Emma left the medical tent in a dream-like state. She could hazily hear statements like, [Lady Cole] and [Where are you going?] but she couldn’t process them. It was like life itself had reached a queue, and nothing could get in. All she could think about was how real life had gotten. It was okay before because it [wasn’t her]. Everyone had fought, and she had healed countless more—but it wasn’t her. It didn’t affect [her life]. Mary was the closest to having death touch her life, and that… was different. Yet in the last week, Wiles had died, Jessica had died, and her life was collapsing. Now, her people were getting hurt in front of her, and her brain couldn’t handle it. There was just… this emotion that was locked away that she had never understood. It was… anger. She had felt it briefly with Jason, but this was different. It was chronic—built up. Anger. Long-term frustration turned red hot. That’s what it was. Emma had never felt it—her family had treated it like a phobia. [If you experience it—run. Run as fast as you can. Shut down. Sacrifice anything to keep it buried inside.] But right now… she understood Sara. There was nothing that could fill that fury.

“Emma!”

Someone yelled at her, but she didn’t listen.

“Emma!” the person repeated and then grabbed her shoulder, but Emma simply grabbed their hand and peeled it off like it was a banana stuck to her shoe, and then she continued walking to the embattlements. “Emma!” the person called again. “Don’t put yourself out there! People need you!”

Emma released a massive barrier that pushed everyone near her back. It would’ve stopped a tank. Then she contracted it until it was just around her—like a full body umbrella—so that she could walk up the stairs. That demonstration alone proved the profound level of magic control she had. That was a gift that she was aware of—and it came down to somewhere between perfect pitch hearing for musicians and synesthesia, allowing her to physically feel mana and feel correct alignments in it. That power put her up with Sara in magical potential, even though Sara’s core was incomparable to her own. Yeah, she had immense magical skill—yet she hadn’t used it for anything other than basic healing, letting everyone else dirty their hands. And while she would never be a soldier… she was going to ensure that whoever shot Edico would pay.

Once she got onto the embattlements, the rankers put down their last flurry of spells, falling silent. Then the ground soldiers did, too, as they looked at her. Emma swept her gaze over all of them before striding past soldiers to an amplification circle, which she activated with prejudice.

“Soldiers of the Quell and Markon Kingdoms. Fifteen minutes ago, someone shot General Edico Sullsburg. You’re going to release the person who did it to me—or you will face my wrath.”

2

Scala listened to the mystery voice with an icy shiver crawling down her spine. She turned and found someone surrounded by a barrier who looked like a torch flame under her divination spell. Scala turned to the Keetas, and both of them looked toward the speaker with apprehension. Then they turned to Scala.

“Look at me like that again, and I’ll kill ya both,” Scala warned. “I’m still running hot—and you ain’t.” [Running hot] was slang for [still having mana]. She had only used up a third for that shot—by contrast, they had released a flurry of high-level spells.

“Act tough—die,” Eline scoffed. “Now stop. We watch her.”

Scala backed away, taking her place at the side of the Keetas on the far end to ensure they couldn’t attack her from the back.

“No one?” the woman said over the amplification circle. “I suppose I should demonstrate consequences.”

Suddenly, the air warped, and all the shattered ice from the Keetas’ attack melted into a sphere. Powerful gusts of wind ripped grain stalks in the fields, sending them whipping around in a furry. Montas screeched and bucked, wagons topped over, and soldiers in armor got flung forward by the galeforce. Scala covered her eyes, getting pushed back before Grent grabbed her arm and covered them in a barrier, stabilizing the wind. But that respite only showed Scala the scale of her terror. The farmland was getting ripped into a tornado, and the clouds themselves started getting sucked into a water sphere twice the size of the one that the Keetas created.

“Allow me to introduce myself! My name is Lady Emma Cole, [one] of the eighteen heroes summoned to defeat Agronus!” The water sphere continued to grow, and the soldiers yelled, [Spread out!] as everyone fanned out as fast as their feet could take them, trying to escape the blast area—which seemed impossible to do.

“I suggest you shoot,” Grent said, walking away.

“What?” Scala asked, seeing his barrier disappear. “Wait!”

“I’m not a violent person,” Emma boomed in the distance. “I heal people—I don’t kill them. But that’s about to change if you don’t release the person who did this in the next thirty seconds.”

Scala lifted her bow and charged up a bolt of aura without holding back. If Lady Cole had the power to create a water sphere greater than the Keetas, she had the power to hurdle it at Scala. And with an attack of that size, there was no dodging if it was shot at one person. So Scala threw together one attack with all of her might, leaving only enough for gravity and acceleration magic, and aimed at Lady Cole, who shone like a beacon with that barrier over her. That bolt would puncture the six-layer ward—as weak as it was—and it could destroy any normal barrier. The attack could hit—it was just a matter of making sure it landed.

3

Emma turned to the woman aiming raw mana at her in the distance. She could feel the pressure from half a mile away. “So it’s you,” she said.

Suddenly, a massive bolt of aura shot at her, missing her by twenty feet or more. The arrow slammed into the ward with a sickening crack, puncturing it. Yet, instead of continuing on its trajectory (which was 20 feet off), it sharply [curved] and b-lined for Emma. Emma didn’t even look at the arrow. It slammed into her barrier—and rebounded. Her ring didn’t even activate. Maybe if Emma had taken the blast head-on, it might’ve taken both barriers to stop the bolt. Yet it had already hit the ward—killing its momentum. It was harmless.

“Okay, you two,” Emma said, pointing at who she’d later come to know as Eline and Grent Keeta. Compared to everyone else, they popped under her divination spells like jack-o’-lanterns. “You have five minutes to kill that woman. Do it, and I won’t kill your people. Deny me, and I’ll kill you both—then go after her.”

Emma’s heart was pounding in her chest. In truth, she hadn’t killed anyone beyond self-defense. And she knew if she threw that massive water sphere at the Keetas, dozens of people were going to die. But still… Edico…. Her heart wrenched, and her anger returned, making her nod her head in self-encouragement. That woman was dying for attacking Edico and then trying to kill her.

That’s all there was to it.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

4

Scala turned to Grent and Eline. “You’re not thinking of it, are you?”

Grent ignored her and spoke to his sister. “She’s soft.” Eline nodded, communicating with her eyes.

“I’m [not] soft,” Scala hissed.

“Not you.” Grent looked at Lady Cole. “Her.”

“Then how are we going to do this?” Scala asked.

“You misunderstand,” Grent said. “What my sister expresses is that if we kill you, that woman will keep her word. She’s soft. She won’t kill.”

Scala’s body buzzed as if bugs were crawling up her arms. “Wait… Hold up….” Scala backed away slowly, feeling knots tying in her chest. She used up too much power. Not enough to deprive her of her speed magic—but too much to escape the Keetas. “You can’t be serious.”

“Look objectively,” Grent said. “It’s either you or… dozens? … hundreds?”

“Unbelievable,” Scala said, sneaking a glance toward the far west. “You asked me to shoot. Now you’re betraying me?”

“My sister? She heals wounds.” He shrugged. “You? You do your job. People die doing this job.”

“You motherfucker!” Scala yelled, throwing a dagger at him while running away. She sprinted away at high speed, but the ground underneath her abruptly cracked, making her fall. Then a barrier shot around her, and the area inside the dome started getting cold—and heavy. Unnaturally cold—far below ice. With ice magic, getting too cold made the ice brittle. But this? This was just [lethal] cold. It made her bones ache and made thick plumes of steam bellow from her mouth.

“Oxygen,” Eline said. “It gets very cold.”

“Like you?” Scala scoffed but the anger faded when she realized something peculiar. One of the siblings was very talkative, and the other was very silent. She had never seen them argue about anything, and they took turns talking, almost like clockwork. They were probably fucking each other, too. Fuck! She didn’t see it. Now, she was going to die? It was absurd. Suddenly, she thought back to the tent and wished that she could’ve gotten laid one last time.

“Yes,” Eline said. “Like me.”

“But don’t worry,” Grent said. “It also gets very hot.”

The siblings walked away, leaving Scala shivering, wondering what they meant by that.

A moment later, she saw a bright orange light—and then the area around her exploded.

5

Emma clenched her hands when the Keetas wrapped Edico’s assailant in a barrier, filled it with compressed oxygen, and released fireballs, causing it to explode like a bomb. Fire shot out of it, spreading fast as water from crashing waves, ensuring that there was no way the woman would survive. A year ago, the sight would make Emma tremble, but now, she was glad that she didn’t have to kill more people.

“It is done,” Eline said from a distance.

Emma nodded and then turned to the east. “You have three minutes to evacuate your camps!” she said, increasing the amplification. To the east, there were wagons with thousands of pounds of food, wine, and equipment for prolonged stay—she was going to destroy it. If Quell and Markon insisted on continuing their siege, they would starve.

6

Emma sighed a breath of relief when she found Edico breathing in the medical tent. Healing magic mended—it didn’t replace or change. No matter how much she healed him, she couldn’t save him from hypovolemic shock (a lethal ailment caused by a significant decrease in blood volume from hemorrhaging, which caused him to lose consciousness—something she didn’t control.) Treating hypovolemic shock on Earth requires intravenous restoration of blood via transfusions, and while her power could increase water volume and accelerate blood cell creation, it wasn’t instantaneous, and trying to do too much could increase his blood pressure and kill him (amongst many complications). Blood was the number one killer in a world of healing magic—and she couldn’t do more to help him.

Yet he was alive, and that made her feel much better.

“We’ve found… some.” Emma turned and found a soldier holding a bundle.

“A hand?” Emma asked.

“Yeah. Hand, wrist.”

Emma nodded, closed her eyes, and then opened them, glancing at the corpses on the funeral pyre. Then she turned away. “Just leave it.”

The soldier nodded, put the bundle on the medical table, and thanked the other healing mages before leaving.

Then, Emma sat there, listening to the sound of screaming soldiers and the bustle of her team healing people, and she thought of the importance of an arm—and then cried.

7

Will sat down with a plate of food and a bottle of wine. They were sitting around a small funeral pyre, with soldiers holding a roaring celebration—and he was included in that. Will turned to Elizabeth and Tim, shaking the bottle. “You want?” he grinned.

“How are you smiling?” Tim asked.

“Because I didn’t have to save this place.” Will put the corkscrew into the cork and began twisting. Then, hooking the stopper to the lip, he pulled it open with a pop.

Tim chuckled. “You’d pass off your marriage ceremony, Will.”

“Don’t give me the option,” he shrugged, “not a problem.”

Elizabeth giggled. “How romantic.”

Suddenly, Ren, the woman who brought Tim’s moping ass to the [ward heart], walked up with a young woman who was just slightly younger than them—probably around eighteen. She was wearing a really nice dress, but it wasn’t a noble dress. It was more like… she was a middle-class commoner dressing up for a wedding—not a war celebration. Will’s eyes widened when he saw her blushing and looking away in absolute embarrassment.

“Hello, Lord Richten,” Ren said. “We wanted to thank you for saving us….”

Tim swallowed and looked at the dolled-up young woman. “Who… is we?”

“This is Bessna,” Ren said, “my daughter. The musician.”

“Mom…." Bessna blushed and turned away.

Tim’s face was priceless. “Wait… you were serious?”

Ren blinked a few times. “What… do you mean?”

“I-I thought… you know.” Tim looked at Elizabeth, who stonewalled him. “That you… you know.”

Ren waited patiently, shifting her body. “What?”

“Just… made it up,” Tim whispered. “You know, for motivation… or something.”

Bessna’s entire body slouched in absolute rejection, and Tim’s eyes widened. “W-Wait,” he said. “I… I’m happy.”

“Can we leave?” Bessna whispered.

“Honey, don’t be rude,” Ren whispered back.

Tim panicked and looked between them. “Um… uh. Ah. Um…. Music?”

Bessna froze and slowly turned back, avoiding his gaze. She was hesitant—but she was listening.

“Do you want to play… my jenta?” Tim pulled his jenta from its case.

“Did he just offer someone to play his jenta?” Will chuckled, grinning wide and looking at Elizabeth who had a wide smile.

“I-I’m just offering,” Tim said. “So… do you?”

Bessna blushed. “I…. You first.”

Tim nodded and looked to everyone else for help, but he got none. “Okay….” He lifted his jenta and raised the comb.

“Show us how you saved the day,” Will said, taking a large swallow of wine.

“Give me that.” Elizabeth snatched the bottle out of his hand.

Tim chuckled and looked at his jenta’s strings, dancing read under the light of the pyre. He lifted his comb and looked at the brunette staring at him like a lovesick puppy. After soaking it in, his fingers lit up with a golden hue as he began his song.

Will listened and watched with a satisfied glint in his eyes. [You deserve it,] he thought. [Better man than me….] Will wasn’t joking. He was glad that Tim showed up. If it had been up to him—Lemora would’ve burned. But hey, he was just satisfied to be alive.

8

Edico woke to the sound of boisterous celebration. He tried to sit up but found himself clamped down by Emma’s hand. “What….” Suddenly, a flurry of memories flooded his mind, and he reflexively looked at his left arm—only to find it perfectly restored.

Lady Cole moaned in her sleep, rolling onto her side. When he saw her face, his heart ached. She looked like she had aged a decade, and that bright youthfulness that she was famous for was an image of the past. Yet…. Lady Cole was still there. He couldn’t be more proud of her. “You did good,” Edico said, brushing red hair from cheeks with a fatherly touch. Then, he peeled off her hand, circled the area, and picked her up in a princess carry.

“What…?” Lady Cole groaned.

“Shhhh,” he shushed. “I’m just getting you to bed.”

“Oh….”

As he walked, he passed by Lord Richten playing a beautiful melody on a jenta, and he had a profound desire to listen to it. Yet he looked at the redhead in his arms and ended up continuing on, bringing Lady Cole back to her chambers. Once she got to the door, her female guards saluted him. They got her maid and opened the door, but before they left, Emma grabbed Edico’s sleeve.

“E-Edico…” she said guiltily.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Your arm….”

Edico chuckled and looked at it. “I know.”

Emma looked away. “That doesn’t bother you?”

Edico smiled gently. “If you question blessings, you’ll never be happy,” he said.

Emma smiled and nodded. “I’m so glad.”

Edico patted her head uncharacteristically. “Get some sleep.” She smiled, and he left.

9

Seven thousand soldiers—including Treta Res, the 2nd strongest in the central continent under General Tronan—moved through the night, entering Lemora’s greater territory. There was only an afternoon before the notorious summonees caught up to her, and she was making remarkable amounts of money just for breaking the ward. It was going to be in and out—and brutal.