CHAPTER 48: CHAPTER 48: NOT WITHOUT A FIGHT

The doorframe still smoked from the blast when five masked men stepped into the house. Their eyes locked on Nyra and Rael.

"That’s them," one said, voice muffled behind the mask. "The boy and girl. Who knew some old crone would choose to shelter them?"

They circled slowly, their taunts dripping like oil.

"What happened to all that bravado? You had plenty when you walked into town, even more in the Guild’s hall. Now you just stand there, frozen. Without the masked stranger, you’re nothing but spineless rats."

Another laughed. "He’s probably dead already. We’ll bring his head to you soon enough. Surrender now, and maybe, just maybe, we let you walk away with your skin intact."

The elderly woman trembled, but she stepped forward, planting herself between the intruders and the two youths. She had already lost her son. She wasn’t going to watch these strangers but children in her eyes, be taken without trying to stop it.

"Please," she said, voice shaking, "take me instead. Leave them alone."

One of the masked men scoffed. "I’m sick of her." as he raised a hand to strike.

But before it could land, Rael caught his wrist.

He turned to the woman with a calm smile and touched her shoulder.

"Please, let us handle this."

Across town, Arden felt the change through the life tags. The sharp alertness he’d sensed earlier shifted into something else, anticipation. His lips curved.

"These battle freaks," he muttered.

One of the masked men surrounding him caught the grin. "Do you smile when you’re scared?"

"Shut it, toad," Arden shot back. "Or are you just going to stand there croaking?"

That was all it took. Rage rolled off them like heat, and the first wave came.

They weren’t amateurs. It showed as spells flared, bursts of flame, jagged ice, and whipping wind. Battle mages surged forward with reinforced strikes while assassins darted in from blind angles. An artificer at the rear tossed glowing scrolls that burst into nets of light, talismans trying to bind his movements.

Their timing was good. Their coordination was sharp. And they were proud of it.

But Arden didn’t even draw on his stronger skills. His body moved like a hammer in motion, every punch, every kick laced with raw enhancement that shattered ribs and hurled bodies aside.

A battle mage flew into a wall hard enough to crack the plaster. An assassin’s blade met his forearm and stopped dead, the man crumpling from a counter-knee. The artificer barely had time to unfold his next scroll before Arden closed the gap and sent him spinning across the cobblestones.

They came in numbers, but every exchange left fewer standing.

Arden didn’t rush. Between dodging swings and breaking bones, he could feel the steady pulse from Nyra, Rael, and Zephyra. They weren’t panicked. In fact, they were enjoying themselves.

"Guess I’ve got time to make this hurt," he said, catching a blade mid-swing and twisting the wielder’s wrist until it popped.

The fight became a rhythm, step in, break a guard, drop a man. An ice shard skimmed past his cheek from an overeager mage, and Arden answered with a straight punch that lifted the man off his feet and sent him tumbling into his own comrades. The artificer tried another glowing net, but Arden kicked a fallen thug into it, tangling the man instead.

Between blows, he demanded names and reasons. The answers were pitiful. They weren’t assassins sent from big organizations, just a local gang hoping to make their names by capturing him and his party. The promise of coin had been enough for them to gamble their lives.

"You wasted my time for this?" Arden’s voice was flat, though his fists weren’t.

Begging started. Apologies tumbled out, masks knocked loose to reveal faces swelling from his strikes. They acknowledged their mistake, but that didn’t stop him from driving a knee into one’s ribs or planting another in the dirt.

When he finally stopped, the street was littered with groaning bodies. He brushed the dust from his clothes with a flick.

"Spread the word. Anyone who comes after us gets the same treatment," he said, his tone calm but carrying a weight they wouldn’t forget.

He stepped over them and made his way toward the house.

Meanwhile, The clash at the house was at its peak.

Rael moved like lightning, every blow trailing sparks or bursts of ice that froze weapons mid-swing. He grinned through it all, enjoying the exchange.

"Come on, is that all you’ve got?" he taunted, parrying two attacks at once before slamming an elbow into the nearest man’s jaw.

Nyra, by contrast, was calm as the eye of a storm. Her hands weaved arcs of wind that shoved enemies off-balance, followed by precision strikes of ice that locked arms and legs in place without shattering the room.

She didn’t look like she rated any of them as worth real effort.

Zephyra was pure brutality. She moved low and fast, hitting joints and tendons, leaving her targets howling on the floor. No finesse—just crippling precision, a beast’s method of making sure prey didn’t rise again.

The masked men staggered under the assault.

Their earlier confidence bled away as they were knocked, frozen, shocked, or dragged toward the door. Within minutes, they were being kicked out one by one, limping, bleeding, and clutching broken weapons.

The elderly woman stood frozen, her eyes wide at the carnage. She had expected to be the one shielding these young ones, but the truth left her speechless.

The last thug hit the street just as Arden stepped inside. He looked around at the wrecked furniture and sprawled bodies outside the doorway.

"I had to cross a lot of bodies to get in here," he said with a half-smile. "Should I be scared?"

Rael grinned. "Only if you plan on getting in the way."

Nyra shook her head. "Looks like you had your own battle."

"Yeah," Arden said, his tone dripping with mock pride. "They came for a fight. I gave them a lesson." He turned to the woman. "Sorry about the damage to your home."

But instead of scolding him, she burst into tears and pulled Nyra close. Relief poured out of her in shaking sobs.

Nyra held her gently, whispering reassurances. It took a long while to calm her, but there was something warming about it, someone was actually happy they’d come through safe.

When the woman finally stepped back, Rael leaned toward Arden. "So... did you get anything out of them?" His tone hinted at the organization without saying it outright.

Arden’s expression hardened. "No. Just local trash chasing fame. But..." his gaze shifted toward the door, "...it still plays into the hands of the ones who hate dual affinity mages."

A/N:

Please Vote, with Powerstones and Tickets.

Send Gifts to encourage me.

Also, Engage by leaving Comments and Reviews.

Thank you for the Support ❤