A searing, bone-deep pain wrenched Keevey from unconsciousness into harsh reality. She groaned, instinctively reaching to touch the wound, only to find her hands utterly immobile. Another wave of agony crashed over her, jolting her fully awake. A grotesque, swollen face slowly swam into focus before her eyes, so close she could see the pores on its nose.

Keevey screamed in terror, instinctively trying to leap away. But her hands were bound behind her back; she lost balance and crashed hard onto the table. A fresh wave of agony shot through her buttocks, nearly knocking her unconscious again.

"Beauty, no need to fear so much. The night is long," the bloated face leered inches from hers, frog-like in its grin.

Keevey forced herself to calm slightly, assessing her situation. The room was large, illuminated by a chandelier dripping with a dozen candles. The furniture, though new, was cheaply made from shoddy wood, gaudily gilded in a vain attempt at opulence—revealing the owner’s abysmal taste. More urgently, she realized her hands were tightly bound behind her back, her body pressed facedown across a large experimental table.

The fat man held a small pair of tongs, pinching a blood-stained crossbow bolt. He examined it closely, then tossed it aside, gently lifting Keevey’s chin with his fingers. "Haha, you’re quite lovely, aren’t you? Why so fierce now? Hit me again? Does roughness suit you better, my beauty? I must say, that bolt struck a genius spot—a testament to my archery."

The female warrior spat. She lunged, sinking her teeth viciously into Rogue’s hand. He jerked back, then seized her hair, yanking her head upward. Pain contorted Keevey’s face as her upper body was wrenched backward, revealing her sculpted curves.

Rogue’s touch made Keevey feel as though a cold serpent slithered over her skin. Trapped by his grip on her hair, her struggles were futile. Tears finally spilled from her tightly closed eyes. Taller than Rogue by half a head, her skirted armor and breastplate had been stripped while she was unconscious, leaving her waist impossibly narrow before flaring into long, straight, powerfully muscled legs.

In the small house, candle flames flickered to the rhythm of the warrior’s hoarse curses. The shoddy experimental table groaned under the weight of two bodies. Demons danced wildly in the fire’s glow, while vengeful spirits shrieked in hysterical lament.

Rogue trembled, waves of vengeful euphoria surging through him like a tide, making every roll of fat quiver. The darkest recesses of his soul boiled, lashing against every nerve.

Early spring nights remain bitterly cold. Even unopened blossoms wither when the wind sweeps through.

The music ends; the hall empties.

Rogue hummed a self-satisfied tune, admiring his captured snow-white lamb. The aches in his body seemed to sing. Not long ago, this lamb had been a true lion. He pulled on his clothes, deciding to fetch Ete and the others to see his prize. Only Keevey’s eyes troubled him—utterly icy, devoid of sorrow or rage, not even empty, but fixed on him with cold, unblinking stillness. Rogue felt like a frog pinned by a snake’s gaze, a sensation he despised. He added another rope to her bindings. Keevey showed no reaction, as if the body bound before him were not her own, still watching him with that serpent’s stare.

Rogue fled hastily, nearly running to escape those murderous eyes. Killing her outright would be the cleanest solution, but he lacked the courage—for now. Besides, such a beauty deserved more than a wasted death.

Ete and the others arrived, brimming with excitement. The small house looked as if a tempest had struck—furniture smashed, objects strewn everywhere. Hearts sinking, they rushed upstairs. The broad experimental table stood empty, the restraining ropes snapped in several places. Kait examined the frayed ends. "Shattered by sheer force! Good heavens! She broke through ropes this thick? Are you sure you caught her?" Rogue recalled the battle aura that had flashed through the warrior and broke into a cold sweat.

Ete, the eldest and most experienced, was the first to regain composure. "Don’t panic yet. They don’t know who we are. But Rogue, you can’t stay in this house any longer." Calm slowly returned. As fear ebbed, Lance’s mind sharpened. "They’ll likely come to burn the place down."

"Better to strike first! There’s no salvaging this now—we must act. Time’s short. Let’s set a trap. If they dare set fire to this house, we’ll make them pay dearly. These mercenaries can’t pull off anything clever." Franco, seldom verbose, proved ruthlessly pragmatic.

After brief deliberation, they erased all traces of their presence and left swiftly.

Along a quiet path, Rogue and several others, dressed like nobles, strode confidently toward the house, laughing loudly as they whispered about topics only men shared.

Stopping before the house, one of Rogue’s companions suddenly said, "Something’s wrong. Someone’s been inside. Ambush!"

*BOOM!* The door exploded inward, splintering. A flash of swordlight slashed toward Rogue. Before the blade reached him, murderous intent already froze his entire being. He stood paralyzed, watching the massive sword’s edge descend, helpless as ice. Two longswords snapped up from either side, intercepting the blow. The greatsword rebounded lightly off them, suddenly impossibly swift, weaving a deadly pattern of thrusts and slashes at Rogue. The two defenders held firm, their blades forming an impenetrable net that blocked every attack—clearly skilled warriors.

The whirlwind assault ended. Swordlight faded. Keevey gasped for breath, sword leveled at Rogue. Her face was deathly pale, clad haphazardly in leather armor. Bloodshot eyes burned above faint, livid bruises on her neck.

Three more figures burst from the house. Rogue’s companions engaged them—clearly the three fighters from the tavern. The mage was still missing.

Just then, a thunderous shout rang out nearby: "Daring traitors! Attacking city guards in the capital!?" With a clash of steel, A squad of knights in gleaming armor, led by a Heavy Knight, charged forward, swiftly surrounding the house. Rogue’s opponents tore off their cloaks, revealing soft armor emblazoned with the city guard insignia. Rogue retreated to the sidelines as Ete and the others approached, smirking at the female warrior.

The Heavy Knight said nothing. He pointed his lance forward. Soldiers surged ahead, blades striking to kill. The mercenaries realized the trap, signaled each other, and burst outward in unison, creating distance between themselves and the soldiers. From the second floor, *WHOOSH!* a fireball the size of a bowl erupted, detonating among the swordsmen. Scorching heat seared exposed skin. A second fireball followed instantly. Several already wounded swordsmen became screaming torches, collapsing to the ground.

The mercenary mage appeared at the window. Frigid frost surged from his hands, accompanied by countless ice shards. Swordsmen too slow to dodge were instantly encased in ice. Then the freezing wave hit them; the weakest shattered with a *CRACK*. A gap opened in the tight formation. Keevey and her comrades seized the moment, breaking through. A towering warrior hurled a rope upward, looping it around the mage. The mage leaped from the window. The warrior hauled hard—nearly free, the mage seemed to drift through the air toward safety.

The Heavy Knight bellowed. A deep blue light flared across his body. His lance shot forth like a meteor, piercing the mage’s chest and pinning him to the wall.

Keevey cried out in anguish, whirling to charge. A warrior clamped down hard, hoisting her onto his shoulder and fleeing. Another warrior chanted a brief incantation, hurling a scroll. Vines erupted from the ground, thrashing wildly in the air, ensnaring anyone they touched. The fastest pursuers were instantly immobilized. The mercenaries vanished into the slums.

Rogue stared at the spot where the warrior had disappeared, knowing she would never let this rest.

The Heavy Knight surveyed his grievously wounded men and snorted coldly. Kait approached, whispering, "Dad, what now?" The knight remained silent for a long moment, then sighed. "Your troubles are just beginning. Hey, mercenaries." He summoned a swordsman, gave low instructions, and sent him off. Glaring at Kait’s group, he snapped, "You think you can strut around like those folk? Hone your skills first!" With that, he rode off in a cloud of dust.

Before long, A squad of knights arrived at each of Lyon City’s City Gates, posting a Wanted Notice on the Bulletin Board:

"WANTED: Sword and Blood Rose Mercenary Group.

This mercenary group conspired in rebellion within the capital. After the plot failed, they killed and wounded multiple city guards. Currently At large: Keevey, sister of the group’s leader, and three primary members. Thirty ordinary mercenaries remain At large.

Reward of 500 Lyon Gold Coins for capturing or killing one primary member. Reward of 30 Lyon Gold Coins for an ordinary mercenary. Informants receive half the reward."