The Grand Magus In Murim

Chapter 13: The Crimson Ambush

The morning air at the Ling Manor was crisp, carrying the promise of a successful journey. Ling Tianyu stood in the center of the courtyard, his hands moving with deliberate care as he inspected the final crates of Luminous Lamps. Each wooden box was packed with straw and sealed with reinforced wax to protect the delicate stone cores.

His father, Ling Zhenghai, stood nearby, watching his son with a mixture of pride and quiet wonder. The boy who had spent three years in a silent coma was now the architect of their family's sudden, meteoric rise in fortune.

"Everything is secure, Father," Tianyu said, gesturing to the final crate. "The internal seals are reinforced. These will not break even if the carriage hits a deep rut."

Zhenghai stepped forward, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "I never doubted your diligence, Tianyu. You have an eye for detail that even the most seasoned merchants in Qinghe City lack. I am proud to see you taking such ownership of our trade."

"It is my responsibility," Tianyu replied, his gaze steady. "These lamps represent more than silver. They represent the name of our house. We cannot afford even a single failure."

Zhenghai nodded, his expression softening. "Captain Zhang is an experienced hand. He knows the mountain routes as well as he knows his own blades. You have done your part. Now, we must trust the path ahead."

The caravan leader, a man named Captain Zhang, approached them and bowed low. He was a veteran with a scarred cheek and eyes that had seen enough trouble to last two lifetimes.

"Patriarch, Young Master, we are ready to depart," Captain Zhang declared, his voice gravelly and firm. "We shall make good time. By sunset, we will be camped at the foot of the Black Iron Mountain, and we will cross the pass by tomorrow morning."

"See that you do, Zhang," Zhenghai said. "Bring them home safely."

With a nod, Captain Zhang signaled his men. The horses whinnied, the heavy wooden wheels of the carriages began to grind against the stone, and the caravan rolled out through the manor gates. Tianyu watched them go, a faint, lingering sensation of unease pricking at his mind. He pushed it aside, trusting in the preparations he had made.

The journey took five hours of steady, rhythmic movement. The landscape shifted from the manicured fields surrounding Qinghe City to the wild, overgrown brush at the base of the Black Iron Mountain. The trek was smooth, the sky fading from a brilliant blue to the deep, burning oranges and purples of sunset. Captain Zhang ordered a halt. The site at the foot of the mountain was a familiar camping ground, safe and secluded.

"Make camp!" Zhang shouted. "We set a watch tonight and move at first light!"

The workers moved with practiced ease. Fires were lit, and the smell of roasting meat soon filled the air. Some men busied themselves with pitching tents, while others tended to the horses. It was a picture of weary, peaceful labor.

Then, the shadows moved.

They did not come from the trees. They emerged from the darkness that crept along the mountain slope. A dozen figures, dressed in tattered, mud-stained clothes, descended upon the camp with silent, terrifying speed.

Captain Zhang stood up, his hand instantly flying to the hilt of his broadsword. "Bandits! Form a line! Defend the carriages!"

The attackers did not shout. They did not demand coin. They moved with the synchronized, lethal precision of trained soldiers. Captain Zhang drew his blade, his eyes narrowing. He stepped forward to intercept the leader, a man masked with a black cloth.

"Listen to me!" Zhang roared, trying to maintain some form of order. "We are Ling Merchant House! Take the gold in the back wagon and leave us be!"

The masked figure did not reply. Instead, he lunged, his short sword whistling through the air. Zhang parried, the ringing of steel against steel signaling the start of the m******e. The masked figures were not scavengers. They were killers. They moved with a fluidity that made the hired guards look like children swinging wooden sticks.

Blood sprayed across the campfire. A worker fell, clutching a chest wound. The Ling family guards fought desperately, but they were vastly outmatched. The masked men worked in pairs, surrounding the defenders and cutting them down with clinical efficiency. Zhang fought like a cornered lion, but he was overwhelmed. A blade sliced his shoulder, and he staggered back, realizing with sudden, cold clarity that this was not a robbery. This was an execution.

"Retreat!" Zhang screamed, his voice cracking. "Run back to the city! Get word to the manor!"

There was no negotiation to be had. The Ling family men broke and fled into the surrounding woods, leaving the carriages and the goods to the mercy of the attackers. Zhang managed to mount a riderless horse and galloped away into the dark, his back to the inferno of the burning camp.

It was long past midnight when the horse collapsed at the gates of the Ling Manor. The guard on duty, a young man who had been dozing, woke to the sound of frantic, labored breathing. He opened the gate to find Captain Zhang, covered in blood and barely clinging to consciousness.

The alarm was raised throughout the estate. The sounds of heavy, panicked footsteps echoed through the halls. Within minutes, Ling Zhenghai and Madam Xu had reached the front courtyard, their faces ghostly pale. Ling Tianyu was right behind them, his robes thrown hastily over his shoulders, his expression set in stone.

"Zhang!" Zhenghai cried, rushing to help the fallen captain. "What happened? Where is the caravan?"

Captain Zhang clutched the patriarch’s silk sleeve with a bloody hand. "They... they were not bandits, sir. They were professionals. They didn't want the silver. They wanted us dead. The carriages... everything is gone."

Zhenghai’s knees buckled. He looked as though he might faint, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid. Tianyu moved with lightning speed, catching his father by the arm to hold him upright.

"Father, breathe," Tianyu commanded, his voice calm and authoritative.

He turned his cold, sharp eyes to the remaining guards and martial artists who had gathered in the courtyard. They were wide-eyed and shivering, clearly shaken by the news of their comrades' deaths.

"You," Tianyu pointed to the senior guard. "Gather everyone. If any man can hold a sword, I want him in the courtyard. Arm yourselves for war, not for trade. We are not just merchants anymore."

The guard hesitated for only a second before bowing. Tianyu held his father firmly, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon beyond the manor walls. The darkness was closing in, but he was prepared to burn it away with the light he had created.