The Invincible Young Master

As the golden carriage glided across the grassy plains, Alice stirred in her sleep.

A faint flicker crossed her brow, and her eyelids fluttered open. She blinked a few times, shaking off the last traces of sleep.

Pooella noticed the movement and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from the young girl's face.

"You're awake, little miss," Pooella said softly, her voice warm and comforting.

Alice yawned and stretched her arms, taking a moment to look around the carriage. Her eyes quickly found Reynold, who had already noticed that she was awake.

"Are you hungry?" Reynold asked, his tone calm, though there was a hint of care in his voice.

Still rubbing her eyes, Alice nodded sleepily.

Without a word, Reynold waved his hand and retrieved out a small pouch.

Opening it, he revealed a stash of snacks, something he had kept on hand for emergencies.

"Here," he said, offering the snacks to her. "You can have some of it."

Alice's eyes brightened with excitement as she eagerly took the food.

"Thank you, Uncle Reynold!" she exclaimed, already tearing into the snacks with enthusiasm.

As she munched happily, a rare, gentle smile flickered across Reynold's face, softening his usual calm and serious demeanor.

For a moment, there was a warmth in his expression that seemed almost fatherly.

But just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile faded, replaced by his usual composed look.

Suddenly, Reynold stood up, his expression turning serious. Then he glanced toward the door of the carriage.

"Stay inside,"

Pooella and Zhao Shi exchanged uncertain glances, instantly sensing the shift in his tone.

Without hesitation, Reynold slid open the door and climbed up to the top of the carriage with ease.

Once on top, his sharp gaze swept across the horizon.

Even though they were speeding across the plains, he had sensed something off—something approaching from multiple directions.

The plains stretched out vast and empty, with nothing but open space as far as the eye could see.

Yet Reynold's instincts were rarely wrong.

Soon enough, distant dots on the horizon began to take shape.

At first, they were barely visible, but with each passing second, they grew larger, moving fast and closing in on the carriage.

They weren't just following behind—they were coming from several angles, surrounding them.

Reynold's eyes narrowed, as he glanced over his shoulder at the rapidly approaching figures, calculating their speed.

The golden carriage, though faster than anything pulled by beasts, was still being caught up at an alarming rate.

Whoever was after them wasn't just chasing—they had prepared for this moment, and they were closing in fast across the open plains. They knew what they were doing.

"I should've prepared something faster," Reynold murmured to himself, shaking his head, a note of irritation in his otherwise calm voice.

He looked back again, watching their pursuers. "Well, it's my first time being chased like this. I didn't expect this kind of ambush."

His gaze swept over the open land one more time, taking in the scale of the threat. It was clear that these people had planned their attack carefully.

Reynold let out a low curse under his breath, feeling a rare moment of frustration.

Being caught off guard was not something he was used to, and yet here they were, forced into a situation he hadn't fully prepared for.

As the barbarians closed in from all sides, the tension thickened in the air.

Reynold's eyes glinted with a cold light as he considered his options.

Should I kill them all? He touched the bracelet on his left arm, the internal conflict clear in his eyes.

He knew that slaughtering so many barbarian elites would surely provoke a fierce retaliation—one that could unite the divided tribes of Grimhold against the human empire.

He let out a heavy sigh, caught between frustration and the weight of responsibility.

"It's all because of him," Reynold muttered under his breath, his thoughts briefly drifting to the source of this relentless chase, Spark.

But there was no time to dwell on it—the barbarians had arrived.

In a flash of radiant light, their leaders appeared, hovering above the plains in tight formation.

Encased in shimmering energy, they circled the golden carriage from three sides.

Their eyes were hard with focus, and their intent was unmistakable—they had come to capture Reynold and his group.

Reynold exhaled slowly and waved, causing the floating carriage to gradually slow to a halt above the grassy plains.

He gazed out toward the approaching barbarians, his mind rapidly assessing the situation.

The air around the plain began to ripple with the force of the magic building up.

There was no chance of escaping—not with this many enemies closing in and not with the speed they had. They were cornered.

Without warning, the barbarians began chanting in unison.

Their deep, guttural voices filled the air with an eerie melody, vibrating with raw power.

The energy around them shifted, becoming visible as it swirled and gathered for an attack.

"They're not holding back," Reynold muttered, watching as the storm of energy intensified.

Just as the barbarian's spell craft reached its peak, the air crackling with magic, Alice, who had been quietly munching on the snacks Reynold had given her, suddenly perked up.

Her small face lit up with pure joy, her eyes sparkling with a familiar excitement.

"It's Grandma and Grandpa!" she exclaimed, leaving aside her snack. She scrambled to the window, her tiny hands pulling back the curtain to reveal the bright light streaming through.

Her eyes were locked upward, her grin wide with excitement.

"Look!" she pointed eagerly toward the sky.

All attention shifted to the sky, even the barbarians paused their chanting and glanced upward, their fierce focus broken by something entirely unexpected.

High on the sky, a massive silver cube had appeared, shimmering with an ethereal glow.

The cube hung suspended in the air, colossal and imposing, casting a radiant dome over Reynold and his group.

The barbarians unleashed their spells—fiery bolts, slicing winds, and shimmering arcs of magic—all aimed directly at the carriage.

But the moment their attacks hit the shimmering dome around projected by the cube, they vanished, swallowed by the glowing force field as if they had never existed.

Reynold, still standing atop the carriage, stared up at the silver cube in silence.

"Father…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

…

At that moment, in the Dwight state, on the fourth floor of the Clear Sky Tower, a crowd had gathered, staring in shock at the impossible scene before them.

All eyes were glued to the vast, empty plot of land where the grand Duke's mansion had once stood.

The estate mansion, known for its sheer size and majesty, was now gone—replaced by a strange, unsettling emptiness.

Not even rubble or debris remained, just a blank, empty land where one of the pillars of the empire had existed only moments before.

"What happened to the Duke's mansion?" a man in the crowd asked, his voice filled with confusion.

"Did it vanish? Just like that?" another onlooker whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.

"That was the Duke's seat of power. How could something like this happen without a trace?" an elderly man muttered, shaking her head as if trying to comprehend. "There wasn't even a sound."

"This doesn't add up," a younger man said, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "The Duke's mansion is one of the most secure places in the entire empire. It can't just disappear into thin air."

A new voice, filled with tension, cut through the murmurs. "Was this an attack? But who would dare to strike against the Duke?"

As the crowd continued to whisper and speculate, the air grew thick with tension.

The disappearance of the Duke's mansion was unfathomable—had there been an attack, or was this some kind of powerful magic at play?

With each passing moment, the uncertainty grew, and with it, the crowd's unease.

Meanwhile, far above the growing commotion, on the top floor of the tower, the atmosphere was much calmer.

An attendant approached an elderly man seated in a high-backed chair, his expression serious yet composed.

"The Duke's estate…" the attendant began, his voice quiet but steady. "It's gone."

The elderly man, his wrinkled hands resting peacefully on his lap, remained still, his eyes closed as if deep in thought.

He nodded slowly, as though he had been expecting this news.

"I see," he said, his voice calm. "It's rare for him to activate that artifact… something significant must have happened."

The attendant's brow furrowed slightly, concern evident in his eyes.

"Should we be worried?" he asked, his voice dropping. "The disappearance of a power like the Duke's could cause unrest very quickly."

The old man finally opened his eyes, revealing the depth of wisdom gained through centuries of experience.

He stared out into the distance, untroubled.

"No need for concern. The Duke has few enemies left—at least, none who still live. And those who are alive wouldn't act so recklessly."

The attendant bowed slightly in acknowledgment.

"I understand," he said, preparing to leave.

But before he could turn away, the old man spoke again, his voice calm yet carrying a note of caution.

"However…" he paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "The Duke's heir… the holy scion has made many enemies. This event could stir up chaos. Who knows what it might set in motion?"

The attendant's eyes flickered with understanding. "I understand. I'll keep a close watch on the situation."

After the attendant left, the old man remained seated, his gaze slowly shifting toward the large window overlooking the city.

The setting sun cast long shadows across the streets below, but the uneasy feeling in his chest lingered, like a distant storm creeping closer.

His fingers tapped softly on the arm of his chair as he muttered to himself.

"What are they thinking? Making a move against him..." His voice trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes, as though trying to see through the web of hidden plots and schemes. "Haven't they learned anything from the past? Fools..."

The old man leaned back in his chair, the weight of old memories settling heavily on his shoulders.

He sighed deeply, frustration and uncertainty clouding his expression.

"They better not drag me into this mess," he muttered, shaking his head slowly.