Golden pneuma swirled around Fuma as he trembled, pouring every ounce of strength into his technique. Sweat poured down his face, his breath ragged, yet his determination didn’t waver. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, the battlefield seemed to pause. Then, with a sharp exhale, he thrust his hands forward, and multiple serpentine dragons erupted into existence.

Smaller than the one he had summoned earlier, these serpentine creatures shimmered with an ethereal glow, their bellies rounder, their movements purposeful. The bellies of these dragons swayed as they coiled in midair before streaking toward the stakes like arrows of salvation.

The villagers at the edges of the battlefield gasped, their fear mingling with awe as the dragons streaked toward the stakes. The dragons moved with precision, weaving through the chaos like threads of light. When they reached the stakes, their bodies writhed and twisted, their jaws snapped open, razor-sharp teeth gleaming as they chewed through the ropes binding the captives.

One by one, the prisoners fell free, only to be swallowed gently into the dragons’ glowing bellies—safe, weightless, and protected. It was a bizarre and mesmerizing sight—the glowing creatures cradling the captives within their golden light. The dragons spiralled back to the ground, landing softly near the villagers. Their mouths opened, and the freed prisoners tumbled onto the ground, gasping for air, their bodies trembling but alive.

A man clutched his chest, his voice a weak whisper. “By the gods… he’s saving them.”

Another villager, her hands gripping a stick for support, stared in disbelief. “He’s just a boy. How is he doing this?”

The dragons didn’t pause. As soon as they released their cargo, they darted back to the stakes, repeating the process with tireless determination. But Fuma’s body was beginning to falter. His vision blurred, his face was pale, his breath labored, and his shoulders trembled under the strain. His legs buckled, and he planted his feet firmly to steady himself, forcing himself to continue, his willpower the only thing keeping him upright.

“Look at him,” a villager murmured. “He’s exhausted, but he’s not stopping.”

Another shook his head. “How much longer can he keep this up? There are still so many stakes…”

Indeed, the stakes stretched endlessly into the distance, each one bearing the weight of suffering. Fuma’s dragons worked relentlessly, but the battle with Fallow had already drained much of his Pneuma. As his Pneuma reserves dwindled, the golden glow of the dragons flickered faintly, like a lantern struggling against the wind.

Fuma grit his teeth, his fingers quivering as he pushed more energy into the dragons. “Just… a little longer…” he whispered to himself. But deep down, he knew he was running on fumes, like a carriage on its last drop of fuel. If his Pneuma ran out completely, the dragons would disappear, leaving the captives helpless.

Nearby, a child tugged at their father’s sleeve. “Papa, he’s shining… like a hero.”

The father nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yes… he is.”

From the ranks of the gang, a furious shout rose above the murmurs. “Stop him! Don’t let him save them!”

Several gang members broke away, weapons raised, charging toward Fuma with murderous intent. Fuma couldn’t even glance at them. His concentration was absolute; the lives of those still bound to the stakes depended on it. The dragons needed his full focus, and any distraction could send the captives plummeting to the ground.

The villagers cried out in alarm, but before the gang could reach Fuma, a metallic ring zipped through the air and struck one of them square in the chest, sending him sprawling. Another ring followed, hitting its target with precision. Zuri darted in, her movements sharp and fluid, even as blood streamed down her injured arm. Her dark eyes burned with determination, her rings flashing as she swung them with practiced ferocity.

“You’re not laying a finger on him!” she growled, her voice firm despite her exhaustion.

She leaped into the fray, her rings danced around her, deflecting blades and smashing into armor. One gang member swung a mace at her, but she ducked, spinning to deliver a crushing blow with a ring to his knee. He crumpled to the ground with a howl.

“Fuma, keep going!” she yelled over her shoulder, her eyes blazing with determination.

Fuma didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His focus was entirely on the dragons, their golden forms now flickering like a flame nearing its end.

More gang members charged toward him, and Zuri tightened her grip on the rings, ignoring the searing pain in her arm as she fought to keep them at bay. She swung her rings in wide arcs, creating a barrier between Fuma and his attackers. But the strain was beginning to show. Her movements slowed, her breathing ragged, and a gang member managed to graze her side with a blade. She stumbled but recovered, her eyes flashing with fury.

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“I said stay back!” she screamed, slamming a ring into his chest and sending him flying.

The villagers watched in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on the young girl who fought with the ferocity of a seasoned warrior and the boy whose golden dragons carried their people to safety. They didn’t cheer. They didn’t move. They simply watched, their breath caught in their throats as hope and fear warred within them.

Blood loss and exhaustion were taking their toll.

“He’s… not done yet,” Zuri muttered, gripping her rings tightly as she swung again, her strength waning.

A gang member raised his weapon high, ready to strike her down. Zuri staggered back, her rings slipping from her hands as she fell to her knees. Blood dripped from her wounds, staining the dirt beneath her. She braced herself for the final blow, but it never came.

A sharp crack echoed around her as a stone struck the attacker’s head, sending him reeling.

“Enough!”

Clergyman Winfreth stood tall, lifting his bloodied staff in one hand while signaling with the other that he had thrown the stone. His voice boomed across the battlefield. These children? They don’t know us. They owe us nothing. yet they bleed, they struggle, they endure for our sake, fighting for our lives, risking everything for people they’ve never met!” His voice cracked, but he pressed on, his words resonating with desperation and conviction. “And what are we doing? We cower. We wait. For what?”

The villagers shifted uneasily, guilt and shame washing over them.

His gaze swept across the ground, his voice rising with fervor. “Are we waiting for gods? For miracles? Hoping someone else will save us? We cannot stand idle while our saviours fall before us! Gods help those who help themselves! So let us rise—rise with whatever we have, with whatever strength we can muster! Let us drive these vile cowards from our village! Pick up your courage—pick up anything you can! Fight for your families, for your freedom!”

The villagers hesitated for only a moment before his words lit a fire in their hearts. Shouts of determination erupted from the crowd as men and women grabbed rocks, sticks, farming tools—anything they could wield—and charged forward.

A villager shouted, “Grab whatever you can! We fight for our people!”

“Drive them out!” a woman cried, hurling a dagger at a retreating gang member.

“You won’t take our village!” a man bellowed, swinging a shovel with trembling hands.

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done!” another shouted, his pitchfork raised high.

The gang faltered under the onslaught, some retreating in panic as rocks and weapons rained down on them. Those who tried to stand their ground were overwhelmed by sheer numbers, villagers swarming them with sticks and stones.

Zuri collapsed to the ground, her vision fading. She lifted her head slightly, seeing the villagers rushing forward, their fear replaced by fiery resolve. A faint smile crossed her lips as she whispered, “About time,” before succumbing to unconsciousness.

Fuma, witnessing the villagers’ determination, felt a surge of strength course through his weary body. His dragons glowed brighter; their movements more precise as they relentlessly freed the remaining captives.

“We’re almost there! We’re going to save them all,” Fuma grunted, his voice strained but fueled by hope.

The villagers fought with newfound courage, their voices rising in unison as they pushed back the gang members. Groups of men and women climbed the stakes, their trembling hands untying ropes with urgency. “I’ve got her!” a woman cried, cradling a child as she carefully descended. Another team worked together to lower an elderly man, their hands steady despite the chaos around them.

“Move, move! Get them to safety!” one villager shouted as they carried the freed captives to the backlines where others waited to tend to them. Bloodied and battered, the villagers moved as one, no longer bound by fear but united by purpose.

The last captives were freed as the golden dragons dissolved into shimmering particles. Fuma crumpled to his knees, gasping for air, his vision darkening. The strain had drained every ounce of his strength. The ground felt cold against his knees, and he collapsed forward, his face pale.

The battlefield fell eerily silent, broken only by the cries of gratitude from the freed captives and the relieved sobs of the villagers. They began gathering around Fuma, their faces etched with awe and concern. A woman knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she touched his shoulder. “You saved us. Thank you,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

But the relief was short-lived.

A scream pierced the air, sharp and gut-wrenching, silencing the crowd. Fuma’s eyes shot open, his vision blurring as he forced himself to lift his head. The villagers froze, their newfound hope extinguished in an instant.

All eyes turned toward the center of the battlefield, where the nightmarish sight unfolded. Fallow stood, his blade dripping with blood as it protruded from Nobu’s abdomen. Nobu’s face twisted in agony, blood pooling at his feet.

“No…” someone whispered, the word barely audible over the suffocating silence.

Few feet away from Fallow, Boko held Ivo aloft by his skull, his body hanging limp. Blood streamed from Ivo’s battered and broken frame, staining the ground beneath him. Boko’s monstrous grin widened as he tightened his grip, lifting Ivo higher.

Time seemed to halt. The villagers stood paralyzed, their breaths caught in their throats. The flicker of hope they had clung to moments ago was snuffed out, replaced by an oppressive weight of despair.

Fuma’s heart pounded as he pushed himself onto his elbows, his body trembling. His mind raced, his vision fixed on the horrifying scene before him.

This can’t be happening…

The battlefield, once alive with the sounds of struggle and salvation, now felt like a graveyard. Each second dragged like an eternity as Fallow’s blade twisted cruelly, and Boko’s laughter echoed, chilling and victorious.