Amid the carnage, Cherrie’s wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto Nobu, who was crawling on the ground, his breaths shallow and ragged. Blood seeped from the wound in his abdomen, leaving a dark trail on the scorched earth.

“Nobu!” Cherrie cried out, breaking into a desperate sprint toward him.

Nobu, hearing her voice, forced his trembling arms to push him up slightly. “Cherrie, no! Stay back!” His voice cracked with pain and exhaustion. “Don’t… come closer…”

But she didn’t stop. Her feet pounded against the dirt as she shouted his name again, her voice trembling with fear and determination.

Fallow’s smirk froze as he caught the sound of her cry. Turning his head toward the girl, he chuckled darkly. “Another lamb to the slaughter?” He adjusted his grip on the blood-stained blade, raising it high. “But I’m not done with you yet, mutt.”

Just as his sword arched downward, a thunderous roar shattered the tense air behind him.

A Pneuma dragon surged toward the battlefield, its jaws stretched wide, an embodiment of focused wrath and purpose. Fallow spun on his heels, his eyes widened as he caught sight of the dragon’s gaping maw barreling toward him. Without hesitation, he leaped back, narrowly avoiding the oncoming force.

But the dragon hadn’t come for him. It dived toward Nobu with precision, swallowing him in one swift, fluid motion. Its ethereal form wrapped protectively around the wounded warrior before arcing upward and retreating, its path leading straight toward its summoner.

“No!” Cherrie cried, her voice cracking with anguish. She skidded to a halt, tears streaming from her eyes and dripping from her rosy cheeks. Her breath hitching as panic gripped her chest, her knees threatening to buckle as she watched the dragon retreat with Nobu.

The Pneuma dragon slowed as it reached Fuma, who lay weak and motionless on the ground, his energy already drained to the brink. The creature gently deposited Nobu beside him before its glowing form shimmered one last time. Turning its head toward Fuma in a silent farewell, the dragon dissolved into a fine dust, scattering into the wind.

Fuma’s body, having given its all, finally surrendered. His breathing slowed, and with one last shudder, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Before Cherrie could catch her breath and run toward Nobu, a rough hand grabbed her arm, yanking her back with brutal force. She cried out, struggling against the iron grip, kicking and clawing. “Let me go!” she screamed, her small fists pounding uselessly against the gang member’s chest. But she was just a child, no match for the man’s strength.

The gang member hoisted her effortlessly, dragging her toward the remaining gang. “Got the lil' one!” he called out, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

Ivo, barely conscious and dangling limply in Boko’s strong grasp, managed to rasp out, “Let… her… go…”

Boko glanced at Ivo, smirking as he tightened his grip on Ivo’s head. “You’re in no position to make demands, runt. Shouldn’t you be worried about yourself?” he mocked.

Ivo’s trembling voice rose again, filled with fury despite his broken state. “You… damn cowards… leave her alone!” His body twitched weakly as he tried to wriggle free, but he was powerless, his strength completely spent.

A gang member shouted from nearby, “Boss, we’ve got one of the brats!”

Boko turned, his smirk widening with malice as he surveyed the beaten villagers and unconscious guild members. “These kids thought they could take us down?” he sneered. “Let’s remind these villagers who really own them!”

Weapons were raised, the gang preparing to descend upon the helpless villagers once again. The air grew heavy with dread as the tide of battle turned completely against the villagers and their protectors.

“Look at your guildmates, boy!” Boko bellowed, lifting Ivo’s limp body higher. His grin widened, as he turned Ivo to display him the unconscious and bloodied guild members. “They’re nothing but worms lying in the dirt! And these villagers? They’re as good as dead now, I am going to crush them under my boots.”

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Ivo’s head lolled forward, blood dripping from his mouth and staining his torn clothes. Boko’s words were like a distant echo in his battered mind. Yet, through the haze of pain, one thought burned bright: Cherrie.

“You…” Ivo rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers twitched the faintest motion of life in his battered body. “You… should’ve let Cherrie go… when I said…”

Boko’s mocking laughter rang out, loud and cruel, but it was cut short by a sickening crack.

With every ounce of strength left in him, Ivo swung his fist upward, connecting with Boko’s eye in a brutal blow. The impact was visceral, a sharp crunch that silenced the battlefield.

Boko roared in agony, stumbling back as blood poured from his ruined eye, staining his face and hands. The pain made him falter, his grip loosening as Ivo slipped from his hands and crumpled to the ground like a discarded doll.

The battlefield froze.

For a moment, there was only the sound of Boko’s ragged, furious breathing. Then, from the crowd of villagers, a voice broke the silence. “We won’t let them take the kids! Not after all they’ve done for us!”

It was as if a spark had ignited a powder keg. The villagers, bruised and exhausted but fueled by resistance, surged forward as one. Their cries of determination shook the air, and they charged with whatever strength they could muster, ready to fight for the young heroes who had risked everything for them.

Boko clutched his ruined eye, blood streaming through his fingers as his face twisted in agony and fury. “That bastard! I’ll kill him! I’ll grind him into dust!” His voice was raw, filled with rage and pain, as he raised his boot high above Ivo’s limp body.

But before he could bring it down, a sharp voice cut through the turmoil like a blade. “Boko, stop!” Fallow emerged from the fray, his gaze cold and commanding. He grasped Boko’s arm firmly, forcing the larger man to pause. “Look around! The villagers are turning against us, and our men are spent. Staying here will not work in our favor.”

Boko snarled, yanking his arm free. “I don’t care! They’re nothing but insects! I’ll crush them all myself!” His fury boiled over as he glanced toward his gang. “Useless idiots couldn’t handle a few brats. They’re better off dead than disgracing me like this!”

Fallow stepped between him and Ivo, his voice dropping to a firm, deliberate tone. “And you think you can take on all these villagers by yourself? Look at yourself, Boko. You’re bleeding out, and if you keep this up, they’ll overrun us.”

Boko’s nostrils flared as his remaining eye darted across the battlefield. Villagers, battered and bruised, had rallied with a desperate ferocity, dragging gang members to the ground wherever they could catch them. For a moment, his chest heaved with rage, but a flicker of realization tempered his madness.

“They’re fools!” he spat. “I’ll kill them all, these villagers and these worthless gang members too!” His voice cracked with frustration, but there was hesitation in his movements.

“We’ll come back,” Fallow pressed, his tone unyielding. “We’ll get our revenge properly, but not like this. For now, retreat. I’ve got the boy.” He bent down, hefting Ivo’s mangled body onto his shoulder. “You can punish him later, beat him senseless if you want, but only if you survive today.”

Boko clenched his fists, as he glanced at Fallow, then back at the villagers who surged forward like a tidal wave. Finally, with a growl of frustration, he turned on his heel. “Tch. Fine,” he muttered. “But this isn’t over.”

He broke into a sprint, covering his bloodied eye as he retreated. The remaining gang members, disoriented and outnumbered, scrambled to follow him, dragging Cherrie with them as she kicked and screamed, her cries fading into the distance.

The villagers, emboldened by their brief success, gave chase, capturing whoever they could. A few gang members fell into their grasp, beaten and bound, but it wasn’t enough. Ivo and Cherrie were gone, taken by the retreating gang.

“Stop!” A resonant voice rang out, halting the villagers in their tracks. Winfreth, stood tall, his expression stern but compassionate. “Revenge will not heal the wounded or save the dying. Come back and help those who need us now! Every second wasted chasing them is a life we might lose here.”

The villagers hesitated, their anger giving way to guilt and exhaustion. Slowly, they turned back, their resolve shifting to the injured and fallen. Men and women knelt beside their wounded neighbors, their hands trembling as they worked to save whoever they could.

The battlefield grew quiet save for the groans of the injured and the whispers of despair. Blood soaked the ground, and the once-proud guild lay in shambles. Ivo and Cherrie were captured. Nobu and Zuri were gravely injured, their breaths shallow as they clung to life. Fuma lay unconscious, his body drained beyond its limits.

Though the villagers were saved from the immediate threat, the battle had ended not in victory but in tragedy. The guild had achieved only half its mission—Boko Salerno and his Scarhead gang had escaped, leaving destruction in their wake.

Yet, amidst the sorrow, a glimmer of determination remained. The guild’s resolve was far from broken. They had saved the people; now, only one task remained: to bring Boko and his gang to justice, no matter the cost.