The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic

Kael nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But we regroup at the sewer trench. No one gets left behind."

"Adonis, take the lead," Martina ordered without looking back. Her gaze remained fixed on the approaching masked man.

Adonis didn't waste time. "This way. Follow the cranes and use the containers for cover. Herion, prep smoke. Freya, stay rear."

"Understood," Freya replied, her hand tightening around the hilt of her twin sabers.

Herion tossed two small spherical devices outward, and in seconds, a thick gray smoke began to flood the open area, swallowing their retreat path.

As the others dashed into the labyrinth of containers, low and fast, Linda began murmuring a string of incantations under her breath. She walked backward as she chanted, her staff leaving a faint glowing trail behind that shimmered momentarily before vanishing. A cloaking field spread out, obscuring their movements further from magical and thermal detection.

Meanwhile, back in the clearing, Martina strode forward with strong momentum and then drew her blades.A strong aura encased her body that shook the surrounding air as she moved forward.

The smoke had thinned enough that her and the masked man stood in clear view of one another, surrounded by fallen debris and scattered sparks.

"You always did love playing the hero, Your highness," the masked figure said, his voice smooth yet hollow beneath the mechanical distortion of his mask.

"Enough of the pleasantry.It won't be easy for you to defeat me, you know that."

"I'm the wall that you'll never pass," Martina said simply, steadying her breath. Her blades gleamed faintly in the fading light.

Soldiers began to close in from the flanks who were from Bernard's elite guard.

Two archers perched on overhead cranes, with archers leveled. Three kinetic blade users approached from the right and left. Another pair crept through the smoke behind Martina, hoping to flank her silently.

Martina's expression didn't change. She had already counted them by sound and movement. The shift of a boot, the brush of a cloak, the whisper of steel through the air.

The first attacker lunged from the right. She stepped to the side, grabbing his wrist mid-swing and dragging him down while slicing the back of his knees. As he screamed and fell, she used his body as a springboard, flipping into the air and hurling a small flash dagger behind her. It exploded right in the face of a soldier sneaking from the rear, blinding him instantly.

She landed in a crouch, blades up, already pivoting as two more enemies struck from the sides. She blocked one with her left blade, parried the other, and kicked the second in the gut, sending him crashing into a crate.

Up above, an archer aimed and fired a shot but Linda who was just a few distances away was already overseeing the things and she acted.

Linda was faster—she looked up, raised her staff, and whispered, "Hollow Fracture."

A blast of pure kinetic magic shot upward, cracking the crane arm just as the archer fired. The arrow missed Martina by inches. The archer screamed as the structure collapsed beneath him.

Meanwhile, Freya, staying behind to cover the others, suddenly stopped. She turned and drew her sabers as two enemies emerged from the smoke, blades raised.

"Let's play," she said with a smile.

Her sabers danced as she reflected both blades, one with each arm, and countered with a fast spinning kick that knocked one attacker down. She followed with a double slash that glimmered like silver lightning, drawing a clean arc across both their torsos.

Back at the front, Martina and the masked man finally clashed.

His blade moved first—a thin, curved arc pulsing with unnatural energy. She caught it on her right blade and twisted, aiming to disarm him—but he pulled back fluidly and countered with a low sweep aimed at her legs.

She jumped, spun mid-air, and aimed a kick at his head.

He dodged it barely.

Their blades collided again. Sparks flew. Both fighters moved with deadly grace, every motion calculated, every feint a lure.

Martina's muscles screamed with effort. He was stronger—but she was faster.

As they traded blow for blow, their surroundings seemed to disappear. All that remained was the clash of steel and the burning determination in her eyes.

She wasn't just fighting for survival.

She was buying time for everyone else to live.

......…..

The tension thickened like a rising storm as Kael wiped blood from the side of his boot and glanced at the others. They had been moving swiftly through the stacked metal containers and narrow alleys of the port, avoiding full engagements, picking off stragglers, and keeping low.

But the unease in his chest hadn't left. He finally voiced it, his tone low but heavy.

"Why are you all holding back?" he asked, just as he landed a knee into a charging soldier's face, sending him crashing backward.

Adonis didn't look at him, his blade already running red. "So that we take them by surprise. If we show our full strength now, they'll respond with everything they have."

He stepped in and drove his sword through an enemy's chest, then pulled it free in one clean motion. "But that might not be an option anymore."

Their group pressed forward through the chaotic maze, and just when hope glimmered near the and just when hope glimmered near the gate they had entered from—the way out—they froze.

A wall of armored knights stood silently ahead, not moving, not speaking. They were six in number, each standing like stone pillars, their heavy shields resting at their sides, polished helms gleaming under the sparse port lights. Behind them, another line of soldiers with spears stood at attention, ready to fill in any gaps. Each knight wore the sigil of a lion with wings—a mark of elite order. Their breathing echoed through thick helmets, like beasts waiting to be unleashed.

"Fuck…" Herion muttered, eyes wide with disbelief. "They've locked the path."

The moment the group spotted the heavily armored knights blocking the entrance, time seemed to freeze.

A wall of steel and discipline stood before them. Six knights, each nearly a head taller than average men, clad in silver-gray armor engraved with golden lion insignias. Their shields were massive, covering most of their bodies, and their helms bore slitted visors, hiding all emotion. Behind them, a backup formation of elite spear bearers stood poised, waiting to strike if the front line faltered.

"