Chapter 8
868words
Just then, his study door burst open. Chang Qing rushed in, face pale with panic. "Master! Terrible news from the General's mansion!"
"Lady Amanda was ambushed beyond the border! Her group is trapped in Yanhui Valley—they're surrounded, their fate unknown!"
Yanhui Valley.
I slumped against a boulder, chest heaving. The gashes across my body burned like fire. Samuel and the others were wounded too. We'd been surrounded by over thirty assassins for a day and night already.
"Damn vultures won't quit," Samuel spat blood onto the ground. "Amanda, make a run for it. I'll cover you!"
"Bullshit." I glared at him. "We leave together or die together."
We all knew our chances were slim to none.
Our enemies were the infamous Black Crow assassins. We'd destroyed one of their hideouts last month, and now they wanted blood. The sky darkened ominously.
Just as we prepared for our final stand, chaos erupted outside the valley. Torches flared in the darkness, followed by screams of agony.
We froze, weapons half-raised.
"What the hell? Are they turning on each other?" Samuel peered cautiously around our cover.
Within minutes, the black-clad assassins melted away into the night. We exchanged bewildered glances, unable to comprehend what was happening.
Then a figure in white emerged from the darkness at the valley entrance. Moonlight bathed him, giving him an otherworldly appearance—like some celestial being descended to earth.
Except for the long sword wound across his chest, blood staining his white robes crimson, shattering the ethereal illusion.
It was him.
Robert Lawrence.
I stared at him, my heart surprisingly still, feeling nothing but mild shock.
What the hell was he doing here?
Samuel and the others rose, eyeing this blood-soaked stranger with suspicion.
Robert's eyes swept past everyone else, locking directly onto mine.
He walked toward me, each step deliberate.
I stood and brushed the dirt from my clothes.
As he approached, I offered the formal fighter's salute—the same I'd give any stranger on the road.
"Thank you for your assistance," I said with cool formality. "We are in your debt."
Then I turned away, limping toward Samuel. "Count our wounded. We need shelter to recover."
I chatted with my companions, examining their injuries as if the man behind me didn't exist.
After gathering our meager supplies, we prepared to move out.
He finally snapped, stepping forward to block my path.
"Amanda…" His voice cracked with a vulnerability I'd never heard before.
"I—" he seemed desperate to explain, to apologize.
I raised my hand, silencing him. My gaze was ice.
"Mr. Lawrence," I pronounced each syllable with perfect clarity. "The past requires no discussion."
"For this rescue, I, Amanda Lawrence, will repay you in due time."
With that, I brushed past him, leading my battered companions into the darkness without a backward glance.
Robert Lawrence clung to us like a burr that couldn't be dislodged.
He used his wound—impressive-looking but hardly fatal—as his excuse.
"My wounds haven't healed, and these roads are treacherous. Perhaps we could travel together—for mutual protection?"
Samuel was direct as always. He glanced between us, clearly thinking we couldn't refuse the man who'd saved our lives.
"Fine." I nodded coldly.
One more body wouldn't matter. One less wouldn't either.
And so our ragtag band gained a white-robed scholar who stuck out like a sore thumb. He quickly began proving his worth.
"Black Crow specializes in poison and ambushes. The southern route follows main roads where they'd hesitate to attack openly."
"The town ahead is called Bandit's Haven—a cesspool of criminals. We should circle around."
"That innkeeper has fighter's calluses on his palm, and his eyes keep shifting. I wouldn't trust the food here."
His sharp observations and surprising knowledge of the underworld proved valuable. Under his guidance, we avoided several deadly traps. Samuel and the others slowly shifted from suspicion to grudging respect.
"Damn, Lawrence! What's in that head of yours? You're like a walking danger map!"
Robert would smile faintly, his eyes constantly finding their way to me. Then his performance began. While we feasted around the campfire, he'd sit apart with plain rice, occasionally coughing delicately into his sleeve.
Samuel couldn't take it. "Amanda, look at poor Lawrence. Wounded as he is, still planning our route. Must be tough on him."
"He invited himself along," I ripped off a chunk of meat with my teeth, not bothering to glance his way.
Besides, anyone with eyes could see his wounds weren't serious.
Hearing this, Robert's face paled, and his coughing mysteriously intensified.
That evening at a roadside tavern, a drunk staggered toward me, wine cup tilting dangerously in my direction.
I could have easily sidestepped—but Robert suddenly lunged forward, shielding me with his body. The wine soaked his pristine white robes completely.
He staggered dramatically, clutching his chest, the very picture of noble suffering.
"Amanda! Are you okay?" Samuel and the others rushed over.
"Lawrence! Are you alright?"
I stood motionless, watching his performance with detached amusement.
When the commotion settled, I finally spoke. "Mr. Lawrence."
He looked up, his eyes filled with expectation and carefully crafted vulnerability.
I smiled.
