Roaring, Witt charged at the leader. Flames wreathed his fist, fueled by pure fury, and slammed straight into the leader’s jaw.

"Decent strength. But this flame..."

"Are you a mage or a warrior?"

The blow barely registered to the leader. He even sounded curious about Witt’s class.

Witt’s other fist shot out without hesitation, cracking against the leader’s nose.

His answer to the question came in four sharp bursts:

"I!"

"AM!"

"YOUR!"

"FATHER!"

He roared, hammering every vital point he could reach—neck, heart, temple, even the most vulnerable spot between a man’s legs.

It was useless. A Bronze-rank strike meant nothing against Gold Rank.

"You’ve reached your limit," the leader stated. One hand stayed casually behind his back as his other fist lashed out toward Witt’s heart.

"I knew it!" Witt braced, crossing his arms just in time. The impact didn’t pierce his heart, but his left forearm snapped with a sickening crunch, hanging limp.

He stumbled back several steps to absorb the force—a mere casual strike.

*So strong. Unbelievably strong.*

*I can’t win. No matter what, I can’t win!*

Witt understood: even dying here wouldn’t scratch this man.

But he couldn’t retreat.

Kaelxi stood behind him.

The girl he loved.

If he gave up, who would protect her?

Kaelxi, enslaved?

*That will never happen!*

*Not while I still draw breath!*

Witt glanced back. The Elf girl knelt, praying desperately. Worry flooded her eyes; her lips moved silently.

He couldn’t hear her over the roar in his ears, but he read the words: *"Run!"*

Witt grinned, blood staining his teeth. That last punch had hurt more than he let on.

*Kaelxi… you do care.*

*For you? I’d fight a battle I can’t win. Without hesitation.*

Witt whipped his right leg up, aiming a kick straight for the leader’s eye—a move that whistled through the air. The leader caught his ankle effortlessly.

Amused, the leader chuckled. "Trying to blind me?"

"With your strength? Impossible—"

A blade of pure magic materialized in Witt’s hand. As the leader gripped his leg, Witt poured every last drop of his mana into forging the sharpest blade he could muster. He drove it deep into the leader’s mocking, triumphant eye.

"*Your father* can blind you just fine!" Witt yanked the blade free, spitting the words.

The leader released Witt’s leg, clamping a hand over his bleeding eye. He waved off his agitated squad. *He* would end this.

Witt slashed the blade toward the leader’s throat—*CLANG!*—it shattered against his skin.

*His hide’s tougher than his eyes.* Witt tried to create distance, to rebuild his mana. *Blind his other eye. Even Gold Rank can’t fight what he can’t see.*

As for the rest of the squad? He’d gnaw through their throats with his teeth if he had to. Break his own bones to buy Kaelxi time.

*At her speed… they won’t catch her.*

*Even if it costs my—*

Witt looked down. An arm protruded from his chest, slick with blood.

He raised his head. The leader stood inches away, one eye sealed shut and weeping blood, the other burning with fury. He’d moved faster than sight.

"Insect of Bronze Rank… you impressed me."

"Now die."

The leader withdrew his arm, flicking off gore and fragments of viscera.

Witt stared, dumbfounded. A gaping hole the size of a bowl yawned in his chest. Through it, he saw Kaelxi’s grief-stricken face.

His wounds dwarfed those from the mines. Thought faded.

*This time… can’t win?*

*No…*

*Must…*

*Protect her…*

*Kaelxi…*

*Beautiful…*

*My…*

*Wife…*

Wife…

Blood loss blurred his vision. Only the teleportation circle’s glow remained sharp.

He swallowed a mouthful of blood and hurled the broken blade shard at the leader’s remaining eye with his last strength.

The leader tilted his head. The shard missed, embedding itself in the dirt behind him.

"Still breathing?"

"Let’s fix that."

The leader seized Witt by the throat, lifting him off the ground.

Witt glared, thrashing weakly, his one good hand clawing at the iron grip on his neck. Slowly, his fingers loosened. His limbs went slack.

His eyes closed. The magic blade dissolved into sparks.

Heroes’ tales were lies. Witt wasn’t the protagonist. No miracle came.

The leader hurled Witt’s body toward Kaelxi. It tumbled like a broken doll across the earth, coming to rest at her feet.

Fat teardrops fell onto the boy’s still face. His dark hair, matted with blood, obscured his features. His deep, black eyes would never open again. His silly grin, his teasing whispers—all gone.

Kaelxi pressed her teeth to her wrist, ready to spill her lifeblood to drag him back from death. The leader’s voice cut through her resolve:

"Ten seconds. Back to the circle."

"Or you join him."

She ignored him. Better to die here with Witt than live as a slave or fugitive.

Gently, she brushed the blood-soaked hair from his forehead. Her palm traced his cheek.

To her shock, he was smiling. *What beautiful thing were you thinking of at the end?*

*You fool. It was me, wasn’t it?*

Kaelxi leaned down and pressed her last kiss onto Witt’s lips.

Their pose mocked the leader’s powerlessness.

Fury contorted his face. He lunged to seize Kaelxi for the King.

Before he could move, the teleportation circle beneath his feet flared to life.

He whirled on the mage. "Who activated it?!"

The mage threw up his hands. "Not me! I didn’t—"

The leader’s gaze snapped to the broken blade embedded in the dirt. *Witt’s dying throw… its mana fed the nearly charged circle!*

*Was this your final move too?*

Light erupted. Geometric patterns blazed. A colossal pillar of energy swallowed the Slave Catcher Squad, hurling them back to the Royal Capital.

Soft light bathed the boy’s face. His smile remained.

A triumphant smile.