Eric groaned as he was dragged across the dirt, half-conscious and barely breathing. Blood matted the back of his torn tunic, seeping from wounds that hadn't been properly treated. His arm dangled at an awkward angle, swollen and bruised. The two bandits hauling him didn't bother with care—they simply dumped him in the middle of the crude arena like discarded garbage.
A hush spread over the gathered crowd, save for cruel laughter and whispers of anticipation.
One of the larger bandits stepped forward and gave Eric a sharp kick to the ribs. "Come on, magic boy," he mocked, grinning down at the broken adventurer. "You gonna summon sparkles? Cast a fireball? Or just lay there like a worm?"
Eric didn't respond. He barely moved. His lips parted in a whisper, trying to mouth an incantation, trying to do something—but the pain was too great, the mana gone. Nothing happened.
"Loser," the bandit muttered and raised his boot again.
"ERIC!" Mei screamed from the sidelines, thrashing against her restraints.
Vivian sobbed, her voice raw. "Stop! Stop it!"
Karr's roar rose behind the gag tied over his mouth, his body writhing in helpless fury. They had already watched one child brutalized. Now another—one of their own—was about to suffer.
The boot came down.
But then—
BOOM.
A thunderous explosion echoed through the night like the roar of an angry goddess. The shockwave rippled across the compound. Dust and debris burst from the eastern gate, and every head in the arena whipped toward the sound.
Bandits froze. Confusion spread like wildfire.
"What was that?!" someone shouted.
"Explosion! At the gate!" another called.
Moments earlier—
On the eastern edge of the camp, two shadows moved with lethal purpose.
Rina perched atop a watchtower, bow drawn. Her arrow flew in silence, piercing a bandit's throat cleanly. He slumped over with barely a gasp. Across from her, Selis moved like a ghost, slipping into the shadows of the adjacent tower. His dagger flashed. Another sentry fell, never even knowing death was near.
The pair moved in tandem, leaping across rooftops with silent precision. From the northern towers, another pair of guards watched the chaos unfold.
Not for long.
Rina's next arrow flew true—striking the first through the eye. Selis, already mid-air, threw his dagger. It buried itself in the other's neck. The northern watchtowers fell silent.
Eight towers guarded the camp—two each on east, west, north, and south. Half were already compromised.
From the treeline, Darven crouched behind a gnarled root, watching through his monoscope. "East and north are clear," he muttered. "We're good to move."
"Finally," Garret grunted, gripping his blade. The fire in his eyes promised no mercy.
Darius stepped forward, hands glowing with swirling glyphs of blue light. "Let's make our entrance."
With a deep breath, he drove his palms into the earth. A massive surge of water erupted from the ground, forming into a condensed arc of pressure. With a violent CRASH, it slammed into the main gate and shattered it into splinters. A geyser of mist and debris exploded outward, catching the guards at the entrance off guard. Two of them were launched backward, unconscious before they hit the ground.
Sharpfang had arrived.
The assault team charged in.
Garret led the charge, bellowing like a battering ram with a sword. Every swing dropped a bandit. Armor clanged. Blood sprayed.
Darven followed, striking with brutal precision. He moved with the calm fury of a veteran, putting down opponents with methodical force.
Lior conjured a blaze in his palms, flames dancing between his fingers. Fire arced outward, blasting a group of startled bandits backward.
Darius's water magic surged like a living serpent—constricting, striking, slamming enemies into walls or each other.
Above, Rina and Selis became the reaper from the rooftops. Arrows sang through the air, each one claiming a target. Daggers flashed and vanished into throats. The bandits never knew where the next strike would come from.
Five enemies fell in the first minute alone.
The outer camp descended into chaos.
The sounds of battle began to bleed into the arena. Screams. Shouts. Steel on steel.
Marden Vosk, the bandit leader. Wine sloshed from his goblet as he snarled. "What in the hell—? You! Go see what's going on!" he barked, pointing at several nearby guards.
"NOW!"
Bandits scrambled away from the arena, weapons drawn, shouting orders at one another as chaos rippled through the compound.
The explosion at the eastern gate tore through the silence, sending debris flying and throwing the bandits into total disarray. From the mist and rubble emerged the sharp and deadly advance of Sharpfang—Rina's keen eyes scanning from her rooftop perch. As bandits scrambled and shouted, she spotted the captives near a makeshift wooden arena, huddled and bound in fear.
"There!" she shouted, signaling sharply with her hand. "The prisoners! Near the arena!"
Selis gave a quick nod and darted across the rooftops. "I'll clear the northern tower!" she called back.
Rina notched an arrow. "And I'll cover you."
Down below, Darven and the others advanced through the camp. Darius conjured a wide curtain of water that knocked several bandits back, the torrent slamming into wooden structures and sweeping foes off their feet.
"Push forward!" Darius shouted.
Garret charged through the chaos, his greatsword cleaving through two foes with terrifying force. "No mercy for cowards who prey on the weak!" he roared.
Lior followed closely, slamming his staff into the ground and unleashing a barrage of earthen spikes that skewered another pair of attackers. "They won't touch those prisoners again!" he growled.
Above, the sky filled with smoke and flickers of flame. Arrows rained down like judgment. Screams of dying bandits echoed into the night.
The camp would not survive the wrath of Sharpfang.
And in the midst of the storm, hope flickered anew.
The captives, bloodied but alive, saw their salvation descend like shadows and flame.
They whispered prayers, tears streaming down their faces.
Help had come.