Black haired boy slowly turned toward Max with a sharp frown. "Step back? Me? and that too Now?"
"This is about dignity now. You think I'm the type to walk away once I'm in? Nah.. i DON'T back down NEVER tell me to back down."
Max sighed. "But that mustached guy he said he's a third-rank mage, right? Is that... strong?"
"Strong?" the boy repeated, snorting. "Of course he's strong. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna die!"
He forced a confident grin same chaotic mess as before but Max didn't buy it.
"Not die, huh?" Max asked, his voice lower. He looked at him with confused eyes, complicated thoughts swirling behind them. "Why are you doing all this...?"
He didn't say the rest of the question. Didn't ask the why me. he was confused.
Because this made no sense... Why was this dude helping him.
Max didn't understand this Guy.
But maybe that's why he liked him.
"So it's a no, huh? Good, good… then go die for me."
The mustached man, who had been watching in simmering silence, finally let the fury slip through his gritted teeth. He had genuinely expected the black-eyed boy to pluck out the cursed eye and offer it like a trophy. But instead what was this? They were chatting, laughing even, like old friends reunited after years. It infuriated him.
This wasn't just disobedience it was mockery.
Truth be told, he had never intended to take the eye himself. Too many consequences. The crowd, the laws, the Arcane Order too many eyes watching. If the boy had done it, he could've just shrugged, claimed he "retrieved" it. Simple. Clean. Legal. Safer.
And then there was the eye itself.
Even if he didn't believe in all the mystical crap surrounding it.
Tho he didn't believe in the superstitions tied to the Eye. But… better be safe than sorry. Magic had its twisted logic, and he wasn't about to risk cursing himself over arrogance.
But now?
Now his rage had climbed over the balcony of reason.
The crowd, once murmuring, began to buzz louder.
"Things are about to get spicy"
"Tsk, never thought I'd see a three-star mage fighting actual children."
"Where the hell is the Arcane Order? What are they even doing these days? Letting this pass for a qualified mage?"
"Should we intervene?"
"Forget the blue-eyed kid for a second look at the one with black eyes. He's still just a boy, and that old man looks like he's about to kill him."
"You serious? You wanna beef with a three-star mage? You trying to get us buried?"
"Even if we stopped him, fighting in Runebrick Market's restricted. The fines alone would kill us. Not to mention the mage's background who knows what kind of backers he has."
Some turned and walked away. Others stayed, frozen, faces pale, debating their own morality. But none moved. They just watched.
Then, with a sharp breath and no more words, the mustached mage raised his wand.
"Let's see if you can still swing that fancy little twang of yours," he snarled. "Let me show you what a real mage looks like."
"Step back!" the black-eyed boy barked, shoving Max behind him, his voice suddenly sharp and commanding. He planted his feet and gripped his steel wand no, rod like a warrior gripping a sword before battle. He wasn't planning to dodge. He wasn't planning to run. If anything came his way, he'd swing.
Max stumbled back, fists clenched, shame bubbling in his chest. He felt pathetic helpless. Hairnest was standing for him, and he couldn't even stand for himself.
All he could do was step aside, hoping his presence wouldn't get in the way. He hated it. Every second of it. His own uselessness.
But the mustached mage wasn't repeating his mistake.
This time, he smiled.
The mustached mage raised his wand, fingers twisting into intricate, elegant patterns movements so precise and complex they took nearly seven seconds to complete. His lips curled into a cruel smile as he chanted the spell's name like a death sentence.
"Electrovlast."
The spell left the wand like a predator unleashed a razor-sharp V-shaped bolt of lightning, shrieking through the air faster than sight could follow.
The black-haired boy didn't see it coming. He didn't need to. His instincts kicked in.
He swung his steel rod with fierce precision, the same motion that had saved him before smooth, confident, like cracking a sixer straight back at the bowler.
Max held his breath. Everyone did.
The black-eyed boy even smirked.
Here we go again. He was sure he had it.
But then
Clink. Clang.
The rod hit the ground.
And the boy screamed.
"AAARRRGHHHHHHHHHH!!"
The boy's body dropped to his knees, eyes wide, mouth gaping as raw agony surged through him. His entire frame shook violently. Electricity had torn through him, setting every nerve ablaze. His muscles twitched, his breath caught, and all thought was drowned in fire.
"You really thought I'd fall for the same trick again, street rat?" the mage sneered coldly, his wand lowered with pride. "I don't know how you cut through my last spell, but remember the dignity of a three-star mage isn't something some gutter kid can trample. Now... pay."
The boy couldn't hear him. The pain was too much.
He gasped, his body slumped forward, and his hands instinctively searched for balance on the ground only... one hand didn't touch anything.
His gaze dropped.
There on the ground his steel wand lay still.
But his right arm
Gone.
Completely severed from the elbow down. Nothing left but scorched flesh and smoking air. It wasn't just burned it had been erased.
"AAARGHHHHH NOOOOOOO!"
He threw his head back and screamed, not from the pain no, the pain was nothing compared to this. It was the kind of scream that tore from the soul, a cry not of the body, but of something breaking far deeper.
His dream
His purpose
Everything.
He collapsed forward, trembling, breath ragged. His mind raced, denying what his eyes couldn't look away from.
How?
How was he supposed to become the greatest wand maker in the world now?
His right arm the hand he used to carve, to create, to fight for that dream it was gone. Just like that.
No. No. No.
His body shook as he stared at the sky, eyes hollow, unfocused. Everything he had believed in, worked for, fought for it was crumbling into ash right in front of him.
And all he could do was watch.
"That scream," the mustached man chuckled darkly, "now that's the sound of regret. Lesson for next life, kid don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong."
But his laughter wasn't joy. It was fury wrapped in a grin.
His rage hadn't cooled. Not even a little. Being wounded by a street rat, a fucking nobody was a humiliation he couldn't tolerate. Not until he carved a hole clean through that brat's chest.
But the black-haired boy didn't hear him. He couldn't
Couldn't.
He sat frozen, his gaze locked on the sky, eyes glassy. His body shook, not from pain but from loss. Staring blankly at the clouds like they held the answers to a life he no longer had.
The mustached man raised his wand again, eyes burning with cruelty.
"AIR SPIKE!"
A compressed blast of air, the size of a basketball, burst forth invisibly ripping toward the boy with murderous speed.
The black-eyed boy didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
He just knelt there, dazed, empty-eyed. Oblivious to death flying straight at him.
Then
WHUMP
A sickening crack of impact. Blood sprayed against the stone, thick and sudden.
Still, the black-haired boy didn't move. He was numb. Until
"Blurrghhh"
A splash of hot liquid smacked against his face.
Warm. Metallic. Sticky.
He blinked, dazed, just as two trembling hands landed on his shoulders barely holding him, but real enough to break through the fog.
His head turned slowly.
His eyes lifted.
And there, standing in front of him was Silver haired.
Silver hair. Pale lips. Bleeding.
Max's body trembled as he stood hunched, swaying on weak legs. Blood gushed from his mouth and chest, soaking into his robes. Still, he grinned.
A broken, crooked, ridiculously brave grin.
"I... I really became a donut, didn't I?" Max coughed, another mouthful of blood splattering onto the black-haired boy's face. He laughed, or tried to. It came out as a wet gurgle.
The black-haired boy just blankly looked at this.
His eyes followed the blood down until he saw it.
A hole clean, massive right through the center of Max's chest. Open as a tunnel. His silver hair caught the light like moonlight in a grave.
The boy's body trembled.
But his eyes never blinked, locked at boy face with blank face.