"Be careful from now on," the man beside Oliver said as he stood up, his voice tinged with concern. "Your injuries are still healing. It won't be a fast process."
"Thank you," Oliver replied, his voice steady despite his exhaustion. He couldn't see the man's exact location, so he awkwardly tilted his head in the general direction, his neck screaming in protest from the movement.
"If only he didn't have that cursed ability to recover," the man muttered, a casual complaint laced with frustration.
The words hit Oliver harder than he expected, sending a slight tremble through his battered body as he lay on the ground.
---
"Boring," the little girl muttered, tossing the half-eaten bread into a nearby trash can. She stood up, brushing crumbs from her hands, her expression a mixture of disinterest and anticipation.
The day was fading, the sky slowly surrendering to the dark. For dark elves, this was the hour when their magical powers reached their peak. But this advantage belonged only to those still attuned to magic. Those who had long adapted to close combat had lost their connection to the arcane.
This was why they sought the blessing of the strange stone, the one they had been commissioned to retrieve. Even the smallest boon of magic condensation would be worth the effort.
The irony, of course, was that the one who commissioned them and the one holding the stone were entirely different players in this dangerous game.
"That's why they can't see me," the girl murmured, a hint of sadness in her tone. She stepped forward, her figure gradually blending into the shadows of the alley. "It's really quite pathetic."
As she disappeared into the darkness, the confused shopkeeper stared at the remnants of her visit; crumbs and a small pile of coins left on the counter. He had no idea where they had come from.
The girl didn't forget to pay. Not this time. She smiled faintly to herself as she walked. Life without joy had eroded much of her memory, even pieces of her identity, including her own name.
---
"The reason he's been so arrogant for so long is because of that magic circle," Ziggy had explained before she left. "If it can be destroyed, his recovery rate will drop drastically."
Oliver thought about her words as he forced himself to sit up, ignoring the dull ache in his muscles. Ziggy's advice was sound, but he needed to act on it himself.
'First step: confirm the location of the magic circle.'
When his vision had abandoned him entirely, when he was teetering on the edge of death, he had seen something extraordinary. Elements of every hue danced before him, and amidst the chaos, a faint green liquid had stood out. It oozed up from the ground, suspended in the air not far from him.
That had to be it, the source of the enemy's vitality. 'The magic circle.'
He extended his arm cautiously, raising it to test his theory. A cool, soothing sensation swept over him. He had felt this before, but only faintly, when he was lying on the ground. Now, it was unmistakable.
'It's there.'
The problem was how to attack it. The thought made his chest tighten with frustration. His teacher had never encouraged him to explore destructive magic. Without a strong magic foundation, she feared he would harm himself if he tried.
Oliver exhaled slowly. 'What now?'
Suddenly, a strange feeling washed over him; a gut-deep sense of something shifting, something imminent. His heart skipped a beat. 'What just happened?'
---
"Is it dark already?" Rosa murmured, her eyes fixed on the horizon. She calculated in her mind. Pramon, Ziggy, and the invisible girl should have held the line until now. Perhaps they could hold on a little longer.
"It's getting late," her companion, another teacher, interrupted her thoughts. "Why don't you come indoors? If the orcs attack at this hour, you could be in danger."
The teacher watched her closely, noting her calm demeanor. Rosa, the dean's granddaughter, had changed in recent months. She spoke less now but carried herself with an air of maturity that was new. He wasn't sure if it was the harshness of life near the border or something else entirely.
"All right, I'll be in soon," she said with a polite smile, nodding at him.
"Don't fall asleep out here," he added, half-joking, as he turned and headed inside.
As soon as he was gone, Rosa's expression shifted, her smile fading into something more intense. "How could I possibly fall asleep now?" she whispered to herself. "My success is so close. How could I close my eyes before it's done?"
Her gaze turned skyward, where the first stars of the evening were beginning to appear. 'Would it be a single meteor to mark the fall of a warrior? Or a meteor shower to herald hope?'
She chuckled softly, the anticipation twisting into something almost manic. Success or failure, she didn't care. This was merely an experiment. The outcome didn't matter, not for someone with so little magic power.
But the thought of what might happen...that was something worth staying awake for.
---
"Are you two okay?" Aegnor's voice broke the tension as he stumbled toward them, limping heavily. He collapsed onto the ground next to them, taking a moment to catch his breath. "I'm fine… just a little dizzy."
Niasha, however, didn't answer. She had fainted, her body limp from the effects of the sudden space teleportation. It wasn't uncommon for first-timers to experience extreme dizziness, but seeing her unconscious still filled Aegnor with unease.
"Tch, this is really troublesome," Aegnor muttered, bending down and hoisting An onto his back.
"What… what are you doing?" An's weak voice barely reached his ears.
"Can't you tell?" he replied, his tone light, masking the strain in his muscles.
An fell silent, her head resting against his shoulder, but the weight of two elven bodies; though light by most standards, was proving a challenge for Aegnor. His years without proper physical training were catching up to him fast. The strain showed in his trembling arms and staggered steps.
Around them, others stood frozen, unwilling to help. The young man's previous threats had left them too afraid to intervene.
"If there's danger later—" An started, but Aegnor cut her off, his voice firm.
"I won't let go. I've already fulfilled the teacher's request. My role as the false elf leader is over. The obstacle between us, between you and me, is gone. Nothing can stop us from being together now."
He paused, gasping for air, his exhaustion palpable. But he wasn't done.
"I'll answer for my actions," he said, his voice softening. "Even if… even if all this is just pity for someone as broken as me, it doesn't matter. That pity is my light; mine alone. No one else can take it from me."
He adjusted his grip, tightening his hold as if his determination alone could carry them forward.
---
The chill deepened, creeping through Oliver's body until it was impossible to ignore. His mind raced. This feeling had been growing ever since he held the holy water in his mouth. But why? What was causing this strange sensation?
His gaze fell on his longbow. Could it be connected? The appearance of the elements, the feeling in his body, was the bow trying to tell him something?
Oliver gently stroked the bow with his right hand, a hesitant motion born of curiosity and desperation. In all his years of using it, he had never considered the bow as anything more than a tool. Magic went into the arrows, not the bow. Why would it be any different now?
"If it's just an ordinary bow, there shouldn't be any reaction," he murmured to himself. But this was no ordinary situation. Desperation urged him to try. He had no other options.
But the uncertainty gnawed at him. 'What if it breaks? What if this fails?'
Still, he tightened his grip. 'No choice but to try.'
---
On the battlefield, Ziggy struggled against the relentless onslaught. As a potions expert, close combat was never her strength, especially against someone whose skill was forged through countless battles and years of experience.
Her skin, like the giant's, was nearly impervious, a testament to their alchemical enhancements. But even so, the young man's relentless attacks were beginning to wear them down. He adapted quickly, exploiting every opening, every hesitation.
The giant fought valiantly, but his focus was split. Protecting Ziggy left him vulnerable. Every time she tried to retreat, the young man would force her back into the fray.
The enemy's movements became more precise, his strikes closer. Finally, with a calculated motion, he reached out and touched Ziggy's arm, his hand brushing against her skin.
Before the giant's fist could connect with his face, the young man grabbed him and hurled him through the air like a toy. The giant roared, abandoning his strike to chase after the enemy.
But the young man had planned for this. While the giant's body was powerful, it wasn't faster than the young man's movements. And the one thing the giant couldn't protect was Ziggy; suspended mid-air, her vulnerability laid bare.
Oliver's eyes widened as he saw the attack unfold. His mind pieced together the pattern, focusing on Ziggy's eyes. They were the connection, the link binding her actions to the world. Without them, she would lose everything.
The young man moved like a blur, faster than the giant could react. Blood spattered in the air, a vivid crimson streak against the darkening sky. Ziggy's scream pierced the battlefield, followed by the giant's enraged roar; a sound so raw it was impossible to tell if it was pain, grief, or both.
Around them, the echoes of the battle faded for a moment, the weight of the loss sinking into the air. But the fight wasn't over. Not yet.