The air cracked.
The fourth golem lunged forward with a thunderous roar, its stone fists swinging with an unnatural speed and precision—each punch landing like a thunderclap.
Dila stood behind it, her trembling arms conducting the rhythm like a fevered composer on a battlefield stage.
Her magic staff moved like a conductor's baton, weaving patterns through the air, each motion triggering a flurry of destruction.
BAM—BAM—BAM—BAM!
The masked man's body was pummeled without pause.
His head snapped back—
His ribs cracked from blunt force—
His legs buckled but couldn't fall, pinned tight by the other golems.
Dila screamed as she cast, not in fear but from the overwhelming strain:
"Achh—ahhh—gahhh—HAAA—Gyaaa!!"
Her voice echoed like a battle cry.
The punches continued. Non-stop. Unrelenting.
Forty seconds of pure mechanical brutality.
And then—
☆ "Six… Five… Four… Three… Two… One…" ☆
Nari's voice, soft and urgent, cut through the chaos.
☆ "Buff expired. All temporary power has worn off." ☆
The blue glow around the golems dimmed instantly.
Their strength vanished like a snuffed flame.
Their stone forms returned to dull, cracked statues, limbs slumping as the magic faded.
Dila felt it all at once.
Her body buckled as if struck by a collapsing mountain.
She let out a ragged gasp, eyes wide in panic.
"Sh-shiiit—"
A surge of blood burst from her mouth, splattering on the ground.
Her staff slipped from her hand and clattered uselessly, rolling to the side.
Her knees hit the pavement with a sickening thud.
Both hands planted into the dirt as she struggled to stay conscious.
Her vision was going—edges blurring into gray shadows. The world spun.
Her heart pounded in slow, failing thuds.
"N-not again..." she whispered. "Just like last time…"
Nari's voice flickered inside her mind, glitching like a dying transmission.
☆ "Dila…! Dila… please—respond…" ☆
A broken display flashed across her inner system:
---
[Status Report - SYSTEM FAILING]
Mana Level: -300 / 200
Health Level: 1 / 1000
Level: 2
Internal Damage: CRITICAL
Buff Expired: ALL
Warning: Life Support Threshold Breached
---
Her breathing turned to gasps.
She couldn't even feel her legs anymore. Her body was screaming.
And still—she tried to lift her head.
Then…
CRACK.
The sound of shattering stone ripped through the air.
The masked man—bruised, his cloak torn, his lips bloodied—stood tall within the crater left by the final barrage.
A deep scratch carved his cheek, and a hint of blood dripped from his brow. But he was smiling.
He reached up and wiped the blood with a finger, inspecting it with mild amusement.
Then he laughed.
A cold, sharp-edged laugh, echoing like a knife scraping against steel.
"Hahahaha… HahahAHAHAHA!"
With a powerful kick, he shattered the golem holding his left side—
CRACK!
Then the right—
CRUNCH!
And finally, the one behind him—
BOOM!
Its stone body exploded into rubble.
Dust and gravel rained down around him as he stepped free, dragging his dagger in the air scraping with wind sound ready to slay.
He rolled his neck with a crack.
"Poor little girl…"
His voice shifted to a mock-sympathetic tone, sadistic and venomous.
"You couldn't even sustain your transformation. Awww… how tragic."
He twirled his dagger, spinning it between his fingers as he began to walk.
Slow. Purposeful. Unhurried.
The predator knew his prey couldn't run.
From across the rubble-strewn plaza, he slowly walk approaching Dila's collapsed form.
"You really tried your best, huh?" he said, eyes gleaming behind his cracked mask.
"But now… now I think it's time to finish this."
Than suddenly the last golem that has been weaken significantly—the fourth—charged.
Even with its magic dimmed, its sheer weight and momentum turned it into a final battering ram, stone fists raised with primal force. Its red eyes flickered weakly, but determination burned in its steps. It let out a guttural rumble as it sprinted toward the masked man, determined to buy even one more second for Dila.
But the man didn't flinch.
He stood calmly in place, one foot forward, the jagged dagger resting at his side. The tip of the blade glinted under the bruised light of the evening sky.
And then—
A blur.
In one swift motion, he stepped forward and sliced through the charging golem with a perfect, diagonal slash. His dagger, impossibly sharp and cursed with something unnatural, cut through stone as though it were silk.
CRRRRSHHH!!
The golem's body split in half mid-step.
Its upper half fell forward, crashing into the pavement with an explosive shatter. Dust and shards burst outward as its legs buckled and collapsed behind it. Bits of stone rolled across the bloodstained ground.
The masked man didn't even turn to watch it fall.
He held his dagger aloft, staring at the blade, the golem's dust still clinging to its edge.
"Hmm…" he muttered with a satisfied grin.
"Smooth as butter."
Then—
A gust of wind swept past him.
His tattered cloak, already scorched from the earlier onslaught, finally gave in to the strain. It ripped free from his shoulders, fluttering into the night like a torn shadow.
And beneath it—his identity was revealed.
A man. An elf.
His long, sharply tapered ears were unmistakable, emerging through thick black hair now tossed wild by the wind. His skin bore faint glowing runes along the collarbone and neck—sigils etched in ancient script, pulsing faintly.
His crimson eyes burned like twin embers beneath the twilight. His expression—cold, regal, cruel—was framed by an angular face, unmarred by age, yet hardened by experience.
And as the evening began to settle, the last orange streaks of daylight fading behind the ruined rooftops, darkness started to drape across the fractured street...
As the wind howled through the broken remnants of the battlefield, the masked elf stepped closer, his boots crunching on shattered stone. His jagged dagger, still glowing faintly with residual energy, shimmered with the dark dust that clung to it like a curse. His red eyes glinted—but now, not with malice.
They widened.
He gasped.
His steps faltered for a moment as he stared down at the weakened girl trembling on the blood-smeared ground.
"…An elf?" he whispered.
The recognition in his voice was more than surprise—it was disbelief… familiarity… fear.
His pace quickened.
He reached Dila in long strides, kneeling before her limp body. Her silver-white hair spilled across the dirt like moonlight over a grave. Her delicate features, smeared with dust and blood, were unmistakable now.
The masked man slowly reached out and, with a trembling hand, touched her cheek, lifting her face gently, almost reverently.
Her skin was cold. Her breath shallow.
Dila, her strength all but drained, weakly turned her head and tried to push him away. Her voice cracked from her throat like a whisper of wind.
"L-Let go of me…"
But the man didn't obey.
Instead, he stared at her with a strange mixture of awe and dread.
"No…" he muttered. "No, no, no—my master… My master will not be pleased by this."
He clenched his teeth, panic building in his voice. "I just beat something valuable…! Someone important…!"
He looked around, suddenly alert. His entire demeanor shifted.
He released her and stood upright like he had just realized the consequences of his actions. His eyes darted through the growing shadows, as if expecting something—or someone—watching.
"I have to go."
And then, stepping backward into the veil of the fading dusk, he gave one last look at her.
His mouth curled into a bittersweet grin.
"I hope we meet again," he said softly—almost playfully. He gave a short, breathy laugh.
Then—he vanished.
His figure dissolved into black mist, trailing into the air before dissipating completely, as if he had never existed.
Dila, eyes fluttering from exhaustion and pain, reached out a trembling hand toward the vanishing blur. Her heart screamed, but her body gave in.
"Come… back here…" she gasped with all the strength she had left.
Then she collapsed.
Her body went limp. Her staff rolled away, clattering against the stone.
The only sound that remained was the soft rustling of the wind through the broken remains of the battle.
Until—
"Over there! Shine the torch!"
Voices rang out from the edge of the ruined street. Torchlight burst into view as a small troop of knights ran in from the west, their armor clinking and boots echoing across the broken road.
A knight at the front held up a bright flame, eyes scanning the scene—his face twisting into horror.
"Is anybody okay?!"
They rushed forward.
The priestess—barely breathing—was sprawled on the ground, blood staining her robes.
The hero knight, Sarios, lay nearby, crumpled against the side of a collapsed house, his body beaten beyond recognition, blood trailing from his temple and lips. He didn't move.
More torches came. More gasps. One of the soldiers dropped to his knees beside Dila.
"She's still breathing!" he called out, voice urgent. "Get a healer, now!"
The others scouted quickly, weapons drawn just in case the attacker remained nearby. But the shadows held only silence.
Moments later, soldiers carefully lifted the priestess and the unconscious mage including the broken hero into stretchers made from cloaks and spears. They were taken from the ruins under the light of torches, into the safety of the nearest outpost beyond the forest wall.