We see that it was Giselle who was wounded; she pushed Mike out of the way and took the blow herself.
The battle seemed to be turning in Giselle's favor, each of her powerful strikes pushing the bandits back, but then it happened...without warning. From the shadows, one bandit lunged with a gleaming blade. Giselle managed to kill him, yet not before he struck her, slipping his blade into her side. At first, it seemed like a minor wound, just a scratch. But within seconds, a sickly green tint began to spread from the cut, her muscles feeling heavier, her pulse slowing.
The bandit leader's laughter rang out across the clearing, dark and triumphant. "Our man's sacrifice wasn't in vain, Miss Giselle," he sneered, swaggering forward. "You may have killed him, but he managed to deliver the final blow for us. Thanks to him, we've won this fight."
Giselle's eyes narrowed, struggling to keep steady as her breath became labored. She felt the venom already taking effect, her body resisting her commands. Another bandit stepped closer, grinning with cruel satisfaction. "That blade carried a special magic venom," he explained, pointing mockingly at her wound. "It'll slowly shut down your body. Soon, you'll be too weak to even lift a finger, and that lovely magic of yours? It'll be useless."
Her jaw clenched as she fought to remain standing, every muscle tensing against the venom's slow creep. She wouldn't show weakness, not to them. Her mind raced, but every thought felt sluggish, heavy. And yet, through the haze, she glanced at Mike, worry evident in her eyes.
Another bandit joined the taunting, his eyes flicking toward Mike with a leer. "If you'd taken us seriously, you could've wiped us out in seconds," he spat, grinning. "But no, you had to show off, had to impress your little friend here." His gaze was mocking. "You got sloppy, Miss Giselle."
The bandit leader took another step forward, his gaze locked on her, his smile twisted with malice. "Thanks to him, you're ours now," he whispered, savoring the words. He licked his blade with a sick grin, the vile gesture only heightening the sickening triumph on his face.
Mike's face contorted with guilt, his heart pounding with regret as he looked from Giselle to the bandits. He cursed himself silently. If he had been stronger, faster, perhaps Giselle wouldn't have been in this situation. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to step forward. "Giselle, I can fight. Let me help," he insisted, his voice raw with desperation as he moved into a defensive stance beside her.
But Giselle's hand came up, stopping him with a firm shake of her head. "No, Mike. Stay back," she commanded, her voice unwavering. Her gaze remained steady, though her body was clearly weakening. She wasn't going to let anyone else risk themselves, not if she could still stand and fight.
The bandits circled, their weapons drawn, their confidence growing with each passing second as they watched her struggle. Their leader barked orders, and two of them peeled off, advancing on Mike, clearly intent on using him to break her remaining strength. At the same time, the others pressed closer around Giselle, eager to exploit her distraction.
Steeling himself, Mike threw a spell at the nearest bandit. The magic connected but had little effect; it was swatted away like an annoying insect. He fought on, channeling every ounce of desperation and anger into each attack, but it quickly became clear he couldn't hold them off alone. His magic was too weak, too unfocused.
Giselle, weakened though she was, held her ground with fierce resolve. She moved with a sharp, calculated precision, every blow she landed exact and deadly, her mana flaring in controlled bursts. Each use of power seemed to drain her further, but she kept going, determination blazing in her eyes.
"You underestimated us, princess!" shouted one of the bandits, his words taunting as he dodged her strike and landed a shallow cut along her arm. "If you'd used that fancy future sight of yours, you'd have seen this coming."
Another bandit laughed, his voice laced with mocking derision. "Trying to look strong for your little friend, were you?" He ran his tongue along the edge of his blade, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight. "That pride of yours is going to cost you everything."
The words struck deep, the taunts cutting through her defenses just as surely as their weapons. But Giselle kept her focus, her gaze unwavering. She fought on, her movements graceful yet strained, as though willing her body to keep up with her mind. Mike watched her in awe and torment, his own heart weighed down with guilt, feeling every ounce of her sacrifice.
In that instant, Giselle met his gaze, her eyes conveying both regret and fierce resolve. She was weakening visibly, but she fought with an unyielding spirit, striking down one bandit after another until the ground around her was spattered with blood. Yet with every blow, her breathing grew more labored, her steps heavier.
The bandit leader, spotting an opening, signaled his men. Half of them surged toward Giselle with renewed determination, while the rest advanced on Mike, sensing an easy target. Mike braced himself, casting a defensive spell, knowing it wouldn't be enough to keep them back for long.
As one bandit raised his weapon to strike, Mike flinched, fear racing through him. But before the blow could land, Giselle threw herself in front of him. In a split-second move, she positioned herself as his shield, the blade driving deep into her gut with a sickening force. She gritted her teeth, absorbing the blow, the pain searing through her. Blood spilled from her wound, staining her clothes as she held her ground. Mike felt only a shallow cut on his arm—a mere scratch, while she took the full force of the strike.
For a breathless moment, time seemed to stop. Giselle looked into Mike's eyes, the fierce determination in her gaze undimmed even through the pain. "Stay strong," she murmured, her voice trembling yet resolute.
The sword not only cut Giselle but also scratched Mike.