The sound of shattered stones striking the carriage roof had barely faded when Chen Wuya's foot silently pressed tighter against the ground. The knuckles of his right hand tensed, his dagger sliding half an inch free. His ears caught the faint scrape above on the rock wall—not wind brushing through cracks in the stone, but boot soles shifting against wet rock.
Zhao Tianying abruptly raised a hand and barked, "Stay alert!"
Before his words had faded, three dark figures leaped down from the fog. Blade light split the morning air, striking straight at the two escorts guarding the front. One had no time to raise his shield before his shoulder was slashed open, sending him staggering to the ground. The other raised his saber to block, only for a diagonal cut to split the web of his hand and send his weapon flying.
The deputy escort chief roared and lunged forward, his long saber sweeping out in a half-arc to force back the assassin on the left. But his right side was left wide open, and a man in black had already closed in, his blade aimed straight for his waist and belly.
Chen Wuya moved.
His left foot slammed against the ground, and he shot out like an arrow loosed from a bow. Before landing, he twisted and swung up his leg. His right foot swept sideways from below, its force stirring up dust as it struck squarely into the assassin's knee hollow. Caught off balance, the man was sent flipping through the air and crashed into his companion behind him.
The third assassin spun and slashed, cold light cleaving toward Chen Wuya's face. Chen Wuya tilted his head aside, then drove his bent knee upward, smashing it hard into the man's forearm joint. The blade veered away, grazing