After learning that Carson lived in the slums, we didn't waste any time. We set off immediately, our steps quickening with a newfound urgency. My father's expression was grim, his eyes fixed ahead as if already anticipating the worst.
The slums were located on the outskirts of Craud City, an area that seemed to exist in another world compared to the bustling marketplace and busy streets we had passed earlier. As we entered this part of the city, a wave of despair hit me like a physical force. The first thing I noticed was the stench—a foul mix of rotting food, unwashed bodies, and something else, something darker, like decay and hopelessness.
The sight that greeted us was even worse. On the corner of a crumbling alley, a child sat huddled against a wall, his body so emaciated that every rib was visible through the thin rags he wore. His eyes, hollow and vacant, stared at nothing. Not far from him, two women were locked in a desperate struggle, clawing at each other over a single piece of bread. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes wild with hunger. As they fought, the bread fell to the ground, landing in the dirt, but neither seemed to care.
An old man lay nearby, his skin ashen and his breath rattling in his chest. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be on the brink of death. People passed by him without a second glance, as if his suffering had become an accepted part of the scenery, something too common to warrant any concern.
I felt a knot form in my stomach as I took in the scene around us. Every corner held another story of suffering, another reminder of how cruel the world could be. I wanted to help, to do something, but—
"Don't mind them," my father's voice cut through my thoughts, cold and unyielding. He didn't even look at the people around us, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "We can't do anything to help them; our priority here is saving Chris."
"Okay," I replied, forcing myself to look away from the scene before me. I knew he was right, but it didn't make it any easier. Each step forward felt like a betrayal, like we were turning our backs on people who desperately needed help. But I forced myself to focus on our mission. We had to save Chris. That was all that mattered right now.
As we continued walking toward the center of the slums, we saw it—a massive structure looming in the distance. At first, I thought it was a large house, but as we got closer, it became clear that it was much more than that. It was a mansion, a grand and ostentatious building that seemed to mock the surrounding poverty. Its stone walls were high and imposing, a stark contrast to the crumbling shacks that surrounded it. The mansion stood out like a sore thumb, a monument to Carson's power and wealth amidst the city's most destitute.
When we finally reached the mansion, I noticed two guards stationed at the gate. They were rough-looking men, each with a hard, cold gaze that spoke of violence. One of them, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, noticed us approaching and broke into a grin that sent a shiver down my spine.
"You two must be the blue-haired magician and his son, right?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. His eyes gleamed with amusement, as if he found our arrival entertaining.
My father stepped forward, his expression stony. "Give Chris back," he demanded, his voice steady but filled with barely restrained anger.
The guard's grin widened, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Oh! Too hasty, aren't we? Calm down," he taunted, savoring every word. "Let me ask you one thing first: Are you here to fight or surrender?"
My father's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?" he asked cautiously.
The guard leaned against the gate, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just confirming," he said with a casual shrug. "If you choose to fight, I don't know what will happen to the little Miss in the basement." His voice was light, almost playful, but his eyes were cold and calculating.
"Tsk!" My father clenched his fists, frustration evident in his stance. He took a deep breath, visibly forcing himself to stay calm. "We'll come without a fight. It's just the money you need, right?" he said through gritted teeth.
The guard's smile turned into a smirk. "That's what I want to hear," he said, clearly pleased with himself. He turned to the other guard, who had been silent until now. "Oy! Disarm these two and see if they have any dangerous weapons," he ordered.
The second guard, a tall man with a sour expression, shot him a glare. "Don't order me around," he muttered irritably, but he did as he was told. He approached us with a scowl, his eyes scanning us with a mixture of boredom and contempt.
I stood still as he patted me down, his hands rough and impersonal. When he reached my side, his fingers closed around the hilt of my wooden sword. He pulled it free and held it up with a smirk. "I'll be taking this, brat," he said, his voice filled with derision.
I bit back a retort, knowing it wouldn't help our situation. I watched as he tossed my wooden sword carelessly to the side, and a small part of me mourned the loss. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it had been mine.
With that, we were led inside the mansion. As soon as we stepped through the doors, the atmosphere changed. The inside of the mansion was vast and luxurious, the complete opposite of the squalor outside. The floors were made of polished marble, and the walls were adorned with expensive-looking collection of paintings. A grand staircase rose up before us, splitting into two directions—one leading upstairs and another down to what I could only assume was the basement.
On the left side of the entryway, I noticed a group of men gathered around a table. They were laughing and shouting, engrossed in a game of cards. Their clothes were rough, their faces marked by scars and grimaces, but they carried themselves with a sense of ownership. These were Carson's henchmen, I realized with a jolt. There were at least twenty, maybe thirty of them, and each one of them was watching us with eyes that gleamed with malice and curiosity.
"Come on, don't stop here; head upstairs," the guard leading us snapped impatiently. He gestured towards the staircase, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.
My father gave a curt nod, not sparing the guards a second glance. "I know it," he muttered under his breath before starting to walk towards the stairs. His back was straight, his shoulders tense, and I could sense the barely contained fury in every step he took.
I followed closely behind, my heart pounding in my chest. The tension in the air was palpable, and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were walking into the lion's den. We had no weapons, no leverage, and no way to fight back if things went wrong. Yet, there was no turning back now. We had to get Chris back, no matter what it took.
But suddenly, something happened that made all of us freeze in place. Even the men who were gambling fell silent, their laughter and jeers abruptly cut off. The air grew tense, thick with a new kind of unease that spread through the room like a cold wind. It was a sound that pierced through the walls of the mansion, echoing with raw fear and agony—a scream, high-pitched and desperate, the kind that sent chills down your spine.
"AAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!" The scream reverberated off the walls, sending a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. The voice was unmistakably that of a man, filled with sheer anger and pain. It was followed by a voice that made my blood run cold.
"You fucking child! I'll fucking kill you!" The words came from somewhere below us, each syllable dripping with venom and rage.
For a split second, the world seemed to stop. My father and I exchanged a glance, our eyes wide with horror and realization. Chris. The image of her, alone and scared, flashed in my mind, and before I could think, my body moved on its own. I broke into a run, heading straight for the staircase leading down to the basement. My heart pounded in my chest, the blood rushing in my ears drowning out all other sounds.
But as I lunged forward, the men who had been gambling sprang into action. They were like a pack of wolves, quick and predatory, their eyes gleaming with malice. Swords flashed in the dim light as they moved to intercept me, their movements a blur of coordinated menace.
"Get him!" one of them snarled, his voice low and filled with bloodlust. Another drew his sword, the blade catching the light as he swung it toward me.
I barely had time to react. The gleam of steel filled my vision, and I knew I was in danger. But just as quickly, I heard my father's voice, strong and commanding.
"Water shield!" he shouted.
"Water shield!" I echoed instinctively, my voice mingling with his in a single, unified cry.
Instantly, two walls of water sprang up around us, swirling into a barrier that shimmered and roared like a living creature. The swords clanged against the water shields, the metal ringing as if striking solid steel. They were deflected, spinning harmlessly to the ground with a series of dull thuds. The men stared in shock, their eyes widening at the sight of our magic.
"Go!" my father urged, his voice urgent and fierce. "I'll handle them!"
I glanced back at him, my heart twisting in my chest. For a split second, our eyes met. His expression was intense, but there was something else there, something softer—a silent message. "I'm leaving Chris to you."
I understood what he was saying, but that didn't make it any easier. He was putting himself in grave danger, facing a mob of armed men alone. Could he really handle thirty opponents by himself?
But there was no time to think about it. I had to trust him, had to believe that he could manage. I nodded, swallowing hard, and then turned away, racing down the stairs toward where the scream had come from. The corridor was dark and narrow, a labyrinthine maze that seemed to stretch on forever. My footsteps echoed around me, each thud of my boots a reminder of the urgency of the situation.
***
(CHRIS' POV)
I ran as fast as I could, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. The corridor was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls like grasping hands. My legs burned with each step, my muscles screaming in protest, but I forced myself to keep moving. I could hear his footsteps behind me, heavy and relentless, growing closer with each passing second. The dark-haired man who had been chasing me was closing the gap, and my heart pounded in my chest, threatening to burst.
I dared a glance over my shoulder. He was there, his face twisted in fury, his eyes blazing with a murderous intent that made my blood run cold. He was fast—too fast. If I hadn't injured his leg earlier, he would have caught me already. But even with his injury, he was closing in on me, each stride bringing him closer to his prey.
"You fucking child! I'll fucking kill you!" he shouted, his voice echoing down the corridor like a curse. His words were filled with venom, each one striking me like a physical blow. I felt my knees weaken, my resolve faltering under the weight of his rage.
"Just keep running while you still can," he snarled. "If I ever catch you, you'll be dead!"
My body trembled, fear gripping me in its icy claws. I was terrified, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run faster, to escape. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't put more distance between us. He was too quick, his strides eating up the space between us as if it were nothing. I felt the tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. I couldn't afford to be weak right now. I had to keep going.
I have to get away. The thought pounded in my mind, over and over, a desperate mantra that kept my legs moving even as they threatened to give out. Maybe it was wrong of me to try and solve things on my own. Maybe I had overestimated my abilities, underestimated the danger. But what choice did I have? I didn't want to be a burden to Will and Uncle William. I didn't want them to get hurt because of me. I had to do something, anything, to try and protect them.
I pushed myself harder, my lungs burning with the effort. The corridor seemed endless, stretching on into darkness. But then, up ahead, I saw it—a light. It was faint, a small glimmer in the distance, but it was there. The stairs leading up, leading to safety. If I could just reach them, if I could just make it out of this darkness—
But behind me, I could hear him. His footsteps grew louder, closer. He was gaining on me, his presence a looming shadow that threatened to engulf me. I could feel his hatred like a tangible force, pressing down on me, suffocating me. The light ahead seemed so far away, so impossibly out of reach.
I stumbled, my foot catching on the uneven ground, and a gasp escaped my lips. I could feel his hand stretching out, reaching for me, his fingers closing in like the claws of a predator about to seize its prey. Desperation clawed at me, urging me to run faster, but my body was failing me, my strength ebbing away with each passing second.
I can't let him catch me. The thought screamed in my mind, louder than the pounding of my heart, louder than the sound of his footsteps. I couldn't let him win. Not now. Not when I was so close.
The light from the stairs flickered, dancing at the edge of my vision. I reached out for it, my fingers stretching toward the safety it promised, even as the darkness closed in behind me.
"You're dead!" The man's voice cut through the air like a jagged blade. He lunged forward, his sword arcing down in a powerful motion. "Vertical Slash!" he roared, his muscles rippling with the force of the attack.
In that split second, everything seemed to slow down. My heart pounded in my chest, a heavy drumbeat of fear and desperation. The dim corridor stretched out before me, the light at the top of the stairs a distant beacon of hope. But just as I was about to give in to despair, a spark ignited within me. It was a faint glimmer, but it was enough to remind me that I wasn't out of options yet.
Without thinking, I reacted purely on instinct. "Water Shield!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the narrow passageway. A wall of water burst into existence between me and the incoming blade, shimmering like a liquid mirror. The man's sword collided with the watery barrier, a hiss of steam rising as the force of his attack dissipated into the ether. The shield rippled, then vanished, leaving me gasping for breath as I collapsed to the ground, my limbs trembling from the exertion.
He stared down at me, his face contorted into a sneer of pure disdain. "You're still resisting?" His voice was low, a growl that reverberated in the cold air. "Don't you get it?" He took a step forward, his shadow looming over me. "You already lost."
I struggled to push myself up, my arms shaking under my own weight. My chest heaved with each ragged breath, but I refused to look away from him.
"Yes," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I lost, and that's a fact." The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but admitting it was the only way to move forward. "But I did my best just to get here." I lifted my gaze to meet his, my eyes burning with defiance. "I used everything I learned, and I even utilized the techniques you taught me."
For a moment, he faltered, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "What are you—"
"Can you praise me," I cut him off, my voice gaining strength, "even just a little, Will?"
As if conjured by my words, a figure materialized before me, stepping into the dim light with a grace that belied his age. A boy, around my age, with dark hair that framed a face set in determination. Will. He stood between me and the man, his stance firm and unyielding as if daring the world to try and push him back.
He glanced over his shoulder at me, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You did your best to get here," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. There was a warmth in his eyes that melted the icy fear coiled around my heart. "I don't know how hard it might have been, but I'm glad you're not hurt."
My breath caught in my throat, a swell of emotion rising inside me. I wanted to reach out, to tell him that he didn't need to say anything more, that just seeing him here was enough. But before I could speak, he turned back to face our adversary, his expression hardening into one of cold resolve.
"Now that I'm here," he continued, "you can leave everything to me." His voice was steady, each word laced with an unspoken promise. "I won't ever let him lay a hand on you."
A sob threatened to escape my lips, and I bit down on it, hard. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. It wasn't fair. Will, why are you always there at the right time when I need you? I'm not saying that I'm not glad you're here, but if you keep saving me, I'll just end up relying on you forever. I don't want that. I don't want to be a burden. I want to be as strong as you are.
The thought pushed me to my feet, even as my legs wobbled beneath me. I took a shaky step forward, placing myself beside him. "Will," I began, my voice wavering but growing stronger with each word, "I will fight too." I clenched my fists, trying to still the trembling in my fingers. "I don't want to just watch you fight; I want to be stronger and fight by your side." I looked up at him, the resolve in my chest hardening like steel. "If I keep relying on you, I'll never become stronger. So let me fight too."
He turned to me, surprise flickering in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by something else—pride. He nodded slowly, a small smile forming on his lips. "Chris," he said softly, "you just don't realize it, but you've grown plenty stronger." His words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, giving me the strength I needed. "If that's what you wish, then prepare your heart and your stance now." His gaze shifted back to the man before us. "It seems our opponent has a short temper."
The man let out a low, guttural growl, his eyes narrowing with fury. "Are you done talking?" He barked, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. "No matter how many of you brats came here, you still don't have a chance of winning against me."
"Is that because you can use sword skills?" Will's tone was light, almost mocking, and it was clear he was goading the man, testing the limits of his patience.
A dark scowl crossed the man's face, and his aura seemed to darken, as if the shadows around him had come to life. "It seems you're belittling me," he hissed. "Let me prove it to you." He raised his sword, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light. "I don't care if you're a child or not; anyone who's a dog of this fucking kingdom is going to die by my hands."
His words hung in the air, thick with malice. I glanced at Will, who met my eyes with a calm determination that settled the turmoil inside me. He nodded once, and I knew that he trusted me to hold my ground.
As the man prepared his stance, a tense silence settled over us, stretching the moment into an eternity. My heart pounded in my chest, but the fear was gone, replaced by a fiery resolve. This was it—the start of our battle. We stood side by side, ready to face whatever came next.
With our hearts steeled and our stances prepared, we awaited the first move, the silence marking the beginning of the clash that would determine our fates.