Chapter 51

Aftermath

As the water sphere, now tinged with the grizzly hues of red, began to lose its form, Zara and Assia worked with practiced efficiency. Their hands moved in synchrony, weaving through the air, extracting the remnants of the woman who had chosen destruction over surrender. They separated the gruesome remains from the enchanted water with a finesse born of necessity, their faces set in grim lines.

The group, still reeling from the sudden climax of their confrontation, found their attention drawn to Bruni. The dwarf, with his characteristic irreverence, couldn't help but break the heavy silence. "Good riddance!" he barked out a laugh, the sound jarring against the backdrop of their grim task. "These gankers deserve nothing more, I tell ya!"

In the midst of this unsettling calm, Borgen's voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent. "Rey!" His call, laced with a warning, snapped everyone's attention towards him. Time seemed to slow as they turned, only to witness a scene unfolding with startling clarity.

A ganker, ragged and bloodied, had emerged from the shadows, his eyes burning with fear and desperation. In his hands, a dagger gleamed with a sinister light, its point directed towards Adom's back. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Adom, ever vigilant, had sensed the imminent threat. With a fluidity that belied the tension of the moment, he extended his hand, palm facing the assailant. The air between them shimmered, charged with a sudden surge of Essentia. The spell coalesced into reality, wrapping around the ganker like an invisible tide.

The man's advance halted as if he had struck an invisible wall. His feet left the ground, his body suspended mid-air, limbs flailing in a futile attempt to regain control. The dagger slipped from his grasp, clattering harmlessly to the ground.

A collective breath, held tight in the throes of anticipation, was released as the group processed the swift turn of events. Bruni's laughter, tinged with relief and admiration, echoed around them. "Ha! Look at that! Our boy's got some tricks up his sleeve!"

Adom, his focus still on the levitating ganker, replied without turning, his voice calm yet carrying an edge. "We should be cautious. There might be more lurking around."

Borgen, nodding in agreement, stepped forward, his eyes scanning the surrounding woods with a renewed sense of vigilance. "Right," he conceded, his tone serious. "Let's not drop our guard yet. Jace, Enolar, do a sweep of the area. Assia, keep the defenses up."

The group sprang into action, their movements precise and coordinated. Jace and Enolar disappeared into the treeline, their forms melding with the shadows as they embarked on their reconnaissance. Assia, her hands aglow with the soft light of Essentia, began to weave protective wards around their makeshift camp.

Adom, lowering the ganker to the ground with a controlled ease, bound him with a simple yet effective binding spell. The man's eyes, wide with fear and confusion, darted around, taking in the faces of those who had outmaneuvered him so effortlessly.

Bruni, unable to resist the opportunity for a jest, clapped Adom on the shoulder. "You're full of surprises, lad. What's next, flying?"

Adom offered a slight smile, the adrenaline of the moment giving way to a weary acceptance of their ongoing trials. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he replied, his gaze lingering on the bound ganker.

Adom's mind raced through the fundamentals of magical combat and defense. The ease with which the young assailant was subdued underscored a glaring deficiency in his magical education. In this world, where Essentia flows through every fiber of existence, the art of spellcasting is not merely about invoking power but mastering the intricate dance between the sorcerer's will and the omnipresent energy.

An adventurer, even one with minimal training, should possess the foundational skills to resist or counteract basic spells like levitation. This resistance is often the first line of defense in magical combat, rooted deeply in the understanding of one's own Essentia flow and the external forces acting upon it. The young ganker's inability to break free from Adom's spell was a telltale sign of his lack of formal education in the magical arts, revealing him to be more of a raw, unshaped talent rather than a polished warrior.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

However, the young ganker's panicked screams and futile struggles against the invisible bonds of levitation painted a vivid picture of his predicament. His cries, "Let me go! I'll kill you, I swear I'll fucking kill you all!" were laced with the raw, unbridled emotion of youth, his voice cracking under the weight of fear and desperation. It was clear to Adom that this wasn't a seasoned soldier before him but a boy thrust into a world of violence and chaos, ill-prepared for the realities of magical combat.

Adom's keen senses picked up on the nuances of the boy's plight. His ragged breaths, the tremor in his voice, and the wild look in his eyes spoke volumes of his inexperience and the sheer panic that had taken hold.

"This was your choice," Adom stated, his voice devoid of malice yet firm in its conviction. To ambush, to prey on those he deemed vulnerable, without the foresight or the skill to face those more seasoned than himself. The ganker cast himself into this role, not even prepared for the consequences."

Yet, beneath the surface of his dispassionate observation, Adom's mind was alive with questions. The recent surge in ganker attacks, as noted by his companions, wasn't just a random spike in violence but a symptom of a deeper, more organized malaise . Gankers, often dismissed as mere opportunists preying on the weak, had become a significant threat, their actions more coordinated, suggesting the influence of a guiding hand or a darker purpose.

Why, Adom pondered, would individuals like this young man, clearly lacking in fundamental magical training, throw themselves into the life of a ganker? The magical arts, especially in combat, demand more than just raw power; they require discipline, control, and a deep understanding of one's own Essentia. The young ganker's inability to counter even a simple levitation spell was a glaring testament to his lack of formal training, highlighting a vulnerability that no seasoned warrior would possess.

This incongruence raised unsettling questions. Were these gankers merely pawns, pushed into the fray by unseen forces? The guilds' response, issuing open bounties on gankers, suggested a threat level that went beyond mere bands of rogue adventurers .

Before Adom could voice his questions, the echoes of the gunshot reverberated through the clearing like a death knell, the sound stark against the lake's calm. Adom's eyes widened as they caught the gruesome sight. The young ganker's head, or what was left of it, bore the signature of a violent end, a portion of it obliterated into nothingness, blood and brain matter painting the leaves and soil in a macabre tableau.

Zara stood a short distance away, the smoking gun in her hand—an extension of Enolar's arsenal, now the instrument of a swift, brutal judgment. Her stance was relaxed, almost casual, as if the act of taking a life was but a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of their journey.

Adom's gaze locked with Zara's as she returned the weapon to Enolar with a nonchalance that belied the gravity of her action. "Looks like there's no one else. This makes it nine, plus the woman, that makes it a tie," she stated matter-of-factly, her voice devoid of triumph or remorse. It was a mere statement of fact, a tally in their grim accounting of lives taken.

Enolar, accepting the gun with a nod, acknowledged her claim with a simple "Fair enough," his tone even, unburdened by the weight of the act they had just witnessed.

Bruni, ever the competitor, protested vehemently, "Oi! The bet ended when we tallied our kills!" But his objections fell on deaf ears, his comrades too entwined in their own reflections on the day's events to entertain his indignation.

Zara then leaned in closer to Borgen, her voice low but carrying enough to reach Adom's ears, "I told you the kid was more than meets the eye." She whispered, acknowledging Adom's prowess and the layers yet to be uncovered.

Borgen's eyes met Adom's, a blend of regret and acknowledgment in his gaze. "My apologies for this, Rey," he said, "this is the life of an adventurer, though. We'd have preferred you didn't see it."

Adom's response was measured, his voice steady despite the chaos that had unfolded. "No worries, you did what you had to do."

Adom's mind was a fortress, seasoned by countless crises, its walls fortified by experiences that taught him the harsh realities of survival. The chaos of the battlefield, though never directly witnessed, was not alien to him. The scent of blood, the weight of loss, the echoes of desperation – these were familiar notes in the symphony of his life's tumultuous journey.

Standing amidst the aftermath, Adom felt an unwavering certainty in his decision to maintain a cautious distance from his companions. Their swift, merciless judgment of the young ganker was a stark reminder of the fragile line between ally and adversary. Any suggestion to delve into the 'why' behind the ganker surge, to seek a deeper understanding rather than immediate retribution, could easily cast him in a dubious light, potentially turning these temporary allies into foes.

This wasn't his battle to fight, nor was it his burden to bear. His path lay elsewhere, in the depths of the dungeon that awaited him, holding the keys to his true mission. The complexities of the ganker phenomenon, while intriguing, were a distraction from his ultimate goal.