CHAPTER 126: CH 126: RESISTANCE- PART 1

Fenrir climbed the long, spiraling staircase from the fifth floor, the residual winds of the Vortex of Wind swirling gently at his back like a whispering guardian.

Each step was silent but heavy, his mind focused on what might await him on the sixth floor.

When he finally emerged, he blinked at the sudden brightness—only to find himself standing in the middle of a crowded market street.

Dozens of people, dressed in various colorful outfits, halted mid-step to stare at him.

Stalls lined both sides of the wide path, merchants shouting over each other to sell enchanted trinkets, beast pelts, and freshly cooked meals.

But the moment Fenrir appeared, everything stopped.

"Who is that?"

"Did he just... appear in the middle of the plaza?"

"Wait—isn’t that... is he using magic inside the city!?"

People pointed and gasped, backing away from him like he was diseased. Some ran. Others shouted.

Fenrir glanced around, confused by the reaction.

"What the hell?"

He raised his hand to open the system, intending to check the rules or a map. But nothing happened. The system didn’t respond. No screen. No prompt.

His eyes narrowed.

’That’s new.’

Before he could puzzle it out further, a loud voice rang out.

"Halt! You, with the unauthorized entrance and visible aura!"

A group of uniformed city guards in navy armor came sprinting toward him, weapons drawn and held in formation.

"By decree of the guardian, you are under arrest for breaching spatial order and using powers without clearance!"

Fenrir exhaled slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Annoying..."

The guards encircled him quickly. More bystanders gathered to see what was going on, and the murmurs grew louder.

"Did you see the wind around him?"

"That aura... it’s like a storm. That’s not ordinary wind magic."

One guard stepped forward.

"Stand down and surrender. Use of powers inside city walls is a serious offense."

Fenrir tilted his head.

"You all think I’m going to let myself be taken over something like this?"

"Don’t make it worse!"

The lead guard warned, gripping a glowing restraining chain.

Fenrir didn’t answer.

Instead, the wind around him tightened—coiling and swirling.

In an instant, a massive burst of compressed air erupted outward from Fenrir’s body.

The Vortex of Wind activated, and a whirlwind shot outward like an explosion, launching several guards into the air and blowing others off their feet.

Stalls collapsed. Carts rolled. Screams erupted all around as people ducked for cover.

Those still conscious stared at Fenrir in shock.

"The Vortex—!"

"That’s a Legendary Class power!"

"I thought that was lost! How is he—?"

Fenrir didn’t bother answering. With the element of surprise on his side, he looked around for an escape route.

His eyes caught a narrow alley behind a fruit vendor’s half-destroyed stall.

"Perfect."

But just as he turned to bolt, something hit the ground in front of him with a clink.

Fssshhhh—!

A thick, white smoke exploded out, blanketing the entire square in a choking fog. Coughs echoed all around, people stumbling blindly through the mist.

Fenrir stepped back, eyes narrowed.

’Now what?’

A hand grabbed his wrist.

He reacted on instinct, ready to throw the person aside, but the grip was firm and deliberate—not hostile.

"Don’t fight. Unless you want every enforcer in the city on your back."

A calm voice said through the smoke.

Someone tugged at him again, pulling him sideways through the fog.

Against his usual instincts, Fenrir let himself be led.

He ducked behind crates, passed through a small wooden door into a backroom, then through another hallway, before the smoke finally faded behind them.

Whoever this person was, they knew the city’s layout well.

After a minute, they came to a stop inside what looked like a storeroom. Crates lined the walls, and a single lantern lit the room with a warm glow. The door shut behind them.

Fenrir turned.

Fenrir almost shattered the wrist that was tugging him through the smoke.

His instincts flared, rage simmering just beneath the surface as he raised his hand to strike—but at the last second, he stopped himself. Something wasn’t right.

The grip was firm but not hostile, and more than that, he wanted to know what the hell was going on in this city.

So he held back.

They ran through alleys, twisted corners, and small wooden doors tucked behind market stalls. The smoke and shouts faded behind them, and the sounds of the city settled into the usual mix of background chatter and moving carts.

Finally, once they reached a quiet, shadowy alley behind an abandoned warehouse, the mysterious figure stopped.

The stranger turned around and spoke with a sense of urgency still thick in their voice.

"We’re safe now. You can speak freely."

Fenrir didn’t answer.

He moved forward, seized the person’s wrist in a crushing grip, and narrowed his eyes.

"Who the hell are you? And where were you planning to take me?"

His voice was low, almost growling.

The hood fell back from the stranger’s head with the motion, revealing a young face underneath—so young, in fact, that Fenrir blinked in surprise.

A boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, with pale skin and pointed ears. His eyes were bright green and full of nervous energy, but not fear.

He smiled nervously.

"Name’s Kael. I’m... with the Resistance."

Fenrir’s grip didn’t loosen.

Kael winced.

"I saved you back there because I sensed something in you. You... feel like someone who wants the same thing we do."

Fenrir raised an eyebrow.

"And what’s that supposed to be?"

Kael’s eyes lit up with conviction.

"Freedom. The right to use your powers however you want. You felt it too, didn’t you? The suppression field on this floor—it restricts everyone, even people like us. That’s not how things should be."

Fenrir sighed and let go of the elf’s wrist.

"You’re wrong about me."

Kael looked confused.

"I don’t care about your rebellion. Or freedom. I’m just trying to get off this floor. I don’t give a damn about who runs it or how. If helping you lot means getting caught up in something messy, count me out."

Fenrir said flatly.

Kael’s hopeful expression faltered.

The boy looked stunned, clearly not expecting such blunt rejection.

"You... don’t want to fight for freedom?"

Fenrir folded his arms.

"No. I fight for myself. I have goals, and none of them include playing hero for a cause I don’t care about."

There was a long silence between them, broken only by the sound of distant bells from the city’s central tower.

Kael’s shoulders sagged for a moment—but then his jaw tightened. He looked up at Fenrir with renewed determination.

"That’s fine. You don’t have to care. You don’t have to believe in our cause."

He said quietly but firmly.

Fenrir looked at him with vague interest.

Kael continued.

"If you help us—even for your own reasons—it still helps everyone. Your power, your presence... It would send a message. We need someone like you, even if you’re only in it for yourself."

The kid’s voice didn’t waver, even when faced with Fenrir’s cold indifference.

Fenrir studied him for a moment.

"You’re a bold one."

"I have to be. I don’t have your strength. I can’t afford to hesitate."

Kael said, straightening.

Fenrir turned his head and looked up at the sky above, glimpses of silver clouds sliding between the buildings.

The suppression field was real—he could feel it now, clearer than before. It was a ceiling pressing down on everyone here.

It was annoying. Stifling.

But still... this wasn’t his fight.

"...You have a base, or are you just wandering around pulling strangers into alleys?"

Fenrir asked at last.

Kael blinked, surprised by the question.

"We have a base. Not far from here."

"Take me there. I’ll listen. But don’t expect me to fight your war."

Fenrir said.

Kael’s grin was immediate.

"That’s more than enough."

Fenrir sighed.

"Just keep the hopeful speeches to yourself, kid. I’m not interested in playing savior."