The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 118: Confrontation with the Guards

Chapter 118: Confrontation with the Guards

The guards stood before me, their faces etched in disbelief as my soft declaration hung in the air. After a tense silence, the captain grew a malicious smile.

"I was hoping you’d say that. I guess obedience is too much to expect from a filthy slut like you. Take her!"

Though their faces were hidden behind gleaming helmets, their eyes betrayed reluctance. They weren’t as oblivious as their captain and had sensed the seething discontentment of the crowd.

"Please come quietly," one said, her voice taking on a hint of pleading.

"Shut it and capture the bitch!" the captain snarled, fixing his gaze on the soldier.

The woman flinched and shrugged apologetically, moving toward me in unison with the rest. I sighed and dropped my staff, letting it shatter into stars. Perhaps it was unwise to make a scene. The guards straightened with a glimmer of hope, but they quickly stiffened in dismay as I raised my hand.

"Stop her!" one of the mages cried out. Instantly, several sets of magic circles materialized, heralding the fury of five fifth-level mages. Yet, as swift and skilled as they were, it was nothing before the raw power of Soul Casting.

"Dispel Magic," I murmured, pushing out my hand.

The air distorted, drawn toward the magic circle rotating before my outstretched palm. With a subdued roar, a surge of mana rippled outward, filling the entire street in front of me with a unidirectional shockwave. The sudden force whipped the air into a frenzy, tugging at clothes, armor, and swords, yet leaving the mundane townsfolk untouched.

The mages gasped, stumbling back as their half-formed magic circles collapsed, the feedback reverberating through their souls. Initially, nothing seemed to change, but then their faces paled.

Without warning, magic weapons and armor exploded, rocking the street with the force of the roiling mana. Shards of wood and metal buried themselves in the nearest surfaces, tearing the squad of guards into a gruesome mess. As shrapnel filled the air, I raised walls of wind and water, shielding the onlooking crowds from danger.

The summoned winds worked to clear the bloody debris from the air, revealing the injured but still living guards. Their wounds were mostly superficial, yet their bodies bore numerous small, jagged cuts that oozed blood in twisted ribbons.

The mages stood amid the carnage, just as injured as the guards, but their horrified stares remained fixed on me. Blood dripped down one mage’s face, trickling into his gaping mouth and startling him from his stupor.

"I-impossible!" he stammered, falling to his knees. His lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but no words came out.

His words shattered the shock that held the rest of the mages, and they collapsed beside him. A few attempted to cast healing magic, but my spell had left their mana in chaos. Judging by the state of their souls, it would take an hour or more for them to regain enough stability for even simple spells.

Initially, I felt queasy at the sight of the bloodshed, but I couldn’t help but compare it to the injuries suffered by the guards at the gate or the bandits we’d encountered earlier. No one had died here, but even if they had, I wasn’t sure if I would care. This realization frightened me, but there was no time to dwell on it.

"Let’s go," I said softly, tugging at Fyren’s sleeve.

Although his sword never left its sheathe, his sharp, watchful gaze never lifted off the soldiers, even as we strode through their fallen midst.

The captain of the guard lay in our path, and I hesitated briefly before carefully stepping around his thrashing form. His eyes met mine briefly, filled with malice, but the twisted metal of his armor dug into his flesh, preventing him from standing, let alone stopping us.

"You’ll always be a slave!" he screamed, his oily voice strained and hoarse. "Don’t think this is over. I’ll see you to Byron if it’s the last thing I do!"

"Perhaps," I replied softly. "But perhaps not. As fate wills it."

The crowd parted peacefully, their nameless faces filled with awe and respect. While most watched in solemn silence, I noticed a young boy tugging at his mother’s sleeve, asking, "Who is that?"

The mother shushed him, growing embarrassed as his voice carried over the crowd. "A hero," she whispered. "The one who healed Grandpa. Now hush, everyone’s watching."

Warmth spread through my chest, extending to the tips of my horns and tail. But as we left the crowded streets behind, I turned to Fyren, a tentative flutter in my heart.

"Was that... all right?" I finally asked.

His expression remained impassive for a moment, then he nodded. "Probably. I don’t understand much about the local laws here, but didn’t Soltair say heroes stand above them?"

"Maybe for others," I murmured, nervously playing with the hem of my dress. "But what if the church doesn’t see it that way?" Rodrick’s news of the inquisitor hadn’t left my mind, and I had no desire to see someone like him again.

He chuckled and placed his large hand on my shoulder. "I think you just gave them a reason to. It may have been easy to dismiss you when you were weaker, but now you’ve broken through the mists of obscurity and mastered a sixth-circle spell. Even if you’re a slave, they can hardly ignore your power."

His words dispelled the gloom that had settled over me, and I took a deep breath. "You’re right. Thank you."

Soltair and Trithe awaited us at the gate. Since we had left the scene of the incident first, word had yet to spread, and the guards let us pass with cheerful farewells. Our next destination lay several weeks’ travel to the northwest—a border fortress between the Kingdom of Radia and the Cerxov Empire, home to the prestigious Western University where Connor, the Undead Hero, had studied.

"Is something the matter?" Soltair asked, lengthening his stride to catch up with me.

I turned, puzzled, realizing I had wandered several paces ahead of the group. "No, it’s nothing," I said, glancing at the ground.

He walked beside me, his curious gaze fixed on me until it sharpened. "Is that... blood?"

I flinched as his fingers brushed against the reddish stains scattered across the front of my dress.

"Blood?" Trithe asked, quickly catching up. "Did you two get into a fight?"

I looked at Fyren helplessly, and he smiled softly, his lips pressed together. I sighed in frustration. Why did he always clam up whenever I found myself in a tough situation? Giving in to the duo’s combined curiosity, I began to explain myself.

"It wasn’t so much a fight as... well, it was a fight," I reluctantly explained. "Lord Byron wanted to arrest me for not charging people for healing them. I suppose the other mages started losing business, so the taxes stopped coming in."

"Wait, you were healing people?" Soltair asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"Yes, I mentioned it a few times this week already," I explained, feeling exasperated. Perhaps if he didn’t spend so much time ogling Trithe, he would have remembered.

"Oh, okay. So why did you end up fighting them?"

"They refused to back down, threatening violence if we didn’t comply. I didn’t kill anyone or anything; I used Dispel Magic to stop their attacks. There were five mages, and I was worried civilians might get caught in the crossfire."

"And the blood?" Trithe asked idly. My anxiety slipped away as it became clear both she and Soltair didn’t really care beyond mere curiosity.

I shook my head and used a spell to cleanse the crimson stains from my dress. "Their magic items couldn’t handle the destabilized mana and exploded. Fyren didn’t even draw his sword."

The adventurer cleared his throat, breaking into their lighthearted interrogation with a question of his own. "You know, Xiviyah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. What kind of spell did you use? I’ve never seen Dispel Magic have such devastating effect."

I hesitated, unsure whether to answer his question truthfully. It was a matter I had discussed with Thron at length, and our conclusions remained uncertain. In the end, I decided to share.

"I’m not certain yet, but I think it has to do with my affinity for Fate Magic. All my spells of that type are potent. Aegis shouldn’t block anything above the first or second circle, yet I regularly use it against third and fourth. Mirror Sphere deflected one of Korra’s sixth-circle spells without issue. It’s something I’d prefer to keep secret, if you don’t mind," I said, hoping he would understand.

He nodded, but Soltair just snorted and replied, "Sure, whatever. But if that’s the case, perhaps don’t go showing off in front of the whole town. Anyway, I heard our next quest involves a dragon."

And just like that, the topic shifted, not to be revisited for the rest of our journey. Whatever consequences might arise would belong to the future, and I could only pray to Fate I would be prepared to handle them. But, no matter the cost, I wouldn’t regret today.

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