Captain Wiart stood at the town's center, surveying the wreckage with a tight jaw and steely eyes. His two swords floated behind him, poised as if ready for another attack. Shattered golem parts lay scattered like broken statues—stone limbs severed and twisted, torsos split open, and fragments littering the cobblestones. Nearby, buildings bore the marks of the fierce battle: deep gashes scored into stone walls, shattered windows, and cracked door frames, while rubble spilled across the street from the force of the golem rampage.
Lieutenant Lane rode up, quickly dismounting from his horse as he approached. His face was tense, but he gave a quick salute. "All civilians have been evacuated safely, sir."
Captain Wiart gave a brief nod, though his expression remained grim. "Good," he replied, his voice laced with concern as he continued scanning the scene.
Lane glanced around, noting the captain's tension. With a faint grin, he tried to lighten the mood. "Fighting creatures literally made of rock—and when your source is earth? That's hardly fair."
Wiart's brows knitted further, his gaze still fixed on the ruins around them. "It isn't fair," he muttered. "It was too easy." His grip tightened on the reins as though grounding himself.
"Well, that's you," Lane chuckled, glancing at the golem remains with a shudder. "I doubt this branch could've handled so many on their own."
Wiart shook his head, an uneasy look in his eyes. "It doesn't add up. Golems are usually confined to mountainous areas. You might see one or two stray, but never this many."
Lane looked thoughtful, his smile fading. "You're right; it does feel off. Like an organized attack by the Frjals. But why here? Jiron's one of the friendliest towns for other races I've seen."
"And even if that were their plan," Wiart added, his voice growing darker, "they'd need a portal to bring in this many golems. I don't know any mage in the region powerful enough to transport hundreds of golems unnoticed. Portals consume a tremendous amount of mana, even for just a few creatures."
Lane shook his head, disturbed by the thought. "True enough. But one thing's certain: if we hadn't been here, even with all the soldiers, this town would've been flattened."
A realization dawned on Wiart, his eyes widening with sudden dread. "All the soldiers are here. We need to get back to the station—now."
He dashed to his horse, mounting swiftly as Lane followed suit. The two raced toward the station, Wiart in the lead. Just as they neared their destination, a thunderous explosion split the air, sending a wave of shock through the ground.
Lane's eyes went wide as he steadied his horse. "What was that?!"
---
Meanwhile, at the heart of the explosion's aftermath, a hooded man stood amid scorched earth and swirling dust, his figure silhouetted by the settling debris. Coughing, he grinned, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Perhaps that was a bit much," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice. "No matter. That girl's shield was sturdier than I expected." He glanced around, his gaze shifting, then coughed again. "The package should be alive at the very least…"
As the dust cleared, his eyes widened in disbelief. Dahlia's ice shield stood pristine, an unbroken barrier that had shielded everything behind it. Her smile was calm but mocking as she held her stance. "It seems you're all bark and no bite. Your abilities leave much to be desired."
Behind her, Hex, still chained, stared in amazement, his mouth slightly open. This girl… she's incredible, he thought. I thought I was done for. How could she withstand an explosion like that? Who is she?
The assassin clenched his fists, his calm demeanor slipping. "How on earth did…" He gritted his teeth, adopting a stance again. "No matter. Let's see how long you can keep that up."
Suddenly, a massive trident hurtled down from the sky, striking the ground with earth-shattering force aimed straight at the assassin. He barely managed to dodge, leaping away at the last second. Turning, he saw Captain Wiart striding toward him, the air around him crackling with tension.
Wiart held his trident firmly, eyes narrowed. "I have a few questions for you."
The hooded man cursed under his breath, glancing down as his shadow began rippling beneath him, an inky blackness stretching in response. "Good timing," he muttered, relief and irritation mingling in his voice. Sheathing his daggers, he gave Dahlia a quick, appraising look. "We'll meet again, my young friend." He sank quickly into the shadow, his form vanishing like mist in the morning sun.
Wiart hurled his trident in one last attempt, but the assassin was already gone, swallowed by the shadows.
As the threat passed, Dahlia released her shield, her knees buckling as she collapsed from exhaustion. "Are you alright?" Hex called, his voice laced with worry.
She shot him an icy glare, though the effect was softened by her obvious fatigue. "Do I look like I'm alright, you oaf?"
Hex looked away, sheepish. "Sorry. I deserved that."
Wiart rushed over, reaching down to help her to her feet. "Easy now. Who was that?"
Dahlia shook her head slowly. "I have no idea. He just appeared out of nowhere."
"Dahlia!" A familiar voice called from above. Perus landed beside them, his broad wings folding as he touched down. His eyes were wide with concern. "I was looking for you everywhere! I saw the explosion."
Dahlia sighed, clearly exasperated. "Wonderful. Another oaf. In your infinite wisdom, you looked everywhere but where you last saw me."
Perus scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "Well… I thought you'd be with the rest of the soldiers, so I checked the town center first."
Captain Wiart cleared his throat, his tone gentle but firm. "Let's get you checked out, Dahlia."
Lieutenant Lane jogged up, breathing heavily from exertion. Captain Wiart turned to him. "Lieutenant, have the soldiers secure the area and take the prisoner into custody. I'll escort Miss Ashault to the clinic to ensure her injuries are treated."
Dahlia straightened, shaking her head. "There's no need. And, as I've told you, just call me Dahlia." She raised her hand, conjuring a ball of water that floated gently above her palm. As she applied it to her wounds, they healed instantly, the cuts and bruises fading before their eyes.
Hex's eyes widened in amazement, his jaw dropping. It was the first time he'd seen anyone use magic for healing. Magic of this kind was rare, typically reserved for the wealthy or for use on the battlefield—a privilege far beyond most people's reach.
Wiart turned back to Lane, his expression grim. "Lieutenant, tighten security around the town. The Frjals are here in Jiron now, and I don't want any more surprises."
Lane nodded sharply, his face hardening as the weight of the situation settled over him. "Understood, sir. We'll reinforce the perimeter and keep a close watch."