Ayah glanced at Shoaib. She stepped toward him but was stopped by an arc of fire. She stepped back, the flames narrowly missing her face. She turned to look at Aayan, her heart thudding against her chest with whispers of anger, hate, and a bit of fear.

Shoaib tried to stand, but his leg buckled under him, bringing him sprawling to the ground.

“You have me intrigued. I could have sworn you sprung up from thin air. Tell me, what sorcery is this?” Aayan gazed at her.

“If you’re here, does that mean my dear friend is not far behind?”

Ah, so Mazin had yet to inform him of what happened.

“It was a bit hard to separate the both of you. A bit irritating, really. Someone like him could hardly benefit from an accursed,” he continued. “I’m glad you’ve decided to come to me by your own accord.”

She glared at him.

“Out of all the sacrifices, your blood held the most essence in it.” He hummed. “I couldn’t help but taste something familiar in it. Tell me, whose descendant are you?”

“None of your business.”

“Well, not that it matters. In the end, it will all be mine,” he said nonchalantly.

She ignored him, her eyes searching for Girra.

A hint of irritation flickered in his nonchalant gaze. He tsked, his brows furrowing. He lifted his hand, and the muscles in her legs twitched, ready to avoid another attack,

A wall of flames burst through, halting the second wave of fire cast toward her.

Tiny claws rested on Shoaib’s shoulder, and then Girra leaped over his head, tilting his head to peer at Ayah. he looked fine if a bit worn out. Only the numbers on the screen before her indicated his lower health.

“Finally!” he huffed, his tiny wings ruffling behind him. “A bit late, aren’t you?”

“Is this the dragon egg you’ve stolen?” Aayan asked. “I didn’t think I would ever see it hatch.” He tutted. “I got to say, it gave me a bit of trouble. However, it’s a bit weak. It must have newly hatched.” His eyes narrowed, contemplating. “It must still be a hatchling.”

Girra bristled but said nothing.

Aayan laughed. “Truly, you did me a favor. Now, I only need to drill some discipline to root out its bad conduct.”

She didn’t like how he spoke of Girra as if he wasn’t an intelligent being but a thing devoid of any rights. She suddenly understood his apprehension the day she had asked him to form the contract. If his earlier partner was something like this bastard, it was only natural that he would refuse any more association with humans.

She joined Shoaib and Girra. This time, Aayan didn’t stop her. He watched her every movement as if trying to figure her out.

“Ayah,” Shoaib called. He struggled to his feet, trying but failing to hide the wince of pain from showing.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “I’m fine.”

Ayah’s lips pulled into a thin line at his response.

“Can you move?” she asked.

“Yes.” He tightened the grip on his sword, his determined eyes boring into Aayan.

Ayah sighed. If he thought she would let him throw his life away, he was greatly mistaken. She turned to Girra. The dragon huffed. He floated up to her face, staring down at her despite his small size. His wings flapped furiously around him as if belaying his feelings.

The small, leathery appendage slapped her face lightly.

“You’re still levels away from beating him,” Girra huffed, his eyes boring into hers.

For a second, she wondered whether their contract allowed him a glimpse into the privacy of her thoughts.

“Best we can do is I distract him while you take the kid away,” he said.

“No. I should distract him while you lead Shoaib back to the camp.”

“Nah, you’re better suited for the task.”

She gave him a look. “You haven’t even reached level 10. How can I let you fight him alone?”

Girra glanced at her. “Trust me, I’m the more suited to deal with him. I’ve dealt with the golden king. This child is no more than a youngling compared to him.”

Ayah gawked at him. The golden king? Wasn’t that the title of the first emperor before he ascended his kingdom to an empire? Was Girra that much old?

The small dragon seemed to notice his slip of the tongue. He turned to Shoaib’s hunched form, avoiding her shocked look.

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“Go now. The kid is barely holding on.”

“I can still fight!” Shoaib protested. A slow trickle of blood traveled down his cheek, then disappeared down his blood-soaked collar.

Ayah’s lips pulled into a thin line. “You forgot something.” She took a step towards Aayan. “I have access to the team party’s stats.”

Girra huffed but said nothing.

“Get him to Jamila.” She tightened her grip on the sword. “Stop dawdling and Go!” She snapped when none of them budged.

Aayan lunged toward her before she finished her words. She barely dodged his viscous, burning blade. He lifted his sword, only to bring it down again. Bracing herself did little to help. She was flung backward, her legs screaming as she dug her feet into the ground.

“No one is allowed to leave. Neither you nor him.” his voice was eerily calm.

Ayah struggled under the barrage of blows. She gritted back the pain, her arms shaking violently to hold on. He swung his sword. She lifted her blade to block him, a miscalculation on her part. His blade tore through her leg–muscles and bones–in a full arc, severing the appendage. She felt a flash of pain lighting her nerves. But after a few days inside the forest, she had become quite acquainted with this kind of pain. She leaped back, landing on her one remaining leg.

He leaned forward, his sword raised, ready to strike. Then, stilled, watching her like a vulture would its prey.

She tilted dangerously forward, her weight bringing her down to the ground. But her leg regenerated, her toes forming and touching the ground in the short span it took her to activate the skill.

He watched as the torn lamb grew anew. “Impressive,” he said, eyebrow raised. “You’re not from here, are you?” At her scowl, his face split into a gleeful smile. “He succeeded, didn’t he?” His voice was barely above a whisper. He looked at her—awe, and something else twisting his face, something terrible. A slight frown pulled at his brows. “But why didn’t he tell me?”

She was half glad Loaye wasn’t here. Aayan’s displeased scowl promised untold torture upon the author. At least he was truthful, she thought. He wasn’t lying that night.

Ayah straightened up, testing her newly acquired leg on firm ground. She could still feel the phantom pain of bones and muscles tearing apart. She winced when one—still healing—muscle protested the movement.

He lowered his sword. A low hiss sounded when the tip touched the ground, and the patch of earth turned a deeper shade of black.

“Come.” He held his hand to her. “You’ll find me merciful. I might even consider sparing his life.” He tilted his head toward Shoaib’s hunched form.

“Over my dead body.” She hissed.

He shook his head lightly, a reproachful look on his face. “Now, now. Let’s be civilized. We’re not barbarians, are we?”

He brought a finger to the blade and collected a smear of her blood. She grimaced as he brought the bloodied thumb to his lips.

His smile was bloody and terrifying.

He lunged at her, a crazed smile pulling at his bloodied lips. She dodged and dodged, refusing to let the vicious despair poison her chest.

She wouldn’t give up. She would fight, and she would bring Shoaib back alive.

She felt something run through her veins, warm and bright. She looked at the advancing sword, eyes fixed on the blade. Then, she saw it… slow?

She frowned.

She saw it slowly advancing toward her, a faint mist trail its route toward her shoulder. She sidestepped, easily avoiding the golden blade.

She blinked in confusion as it happened again and again. The mist trail predicted each and every sword strike before it happened. It drew its trajectory in the air, and the blade followed its path like a blind mull.

She let out a deep breath, her chest seizing at the realization.

She could see him. She could see each and every movement as if he had become slow, lethargic. But no. that wasn’t it. It wasn’t that his movement had slowed down. It was her eyes that had started picking up the subtle hints and twitches his muscles made before each and every move.

She was starting to read him.

[Skill Activated: Sight Lv.1]

He swung his sword down. She saw it coming a mile away. She dodged, but instead of stepping away from him, she lowered herself and used her speed skill on her hand. Her sword tore through the joints in his armor—at his side.

She leaped back and away from him, their eyes briefly interlocking. She reveled in the shock she could see laced in his narrowed eyes.

She couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips, her eyes fixed on the wound at his side, watching transfixed as the blood trickled down his armor.

But her newfound delight didn’t last for long.

The wound in his side knitted back together, the skin flawless as if never injured.

“Shit, shit, shit. What is this?” she cursed. Her heart raced, beating against her ribcage as if trying to leap out of her chest. Her vision shifted, and she furiously blinked, trying to chase the small tendrils of darkness invading her sight. She swallowed, tightening her shaking grip on the hilt of her worn-out sword. In some corner of her mind, she recognized the signs of a panic attack.

He was untouchable. No matter how many times she injured him—if she managed to—he would merely heal himself.

Since when could he heal himself?

“Don’t fret. It’s only temporary. Soon, it will wear off!” Girra yelled.

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one struggling against the flaming sword. For some reason, it seemed his attacks strengthened with time, with no sign of abating.

She took a deep breath and willed her panicked mind to some sense of calmness, chasing the despair at the sight of the small cracks the long of the blade.

Soon, her only protection against this monster would be gone.

Still, there was nothing she could do but fight.

She raised her sword towards Aayan.

“If you insist on refusing me, I’ll guess I’ll just have to cut your arms and legs to the point beyond regeneration. All I need is your blood.”

She could see the blade coming, but the exhaustion that had buried deep into her bones ensured she couldn’t dodge this attack.

Fine. She would just have to endure it.

Ayah gritted her teeth, bracing herself for the attack, hoping her regenerative skill would be enough for her to survive.

Her injured leg buckled, the bone still visible underneath the still-healing muscles. To make matters worse, her feet slipped on the damp earth–slick with her blood–dragging her down a few notches, breaking any defense she could have mustered. She watched as Aayan’s sword advanced towards her, the red-stained blade aiming at her heart.

She fought off the instinct to close her eyes, refusing to give the bastard the satisfaction of getting even a glimpse of the despair she was drowning in.

But the sword never met its intended target. Ayah watched as the air shifted in front of her, the space distorting and tearing before something—or someone—materialized in front of her.

Blood sprayed over her face. Red sticky drops stained her cheek and ran sluggishly down her neck.

She watched with horror as Loaye—foolish, thoughtless Loaye who ran from danger like a rabbit fleeing at the faintest hint of a predator—stood between her and Aayan, the golden sword impaling his chest.