Her Graceful War Song (Carissa Sinclair)

Chapter 944

Icarus hadn't even seen how Carissa dodged the strike. He only knew that his long blade had cut through empty air. When he focused again, she was still standing there, as if she hadn't moved an inch.

The lanterns on the carriage cast two faint glows, illuminating Carissa's face, which seemed a little pale. Her expression, cold as frost in the biting wind, softened into a smile directed at him.

The smile sent an immediate shiver down Icarus' spine. In fact, it wasn't just a shiver-it was a sharp, painful jolt.

It took him a moment to realize what had happened. Her whip had lashed through the air, striking him across the face and tearing away the black cloth covering his face. He spun around in midair, swiftly covering his face again.

He leaped to the top of a wall and turned around just in time to see the red whip, coiling like a venomous snake, wrap around the neck of the suicide soldier on Carissa's left. With a powerful tug, she yanked him into the air, her feet pushing off toward the other suicide soldier on her right.

In a smooth, fluid motion, she dragged the first suicide soldier toward the carriage. His weapon fell to the ground with a clatter. Just before it hit the earth, Carissa's foot shot out, sending the sword flying into the air.

She flew up alongside the suicide soldier, swinging her leg horizontally. The sword arced gracefully through the air, striking the second suicide soldier and burying itself deep into his stomach.

The entire sequence unfolded in an instant. Even though Icarus had witnessed it up close, there was nothing he could do. It became clear to him now-the real threat was Carissa, not her two servants.

Grinding his teeth, Icarus charged forward, swinging his blade to sever the whip. If he didn't, that suicide soldier would be dead.

Carissa yanked the whip, throwing the suicide soldier into the air at such a rapid speed that it nearly blurred Icarus vision. He immediately altered his course to avoid striking his own man. However, it would have been better if he hadn't done that. The moment he changed direction, the blade bit into flesh-his long knife had cleaved the suicide soldier's head clean off.

She had predicted the direction of his blade.

Impossible! This couldn't be real!

His technique, Phantom Blade, was a series of deceptive moves with over a dozen variations. It was a martial arts masterpiece. In Westhaven, no one had ever escaped its reach. Obviously, no one had ever predicted the direction of his blade either.

But now, as if to mock his confidence, Carissa's whip danced through the air like a net, casting even more sweeping shadows than Icarus' Phantom Blade. In close combat, his massive blade was useless. Meanwhile, her whip could extend or retract, as well as switch between soft and rigid, and every move of hers aimed straight for his neck.

Barely able to lift his blade, he could only use the hilt to block, unable to land a proper strike. He struggled to defend himself, unable to even spare a glance at the others.

Why hadn't anyone come to help?

Icarus didn't know how many attacks he had blocked, but with each one, he was pushed further back. Desperately, he tried to create some distance, but Carissa kept the pressure on, her whip striking relentlessly. He had already been hit several times, each lash leaving his body burning with pain.

At that moment, the pride and confidence of Westhaven's greatest fighter was shattered, destroyed by the relentless, almost insulting way Carissa wielded her whip.

And now, Icarus feared he might not escape tonight. If they got their hands on him... the consequences for tomorrow's negotiations were too dire to even consider.

As his thoughts grew more frantic, his focus slipped. He made more and more mistakes, and eventually, there

was no way to dodge the whip. It wrapped around him like a serpent, tightening around his neck. With one sharp pull, Carissa yanked him forward. Her hand moved like lightning, ripping the tattered black cloth off his face. His entire face was exposed under the dim glow of the carriage's lantern.

"Commander Icarus," Carissa said, flashing him a smile. "I appreciate the challenge."

She tightened the whip again, spun him around, and forced him to look at the fallen suicide soldiers behind him. Most of them were down, with only three or four still standing, struggling in vain to escape. Meanwhile, the coachman and the swordswoman moved with ease, as if waiting for something.

Fear wrapped around Icarus like the dark night itself, suffocating and cold. He barely had time to process this when the sound of hooves shattered the silence of the night, breaking through the lingering bloodlust. His face turned pale and he could barely breathe.

"Commander Sinclair!"

A horse galloped toward them, its rider quickly dismounting. Behind him, more than twenty horses followed, each carrying a member of the Capital Guard.

"What happened?"

It was Michael, the deputy commander of the Capital Guard. The soldiers trailing behind him were naturally the guards who patrolled the streets at night.