The Lost Heir: Trials of an Empire Reclaimed

Chapter 035

Silas settled deeper into the backseat of the sleek black sedan, the night air cool against his skin as the city’s neon lights flickered past.

His chauffeur, Isaac, guided them along the quiet boulevard with practiced ease.

Silas closed his eyes for a moment, letting the hum of the engine soothe him after a long day at the office.

Then, around a sharp bend, two rugged jeeps screeched to a halt across the road.

Isaac slammed on the brakes, tires chirping in protest, and the car nearly lurched forward before coming to an abrupt stop inches from the jeep’s grille.

Before Silas could react, seven figures in dark clothing and featureless masks poured out of the jeeps, brandishing wooden planks and metal rods.

The leader—a tall man with a scar running down one cheek visible beneath his mask—stepped forward. He raised a plank overhead and pointed directly at Silas.

“You fraud! Imposter!” the leader hissed. “We’ve got a package for you!”

In an instant, the masked men charged. Isaac threw open his door and dropped to the pavement, back against the car’s side.

Silas flung his seatbelt off and dove out the other door, landing in a crouch beside Isaac.

They pressed their backs together, a human shield in the flashing lights of the stalled sedan.

The first attacker swung a plank in a wide arc. Isaac twisted, raising his arm to block the blow; the wood cracked against Isaac’s forearm, sending a shock up his arm.

Silas leapt forward, his fist connecting with the attacker’s hip—the man grunted, stumbling back.

Another masked assailant rushed Silas with a metal rod, aiming a horizontal strike at Silas’s ribs. Silas pivoted sharply, catching the rod with both hands and yanking it downward, forcing the man off balance.

Silas followed with a knee to the man’s abdomen; the attacker doubled over, dropping the rod, and Silas cuffed him across the jaw.

Isaac, catching his breath, kicked one attacker square in the kneecap as the man lunged with a plank.

The impact made the plank fly from the man’s grasp, and Isaac grabbed the handle, swinging it forward in a horizontal arc that sent the attacker sprawling into the road.

But they were outnumbered. A third masked figure swung a rod at Isaac’s head. He ducked under the blow but the blow still clipped his shoulder, forcing him to stagger.

Silas lunged in, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting, disarming him. He threw the rod aside, then delivered a swift elbow to the man’s temple, dropping him to his knees.

Suddenly, a fourth attacker circled behind Silas, brandishing a length of chain. Silas sensed the movement, spun to block, but the chain lashed his arm, leaving a stinging welt.

He snapped back, clinched his fist, and punched the man’s mask with such force the mask cracked. The attacker reeled, dazed.

The leader barked orders, galvanizing his men. Two more emerged from the jeeps and charged simultaneously—one toward Isaac, the other at Silas.

Isaac’s eyes narrowed; he pivoted and hurled a vicious punch to the newcomer’s jaw. The man crumpled, but the other masked figure beat Silas to the punch, hammering him across the cheek with a plank.

Pain exploded; Silas’s head snapped back, and stars bloomed before his eyes.

Gritting his teeth, Silas lunged and caught the plank mid‐swing. He snatched it away, bringing it down on the man’s arm.

The attacker screamed, dropping the plank. Silas threw the plank at a nearby assailant and rushed the momentary chaos, two swift jabs to the chest sending that man sprawling backward.

But there were too many. As Silas turned, a shadow fell over him. A masked man crouched behind, his arm cocked to strike. “Sorry,” the man muttered. The blow landed on Silas’s neck with a sickening crack.

Silas’s knees buckled as warmth and darkness swirled at the edges of his vision. He tried to stay standing, but the world tipped, and he crumpled to his knees.

Isaac, seeing his master fall, roared and charged forward—only to be met by a flurry of blows from three masked assailants.

One slammed a plank across Isaac’s ribs; another swung a metal rod into his shoulder; a third hooked him under the chin, snapping his jaw with an uppercut.

Isaac staggered, vision blurring, as the attackers closed in, beating him mercilessly.

Silas’s last sight was Isaac’s blurred figure retreating as he staggered back. Then everything went black.

***

When Silas came to, the world swayed. He was crammed into the back of one of the jeeps, hands bound behind him, legs aching from the fall.

The jeep’s engine growled as it barreled down an unlit back road. His head throbbed, mouth dry.

Beside him, one of the masked men hissed, “Keep quiet, or next time it’ll be worse.”

Silas fought to steady his breaths, aching to rise, only to slump back against the cold metal panel.

The jeep lurched over gravel, and the masked driver muttered under his breath. “Boss has plans for you.”

Silas’s vision swam as he tried to focus on the masked faces around him—their leader, hands on the steering wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror with a sneer.

“You thought you could take over Lancaster,” the leader spat. “But you’re nothing but an imposter.”

Silas pressed his forehead against the jeep’s side, gathering strength through pain. *I am Silas Lancaster,* he thought, stubborn determination igniting behind his eyelids. *They will learn that soon enough.*

The jeep roared on into the night, carrying Silas away from the glow of the city—and into the unknown.