Escaran troops kicked over the wall’s ladders, but Treta’s forces returned them as mages bombarded the embattlements above. Lemora’s troops didn’t give in. They poured molten tar down the ladders, attempting to burn Treta’s troops as they climbed. It didn’t work. The first person climbing had a barrier that blocked the tar, making it pour down the barrier like a caramel apple. It was a grueling event, but slowly yet surely, Quell soldiers scaled the walls. Then, after a blood bath on top, Treta finally ascended—only to find all of his officers dead.
Treta turned and found Edico Sullsburg staring at him, a bolt of aura in his hands. So that’s how it is, Treta thought as they stared off, hesitant to strike—albeit for different reasons. Sullsburg was hesitant because he knew he would lose in a fight, while Treta was hesitant because he heard about Scala’s demise. Treta had no intention of finishing out this war, so he wanted to avoid pissing off someone powerful when he only needed to obtain a hostage. So he turned to Lemora, billowing black smoke from burning homes and inns. The entire city, which spanned over a mile in both directions, had an orange, hazy glow that shimmered like a mirage. Strangest of all, the streets were covered in thick fog as the wet cobblestone streets met with the fire of meteors that kept streaking down into the city like falling stars, creating distant explosions.
Is the entire city wet? Treta thought.
“Attack!” Escaran troops charged him as General Sullsburg shot his aura bolt at him. Treta effortlessly dodged, jumping off the wall onto a nearby staircase, cutting a bloody path down to the city’s roads.
2
Treta Res had his demons. He had hit most of the people that he loved, including his wives and children. He had almost been banned from multiple Adventurer Guilds for assaulting their owners and patrons, saved only by King Quell, who protected him in exchange for military service. And Emanasa forgive the number of people he had killed in altercations—just as he had killed the soldier a few hours before. He had a temper and internal rage that probably stemmed from the abuse he had experienced as a kid. But through it all, he had never lost the ability to see reason when it came to base-level survival. Goaded into stupid situations? Sure. The Keetas had talked him into this stupid fucking nightmare by appealing to his pride, and he’d admit that. But when it came to facing down enemies, Treta didn’t start fights with stronger entities. That’s why he had spared Sullsburg, hoping to avoid running into that infamous summonee—
—but it was in vain. He had barely run three minutes through Lemora’s fog-filled streets when he felt unbelievable pressure radiating from a nearby street. The mana was eerie and erratic—like overclocked mana pushed outward. The feeling made the hairs on his arms rise as his blood ran cold.
Treta unsheathed his sword, released a divination pulse, and three streets away, beyond multiple buildings, he found the source. A… girl? he thought. She wasn’t a “girl”—she was in her twenties, but she was relatively short and thin. Anyone else with her form wouldn’t be a threat, but this woman had mana shooting out of her in wild wisps like cracking whips. Should I run? Treta pondered.
That was a hard question. She was likely the woman who released the flood—given her insane mana output. Her body looked like a flame under his divination pulse, and her pressure was intense. Still… aside from Lady Reece, these children hadn’t killed anyone. They had only been in Lemora for a few years, and they were naive enough to run around, scaring Quell’s forces instead of trying to force them into submission. Treta doubted they would even fight in city streets where people could get hurt. Compared to career killers, this woman was a strong weapon wielded by a child.
Suddenly, a cool voice came from the mist. “Who are you?”
Treta’s body hair bristled when he realized the woman was already near. No divination pulse. No noise. She was just there in the few moments he was thinking about what to do. He looked into the mist and found a young woman with red hair emerging. She was covered in blood, causing his heart to pound uncontrollably. Healer, he thought. This is the healer….
He wasn’t sure she was the healer.
“Give the order to retreat,” she said.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Lady Cole, the weak, insignificant kid of the group,” she said, releasing intense magical pressure. Treta took a sharp breath when he felt it—it was stronger than General Tronan’s.
“Weak?” he chuckled.
“Yes, weak. You can’t imagine the others.”
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t kill people.”
“You’re wrong,” Lady Cole said chillingly.
Treta took an instinctive step back.
“We don’t mind killing—“ She lifted her hands. “We just hate massacres.”
Treta’s primal instincts and muscle memory took over when he saw her attacking. He jumped forward at a diagonal to dodge and close the distance. With a twist, he wrapped his sword and aura and struck.
Lady Cole jumped back with ghostly speed, dodging the attack. She succeeded, but before the sword even reached her vicinity, a ring on her finger exploded with vibrant light, and a purple barrier shot out of nowhere. His sword barely left a gash in the barrier before the recoil rattled his bones and sent him flying through a nearby building’s wall. The wall didn’t slow his momentum. He crashed into a table and chairs before hitting a support pillar, making the building groan as the wood cracked.
3
Emma smiled wryly. She dodged, yet the barrier activated regardless, taking care of all the hard work. You’re always there, she thought, thinking of Sara. Emma didn’t like the coddling, but she couldn’t help but be moved—and grateful. She dodged one strike—so what? The man was the strongest she had seen—far stronger than the pair that killed Scala. He would’ve struck dozens of times and Emma wasn't a fighter. Sara probably saved her life. Thanks, Emma thought, lifting her hands toward the building. Édafi pou antheí sta páthi!
A wind blade shot from her hand like a scythe, parting the mist as it cut through the building’s support pillars. The entire structure buckled and crumbled in on itself, leaving a thunderous series of booms that rattled the ground. On Earth, that attack would’ve killed anything inside, but that wasn’t the case here. Emma chanted a barrier spell when she felt intense mana within the building.
The collapsed building suddenly exploded, sending a massive support pillar flying at her. It slammed into her barrier with enough force to decapitate a human, making her heart flutter. That was just the start. Wind blades cut through the hot steam, bombarding her barrier. While it could usually tank a meteor with ease, the chaotic mana within her jolted like sparking wires, causing her mana channels to heat up. She knew at once she’d be in trouble in a prolonged attack. She needed to end this fast.
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4
Treta was shaken. There was no way he wouldn’t be. Lady Cole had remarkable reflexes, and that—combined with her mana pool—made her a serious threat. But that ward…. Lady Cole had a personal backlash ward that had the power to repel his aura and send him flying through a building. That wasn’t surprising in retrospect. If someone loaded a ward with the mana necessary to create a canyon-making flood, it would naturally be stronger than a six-layer ward. It was a grave threat. That said, the ward didn’t make her invincible. Skilled warriors could pierce wards with sharp, concentrated attacks before the ward repaired itself. That made doing it pointless during a siege, but it made all the difference in a battle. And while he’d normally be able to pierce one with ease, this one was strong and every wind blade he shot at it rebounded back at him with more force.
Part of him wanted to leave—but the other part felt thrilled and knew she wasn’t a serious threat. Not only did she spare the soldiers, she “spared” him, too. Lady Cole didn’t attack him—she cut the support pillars hoping to injure him even after he attacked her. She was soft to the core. The question was: could he pierce that freakish ward?
“Last chance!” Lady Cole yelled. “Call off the attack, or I’ll prove I’ve killed people!”
Treta narrowed his eyes, picking up on the nervous wobble in her voice. Seizing on that hesitance, he lifted his sword for a pierce spell, but before he got three words into a chant, a massive fireball the size of a small building ballooned out of nowhere, encompassing his entire vision. What the fuck is— He barely jumped before the blast ripped through the streets, sending hot flames licking past his armor as it slammed into buildings, turning the whole street into an inferno. W-What the fuck…? Treta couldn’t believe it. She tried to kill—
Suddenly, a water spell shot at him. He jumped backward to avoid it—but it didn’t help. The water hit the fire, blasting him with scalding steam that burned his face, hands, and eyes. His steel armor heated into a smelter, and he screamed as he stumbled backward. “You bitch!” he shouted before chanting. Oi psychés, perdikoménous!
Eyes shut, Treta released a divination pulse to see, and found Lady Cole standing in the street, panting heavily. She had all the symptoms of overheated mana channels. Heavy breathing, wobbling legs, sweating, and, most importantly, erratic mana output. She was probably the person who flooded the streets before he arrived and took a mana restoration potion. Either way, whether she overclocked her channels or depleted her mana during the battle, she would fall unconscious. Then, he could create a massive bolt of aura and shoot it at her point-blank range to break that fucking ward of hers.
Treta lifted his hands and shot a series of wind blades at her. She dodged, but her movements were sluggish. If it were a game of stamina—she would lose. He was certain of it.
5
Raul flew over Lemora, eyes trembling. The city was burning while billows of black smoke and white steam reached the sky. It looked like a painting of the Industrial Revolution—but gruesomely violent. Escaran troops clashed with Quell and Markon’s forces, slaughtering each other in the farmland while other soldiers besieged the wall.
“Listen up!” Raul roared to his strike team, heart pounding, muscles shaking with anger. “We warned them! We showed them our might, and what did they do? They ignored it!”
His team trembled with anger, and they barked statements like, “That’s right,” and “Fucking assholes.”
“We didn’t kill them,” Raul said. “So what did they do? They came to Lemora and killed our people. They burnt our buildings! They’re terrorizing our citizens! Are you okay with that?”
“Fuck no,” Taylor from the mage force said.
“’Course not,” Tara added. The others scoffed and shook their heads.
“Well I’m not, either.” Raul made eye contact with each of them. “Now listen to me. There’s no glory in killing. It bears down on you. It eats at your soul.” He watched their enthusiasm dampen, but he didn’t slow. “But it’s necessary. Why? Because those are our people dying down there! Those are our buildings burning! That’s our city! There’s citizens who are scared and alone and these savages will assault them and sell them into slavery. Are you okay with that?”
An aggressive no pierced the skies.
Raul nodded. “I don’t regret trying to avoid war—to avoid massacres. But they made their choice and I refuse to let them hurt my people. What about you?”
The energy in the strike team built up to a fever pitch, with heroes releasing battle cries.
“Then show no mercy!” Raul yelled. “David and Kayley, take down those assholes.” He pointed at two men he’d later know as Commanders Rimn and Grekka. “Beth and Sam. You’re taking out the strong ones. Denise and Killian—teach the ground soldiers who they’re fucking with. Emily, heal the wounded. I’m finding Emma. Taylor’s gonna scour the city. Got it?”
They agreed and broke off, flying over Lemora’s skies like modern jets, preparing to rain death on the assholes that didn’t get the message.
6
Emma wished that she had never drunk that mana potion. Her body felt like a furnace, and her skin felt sticky as if it could slide off. Her channels burned, and she wanted to shower in ice. Yet she couldn’t. Dozens of wind blades kept shooting at her, and her barrier broke from the erratic mana discharge. So she ended up running down alleys and behind buildings, and the man chased after her, grateful that Sara’s ward was tanking the attacks. So far, Emma didn’t think any of the blades would’ve hit her dead on, but that would soon change. Her vision was blurring, and she couldn’t think.
Suddenly, the building next to her exploded, and wood rained down on her. Psallízan ómorfes! she chanted by reflex. Wind shot out of her hands, and it blew the debris across the road, crashing into a building. Then, from the chaos, the man shot at her with a sword, aura on his blade’s tip as he shoved it forward. A white streak of light extended from it and crashed into her ward, causing it to ripple violently as she shot backward, crashing through a building.
6
Treta was halfway to reaching Lady Cole—preparing to break her ward with a massive aura bolt—when his danger signals triggered. He jumped backward by instinct as an object crashed onto the cobblestones in front of him like a meteorite. But it wasn’t a meteor. No, it was much worse. Right before him was a dark-skinned giant wielding a massive axe.
The giant turned to him with a furious gaze. ”Who the fuck are you?”