Girl With The Golden Cat Eyes - 19 Onward, into the new world 9

Each group, knights, commoners, and royals alike, stared in shock as Assem fell backward. His pained wails only stifled as his back crashed into the rock wall foundation of the house behind him. His off-hand clutched his now stubby arm below the elbow tightly. Rivulets of blood trickled from between his fingers. The rest of his arm missing, lopped off as it soared into the air; an uneven serpentine string trailing after it. After a few moments of flight, the liberated end his limb plopped onto the dirt at Cyril’s and Randol’s feet.

Assem’s weapon, the saber, was now held in the ancient deity’s right hand. Its blade glimmered as the sun caught the crimson that slowly ran down its tip. She stood there, proud and beautiful, but also terrifying, as she stood over the maimed Earl. Her feline eyes narrowed with a reaper’s intent to take his soul. Confusion swirled through his mind. He hadn’t understood how she had managed to take it from him within the blink of an eye. However, more fear than confusion swirled through him and so he never voiced his questions – only his terror.

“My Lord!” One of the Knights called out as he began to charge forward. His steps were quickly stilled by a warning glance from the perpetrator. At that moment, she resembled a Grim Reaper. Assem’s hand laid at her feet like some submissive demonic dog. She – it – was not human, the knight’s mind concluded before he scrambled back to his horse. He mounted it and quickly galloped away back into the north. The other knights rose their hands in surrender but made no move to follow their comrade.

What she had done had only been a few blinks of the eye to them. To her, however, it had been nearly more than several seconds. Her form had been befitting of an amateur. Her swing was bulky and unsightly. The pure force she had put into that strike had cut away his arm, this she knew. She could kill a dragon, but strength didn’t make you swing better.

Just as Desmond had prophesied before, Randol was just too arrogant for his own good. Not in a bad way, but Randol was an honorable man; he expected others to be the same. Even worse, he believed anyone of royal blood would also be honorable. He would eventually be stabbed in the back one of these years. Had Cyril not have been there, Desmond’s ill-fated words would have been fulfilled. Now, the blade was in her hand. It’s blade now pressed against the craven man’s chest above his heart.

To Cyril’s hidden surprise, she felt her mana flowing into the blade. Its bloodied tip glowed faintly in the sunlight. To the untrained eye, it was undetectable. However, everyone in Randol’s grip knew what it was aside from Cyril. It was an enchanted blade. Assem himself had stopped wailing. He too had noticed the enchantment activate and he stiffened with dread.

Assem knew what the saber had been enchanted with. It was his only trump card, one that had taken quite a bit of coin to have done quietly. Knight’s Bane was the name. It reinforced a metal point to pierce metal. Bone, wood, metal, or something else. So long as it was a point, it could be used. However, it was a difficult spell to have permanently attached to an object; as enchanting was.

“Did… Did he try and–” Randol’s words were cut off by Cyril who was still burning with bloodlust.

“Yes.” Her words cracked like a whip in the air. It had pulled the dread-filled man from his trance and he began to plead.

“Please!” He squeaked. “It was a joke! I swear!” The scent of piss and shit reached everyone’s noses. Mai had to keep her distance.

Randol was still in shock. His mind saw the enchanted saber in her hand, and it couldn’t process it. “It was a joke, Cyril.” He didn’t want to think that his family could do this. He could accept everything, but not his family willing to kill each other. Cyril stared at Randol, her pupils narrowed dangerously as she applied a small bit of force. The saber’s tip broke the luxurious fabric and drew blood as it dug into the flesh. Assem wailed like a pig being boiled alive.

“I am Royalty! You can not k–” Assem tried to speak, his voice high and lacked its previous arrogance. Cyril did not dignify his words with her ears. With a quick thrust, the sword pierced the stones behind his heart. Blood pulsed out his back and down the blade. His life’s essence watered the weeds that grew along the wall. His face frozen with pain, fear, and the knowledge he had been killed. Indignation, confusion, and unwillingness swirled in his eyes.

“P-Pull it out…” He whimpered. His hand clawed weakly at the hilt. Cyril felt annoyed that he was still alive and twisted the blade. Blood immediately pooled over his chest. She twisted the sword again, and more blood gushed forth. Assem tried to scream when it was twisted. Nothing came out. He fell limp after a few more seconds and the saber slipped from his chest as Cyril pulled away.

“Anyone else?” Cyril asked as she turned her attention to the remaining knights. They all backed away, unwilling to fight the girl. She had enough gall to murder a royal family member in front of the First and Third Princes. Neither of them had ordered her to be killed yet either, thus, they weren’t going to try and fight her. They all scrambled onto their horses, and without a word, chased after their long gone comrade. She ignored the other audience and turned to Pricilla. She stared at the dead Earl with surprise.

“Mai, get her saddled,” Cyril ordered, her blood still up from Assem’s coward attack. She hadn’t been repulsed by the ease of her actions. All she thought about was protecting Randol. It had been a reflex, one she never knew she had.

She watched as Mai and Desmond helped Priscilla onto the shire as Cyril walked over to the river and dipped it into the water to clean it off. When she came back, she found Randol waiting for her. He looked conflicted. “Why did you have to kill him…?” Randol asked. “He should’ve faced trial!” He raised his voice.