“That glass orb can’t be your ultimate move, can it, Moti? I take back what I said about cursing you out. Should I be thanking you for saving my life right now?”
Rakudo ran for his life, swearing to himself that he’d escape this accursed mess of a place.
The voice crackled through the communicator once more. It was Moti, her tone flat and emotionless—as if, for once, she was perfectly calm. Brimming with confidence.
“This sphere counters anything she does. Her attacks are pointless. I can’t promise it’ll hold her forever, but it should give us enough time to get away… um…”
Moti coughed at the end.
She was utterly spent.
That geometric sphere, forged from pure condensed geometry, was a kill shot adaptable to any scenario—a spell even harder to unleash than Bombardment Zone. It had drained nearly every drop of mana from her body. She no longer had the strength to dissolve into afterimages and illusions, slipping free from the Evil Dragon’s clutches.
At the same time, the Hero’s voice cut in.
“Well done. Klaus will meet you at the southwest corner of Mars Street. Rendezvous as soon as you can. I’m counting on you to still have enough left in you to get us out of here, Moti.”
“Cough… cough… I…” Moti wheezed. Even through the communicator, her exhaustion was palpable.
“Hey, boss,” Rakudo said, “not to complain or anything, but Moti’s already pushed herself to the limit saving my hide. Do we really need to rush like this? Look, that Evil Dragon lookalike’s under control now. If you were here, you could probably turn the tables on her.”
Rakudo glanced back over his shoulder. He’d been twisting through alleys, left and right, losing sight of the enemy long ago. But the Dragon Girl truly wasn’t giving chase like she usually would. That was the best news he’d heard all day.
“The Winter Queen’s personal forces are en route. This plan is airtight. Don’t forget who our real enemy is. The main quest has nothing to do with the Hidden Boss. Your job is to nail this mission without letting her throw you off.”
The Hero didn’t miss a beat, like she was arguing a one-sided debate. She pressed on in that steady, unyielding voice:
“They’ll be here in ten minutes, tops. Moti, that’s an order. Get to the rendezvous and activate the teleport matrix with whatever you have left.” Her tone never wavered.
“Got it…”
Moti nodded. She was hunkered down in another shadowy nook perfect for hiding, half-kneeling on the ground. Beneath her black hood, weakness etched every line of her face. She opened her mouth and exhaled a dry, rasping breath, as if desperate for the scant moisture in the air. Her trembling hand clawed at the wall, fingers groping for any protrusion to haul herself upright and steady her faltering body.
That was when she noticed the crack in her black robe.
A tiny fissure, barely worth noting. Perfectly parallel to her shoulder. For someone who revered geometry and perfect forms like Moti, it was almost comforting…
In the span of a few short seconds—
“Is this… the Evil Dragon…?”
Just like Rakudo had moments ago, terror twisted her features.
Her other trembling hand clutched at her heaving chest as she slumped against the wall. Suddenly, she understood the true source of her collapse.
That crack was too perfect. Too precise. It had sliced clean through the vest beneath, exposing a swath of pale skin—and a thin bloodline, like a warning etched just deep enough to draw blood without inflicting pain.
Exactly. Because it was too perfect…
Her black robe wasn’t some cheap disguise cobbled together to hide her identity. It had cost three figures in gold coins, bought in the human capital—one of the finest pieces of defensive gear humanity could craft.
Tougher than standard armor by several magnitudes, it shrugged off anything short of outright magic or severe physical trauma. Especially the jagged stones that might nick skin, or the rusty protrusions jutting from crumbling walls and ruins.
This was “evidence” left by someone who’d attacked her by complete surprise.
A faint wisp of residual demonic energy pointed straight to the culprit.
“…”
“Impossible.”
Had she misjudged?
More wishful delusions than that, Moti knew better. This was a warning. Stark and blatant.
What now? Recall the spell?
She could probably reclaim enough mana in time to whip up a teleport matrix, evacuating everyone from the city. Back to that cozy little hideout perfect for slacking off with a good book.
But what about the Hero’s orders?
And the cost of pulling back her power… everyone knew what that meant.
Rakudo would die.
This marked over three hundred days since the Hero Party had been battling on the front lines. To claim they felt nothing would be a lie. Speaking for herself, Xuefei would never abandon any member lightly—not even that unserious rogue, Rakudo.
Besides, protecting Rakudo was the Hero’s direct order.
Moti pulled back her hood, revealing her tea-colored short hair that draped gently over her shoulders. At the nape of her neck sat a small bun, one that Miss Hero had personally tied for her that very morning.
And in that moment, the calm, steady voice spoke up once more.
“Moti, pull back your power. Create a matrix shield and help Rakudo escape.”
“Yes…”
The Hero’s voice shattered her hesitation. Moti’s ultimate skill hadn’t fully manifested yet, so it dissipated at once, allowing her to reclaim some of her mana before her legs could buckle and send her crashing to her knees again. She wiped the blood from her shoulders, raised her right hand, closed her eyes, and began chanting under her breath.
Rakudo harnessed the faint rush of air from the explosion behind him to pick up speed. At the same time, a cluster of white geometric shapes materialized in his wake—like playing cards stacking atop one another, they fused into a razor-sharp shield.
This was the extent of Moti’s power.
Meanwhile, the self-styled lucky demolitions expert felt a searing crimson blaze scorching his back. He whipped his head around and saw…
“It’s—it’s Dragon Flame! No, just raw breath!”
A surge of purple Aurora erupted like magma shattering a thin sheet of ice. It barreled through the pile of shattered stone without resistance, hurtling toward Rakudo in an unstoppable wave. In an instant, it infused the ruined city with yet another layer of utter devastation.
“Damn it, ‘Bombardment Zone’! Get moving!”
Rakudo flung up his hand. A chain of blasts ripped forth from behind him like rockets firing in rapid succession—bombs he had stockpiled over the past five minutes. Yes, it had only been five short minutes since Xuefei had spotted him and given chase, but to Rakudo, it felt like an eternity stretching across centuries.
The explosions tore up the earth, gouging hideous craters into the ground as if a monstrous volcano had erupted right in the heart of the city.
Xuefei had to admit it: this would slow her down, if only for the briefest moment.
Through this clash, she had come to truly understand the gulf between strong and weak—the utter insignificance of the latter in the eyes of the former. She was beginning to grasp the source of the Demon King’s arrogance… and that of the Evil Dragon.
“This is what an Evil Dragon is. Pure, unadulterated might.”
Her mana-forged wings kept her suspended in the sky, the entirety of the elves’ city laid bare beneath her. Picking off the fleeing figure was child’s play. She raised a single finger, sighting down it toward Rakudo. At its tip ballooned an energy sphere vast enough to devour the sun itself.
That orb was the primary threat to Rakudo’s life.
She confirmed that the elves ahead had safely withdrawn from the ruins, sheltered by the shield conjured in her other hand. Rakudo’s fragile geometric barrier disintegrated into dust amid the laser-like onslaught.
