Aelina swiped the Molecular Reconstructor over the crossbow. It loaded and aimed at the mysterious man. *Whoosh!* The black bolt traced a perfect arc, flying straight for his skull. What she feared happened—a force, unknown to her, guided the earth. Soil clung to the stranger’s body. *Clang!* The bolt struck his stone-like head and bounced off.

He was a mage. The mage glanced at Aelina on the earthen platform and signaled his men to charge. Aelina hurriedly used the Molecular Reconstructor to reload. A warning popped up: “Alert: Molecular Reconstructor overheating.” A red progress bar flashed before her eyes—98%!!

“I can only fire five more shots.”

She calculated, looking down at the Golden Ape’s exploits. Fro, clad in black Full Armor, leaned against the platform. Seven bodies lay beside him. The remaining sensible mercenaries circled him—when Fro lunged, they retreated; when he pulled back, they feinted like monkeys teasing a tiger. The armor was too heavy. Cold steel killed too slowly. Fro was exhausted. He panted heavily, leaning against the platform again to catch his breath.

Seven plus three plus three plus six. Aelina tallied: they’d eliminated nineteen enemies, though she didn’t know how many were warriors. She estimated a dozen foes remained. Another brutal fight loomed. The Molecular Reconstructor was overheating. Fro was spent. This time, they had no escape.

She crouched and shouted down to the Golden Ape, “Fro, I’ve got bad news.”

“W-what?” he gasped.

“We’re trapped. A mage and three warriors are coming. Five enemies still surround you below. And my Molecular Reconstructor—the Magic Wand—it’s used up today. It’s losing its magic.”

“What?!”

“Hang in there, Fro. No legendary Knight ever avoided a death trap.”

“You must have a plan,” he said, lifting his head. Two green eyes gleamed with hope through his helmet’s slits.

Aelina shook her head. “This is my final plan. Fight with our backs to the wall.”

*Clang!*

A close-range bolt slammed into his chest plate. Fro yanked it out. The arrow clattered to the ground—its tip had barely pierced the armor.

The mage arrived. He emerged from a collapsed tent with three mercenaries—one-handed round shields in one grip, spears and maces in the other. The mage looked like a “clay man.” Soft yet solid stone coated his body, as if molded from earth. His footsteps thudded heavily. *Thud. Thud. Thud.* The Elf couldn’t tell if it was the mage’s steps or his own pounding heart.

“Our precious prize came to us,” the mage said, stopping. His greedy gaze swept over Aelina and her Molecular Reconstructor. “Brothers, fewer survivors mean bigger shares. If any of you die today, the rest will give fifty gold coins to your families!”

Instantly, the hesitant mercenaries surged with fighting spirit. The mage fixed his eyes on the Elf. “The boss valued you once. But you chose death. Last chance: drop your sword, and we’ll make it quick.”

Fro steadied his breath, gripped his sword with both hands, and took a fighting stance.

The mage began chanting. He planted his feet wide, stomping hard on the ground. Shattered pebbles rose, glowing green. They swirled around his hands, thickening into sludge. Nearby mercenaries tightened their grips. “The long-ear’s done for.” Half-circled, the Elf watched the mage, uneasy. Suddenly, the mage thrust his hands forward. The viscous green acid flew over the mercenaries’ heads, rushing at Fro. Fro instinctively ducked, shielding his eyes with his wrist.

*Sizzle!*

The acid hit his chest plate, corroding the metal with a hiss. Fro touched his chest. The once-bulging armor felt soft. A sizzling metal plate clattered to the ground at his touch.

The mercenaries laughed and charged. Three spears thrust at him from left, center, and right. Aelina seized the moment, firing an arrow. It plunged deep into a mercenary’s eye socket. He screamed, stumbling forward with his spear, aim wildly off.

“For the Queen!”

The Elf roared. His weakened arms swung, deflecting two spears. Then a mace smashed his helmet. It rang loudly. He thrust forward instinctively, hearing steel scrape against Chainmail. Pain flared in his chest—a mercenary’s short sword had pierced him. Then his shoulder. He heard his fragile armor shatter and clatter to the ground. Fro stepped back, pressing against the stone wall. He looked up. A flail loomed large before his eyes.

*Thud!*

He jerked his head aside. His entire helmet groaned. A hard kick sent the Elf sprawling into the dirt. His corroded chest and belly were exposed. Spears and swords rose high, tips aimed at his abdomen and chest.

“Aelina!”

Fro screamed in despair.

A blue light enveloped him. Solid metal reassembled at visible speed. Spears and swords slid off his newly formed chest plate. Fro drew his waist dagger, tackled a mercenary, pinned him down, and slit his throat with a sharp blade. *Thud. Thud.* Two solid hammer blows struck his back. He felt no pain now. Blood blurred his vision. He grabbed a sword by feel, but a mercenary tackled him from behind.

Another mercenary pulled a dagger, pinned the Elf’s head, and raised the blade toward his exposed neck. Aelina fired. The mercenary crumpled. The Elf snatched the dagger, heaved with all his might, and roared as he flipped the mercenary off him. He stabbed downward. Hands grabbed him, weapons beating him, but couldn’t stop him. Fro stabbed repeatedly, realizing too late he’d hit Chainmail. He drove the dagger into the man’s throat, killing him. But the last three pinned him down, ready to execute the fallen “Knight.”

Aelina had one bolt left. Repairing Fro’s armor pushed the Molecular Reconstructor to its overheating limit. She swiped it over the crossbow—loading, aiming—then slipped. The mage had cast a spell, turning the solid stone beneath her feet to slick oil. Aelina tumbled clumsily. The Molecular Reconstructor flew from her hand. “My Magic Wand!” she cried in terror.

The device spun on the ground, stopping at the mage’s feet. He bent down with a grin. “This wondrous wand is mine now.” He picked it up, savoring the panicked look on the girl atop the platform.

Aelina smiled. “Foolish ape.”

She fired downward, killing a mercenary about to stab the Elf. Only two burly mercenaries remained, grappling with the Elf. He was losing badly, covered in mud, wrestling a giant on the ground to avoid a dagger thrust. The mage still had spells.

The battle was as good as won.

The mage smirked, preparing a spell to finish the Elf. Later, he’d punish Aelina—tame her for the boss. Make her know her place. The boss said only her virginity must remain intact. He’d bind her, then take his pleasure on her full breasts. She was so beautiful. Just imagining it made his groin swell.

Heat spread through him. Lust? No! Agony seared his right hand. He looked down in horror. Smoke rose from his palm gripping the “wand.” He tried to unclench his fingers, but they charred to black at terrifying speed. Flames erupted from the smoke, engulfing his arm.

He remembered Aelina’s smile. A trap! The thought flashed—and fire and smoke swallowed him. His scream began but vanished in ash and flame.

*Apes are foolish,* Aelina thought. She’d faked the fall, dropping the Molecular Reconstructor in “cooling mode” at his feet. He’d actually picked it up.

The three grappling apes below noticed nothing of the heat behind them. The Elf’s helmet was gone. Pinned down, a curved blade slashed his face. He screamed, unable to lift his arms. The mercenary raised the nicked blade again.

Blood blurred the Elf’s vision. He dimly saw moonlight descending from the sky. *Is this death?* he wondered.

*Thump.*

Something heavy slammed into him—like a stiff quilt dropped from three stories. Then came a man’s full-throated scream and a familiar voice: “Foolish ape!”

*Aelina?*

A hand grabbed his, pulling him from under corpses. Fro staggered upright. Seeing a mercenary impaled by a Rapier, he realized Aelina had jumped down. Her hands were empty, her hair neat, not a trace of disarray. She faced the last survivor—a burly mercenary with a dagger—and said, “Don’t run. How about one versus two?”

She grabbed a bastard sword from the ground and tossed it to Fro.

Terror filled the mercenary’s eyes. He turned to flee.

He hadn’t seen how the mage died. He underestimated the smoking heap on the ground. Fro and Aelina heard an ear-splitting scream from the smoke. A smoking figure vanished into the haze, but his shrieks grew louder.

He was still alive. That was the cruelest part.

“W-what… is this?” Fro asked, ignoring the pain on his face.

“The Molecular Reconstructor in cooling mode,” Aelina said. “Can you still fight?”

“Yes.”

He forced the word out. Every inch of him ached and bled. He gripped the sword with both hands. A tent ignited by the Molecular Reconstructor blazed nearby. Men roused by the flames surrounded them, weapons in hand. Firelight revealed a breathtaking Silverhaired Maiden—her beauty brought instant joy to behold—but beside her stood a black-armored Knight, drenched in blood, his blade dripping. Flames highlighted his gore-streaked, fearsome face, like a butcher from a nightmare legend.

They froze in fear. Someone shrieked and fled first. The mercenaries scattered, sprinting wildly into the wilderness.

“D-did we win?” Fro leaned weakly against the stone wall, barely able to hold his sword. The camp echoed with men’s screams and increasingly sharp cries from women.

“No,” Aelina commanded. “Quick! We must save the enslaved women—they’ll burn alive!”