Jean winced as she yanked the arrow free, quickly cauterizing the wound with a spark of fire magic. She was getting far too used to this routine.

  Mal needed her. Sparks of red flame crackled to life around her fingers. She couldn’t just stand there. With a deep breath, she drew the uncommon wand she’d earned from the 'Guarded Spoil' event, gripping it like a promise.

  She hadn’t seen the man circle behind her until it was too late. The chain lashed out, coiling around her neck and yanking her violently back to her knees.

  These weren’t ordinary chains. The moment they tightened, her mana dimmed, not gone, but distant, like trying to shout through water. Her connection was muffled, distorted, making it nearly impossible to summon any of her skills.

  "Not so cocky now, are you? You’ve killed a few of the boss’s men these past weeks, he’s not exactly thrilled," the group’s leader sneered as he strolled past Mal. Four people were needed to restrain him, and even then, he fought like a cornered beast.

  The man knelt down, brushing Jean’s thick hair away from her face and resting his hand against her cheek with mock tenderness. She spat directly into his face. "Fuck you, and that psycho of a boss."

  The man stepped back, wiping his face in disgust. Jean recognized him now, he wasn’t one of the prisoners from the old facility, but a guard. One of the crooked ones. It was clear now he’d been part of the drug ring all along.

  As she watched him walk over to the man holding her chain, Jean noted something different about him. The others in his group always had that glazed, faraway look, like their minds were fogged or tethered elsewhere. But this one? His eyes were sharp, focused. He wasn’t under the same influence. He was here of his own will, and that made him more dangerous.

  "He’s going to break you so badly, and I want a front-row seat." He coiled the chain tighter around his fist, a cold blue-white light blooming from his palm. The energy pulsed down the links like a heartbeat, each throb humming with restrained malice.

  The moment the energy struck her, Jean screamed, a raw, involuntary sound. Agony surged through every nerve, her limbs convulsing violently. She collapsed, unable to stay upright, her body betraying her with every spasm.

  The pain paused for a breath, just long enough for her to drag herself back into focus.

  "You always looked down on us," he sneered. "Thought you were better than everyone."

  Jean bared her teeth in a grim smile. "Not everyone, just you."

  The pain slammed back into her before she could draw another breath.

  Just as the next wave of agony rose in the chain, a sharp crack split the air, followed by a burst of searing red light. A bolt struck the chain, slamming into the volatile blue energy coiled around it. The metal wasn’t built to endure that kind of force. It fractured with a high-pitched snap, and in that instant, Jean felt her mana rush back like a tide breaking through a dam.

  The leader staggered backward, the disrupted energy snapping back into him like a recoiling whip. He dropped to floor like she had done a few moments before.

  Behind her, screams erupted. Mal’s chains had shattered as well, three of them gone in an instant. The last unfortunate soul still gripping the final link barely had a heartbeat to react before Mal yanked him forward, wrapping the chain around his neck in one swift, punishing motion. Without hesitation, Mal snatched the man’s dagger and drove it into his throat with a brutal finality.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Jean had learned that Mal in combat was a different beast entirely. The gentle, protective man vanished, replaced by someone cold and efficient, driven by necessity, not rage. It wasn’t cruelty. It was survival.

  A bright white bolt struck Jean, making her flinch. Heart racing, she spun around, only to see a blond man standing not too far away, a red-glowing staff gripped in his hand. His white robes were trimmed in crimson embroidery, and a piece of parchment floated lazily in the air beside him, glowing faintly with magic. But what held her gaze was the scar on his right cheek, shaped unmistakably like a handprint, seared deep into his skin.

  As she watched, he fired another white bolt, this time at Mal. She saw the wounds across Mal’s arms begin to close, skin knitting together with quiet precision. He was healing them. He had healed her.

  The remaining pursuers made their choice, they didn’t run. Instead, they moved with grim purpose, forming up around their leader, who had already regained his composure.

  The healer triggered some kind of movement skill, his boots flared with red light as he shot forward, appearing beside Jean and Mal in a blur of motion.

  There was no time for introductions. The archer loosed a flurry of arrows, not with precision, but desperation. It was clear this was cover fire, buying time for the remaining five to reposition and face the sudden new threat.

  Jean realized Mal hadn’t had a chance to retrieve his shield. Still, he stepped forward instinctively, trying to shield her with his body. But the arrows never reached him. Crimson, almost blood-like barriers materialized in mid-air, catching the arrows effortlessly. Not a single one left a scratch.

  She glanced over at the stranger, his hand still raised mid-cast. "Any more tricks up your sleeve?" she quipped, sarcasm laced through her words. The guy looked battle-hardened, no doubt about it.

  Unlike Jean, Mal seized the opportunity. He lunged forward, barreling into the group with relentless force. As he neared them, the shockwave rune on his boots flared to life, unleashing a concussive blast that scattered the five pursuers like leaves in a storm.

  The stranger hurled a dagger with powerful precision, striking the archer square in the shoulder of his bow arm. It exploded on impact, and the archer cried out, his weapon falling from limp fingers as his shoulder slumped uselessly.

  Jean wasn’t about to let the other two do all the work, she wasn’t some helpless bystander. Drawing a deep breath, she conjured her wall of flame and laced it with her signature phoenix fire. The heat roared to life, the air shimmering as the barrier encircled the enemy group with fierce intensity. This time, there would be no escape. Crimson feathers materialized in the air around her, glowing with power before launching into the clustered foes like streaking embers, each shot precise, each strike deliberate. She made sure to avoid Mal, who was already locked in combat with the chain-wielding leader.

  Taking her cue, the stranger somehow had his blade back in hand and hurled it again with practiced ease. This time, three strange, red, bird-shaped bolts erupted from the floating parchment beside him, sleek and sharp, they dove after the dagger like predators hunting in formation.

  The fight ended not with retreat, but with devastation. The archer, already wounded, crumpled beneath the blast of a phoenix feather. Two others fell screaming, flames licking up their limbs as they collapsed in smoldering heaps. One tried to flee and was pinned mid-sprint by a dagger through the spine, his final breath stolen in silence.

  And the leader, Jean watched as Mal caught his charge head-on, deflecting the first blow with his forearm before driving his hammer into the man’s face. There was a sickening crunch as the man’s skull gave way beneath the blow, the impact caving it in like brittle wood.

  The silence that followed was sudden and complete.

  Smoke curled into the air, the scent of scorched cloth and blood thick in her nostrils. Jean exhaled, shoulders sagging. It was over.

  A stream of kill notifications flooded her vision. The attackers had ranged from level 8 to 11, with the leader standing out as the strongest, and the only one with a profession. His title, [Bondsmith –Legacy- Level 12], meant little to her, but she could guess its meaning well enough. He was the one who'd forged those cursed chains.

  The 'Legacy' tag still puzzled her. She'd received the [Phoenix Feather – Legacy] skill after a strange glitch while trying to select Fire Bolt. Had this former guard experienced something similar? It was too late to ask now, his skull lay shattered at her feet.

  "You, okay?" Mal’s deep voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She shouldn’t have let her mind wander, not now. The stranger was still there, watching. She didn’t know his motives, and no matter how much he’d helped, she couldn’t afford to lower her guard.