The bandits had drawn their weapons, bloodlust already glowing in their eyes. The man in front raised his jagged blade with a sneer.
But then the ground beneath them began to glow.
A faint orange shimmer traced along the road's dirt surface in a perfect circle around the cart. The glow intensified into a deep, angry red—and then ignited. A burst of searing flame erupted in a ring that expanded outward like a ripple through dry grass.
The heat cracked the earth as chains of fire erupted from the ground—thick, blackened links glowing red-hot, streaked with arcane sigils that pulsed as they twisted upward. The chains moved like living things, snapping toward the bandits with terrifying speed and precision.
In a flash, chaos overtook the ambush.
At least half the bandits were snatched mid-step, their limbs yanked together by flaming binds. One fell to the ground screaming as the chains coiled around his legs and arms. Another had his blade knocked from his hand just before the chain closed around his waist, pinning him to a tree.
Sparks flew, smoke curled from scorched boots, and the fire hissed as it cracked the earth beneath them.
But one of them moved.
A girl—young, maybe late teens or early twenties, with short, sharp auburn hair and piercing amber eyes—saw the glow a second before it happened. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. She leapt backward, fast and graceful like a dancer caught mid-spin, and the ground where she'd just been exploded upward in a burst of fiery links.
One of the chains managed to clip her ankle, curling around it just as she hit the ground in a roll.
But she didn't panic.
She twisted her body and drew a thin blade from her back, slicing cleanly through the magical link. The chain writhed and recoiled as she jumped back again, clearing the burning radius with a few powerful strides.
She landed low, crouched with her blade drawn and her amber eyes locked on the cart. Her breathing was calm. Focused.
But she didn't stay.
Because just then, the illusion dropped.
Three Paos stepped down from the cart at once, their forms identical, their eyes glowing with blue mana. Water pooled at their feet before forming into sharp spirals that wrapped around their wrists like coiled snakes.
Behind them, Bao appeared, standing tall with her bow already drawn. Her next arrow shimmered with ice as she loosed it.
Padrin rose from the tarp last, stepping down without a word, a coldness in his stance that sent a ripple of panic through the remaining bandits.
One of the captured thugs shouted, "SHIT! It was a trap! Run!"
They didn't need to be told twice.
The few who weren't bound—including the auburn-haired girl—turned and bolted for the tree line. Their formation shattered. Panic replaced whatever confidence they had arrived with.
But they didn't get far.
Pao's clones raised their hands and launched bursts of pressurized water. The magic spiraled outward in sharp streams, like javelins made of liquid force. One burst knocked a man completely off his feet, his head slamming into a tree. Another slammed into a fleeing archer, sending him sprawling into a ditch.
The water magic wasn't just strong—it froze on contact.
Each time the spell hit, ice spread from the impact point, locking legs in place, slowing arms, disarming weapons.
Bao added to the chaos. Her arrows whistled through the air, each one laced with frost. The second arrow she fired exploded in mid-air, scattering a cone of freezing mist that locked three more outlaws in place, their limbs frozen mid-motion.
Padrin took off into the woods without hesitation. He darted past a downed enemy, striking him in the back of the head with the hilt of his blade before continuing into the underbrush after the escaping group.
Bral yelled. "Wait! Don't separate from the group like that. Follow the plan!" But he didn't stop, and then Bral sighed before running after Padrin.
Amukelo remained frozen by the cart, eyes scanning the battlefield.
Tireuz had already leapt down, cradling her uninjured arm. "I've already informed the other teams!" he shouted. "Stay here—someone will come to assist! We can't let Padrin chase them alone!"
But Amukelo stood there, his legs refusing to move, eyes flicking toward Pao.
She turned and met his gaze, the real Pao stepping between her clones. Her expression was firm, even as her chest rose and fell with effort.
"Run, Amukelo!" she shouted.
He hesitated. His fists clenched. "I can't," he said, voice low. "What if something happens to you? I don't want to leave you."
Idin stepped forward now, a roll of thick rope already in his hands. "All the outlaws left here are disarmed. I'll stay and secure them. I'm not fast enough to chase them anyway." He gave Amukelo a pointed look. "You are."
Amukelo's gaze drifted between them. Between the girl he cared about and the duty he couldn't turn away from.
His throat tightened. "Promise me you'll keep her safe," he said, eyes on Idin.
He gave a confident smile. "Of course."
He nodded once, then turned—and ran.
He couldn't see neither Padrin or Bral and Tireuz. Trees blurred past him. The sound of movement in the distance guided his ears.
Behind him, Idin worked quickly. The thick ropes they carried—woven with reinforced rune diagrams—were immune to common cuts or burns. He wrapped them tightly around the struggling prisoners, muttering under his breath. He didn't even look up when one growled at him.
"You're lucky we're the ones who found you," he muttered.
The trees blurred past as Padrin moved through them like a silent predator. His boots hardly made a sound against the mossy earth, and his breath remained steady. The three targets ahead of him darted through the woods, trying to maintain their lead, but he was gaining. Quickly.
His gaze was fixed on the girl.
She was fast. The fastest of the three. Her auburn hair whipped behind her. She moved like she had done this a thousand times—ducking beneath branches, weaving through trees with the elegance of someone who lived in the wild.
The slowest of the three began to fall behind. He kept looking over his shoulder, panic mounting with every step.
"Shit... shit!" the man cried, glancing back as Padrin closed the distance. "He's right behind me!"
The man stumbled slightly, then turned abruptly, nearly tripping over a root in his desperation. He raised his sword, both hands shaking. "Genkil! Celeste!" he shouted. "I'll stop him! Go! Inform the others before he finds you!"
Genkil—a lean, older man with sharp eyes—nodded without breaking stride. "Don't waste time."
Celeste didn't even look back. She gritted her teeth as she pressed forward.
But Padrin had already slowed. Only slightly. His eyes narrowed, brows drawing tight. 'Celeste…? Could that be her?'
The name caught him off guard. His pace didn't falter—but his focus shifted.
But there wasn't time to think about it now.
He reached the man who had stopped.
The bandit barely had time to raise his sword.
With a single step, Padrin ducked low, avoiding the wild, desperate slash that came at him. He didn't even look at the blade as it passed over him. His body moved like water, slipping beneath it—and then rising.
Mid-motion, Padrin twisted, pivoted, and jumped.
His boot connected with the man's ribcage in a heavy side-kick that cracked through the silence of the woods. The man flew backward with a dull thud, crashing into the trunk of a thick tree before sliding down in a heap. Unconscious.
Padrin didn't break stride.
Behind him, Bral and Tireuz came sprinting through the underbrush, only catching the tail end of the confrontation.
Bral winced as he passed the downed man. "Ughh... they look like helpless prey."
Tireuz just nodded, barely sparing the bandit a glance as she kept running. "He should count himself lucky that was only a kick."
They didn't slow. Padrin was still in front—his long strides never letting up. He was hunting now.
Amukelo arrived at the scene later.
The sounds of the forest had dulled. The heat of the chase was behind the others. He saw the man slumped at the base of a tree, his sword lying useless nearby, broken at the hilt.
Amukelo stopped beside the unconscious body, panting from the long sprint. He crouched, resting one hand on his knee, and stared at the man.
He could see the outline of Padrin's boot on the man's torso, a clear indentation on his light armor. Amukelo swallowed, then shook his head and pushed on.
His mind was racing now. Not just with the effort of running, but with questions. Why was Padrin chasing her so intensely?
Padrin was getting closer now. Genkil and Celeste were still running—but their pace had slowed.
Genkil looked back and cursed under his breath. "Tsk... He didn't even stop for a second. That guy got flattened."
Celeste's face tightened. "He's deviated from his team. If we're fast, and we reach the others—maybe we can get him before his people arrive."
Genkil nodded, not liking it, but knowing she was right. "Let's hope he's not as strong as he is fast."
Celeste spun suddenly, mid-run, and with a fluid flick of her wrist, threw three daggers behind her.
The blades cut through the air—one aimed low, the others high.
But Padrin didn't stop.
He pivoted sideways, knocking one blade aside with the flat of his forearm. The second he deflected with the pommel of his sword, still sheathed. The third dagger he simply let miss—he moved at just the right moment for it to pass through the empty air where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.
Celeste's eyes narrowed. "Damn it…"
Genkil looked over. "Did you hit him?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. He moves like he's not even human."
But the trees were thinning now.
Just beyond the next bend, Celeste knew the others would be waiting. Reinforcements. A real unit. They just had to hold him off for another minute. Maybe less.