Rise of the Peerless God of War

Chapter 26

The Plum Flower assassins moved like nothing Draven had ever seen.

Each motion was perfectly fluid, their limbs trailing afterimages like living petals. They didn't just attack—they flowed, transforming from solid fighters into swirling patterns of deadly precision.

Even the apex predator in Sakura Valley wasn't this coordinated.

Beside him, Isabella's blade flashed as she attempted to defend herself. She was good—better than most academy students—but against these opponents, her movements looked clumsy and predictable.

"Stay behind me," Draven called out, parrying a strike that would have taken her head off.

"I don't hide behind anyone," she shot back, narrowly avoiding another attack.

Stubborn. Great. Just what I need right now.

But her stubbornness couldn't match the assassins' skill. One of them slipped past her guard, his palm strike catching her squarely in the chest. Isabella flew backward, slamming into a wall with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs.

Something protective ignited in Draven's chest—a feeling he wasn't accustomed to. He'd spent so long fighting for his own survival, his own recognition, that protecting others had never entered the equation.

But that's what heroes do, isn't it? They protect people who can't protect themselves.

The Echo Heart pendant burned against his skin as if in agreement.

"Enough," Draven said, his voice cutting through the chaos of battle.

The Flower Blade technique erupted around him, not just from his hands now but enveloping his entire body in burning sakura petals. The assassins paused, their synchronized attack faltering as they recognized the technique.

"Impossible," one of them whispered. "The form is perfect."

Perfect because I inherited it from War God Tianlong himself.

Draven didn't waste the moment of hesitation. He moved forward with impossible speed, the Flower Blade technique guiding his every movement. His sword became an extension of the burning petals, cutting through the assassins' defenses with surgical precision.

He wasn't fighting to kill—just to incapacitate. One by one, the assassins dropped, their own technique used against them with devastating effect.

"Who are you?" the last standing assassin asked, blood streaming from a cut above his eye.

"Someone who earned this power," Draven replied. "Now leave."

The assassin's eyes narrowed. "The Patriarch will never stop hunting you. The Flower Blade belongs to the Plum Flower Clan alone."

So that's who they are. The Hidden Plum Flower Clan.

Draven had heard whispers of them—an ancient family of warriors who guarded their techniques as jealously as dragons guarded gold. But he'd thought they were just legends, stories told to frighten academy students.

Apparently not.

The assassin backed away, helping his injured comrades to their feet. "This isn't over," he warned before they disappeared into the gathering shadows, moving like petals caught in a sudden breeze.

Draven turned to find Isabella staring at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and fascination. She'd managed to get back to her feet, though she was leaning against the wall for support.

"What was that?" she demanded, gesturing to the burning petals still floating around his hands.

How much do I tell her? How much can I trust her?

"It's complicated," Draven said, letting the technique fade.

Isabella snorted. "I just got thrown into a wall by assassins from the Plum Flower Clan because I was standing next to you. I think I deserve more than 'it's complicated.'"

She had a point.

"It's called the Flower Blade technique," Draven admitted. "And apparently the Plum Flower Clan thinks I stole it from them."

"Did you?"

"No." The word came out sharper than he intended. "I inherited it. There's a difference."

Isabella studied him for a moment, then nodded as if coming to a decision. "They'll be back, you know. The Plum Flower Clan never stops hunting those they consider thieves."

Great. Another group of deadly enemies. Just what I needed.

"How do you know so much about them?" Draven asked.

A hint of sadness crossed Isabella's face. "My family trades with everyone, including clans most people think are just legends. We learn things."

She pushed herself away from the wall, wincing slightly. "We should go. They're regrouping, not retreating. There will be more of them soon."

We? When did this become we?

"You should go home," Draven said. "This isn't your fight."

Isabella's eyebrows shot up. "I just made it my fight when I stood with you against the Plum Flower Clan. Do you have any idea what that means? They never forget a face. I'm involved now whether you like it or not."

Draven wanted to argue, but the memories from the Echo Heart were already confirming her words. The Plum Flower Clan were notorious for their absolute dedication to vengeance. Anyone who opposed them became a target.

She's right. I've dragged her into this mess.

"Fine," he conceded. "But we need to move fast. Where can we go that's safe?"

Isabella's smile was grim. "In this city? Nowhere. But I know all the places that are almost safe."

She started walking, her stride confident despite the pain she was clearly feeling from the earlier impact. Draven fell into step beside her, his senses hyper-alert for any sign of pursuit.

They hadn't gone far when he spotted the first petals drifting unnaturally against the wind.

Already? They're faster than I expected.

"We've got company," he murmured to Isabella. "They're tracking us."

She didn't look back. "Then we run."

Without warning, she veered into a narrow alley, her pace quickening to a sprint. Draven followed, the Echo Heart pulsing against his chest as if warning of danger.

The alley opened onto a bustling market street, crowded with evening shoppers and merchants closing up their stalls. Perfect cover for normal people. Useless against the Plum Flower Clan.

"Up," Isabella said, pointing to a low-hanging awning. "They'll expect us to stay in the crowd."

Smart thinking.

Using Sir Thomas Brightblade's techniques, Draven leapt onto the awning and then to the roof above. He reached down to help Isabella, but she was already scaling the wall with practiced ease, finding handholds where there seemed to be none.

She's done this before. Many times.

"Merchant's daughter, huh?" Draven said as she pulled herself onto the roof beside him.

Isabella's smile was quick and fierce. "Merchant's daughter who doesn't like being told where she can and cannot go."

Below, petals began swirling through the market crowd. The Plum Flower assassins were searching for them, moving like shadows through the unsuspecting shoppers.

"This way," Isabella said, already running across the rooftops. "If we can reach the Guild Quarter, we might have a chance."

Draven matched her pace, impressed by her knowledge of the city's rooftop pathways. They leapt from building to building, the gap between roofs sometimes wide enough to make his heart race.

But Isabella never hesitated, never showed fear. She moved with the confidence of someone who had made these jumps hundreds of times before.

She's not just a merchant's daughter. There's more to her story.

They had almost reached the Guild Quarter when disaster struck. A tile gave way beneath Isabella's foot, sending her sliding toward the edge of a three-story building. Draven lunged, catching her wrist just as she went over the side.

For a moment, they froze in that position—Draven lying flat on the roof, gripping Isabella's arm while she dangled above the street below.

Their eyes met, and something passed between them. Understanding. Trust. Maybe something more.

Not the time, Draven. Really not the time.

With a grunt of effort, he pulled her back onto the roof. They lay there for a moment, breathing hard, faces inches apart.

"Thanks," Isabella said quietly.

"We're even now," Draven replied. "You tried to save me, I saved you."

A smile tugged at her lips. "Is that how you keep score?"

Before he could answer, the roof exploded in a shower of petals. The Plum Flower assassins had found them.

Draven and Isabella scrambled to their feet, but they were surrounded—at least a dozen assassins forming a perfect circle around them.

"Impressive chase," said one who appeared to be the leader. "But now you come with us. The Patriarch wishes to speak with you both."

Both? They want her too now?

"If we refuse?" Draven asked, though he already knew the answer.

The leader's smile was cold. "Then we take you unconscious. The choice is yours."

Draven felt the Flower Blade technique stirring in his blood, responding to the threat. But even with his newfound power, he couldn't fight this many elite assassins and protect Isabella at the same time.

Think, Draven. There has to be a way out.

Isabella moved closer to him, her shoulder touching his. "Together?" she whispered.

He glanced at her, surprised by the determination in her eyes. "Together," he agreed.

The Flower Blade erupted around him just as Isabella drew her sword. They stood back-to-back, facing the circle of assassins who were already closing in.

"Last chance," the leader called. "Come willingly or suffer the consequences."

Draven's answer was a flurry of burning petals that forced the nearest assassins to fall back. Isabella moved with him, her blade keeping pace with his technique as if they'd trained together for years.

But it wasn't enough. For every assassin they pushed back, two more took their place. The circle tightened, and Draven realized they were being herded, not attacked—driven toward a specific point on the roof.

Too late, he saw the trap. A magical circle had been etched into the tiles, invisible until activated. The moment they stepped into it, energy flared, wrapping around them like burning chains.

Binding magic. Powerful binding magic.

Draven struggled against the restraints, but it was useless. The magic was specifically designed to counter the Flower Blade technique, dampening his power like water on flames.

"The Patriarch will be pleased," the leader said, approaching as Draven and Isabella stood immobilized within the circle. "He has many questions for both of you."

Questions that probably involve pain and eventual death.

The last thing Draven saw before a blow to the head sent him spiraling into darkness was Isabella's face, her eyes meeting his with a strange mixture of fear and resignation.

As if she'd known all along this was where they would end up.

As if this had always been the plan.