Chapter 133 — Small Frame, Steady Blade
Ivaline stood at the very front.
Wind tugged lightly at her silver hair as she glanced back at the three behind her.
Bubble clutched her staff with both hands, jaw tight, knuckles pale.
Nicole stood slightly ahead of her, sword drawn. His face was eager—almost bright—but he did not move without instruction.
Nasha stood atop the cart.
And she was trembling.
Her fingers shook against the bowstring. Her eyes darted from rider to rider, calculating distances she had never needed to calculate before.
This wasn’t hunting foxes.
Not stalking deer.
Not shooting boar for coin.
These were humans.
Charging.
“Take aim,” Ivaline said calmly.
“Do not fire until the watchtower releases the first shot.”
“I know!” Nasha snapped back—too quickly.
But she adjusted her footing.
Set the bow against the crate’s edge.
Forced her breathing slower.
In.
Out.
Dust rose.
Hooves thundered.
“NOW!” a watchman shouted.
Two bowstrings snapped almost together.
The watchtower arrow struck first—
A horse screamed as the shaft buried deep into its shoulder. It collapsed mid-stride, flipping violently and hurling its rider forward in a spray of dirt.
Second arrow followed.
It skimmed past one bandit’s ear—
Then—
Pierce.
“NGH—!”
Nasha’s arrow lands.
The arrow drove cleanly into a rider behind the fallen horse. He pitched backward, weapon flying free, tumbling into the churned road.
Two down.
Eight still charging.
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“Boss! The gate’s barricaded!”
The bandit leader squinted ahead.
“Don’t falter! Charge! Ram it aside!”
An empty merchant cart was wood and iron—breakable.
Even if the horses were injured, they could dismount.
Grab what they could.
Run.
That was the plan.
Steel flashed.
The leader didn’t even see her approach.
Slash.
His world tilted sideways.
Heat tore across his chest. Air vanished from his lungs.
He fell without understanding why.
“BOSS!?”
Ivaline stood atop a horse’s back.
Knees bent.
Sword already retracting from its arc.
The animal screamed beneath her weight—but she was light. Balanced.
She wobbled slightly.
Arms spread instinctively.
“Chronicle,” she muttered under her breath.
“I can’t ride horses.”
“You don’t need to,” Chronicle replied instantly. Calm. Precise.
“Jump. Redirect momentum. If you misjudge, roll on landing.”
She jumped.
Gasps erupted from the riders.
She launched from the first horse to the next—
Blade flashing as she cut through reins instead of throats.
Leather snapped.
Horses reared violently.
A rider toppled.
Another lost control.
She pivoted mid-air and struck again—flat of blade to temple.
A third bandit dropped unconscious.
Her small frame barely disturbed the animals’ balance.
Chaos multiplied.
Arrows followed.
Two struck falling riders.
Another horse shrieked and bolted sideways into the fields.
“IGNORE THE BRAT!” the wounded leader roared from the dirt, clutching his chest.
“RUN IN! TAKE THE ARCHERS!”
They still had numbers.
Still had desperation.
“AHHH—DON’T COME NEAR ME!”
Nasha screamed.
But she didn’t stop shooting.
Her next arrow struck the lead horse square in the chest.
The beast collapsed mid-gallop.
Momentum did the rest.
The rider smashed into the barricaded cart.
Two others slammed into him from behind.
Bodies tangled.
Limbs flailed.
“Good shot!” a watchman shouted. “Keep pressure!”
The leader tried to stand.
Ivaline landed before him.
And drove her knee straight into his face.
Crunch.
He dropped like cut rope.
The remaining bandits scrambled on foot.
On the ground they were faster to turn and dodge.
Harder to pin.
One reached the cart first.
He lunged upward, fingers hooking the edge.
Nasha’s eyes widened.
“Come here, you—!”
“Oh no you don’t.”
Steel met steel.
Nicole intercepted him with a wide, imperfect arc.
Clumsy.
Heavy.
But strong.
The bandit staggered back.
Nicole planted himself firmly between Nasha and the attacker.
His blade trembled.
But he did not.
“Keep firing!” he shouted without looking back.
“I’ll cover you!”
Another bandit rushed him.
Nicole’s footwork faltered—but instinct carried his blade forward.
Blood sprayed.
The man fell.
Alive—but no longer fighting.
Two more tried to break through.
Both were driven back.
Not elegant.
Not clean.
But enough.
Then—
“AAAA—!”
Bubble’s scream ripped through the chaos.
A shadow moved beneath the cart.
Too late.
A bandit had crawled under the axle during the confusion.
He seized Bubble from behind, dragging her close, blade pressed to her throat.
“DROP YOUR WEAPONS!” he shouted wildly.
“Or she dies!”
Everything froze.
Nasha’s bow lowered.
Nicole turned pale.
The watchtower hesitated.
Whack.
“OOF—?!”
The stone struck cleanly against the bandit’s temple.
His eyes rolled back instantly.
He collapsed like a sack of grain.
Bubble stumbled free.
Silence lingered for half a heartbeat.
Ivaline stood with her arm still extended, sling string swaying gently.
She rarely used it.
But when she did—
It hit.
She stepped forward and dragged the unconscious leader by the collar, letting the remaining bandits see him clearly.
“Your leader is down,” she said.
“More than half of you are injured.”
No anger.
No heat.
Only statement.
“You can surrender.”
She tilted her sword slightly.
“Or run. The archers will not miss twice.”
The remaining bandits looked at one another.
At the watchtower.
At their bleeding comrades.
At the girl standing before them without shaking.
Weapons fell one by one.
“We surrender!” someone choked.
The fight ended.
No deaths.
Only injuries.
Dust slowly settled back to earth.
Nicole dropped to a knee, breathing hard.
Nasha sank onto the cart, bow slipping from her fingers.
Bubble hugged her staff and started crying quietly—shock catching up to her.
Ivaline sheathed her sword.
She did not smile.
But deep inside—
Something settled.
A quiet confirmation.
Chronicle felt it too.
Not pride.
Not arrogance.
Just—
Steadiness.
They had stood in front.
And no one had died.
