The troll was regaining its footing, its red eyes locking on Hannah once more, its good hand curling around its club, ready to strike.
Hannah's mind raced—fast, a fighter's mind, a hunter's mind, a mind that held the quiet, forgotten common sense of a life long past.
Water conducts electricity, she thought, a tiny, sharp spark of certainty cutting through the chaos. A simple fact from her old world, useless then, life-saving now.
It's not just magic—it's how the world works.
This will work. She had a little golden mana to channel lightning, Ren had raw, unbridled golden lightning strength no one could see, and the group had the skills to set the trap.
One of the women had a talent no one had mentioned.
"Is anyone here able to cast Earth Wall?" she shouted, her voice loud, cutting through the chaos, her eyes scanning the group.
The red-haired girl—tall, scarred, her leg healed by Hannah's golden magic—stepped forward, her chin set, a faint green glow flickering at her fingertips, the hue bright and steady, unmistakeable earth talent.
"I can. Earth talent—second ring. Not strong, but I can raise a wall. Just… not a big one."
That was enough.
Hannah grinned, a wild, feral grin, the golden mana in her chest flaring.
"No time for big. Just enough. Connect the cave walls—divide us from the horde, block their advance. Now. Hurry."
The red-haired girl nodded, closing her eyes, her hands slamming into the stone floor.
The green glow flared bright, vivid and alive, and the ground rumbled—a wall shot up from the stone, rough and uneven, made of compacted earth and rock, not tall enough to block the troll's view, but tall enough to separate the front line from the group, tall enough to slow the goblins, tall enough to connect the cave's stone walls, a barrier between them and the monsters.
It was thin, fragile, but it held, the green hue of her magic lingering on its surface like a faint sheen.
The goblins slammed into it, their spears and claws scraping the earth, their cackles turning to snarls.
The troll roared, slamming its good hand into the wall, the earth cracking, but it didn't fall.
"Now, Mimi!" Hannah screamed.
Mimi's head shot up, her eyes wide, but she didn't hesitate.
She pushed herself up, her staff raised, and channeled the last of her mana—every drop, every flicker—into her incantation, her voice loud and clear, strained with effort.
"Aqua Surge!"
A wall of water erupted from the staff, a tidal wave of cool blue, crashing over the earth wall, drenching the goblins and the troll, soaking their skin, their weapons, the stone floor, turning the ground to mud. It didn't hurt them—not really.
The water was weak, Mimi's mana too depleted for anything more. But it was enough. It was exactly enough.
Now, Hannah thought, channeling the last of her golden mana into her palms, summoning a faint crackle of golden lightning—thin, weak, nothing on its own, but a signal. Ren, now.
Ren heard her, a snarl of triumph in her skull. He abandoned his attack on the troll, wheeling through the air, his camouflaged form blazing with invisible golden lightning, ten times the strength of Hannah's, raw and unfiltered dragon magic that matched her irregular noble hue perfectly.
Mimi's hand moved again, her staff glowing with a faint, sputtering sparkling silver—her secondary lightning talent, stretched to its absolute limit.
Her lips parted in a ragged whisper, the last of her strength pouring into the spell:
"Fulmen Spark."
A tiny bolt of sparkling silver lightning snaked from the tip of her staff, thin and wavering.
Hannah unleashed her own golden lightning a heartbeat later, the faint crackle merging with Mimi's silver bolt mid-air.
And then Ren struck—unleashing his massive wave of golden lightning, weaving it seamlessly into the combined silver and golden arc, no fire, no other magic, just pure, unrelenting lightning, all of it matching Hannah's noble irregular hue.
The bolt bloomed, exploding into a tempest of golden-silver lightning that arced through the air, crackling and hissing, so bright it seared the eyes, so loud it shook the stone walls.
It hit the water-soaked horde dead on, and the scream that went up from the goblins was ear-splitting—cut short in an instant as the lightning seared through them.
Just as I thought, Hannah's mind flickered, a quiet triumph as the lightning exploded across the mud and water. Simple physics, even in a world of magic.
Water was a conductor.
The lightning raced through the mud, the wet stone, the goblins' soaked skin—chaining from one monster to the next, searing their flesh black, making their bodies convulse.
The troll, soaked to the bone, took the full brunt of it: the golden-silver lightning wrapped around its massive frame like a cage, frying its muscles, searing its skull, and it let out a final, agonized roar that echoed through the dungeon before collapsing to the ground, its red eyes dimming to black, its massive body twitching once… then still.
The goblins fell too, dozens of them, their shrill screams cut short by the crackle of lightning, their bodies slumping to the muddy stone, charred and lifeless.
The air thickened with the smell of burnt flesh and ozone, the water steaming into a thick fog that hung in the air, the green earth wall crumbling to dust under the force of the storm.
Silence fell—thick, heavy, broken only by the faint crackle of dying embers and the ragged gasps of the living.
Bart and Mike froze, their weapons clattering to the ground, their eyes blown wide with pure, unadulterated shock as they stared at the smoldering horde.
The hair on the back of their necks stood on end, the faint tingle of residual lightning still in the air. Mike's mouth hung open, his bow slipping from his numb fingers; Bart's injured shoulder throbbed, but he didn't move, didn't blink, his gaze locked on the golden-silver fizzle of lightning that still danced over the troll's corpse.
The three saved women huddled together, their hands clapped over their mouths, their eyes wide with awe and fear.
They'd never seen magic like it—not the weak, common hues of village mages, not the polished spells of guild wizards, but this raw, unbridled power, golden and silver twisting together, enough to take down a troll and a horde of goblins in one strike.
Mimi stumbled forward a step, her staff clattering from her limp hand, the adrenaline finally bleeding out of her veins, her body going slack with the weight of total mana depletion.
She stared at Hannah, her glassy eyes wide with stunned disbelief, her voice a breathless, shaky whisper that cut through the silence.
"That's… that's impossible," she said, her gaze fixed on the faint golden lightning still sputtering at Hannah's fingertips—bright, unyielding, the mark of noble irregular magic.
"A golden core amplifying silver lightning that much? Even the oldest noble texts don't speak of this… you just turned a spark into a storm. Hannah, you just did the impossible."
Every eye in the cave snapped to Hannah—Bart's, Mike's, Mimi's, the three women's—all of them filled with awe, shock, and a flicker of fear, like they were seeing her for the first time.
They saw the blood on her chin, the bruise on her chest, the shaky way she stood… and the faint golden glow of her magic, still thrumming in her palms, the power that had leveled a horde.
They saw her—the girl with the mysterious golden core—and they knew they'd just witnessed something legendary.
No one spoke. No one dared.
Not until Mimi's knees buckled, her body giving in to the exhaustion she'd been fighting off, and she crumpled forward.
Bart was there in an instant, his good arm wrapping around her waist to catch her, and Mimi's eyes fluttered shut as she relaxed completely into his hold—unconscious, her chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths, her mana core completely burnt out.
"We're getting out of here," Hannah said, her voice tight but steady, cutting through the stunned silence, sheathing her dagger and nodding toward the dungeon's exit tunnel.
Her legs shook, her core throbbed, but she stood tall—refusing to show the weakness that gnawed at her.
No more fights, no more tricks—just get everyone to the surface, to healers.
The three saved women were mostly unharmed, a few scrapes and bruises the worst of it; the red-haired girl's earth magic had shielded them through the worst of the goblin attacks, and they'd stayed clear of the troll's rage.
They snapped out of their stunned daze, faces set with resolve, and stepped forward—ready to help, their gratitude sharp and clear in every movement.
Bart lifted Mimi carefully into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, and nodded, his gaze still lingering on Hannah with quiet awe.
Mike slung his bow over his back, grabbing a fallen goblin's torch to light the way, and fell into step at the front, his eyes darting to Hannah every few seconds, still processing what he'd seen.
The red-haired girl and a dark-haired woman flanked Bart, steadying him when his injured shoulder twinged, while the blonde girl walked beside Hannah, her small hand curled around Hannah's wrist for support, her eyes wide with admiration.
They moved slowly through the dungeon's twisting tunnels, the torchlight casting long, shaky shadows on the stone walls.
The air grew lighter, fresher, the faint glow of sunlight seeping in from the surface ahead—and that's when Hannah felt it.
Her legs went numb first, a cold, heavy tingling that spread up her thighs, her hips, her torso. Her fingers locked, her arm going rigid at her side.
She tried to take a step, to lift her foot, and couldn't—her body was completely unresponsive, heavy as lead, rooted to the stone floor.
Panic pricked at her chest, but her mind stayed sharp, conscious, hyper-aware of every sound, every movement around her.
"Hannah?" the blonde girl asked, her voice worried, tugging at Hannah's wrist.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
Bart turned, Mike freezing at the front, the other women stopping short.
Hannah's mouth wouldn't move, couldn't form words—she could only stare, her eyes wide, at the stone beneath her feet, the golden glow at her fingertips fading to nothing as her core gave out completely.
"Her core's burnt out—total mana depletion," Bart rumbled, setting Mimi down gently for a second to step forward, his large hand pressing to her chest.
He'd seen it once before, in a guild mage who'd pushed too hard—conscious, but paralyzed, her body refusing to obey, a side effect of overchanneling a noble golden core.
"She's awake, but her body's shut down to protect itself. She pushed too hard, even with the potion."
Mike was at her side in an instant, sliding an arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her easily into his arms.
She was light, her body limp as a doll, and he adjusted his hold to keep her steady, his face grim with concern, his voice soft as he spoke to her—even if he wasn't sure she could hear. "We're almost there, Hannah. Healers at the surface will fix this. Just hold on."
The three saved women sprang into action—the red-haired girl and dark-haired woman lifting Mimi again, slinging her arms over their shoulders to ease the load on Bart's injured shouldether; the blonde girl grabbing the torch from Mike, walking ahead to light the final stretch to exit.
They stayed close, their small hands steadying Bart's arm when he stumbled, adjusting Mimi's weight when she slipped, carrying their small packs and extra torches—helping the injured, repaying the debt they owed to Hannah and the others, their silence a testament to their gratitude.
And Ren? He was perched on Hannah's shoulder, his tiny, camouflaged body pressed to her cheek, his voice a constant, mocking purr in her skull—loud enough only for her to hear, sharp and snarky, all the way through the final tunnel and out into the sunlight.
"Told you you were a weak little human," he snickered, his golden scales brushing her jaw, his tiny claws tapping her cheek playfully.
"Paralyzed. Can't even walk. All that big talk about not going down, and you end up a limp doll in the archer's arms. Pathetic."
He flapped his wings, the faint breeze tickling her ear, his tone dripping with amusement.
"You thought your little golden spark and that silly physics trick could save you? Please. That storm was me—my lightning, my power. You just held the match. And now you're paying for it, stuck like a statue while everyone carries you like a baby."
He nuzzled her ear, his red eyes glinting with mischief.
"What do you think they'll say when they see their 'legendary' golden mage carried out of the dungeon like a helpless child? The guild masters will laugh. The healers will cluck their tongues. Even the saved little girls will feel sorry for you. I'm already laughing—so hard I could fall off your shoulder."
He tapped her forehead with his claw, sharp and teasing.
"Next time, listen to your dragon. Let me handle the fighting, let me unleash the lightning. Or you'll end up like this forever—conscious, but useless. A pretty golden ornament with a burnt-out core."
Hannah seethed, her mind sharp and furious, even as her body lay limp.
She wanted to snarl, to swat him away, to scream that it was their win, not just his—but she couldn't. Her lips wouldn't move, her hands wouldn't clench, her legs wouldn't kick. All she could do was seethe in silence, her eyes fixed on the bright sunlight ahead, as Mike carried her out of the dungeon and into the waiting arms of the healers.
They swarmed them the second they stepped out—healers in white robes, their hands glowing with soft white healing magic, rushing Mimi and Hannah to a nearby tent, pressing cool poultices to Bart's injured shoulder, checking Mike for scrapes and bruises.
The three saved women lingered, hovering at the tent's entrance, until a healer waved them over for their own minor treatment—their eyes never leaving the tent where Hannah and Mimi lay, their saviors, the girl with the golden magic who'd done the impossible.
Ren's mocking purr softened to a quiet rumble as the healers' magic washed over Hannah's chest, warm and gentle, seeping into her burnt-out golden core. But he didn't stop teasing—not even for a second.
"Don't think this means you're off the hook, weak human," he muttered, nuzzling her jaw one last time.
"I'm gonna remind you of this paralyzed stunt every single day. Every time you try to channel magic, every time you stand tall and act tough—I'll be right here, laughing at how you crumpled like a cheap scroll."
Hannah closed her eyes, letting the healing magic wrap around her, and a cold, sharp smile tugged at the corner of her mouth—even if no one could see it.
Just you wait, dragon, she thought, her mind unbroken, her resolve harder than ever. Next time, I'll master this golden magic. Next time, I'll match your power. Next time, you won't be laughing.
And she would. She'd heal. She'd train. She'd master her noble irregular magic—and she'd make Ren eat every single mocking word he'd ever spoken.
One way or another.
.
.
.
To be continue.