At the plaza’s center stood a massive platform. Cesecity’s portly mayor stood atop it, flanked by two guards on each side—all Bronze Rank warriors. Below the platform, rows of Iron Rank soldiers stood in perfect formation, uniformed in armor, shields strapped to their backs, swords at their waists, radiating disciplined might. Clearly, this was the army mass-produced by Burchett Kingdom’s scrolls. Two additional formations stood nearby: city patrol officers and Cesecity’s regular guards. Appointed directly by the king, the mayor outranked local nobles like John. To ensure his safety, professional soldiers had been dispatched—disciplined troops unlike John’s cowardly private militia. They’d never flee from a fearsome foe.

The mayor droned on atop the platform, extolling John’s "compassion for the people" and "generous charity," weaving a tapestry of lies. He dabbed at his eyes occasionally. Amplified by sound-enhancing magic woven into the platform, his voice reached every citizen. Below, blank-faced residents watched his farcical performance. All they wondered was when they could go home, when they could work. Otherwise, today’s meal would go uneaten.

Amid the crowd, a hooded figure in black robes parted the throng with slow, swimming motions, inching toward the platform’s base. It was Witt, clad in the very robe Kaelxi used for her cons. He was struggling—Cesecity’s sheer crowd density had him nearly knocked off his feet. His plan had been simple: slip close during the mayor’s speech, then unleash a miniature *Sunblast* to end the corrupt pig’s life. *Sunblast*—Witt’s own creation, essentially a colossal fireball spell. A prodigy in magic, Witt possessed mana reserves and control far beyond ordinary Bronze mages, even many Silver-ranked ones. While casting a fireball was easy, growing one in your palm without detonation was near-impossible. His innate *Mana Shaping* talent let him conjure *Sunblast* instantly, leaving foes no time to react. After the kill, he’d vanish with a scapegoat amid the chaos, accelerated beyond pursuit. Reckless? Yes. Effective? Absolutely. The mayor would never expect John’s killer to strike back through layered defenses—or to witness *Sunblast* today.

Witt inhaled the robe’s faint scent, thinking: *Kaelxi, watch over me.*

Meanwhile, Kaelxi worked with beggars to guide the crowd’s evacuation. She wouldn’t allow trampling or collateral damage from Witt’s magic. This was kindness within her power.

By the time Witt squeezed to the front, the mayor’s speech had ended. Now came the "confession." A trembling scapegoat—some random beggar threatened with his adopted blind son’s life—knelt on the platform, hands bound by guards. His fearful voice, magnified by magic, echoed across the plaza as he "admitted" guilt and praised noble greatness. The mayor sipped tea from a chair nearby, savoring the spectacle. *Let every citizen see the price of defying nobility!*

*Damn. The perfect moment’s gone,* Witt realized. Attacking now would incinerate the innocent man.

Before Witt could act, the confession ended. Legs buckling, the beggar was dragged toward the execution block.

*At least... the boy would be safe. I’ve fulfilled a father’s duty,* he thought. Warmth eased his fear as he closed his eyes on the block.

Witt lunged. Two fireballs blasted the Bronze guards aside. He hoisted the beggar onto his shoulder, activated *Levitation*, and soared skyward. His right hand rose—a ten-meter-radius fireball coalesced instantly, matching the blast that had erased the mine. Draining most of his mana was dangerous, but necessary. He’d erase the mayor and his soldiers entirely. Heat radiated downward, scorching the stone.

Seeing the black-robed figure leap onto the platform, citizens scattered. Chaos erupted—but Kaelxi and the beggars’ guidance prevented stampedes. The mayor and soldiers stared up, awestruck, as if witnessing a god. To them, the hooded figure didn’t just fly—he cradled the sun itself. No one mistook it for a mere fireball. *What mage could conjure such a sun?!*

As citizens fled, the vast plaza emptied swiftly. The mayor snapped out of his stupor first. "That sun! You’re John’s killer!"

Witt saw Kaelxi and the crowd were clear. No words wasted—he slammed the *Sunblast* downward.

Guards scrambled, shields locking into walls before the mayor. *Sunblast* struck the first shield-wall—shattering it like kindling, hurling soldiers skyward. The fireball shrank but roared on, blasting through the next rank. Charred corpses rained down, armor glowing hot enough to sear meat. Yet the soldiers held, disciplined to the end.

The fire tore through shield after shield, finally halting against a wall held by four Bronze warriors. Iron soldiers lay annihilated, bodies charred beyond recognition. Patrol officers and regular guards—mere civilians—had fled with the crowd at the first sign of battle.

Only the mayor remained alive on the plaza, trousers soaked, staring up in terror. Four Bronze guards glared at Witt, who hovered above, the beggar slung over his shoulder.

Beyond the plaza, a pair of eyes watched Witt’s standoff with keen interest. John’s assassin had tracked them for two days. *If Witt wins, I’ll strike when he’s weak. If he loses... Kaelxi dies tonight.*

*This is the end for you lovebirds.*