared and was merely waiting for the ambushers to reveal themselves.

Before the remaining mercenaries could recover from the shock of their comrade's head being smashed like a melon, a second wave of attacks erupted from the carriage.

To the elven ranger Vena, these ambushers who had concealed their scent and masked their sounds were nevertheless utterly exposed. After all, they were lying on the grass and the undergrowth around them.

Murmuring syllables of the elven words of nature, Vena called upon the unique powers of an elven ranger. The surrounding foliage burst into sudden growth. Thick vines sprang forth, looping around the limbs of the ambushers hidden among the trees and entangling them.

The restraints weren't very strong—any of them could break free with a bit of effort. However, that slight delay proved fatal under the assault of several full-fledged knights who leapt down from the carriage—and a berserking orc.

Gilbert's sword, imbued with his potential, phased into an ethereal form and passed effortlessly through the thick trunk of a tree. With one clean strike, he decapitated the ambusher hiding behind it.

Emmon the orc was even more direct—he charged headlong into the woods, ignoring all trees and foliage in his path, smashing through any obstacles in a destructive frenzy. Whenever he encountered the ambushers, he crushed their necks and caved in their skulls with overwhelming brute strength.

The knights who had followed Gilbert from the carriage were all elite fighters from among the Nightblades' combat squad. What the mercenaries thought were well-hidden positions were obvious and easy to spot to these veterans.

With their superior physiques and synergizing potentials, they completely overpowered the mercenaries. Though the mercenaries were reasonably coordinated, they lacked the bond that came from long-term training. To them, the Nightblades were like a higher-dimensional foe, one that came at them from all directions at once.

Swords gleamed with blood as scorching-hot blood splattered all throughout the ground. The mercenaries' anguished cries were muffled by their own silencing scrolls. In mere moments, the counter-ambush operation was over.

The mercenaries had all died in the forest, their corpses concealed by the fast-growing foliage.

Vena raised her longbow and drew it taut, aiming at the distance, where a figure was frantically fleeing the battlefield in panic.

A green glow enveloped the arrow. The elven ranger never let enemies escape once they entered her range.

Just as she was about to release her deadly shot, Gilbert walked up to her and stopped her.

"Miss Vena, let him go. He's likely a royal observer. Even though our official cover is that we, the Nightblades, are on a mission to a nearby village, as you can see, they recognized us and still set up the ambush. Let him return."

"Won't he expose you?" Vena wasn't stubborn. She immediately lowered her bow and abandoned the shot.

"Of course he will, but that's also part of our goal. This is a statement: the Nightblades are already aware of the actions that nobles and the royalty are taking against the Church of Nightfall, and we won't allow such things to continue."

Gilbert's tone was grave and unusually serious.

"...A statement, huh. Thank you." Vena was silent for a moment as she processed what Gilbert said. Letting the observer escape was intentional—the Nightblades meant to reveal that they had taken part in this counterattack. It was a declaration that the Nightblades stood with the Church of Nightfall.

"We're excellent partners, aren't we?"

Gilbert smiled. He had worked effectively with the Church of Nightfall in the capital's shadow. The Church had provided a great deal of support to the Nightblades during their operations there, and he had grown fond of the vibrant, thriving community in that hidden city.

"May the Lady of the Night bless you. Farewell."

Gilbert performed the Church of Nightfall's blessing ritual. Ever since the Prayer Network had saved him from mental corruption, he had become a devout follower of the Lady of the Night.

Vena returned the same blessing. Then, the Nightblades and the first batch of followers from the Church of Nightfall leaving the capital bid each other farewell as they parted ways.