Warren dragged himself across muddy ground, his body screaming from the wounds that still smoked from residual lightning.
Six arrows that had torn through his defenses like they were made of paper.
His calf was the worst; the first arrow had punched clean through muscle and bone before detonating, leaving a crater of charred flesh that made walking nearly impossible.
The other five had caught him across his torso, arms, and legs, creating a pattern of devastation that would have killed a normal mage instantly.
But Warren wasn't normal.
Ninety-two years of experience, SS-rank water affinity, and a lifetime of hunting soul mages had taught him how to survive injuries that should have been fatal.
Water mana flowed through his damaged leg, the liquid magic knitting torn muscle fibers back together. It would take hours of dedicated recovery to heal fully.
But he did enough to restore basic function.
