"Are you still going to stop me?"
Kael didn't even glance her way as the guards thundered toward them, boots slamming into the stone streets like war drums.
His hand rested lazily at his side, fingers twitching once, like a pianist warming up.
Lyra hesitated, eyes flicking to the wall of armor charging straight at them.
Then she slowly shook her head. "...No."
He raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised at the straight no. He had thought that she would prefer running.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice soft with guilt. "This is my fault. I should've known—should've been more careful—"
Kael held up a hand, silencing her.
He chuckled.
It wasn't the dry, sarcastic sound he usually offered—but something warmer and darker, almost giddy.
"No," he said. "This is good. I was starting to get bored."
Lyra blinked. "What?"
"I finally get to enjoy myself a little."
He stepped forward.
One single step.
Then—
BOOM.
The ground beneath his foot cracked like thunder.
The first wave of guards—six in total—rushed him with halberds raised and battle cries on their tongues.
Kael didn't move.
Not until the first blade whistled toward him.
Then he vanished.
To the crowd, it was like he blinked out of existence.
To Lyra—who'd seen him before—it was faster than wind. Faster than thought.
He reappeared behind the lead guard, hand resting on the man's shoulder.
"Too slow."
CRACK.
The man's body crumpled in on itself like wet paper. His armor folded like tin. His spine snapped audibly, and he hit the ground without a sound.
Another swung.
Kael ducked—fluid, elegant, like a shadow curving around light—then jammed two fingers into the attacker's chest.
THUMP.
The man flew backward—no, launched—sailing twenty feet through the air like a sack of potatoes catapulted by a god.
The third and fourth struck together.
He raised his hands, making a gripping motion as both guards paused.
Slowly, using telekinesis, he lifted them higher, then—
Bam—Splatter.
Both of them were crushed together, turning into something unrecognizable.
The others, as if blind, still rushed at him.
This time, looking at two more guards rushing at him, Kael waved his palm, and two arcs of wind shot past the guards.
Slice.
Their weapons fell into two.
Their arms followed half a second later.
They screamed, staggering back, clutching stumps, disbelief etched on their faces like children waking from a nightmare.
The seventh tried to run.
Kael didn't chase.
He raised a finger—
—And pointed.
A shard of compressed wind tore from his fingertip like a bullet and struck the man in the back of the knee.
The scream was ghastly.
Kael yawned.
The eighth dropped his weapon altogether.
Kael just looked at him.
The man fainted on the spot.
A few bystanders actually clapped. Then they realized what they were doing and immediately looked terrified again.
Lyra stood off to the side, watching with a strange mix of awe and resignation.
"He's going to burn this city down at this rate," she murmured.
More guards appeared from alleyways and corners—drawn by the noise.
Kael counted twelve.
Then twenty.
He didn't even flinch.
Instead, he stepped forward again, brushing nonexistent dust from his shoulder.
"Before you all throw yourselves at me," he said, voice calm and clear like a ringing bell, "I'll offer you an alternative."
He paused.
"Call your city lord."
Dead silence.
Even the wind hushed, as if curious what would happen next.
A particularly brave (or stupid), ugly, and short guard stepped forward. "You think we'll do whatever you want?!"
Another hush fell as others thought that Kael would be angry, but instead, he laughed.
"Thank you," he smiled at the guy, who turned out to be the same guard who was humiliated by him a few seconds ago. "I wanted you to say that."
The guard, who couldn't even look into his eyes before, was now raising his weapon at him.
'Humans are strange creatures,' Kael concluded as he appeared before the guy.
Looking at the guard frozen in his spot, shocked at Kael's sudden appearance, the dragon wondered, looking around. 'Is it because of his companions? Does that give him confidence?'
Soon, that ugly guy's face twisted as he barked in defiance. "Fuck you, you freak!"
It was as if he were trying to show that he wasn't scared anymore.
But Kael froze.
"...Damn," he muttered. "How can you be so ugly?"
The atmosphere froze.
"Man, that must've hurt," someone from the crowd winced.
As if those words were the last thing stopping the ugly guard, he yelled, "YOU BASTARD—"
Without waiting, he pushed his spear toward Kael.
But his voice was cut short because—
Clang!
The spear couldn't pierce through Kael. It couldn't even crease his clothes as he tilted his head. "Is this what's giving you confidence?"
That question echoed through the surroundings as he saw every guard gripping their weapons harder now.
"Hm," he raised his hand, holding the spear. "It looks like you guys thought that I was running away from your weapons."
Looking at the ugly guard, who stood frozen, unable to speak or move, Kael gently took the spear.
Then, without fanfare, he began to bend it.
Groan.
The metal shrieked.
He twisted it like clay, folding it once... twice... until it was nothing but a crumpled metal ball in his palm.
Kael inspected it. Then looked at the man.
"What do you think?" He asked, spinning that ball on his finger. "Pretty good craftsmanship, right?"
Then he tossed it aside. Leaning closer to the guy.
"Yeah," he grinned. "Finally. I can see fear in your eyes."
The ugly guard was now trembling like a pig ready to be slaughtered, and Kael was quite pleased with that.
He turned around, walking away without a word.
No one spoke.
No one yelled.
That was until Kael spoke again. "Because you were finally honest with your feelings, I'll give you a quick death."
Still walking toward Lyra, he clenched his fist.
The next second—
The man's helmet imploded.
Not his head. Not his chest. Just his helmet—caving inward like a crushed can, knocking him unconscious on the spot with a satisfying clang.
Now standing next to Lyra, Kael stared at the remaining guards and spoke, "The offer stands for no more than three seconds."
The rest of the guards took a big collective step back.
Then began shouting.
"GET THE CITY LORD!"
"GO! RUN!"
"HE'S A DEMON!"
As the chaos unfolded, Kael turned back to Lyra.
She stood completely still, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"You alright?" He asked.
"I am." She glanced around. "But no one else is alright."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Then—
From the crowd—
A single, shaking voice.
"...I nutted."
Every head turned in horror.
A scrawny man with a patchy beard and trembling hands stood near the fruit cart.
He was pale. Wide-eyed. Awed.
Kael blinked.
Lyra blinked.
Someone dropped an apple.
The man immediately tried to play it off, "I—I meant—uh, not it! As in—not it like, I don't want to fight him. Like tag. You know?"
Kael grinned.
"You should leave," Lyra suggested gently.
He left. Immediately. At full sprint.
Kael let out a small sigh, stretching his arms over his head. "Well," he said, "this day just got interesting."
................................
Meanwhile, the heavy doors to the city lord's chamber quaked as another loud thud echoed off the stone walls.
"I don't want excuses!" Lord Renvir's voice boomed through the hall like a cannon blast.
The young noble stood at the head of the chamber, his royal blue cape whipping behind him as he paced. Dark blue hair framed his angular face in elegant disarray, and his sharp eyes blazed with fury.
He looked like a thundercloud barely held back by protocol.
"We should've had her here by now," he snarled, turning sharply toward the trembling subordinate kneeling on the marble floor. "The bunny girl—whatever her name is. Why is she not before me yet?"
"My Lord," the man lowered his head, but his expression didn't look scared. "The search party we sent into the northern forest hasn't reported back yet. We assumed—"
"You assumed?" Renvir's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Do you even know who wants her?"
The subordinate's mouth opened but then closed.
"...No, my lord," he replied with a pause.
Renvir spun away, muttering something under his breath as he stalked toward the tall windows that overlooked the sprawling city below.
He paused.
Then, with a voice taut with rage, he said, "Why didn't you send stronger men? Why didn't you go? Didn't father tell you that you must do everything and anything I tell you to?"
"The lord—" the subordinate began, only to pause, changing his words. "Your father has sent me here to protect you. Not to become a hunting dog."
Without even looking at Renvir's expression, the man continued, "Above all, the mana bombs were with that squad. Even A-rank beasts would've been—"
Baam!
It was then that Renvir punched the wall next to him, his dark blue eyes glaring at the subordinate. "What did you say?"
Before the guard could even understand what Renvir was talking about, the young noble snapped. "Did you say you won't listen to my orders? That you aren't my dog?"
With his breath heavy, he stepped forward, staring straight into the man's eyes. "You are a bitch if I say you are. You are whatever I want. You get that?"
Not getting any response—
Baam!
He punched the guy.
"You get that?!" Renvir repeated, and the guard nodded. "Yes... my lord."
Silence followed, thick and tense.
Then—suddenly—the doors burst open.
A guard sprinted in, helmet tucked under his arm, face pale and panting. "My lord!"
Renvir didn't even blink. "This had better be worth the interruption."
"It is. The market... the city market—it's under attack."