Chapter 288: Assassin Ambush

The fortress bells rang in unison, a deep metallic echo rolling through the stone walls. Every watchtower, every narrow corridor, every gate snapped awake. The alarm left no room for doubt: danger was approaching. Civilians were rushed toward the central keep in a tide of quick steps and tense whispers. Few truly understood Bartholomew or the war creeping toward them, but everyone was on edge. Out here, monsters still prowled, and a Safe Zone was anything but safe.

At the main gate, built by the Havens’s best artisans, the group crossed a courtyard soaked in anxiety while guards bolstered their posts in the towers above. The air was knife-cold, and sentinels exchanged nervous glances over the ramparts. They climbed toward one of the watchtowers when Allison finally broke the silence.

“How many?” Her voice held steady despite the tension.

Luke followed her gaze to Evangeline. She was already sketching a circle in the air with her fingers, activating the skill that sharpened her vision into something beyond human. A faint shimmer ran across her irises.

“A squad. Fifteen men,” she answered before the nearest archer could even blink.

Luke raised an eyebrow. “So the crow can’t do math?”

Evangeline gave a quick laugh. “Jerry’s not exactly a genius. He can tell if someone’s alone, in a group, or being tailed, but counting heads? That’s pushing it.”

Meanwhile Mason held a post on the opposite tower, scanning the flanks. The fortress might look imposing, but it wasn’t impenetrable. A daring enemy could scale the walls, and they were spread too thin to cover every point.

“We have the advantage,” Miriam said, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Defending is always easier than attacking.”

Evangeline shot back with dry humor. “Retreating over fifteen people? Calm down. We might be a small faction, but we’re not that soft.”

Allison stayed serious, staring down the narrow road leading from the city. In the distance, the shapes resolved into soldiers marching, looking like nothing more than a simple unit. Eleanor quietly pulled her bow from storage, stringing it with practiced hands. Her enchanted sight let her see farther than most could imagine, every detail painfully crisp.

“Can you identify them?” Allison asked without turning.

Eleanor drew a slow breath. “It’s Ronan. And his trusted men.”

Luke’s brow furrowed. “There must be others hidden. Assassins.”

Before anyone could reply, one of the soldiers below raised something unexpected: a white flag.

“Surrender?” Evangeline muttered, confused.

The figure moved forward at a measured pace, one hand gripping a white flag, the other raised in a placating gesture. Instinct took over on the ramparts: bows rose, strings drew tight, arrowheads gleamed in the cold light. Yet the man kept walking, calm and deliberate, until he reached the edge of the fortress approach.

“That’s far enough,” Allison ordered, her voice steady. Letting him come closer would be an invitation to disaster.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes, finally recognizing the man. “Ronan,” she breathed, though he gave no sign of hearing.

“My name is Ronan,” the emissary called, his voice carrying between the stone walls. “I come at Bartholomew’s request, bearing a message. It can only be delivered in person, to your representative.”

Laughter rippled from the battlements. “You expect us to let you chat with our leader?” someone from the Haven jeered.

Ronan exhaled slowly, unruffled. “Bartholomew’s message is private. For your leader… or for whoever activated the mechanism.”

Luke didn’t wait for a decision. He vaulted over the wall, landing several meters in front of Ronan with the fluidity of a predator. If it was a trap, he’d kill the man before being killed himself. The move drew murmurs and a shiver of tension from the onlookers.

“Well?” Luke advanced in slow, deliberate steps. “What’s Bartholomew’s message?”

Ronan faltered, clearly unsettled by the proximity. Luke was a shadow wrapped in threat. But before he could answer, another sound cracked the air behind him. Allison had leapt from the battlements as well.

Luke thought Allison shouldn’t be doing that; it was reckless.

‘You’re an idiot too.’ Artemis muttered in the back of his mind.

I’m an idiot who survives arrows through the heart. He thought back. She, I’m not so sure about.

“Bartholomew wants… a truce,” Ronan finally said.

“A truce?” Allison echoed, disbelief sharpening her tone. Of all the outcomes, that one was the least expected.

“Yes,” Ronan continued. “And he also wants a meeting with you.”

Luke’s brow furrowed. “With me?”

“No.” Ronan’s gaze locked on Allison. “He wants a meeting with Allison Rhiannon.”

A heavy silence settled over the ramparts. Thin snowflakes began to drift down, melting on armor and cloaks. And there, in the cold hush, Ronan began to lay out the terms and conditions.

***

The silence hanging over the fortress felt like lead as Luke and Allison passed through the gates and crossed to an improvised tent in the inner courtyard. Cold wind tugged at the canvas walls, and the snapping of banners along the ramparts behind them beat out a tense rhythm, like a drum announcing fate. Inside, the lamplight burned a muted gold, throwing trembling shadows across worried faces.

Mason was the first to break the atmosphere. “Well? What did he say?” His voice carried an edge of expectation, almost accusation.

Allison stopped, drew in a slow breath, then spoke. “In short… Bartholomew sent a message guaranteeing there will be no attack against us. No retaliation. He said even if more people come to this Safe Zone, he won’t stop them. And if we return to the previous Safe Zone, he won’t strike there either.”

She paused, letting her gaze sweep the group. “He’s asking for a truce. And… one more thing.”

“What?” Quinn’s eyebrow arched.

“A meeting. He wants to speak with me in person, on neutral ground,” Allison said, her voice controlled but her eyes sparking tension.

Miriam folded her arms. “Sounds like a trap.”

“Obviously,” Mason muttered.

“Even so, I’m thinking of going,” Allison said.

“So am I,” Luke added without hesitation. He wanted to go precisely because it might be a trap—because he planned to spring it or break it. Several heads turned toward him as if he’d uttered blasphemy.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Let’s think this through together.” Allison lifted a hand, cutting off the rising objections. “If we stay holed up here and head for the third mechanism without knowing Bartholomew’s intentions, we’ll be vulnerable. If we understand what he wants, we can prepare.”

Quinn shot back immediately. “Or you could walk right into an ambush.”

Luke kept his expression unreadable. Deep down, he didn’t care. If Bartholomew wanted to end it in a meeting, he wouldn’t stall—he’d strike. And Luke was ready to strike back. Bartholomew and Kruger were still on his list.

Evangeline spoke slowly, thinking aloud. “Would he really kill someone who activated a mechanism? Publicly? If he did, his entire image would collapse. Everyone would turn on him.”

Several faces began to shift as the logic settled in. Mason took a step forward. “Seen from that angle, he might be as cornered as we are. If he makes a move, everyone sees he’s the problem. In the end, most people want to return to Earth, right?”

Evangeline turned to Allison. “When’s the meeting?”

“In one week,” Allison answered. “Ronan’s team will come back with updates every two days until then. And we can take a small group with us.”

***

The days that followed crawled by in a slow, taut line, like a cord about to snap. Each dawn brought more sentries to the walls, more men in the corridors, and less space for distraction. Even the air felt weighted with expectation. As a precaution, no one left the fortress alone, yet the work never stopped. Workshops were restored, corridors scrubbed, storerooms organized; every hammer strike on the wooden scaffolds echoed as a reminder of how fragile this place still was.