Death Guns In Another World

Chapter 1778 -1574: Second Strongest

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The tent flap was guarded by two soldiers, their silhouettes stark against the interior light. She needed a distraction, something to draw their attention away from the entrance.

A sudden movement caught her eye. A lone sentry, farther down the camp, was shifting his position. It was a fleeting opportunity, but it might be her only chance. With a silent prayer, Althea slipped into the shadows, her body taut with anticipation.

A direct assault was suicide. She needed to be swift, silent, and elusive. Althea's gaze flickered to the lone sentry once more. He was oblivious, his attention focused on the distant horizon. With a deep breath, she crept towards him, her movements as fluid as water.

Her hand found the hilt of her dagger, a familiar weight in the darkness. The sentry was closer now, his rhythmic breathing a metronome in the night. With a surge of adrenaline, she lunged. The dagger found its mark, sinking into the soft flesh of his neck. A muffled gasp escaped his lips before silence claimed him.

She retrieved the dagger, wiping it clean on the sentry's cloak. Time was of the essence. She moved with renewed purpose, her steps echoing in the quiet camp. The main tent was closer now, its silhouette casting an ominous shadow.

As she approached, she could hear muffled voices from within. It was a gamble, but she decided to listen in before making her move. She crouched behind a low bush, her ears straining to catch every word.

The voices inside the tent were low, but Althea's keen ears picked up fragments of their conversation. A name, a plan, and a date. The words were like pieces of a puzzle, slowly coming together to form a terrifying picture.

"The attack will commence at dawn," a deep voice said, the tone laced with grim determination. "We must be ready."

Another voice, higher pitched and filled with trepidation, replied, "But the supplies... they won't hold out."

Althea's heart pounded with a cold, calculated rhythm. The assassin within her, honed to perfection through years of training and blood, was awakened. This was it. The moment she had been preparing for. The moment to prove her worth, to turn the tide of war.

A plan began to form in her mind, a deadly ballet of shadows and silence. She would infiltrate the tent, eliminate the key players, and disrupt the attack. It was a high-risk strategy, but the stakes were even higher. Failure was not an option.

With a silent prayer, she moved towards the tent, her body a taut bowstring ready to unleash its deadly arrow. The voices inside grew louder, their words carrying on the night wind. It was time.

The tent flap was a mere breath away. Althea's heart hammered in her chest, a drumbeat of anticipation and fear. She took a deep breath, her mind a calm lake amidst the storm within. With a swift, silent motion, she slipped through the gap, disappearing into the dim interior.

The tent was larger than she had imagined, filled with the low hum of conversation and the flickering light of oil lamps. Figures moved in the shadows, their outlines indistinct. She moved with the grace of a panther, her senses heightened.

A sudden shift in the air, a subtle change in the pressure, alerted her to a presence behind her. She whirled, her dagger drawn. A guard, startled by her sudden movement, lunged forward. Their blades clashed in a silent duel, sparks flying in the dim light.

Althea fought with a feral intensity, her body a blur of motion. The guard was skilled, but he was no match for her. With a swift, decisive move, she disarmed him, the dagger sinking into his shoulder. He collapsed to the ground with a grunt.

The tent erupted into chaos. Shouts, the clatter of weapons, and the panicked movement of bodies filled the air. Althea moved through the melee with deadly efficiency, her dagger a blur of steel. She was a ghost in the night, striking without warning, leaving a trail of fallen enemies in her wake.

The tent was a maelstrom of chaos, a battlefield illuminated by the flickering oil lamps. Bodies littered the ground, their groans and cries a haunting symphony of pain. Althea moved through the carnage with a cold, detached efficiency, her senses honed to a razor's edge.

Her target was the commander, the man who had orchestrated the attack. She had heard his voice, a deep, commanding tone that cut through the noise of the battle. He was the heart of this operation, and she was determined to rip it out.

She scanned the room, her gaze sweeping across the struggling figures. A man stood apart from the chaos, his silhouette imposing against the flickering light. He was surrounded by guards, but his aura of command was undeniable. That was him.

With a silent oath, Althea waded into the fray, her dagger a deadly extension of her arm. She fought her way through the ranks of guards, their desperate attacks met with ruthless counterattacks. Each fallen enemy brought her closer to her goal.

Finally, she stood before the commander. He was a formidable figure, his face etched with lines of command and determination. But his eyes held a flicker of fear as he recognized her as the intruder.

Kael's heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He had heard tales of the legendary Althea, the royal highness with unmatched combat prowess, second only to her little sister Lilith. To face her in such a chaotic environment was a challenge he welcomed.

His eyes, a deep crimson, locked onto hers, a silent battle of wills commencing. He raised his hand, a dark energy coalescing around his fingertips. Althea, with a swift movement, drew her dagger, the blade shimmering with an ethereal light.

The tent erupted into a frenzy of combat, the clash of steel against steel, the roar of magic, and the screams of the wounded creating a cacophony of terror. Yet, amidst the chaos, the duel between Kael and Althea stood out, a ballet of death and power.

With a swift movement, Kael launched a bolt of dark energy at Althea. She deflected it with her dagger, the blade absorbing the magic and redirecting it back at him. Kael grinned, the challenge invigorating him. He charged, his body a blur of motion, his claws extended. Althea met his charge with a counterattack, her dagger a deadly blur. Their bodies collided with a force that shook the tent, the air crackling with the tension of their confrontation.

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