"Hey! Don't fucking kill him! We need him alive, not dead!"
A woman's voice cut through the night—sharp, irritated, and dripping with frustration.
"No, you idiots! They said shooting is last priority! LAST! Do you morons not understand basic instructions?!"
The rant continued, growing more shrill with each word.
"And why the hell did you blow up the horse?! We could have made money off that thing! Do you know how much a royal-bred stallion sells for on the black market?!"
A younger male voice followed, equally annoyed but tinged with dark humor.
"Yeah, seriously. How often do you come across a royal horse? That thing probably cost more than everything we've ever stolen combined."
A pause.
Then: "Fuck, it stinks. Smells royally awful."
"Oh ho ho~"
A third voice joined in—older, rougher, practically gleeful.
"I like the smell! You know what that is? That's the smell of money, my friends! We're gonna be RICH after this! Absolutely loaded!"
The younger woman sighed heavily.
"Let's just... check the target first, yeah? Make sure we didn't accidentally turn our payday into paste."
"Alright," the younger man said, stepping carefully around a pool of blood. "Philip, do you think he's carrying anything valuable?"
"He's a prince, isn't he?" Philip—now visible in the moonlight—was completely bald, his scalp gleaming like a polished stone. His face was weathered and scarred, the face of someone who had lived a hard life and enjoyed every violent moment of it.
"Surely he packed gold!" The old man continued, his eyes bright with greed. "Have you ever seen a prince without pocket change worth a kingdom's treasury? They wipe their asses with silk and eat breakfast off platinum plates!"
A man and a woman, both in their early twenties. Brown hair. Chocolate-colored eyes. Similar bone structure. Similar expressions of casual cruelty.
Twins.
"Maybe. But let's secure the target first. Knock that guy out before he wakes up."
"You got it right sasha??"
Sasha was already moving.
She pulled a thin needle from a pouch at her hip
She crouched beside the motionless figure half-buried beneath horse remains.
"Hey~" she called back, her voice sing-song. "Good job Walton you didn't blow up his face.!"
Sasha grabbed a fistful of blood-soaked hair and turned the head toward her, examining it like a merchant appraising merchandise.
"See?" Sasha grinned, waving the needle. "Perfect condition. The buyers are gonna love this. Now hold still, little princeling, and let big sis put you to slee—"
The eyes opened.
Agni's body moved.
His hand shot up and slapped the woman across the face. But it wasn't just a slap—flames erupted from his palm in a violent burst that engulfed her head completely.
Pop.
Her head simply... disappeared. Gone. Just like that.
Her headless body crumpled to the ground, blood fountaining from her neck as both men stared in shocked silence.
"SASHA!"
Walton's scream tore through the night.
Both he and Philip reacted instantly—trained reflexes kicking in despite the shock. Their hands flew to their hips, drawing mana-guns in smooth, practiced motions.
The weapons hummed to life, cores glowing with magical energy.
"You dumb bitch!" Philip snarled, "I told you! The contract said they only need the head and spine! Alive OR dead! This is why you don't play it safe! This is why you don't—"
Walton's eyes were wild, his aim shaky. "He killed Sasha! I'm going to murder this bastard! I'm going to—"
Agni's hands thrust forward.
Go away.
The thought screamed through his mind—desperate, primal, terrified.
GO AWAY!
Something pushed.
Not fire this time. Not flame.
Something else.
The air itself seemed to compress and then explode outward from Agni's palms. An invisible force—like the shockwave of a detonation, like being struck by a raging river—slammed into both assassins with devastating force.
Philip was lifted off his feet and hurled backward, crashing into a tree with a sickening crack.
Walton flew even further, tumbling across the grass before slamming into a boulder.
The force dissipated as quickly as it had appeared.
Silence.
Then—
"Philip!"
Philip was already on his feet, seemingly unaffected by the impact. He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck, eyes fixed on Agni with murderous intensity.
"Get up, you moron! He's a mage!"
Walton groaned, pushing himself upright. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead.
"That... that wasn't in the data!" Walton spat, shaking his head to clear it. "They said he was 2nd Circle at best! Nothing! What kind of magic was that?!"
"Does it matter?!" Philip drew a second weapon—a short blade, gleaming with enchantments.
Both assassins looked up.
Agni was running.
His right leg dragged awkwardly behind him—clearly damaged, maybe broken—but he was still moving. Limping. Stumbling
"Hey! He's leaving! The fucker's running away!"
"After him!" Philip screamed.
Run.
Run run run run RUN.
Branches whipped past Agni's face, leaving cuts on his cheeks. Roots grabbed at his feet, trying to trip him.
His right leg screamed with every step.
Agni's mind was a whirlwind of confusion as he stumbled through the underbrush.
What was that? People? Assassination? Some kind of prank from father?
No. That bald guy had looked like serious business.
Damn it, I killed a person!
The memory of the woman's head simply... popping... made his stomach churn. It wasn't that it felt particularly bad or anything—more like stepping on a disgusting bug. But still. A person was dead because of him.
He wiped the blood from his hands on his torn clothes, trying to focus on more immediate concerns.
Behind him, he could hear them crashing through the forest. He was leaving a trail of broken branches and blood droplets—not exactly subtle..
Agni closed his eyes, trying to remember his training. Healing magic. Restoration spells. The precise mana flow required to accelerate tissue regeneration.
Come on. Come on come on come on—
His mind was chaos. Panic and fear and adrenaline all crashing together, making concentration impossible.
I can't cast properly. I'm not calm enough.
But I have to do SOMETHING.
He focused on the wound. Not on the spell. On the wound itself.
Heal.
Just... heal.
Close up. Stop bleeding. Fix yourself.
The flesh around the shrapnel began to move. The metal fragment pushed outward, expelled by muscles that shouldn't have been able to contract that way. Torn tissue knit itself back together, fibers weaving like threads on a loom.
It wasn't pretty. It wasn't clean.
But it worked.
Within seconds, the wound had sealed.
Agni let out a shaky breath.
Okay. Okay. I can move now.
But where?
Where am I supposed to GO?
He didn't have a map. He didn't have a horse. He didn't have—
CRACK.
A mana-gun round shattered the tree trunk inches from his head.
Bark exploded outward, showering him with splinters. One piece sliced across his left ear, and he felt the hot sting of blood.
Fire erupted from a tree beside his head, taking off his entire left ear in a spray of blood and burning flesh.
Agni dove behind a large boulder, his heart hammering against his ribs.
I have to do something. If I keep running around aimlessly...
Wait. Where's the bald guy? I don't see him.
Damn it, what should I do? They're going to kill me. I'm going to die.
Die. Die. Die.
Think! What was that thing I did back there? I screamed and they got pushed back...
He remembered something from his tutoring sessions. Magic with vocal components was generally more powerful than silent casting.
Blood from his damaged ear trickled down his neck. Big B's blood still crusted his face, stinging his eyes.
I can't see properly.
The world changed.
Color drained away, leaving only black and white. Shadows and light. Contrast without nuance.
But that wasn't all.
Lines.
The details that didn't matter faded into static—the texture of bark, the shape of leaves, the pattern of moss. Only the essential remained.
Movement.
Energy.
Threat.
He could see Walton standing motionless about thirty meters away, his mana gun trained on the boulder. But there was something else—a fast-moving figure blurring around the edges of his vision, circling his position.
A pincer attack.
Agni gulped, his throat dry as sand.
No choice. I have to do something.
Kill them.
Yes. I have to kill them.
His left ear was already regenerating, flesh crawling back into place with an itchy, burning sensation. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as something hot and primal began building in his chest.
His eyes flared with power.
Survive.
For the first time in his life, Agni felt something he'd never experienced before. Not the lazy contentment of palace life or the mild irritation of being forced to study.
This was different. Raw. Burning.
This was the heat of truly fighting for his life.