"It's an opportunity!"
A dark glint flashed in Arya's eyes as her mind began to race.
These three—especially that impossibly young boy—possessed magic far stronger than she had expected. Perhaps she could use them to deal with these troublesome guards.
Her cunning, calculating expression flickered for only an instant before vanishing behind a mask of exhaustion. With a silent breath, she adjusted her strategy even as she continued fending off the encirclement of the remaining Golems and four Gargoyles.
She began to maneuver, each step deliberate though it appeared clumsy, slowly edging closer to where Karl and the other two stood. Her body trembled as she squeezed her eyes tight, forcing out a few tears that mingled with the dried blood at the corner of her lips—an effect from her earlier injuries.
In moments, she had transformed her face into a picture of pitiful desperation. Her voice, quivering and weak, carried a plaintive cry across the battlefield.
"Fellow members of the Brotherhood, stop! I surrender!" she shouted. "I'm willing to accept the Wizard Council's judgment and punishment. Please—help me! I can't hold on much longer!"
Hearing her words and seeing her staggering toward them, trailed by a string of furious creatures, Dredy's face darkened to the color of ash.
"Crazy bitch!" he snarled. "Stay away from us! Who'd believe your nonsense?"
Rage twisted his features as he thrust out both hands, conjuring twin fireballs that roared through the air. They struck Arya's faltering magic shield with a pair of booming explosions.
"Bang! Bang!"
The shield flickered violently under the onslaught, its shimmering surface spiderwebbed with cracks. It was clear that one more blow would shatter it completely.
A spark of hatred flickered deep in Arya's eyes, though outwardly she maintained her pitiful façade. Her steps, instead of slowing, quickened just slightly as she continued her trembling approach, tears streaking down her bloodstained cheeks.
"I'm sincere!" she cried, her voice breaking. "I know I was wrong. Please—save me!"
Ephar, still reeling from the shock Karl had given them earlier, felt his nerves fray as she drew nearer, dragging her monstrous pursuers behind her.
"Damn bitch!" he spat, hurling two crackling bolts of lightning toward her. The blue-white arcs joined Dredy's fireballs, blazing through the smoky air.
But before the lightning could reach its mark, Karl, who had been silent and unmoving until now, took a single step forward. His calm voice cut through the chaos.
"Gentlemen," he said evenly, "regarding the capture of Arya—does the Wizard Council require her alive, or dead?"
The words landed like a hammer blow.
Both Dredy and Ephar froze mid-motion, their attacks faltering. They exchanged a quick glance—each seeing the same answer reflected in the other's eyes.
"Alive," Dredy said immediately. "She has to be alive. If she dies, we'll have a hard time explaining it when we return. The report alone would be a nightmare."
He shot a nervous glance toward the distant council insignia emblazoned on his sleeve. "Besides, the Wizard Council will need to verify everything with magic. No body, no verification—it'll be trouble."
"Yes," Ephar added quickly. "Alive. She must be kept alive."
Karl gave a small nod of acknowledgment, his expression unreadable. His gaze drifted back toward Arya, who was now less than four meters away. Her face was still a mask of tears and terror, though her eyes gleamed faintly with deceit.
Then, before the others could grasp his intention, Karl moved.
He took a step forward—and his figure blurred, dissolving into a streak of motion too fast for the eye to follow.
A split second later, a sharp, terrified scream cut through the air.
"Ah!!!"
The echo of it lingered, thin and trembling, before Dredy and Ephar's eyes could even refocus. When they finally did, Karl was already standing directly before Arya—separated from her by only the thin, flickering layer of her failing shield.
Arya's pitiful mask shattered, replaced by genuine terror. She tried instinctively to retreat, to reinforce her shield—but Karl's movements were far faster than thought.
He raised his right fist and struck. The motion looked almost casual, smooth and unhurried, not even stirring the air around him.
"Bang! Crack!"
The sound was like glass breaking under a hammer. Her fragile shield exploded into countless fragments of glowing magical light that scattered and dissolved in the air.
For a heartbeat, despair clouded Arya's eyes. Then, the golden necklace around her neck flashed with sudden brilliance.
A thick, pale-orange oval shield bloomed from the pendant, enveloping her in a protective aura. It was her self-preservation magic, triggered automatically in moments of mortal danger.
But the relief that touched her face froze before it could form into hope.
Karl's expression did not change. He did not pause. His right arm continued its motion, his fist accelerating just slightly as it connected once more—this time with the fresh barrier.
"Boom!!"
The sound was heavier, deeper, like a hammer striking bronze. The orange shield rippled and cracked, glowing wildly for half a second before shattering in a violent burst. The necklace itself gave a brittle "snap" as a fracture split the gemstone at its center. The light faded.
The backlash from the broken shield sent a violent shock through Arya's body. Her blood and qi churned; she barely managed to stay conscious.
Karl's right hand, now unimpeded, shot forward again. His fingers closed around her slender throat like an iron vise.
"Ugh—ho!" Arya's breath caught in a strangled gasp. Her eyes rolled back as the crushing pressure stole her air.
But this was only the beginning.
Karl's left hand transformed into a blade, his movements fluid and precise. In one seamless motion, his arm flickered through the air—striking four times in rapid succession at her joints.
"Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!"
The sounds of bone snapping echoed chillingly across the field. Arya's arms and legs bent at grotesque, impossible angles, her limbs left limp and useless.
The pain was unbearable. Her body convulsed violently, though she could no longer even scream. Karl's grip around her throat was unyielding.
Then, almost delicately, his thumb and forefinger slid upward along her neck, hooking beneath her jaw. A light twist—and another sharp crack.
"Click!"
Her jaw dislocated instantly, leaving her mouth hanging open and powerless. No syllable could escape, no spell could form.
Throughout this brief, brutal display, Karl moved with the calmness of a man strolling through a garden. His upper body swayed slightly, effortlessly evading the incoming blows of the three Golems and the slashing claws of the Gargoyles that still surrounded them.
Each of their attacks came close enough to stir his hair, yet none could so much as brush the edge of his cloak. To an outside observer, it looked less like combat and more like a cruel dance—one he led with unshakable grace.
The entire sequence—from the first shattering shield to the final dislocation—had lasted barely a few heartbeats.
Dredy and Ephar stood frozen, disbelief etched across their faces.
They could hardly comprehend what they had just witnessed.
Had they somehow fallen under one of Arya's illusion spells? The thought flitted desperately through their minds. Surely this couldn't be real.
Yet the truth was undeniable. The monstrous guards still lumbered nearby, but Arya—the woman they had been sent to capture alive—was now utterly defeated. Her limbs were broken, her magic suppressed, her voice silenced.
Karl still held her effortlessly by the throat, his expression calm and emotionless, as though he were holding a dead bird rather than a powerful sorceress.
Only the faint tremor in Arya's body showed that she yet lived.
The sound of stone grinding echoed as the Golems adjusted their stance, sensing their master's peril. The Gargoyles hissed, their wings scraping against the air as they prepared to lunge.
But Karl didn't look at them. His gaze remained fixed on Arya's face—on the terror, confusion, and hatred mingled in her wide, glassy eyes.
"You should have run," he said softly. His voice was quiet, almost kind.
Arya's pupils contracted. She tried to form words, but her jaw only hung open uselessly, producing no sound.
Karl's expression remained unchanged as he shifted his grip, pulling her closer until their faces were inches apart.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed her aside. Her broken body crashed against the ground with a dull thud, sliding several feet before coming to a stop amid the debris.
Dust rose.
The moment she hit the ground, the Golems and Gargoyles roared in fury, turning their attention fully toward Karl.
He exhaled slowly, as though bored. "Ephar. Dredy."
His voice snapped them out of their trance.
"Contain the constructs," he said. "She's alive, as required. Handle the cleanup."
Without another word, he stepped back, his figure blurring once again before vanishing entirely—whether through teleportation or sheer speed, neither could tell.
Dredy stood frozen for several long seconds before finally managing to breathe again.
"What in the gods' name…" he muttered, his voice trembling. "Did we just see?"
Ephar didn't answer immediately. His eyes were still fixed on Arya, who lay on the ground, twitching faintly, her once-beautiful face now pale and contorted.
When he finally spoke, his tone was low, almost reverent. "That wasn't a spell," he said. "That was power."
The air hung heavy with silence. Even the crackling embers of Dredy's fireballs seemed subdued, their light fading into the growing gloom.
Above them, the night sky loomed vast and indifferent.
The battlefield, moments ago alive with chaos and magic, now lay eerily still—save for the faint, ragged sound of Arya's breathing.
Dredy finally tore his gaze away, swallowing hard. "Let's secure her," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Ephar nodded silently. Together, they began the grim work of binding the crippled sorceress with enchanted chains.
As they approached, Arya's eyes fluttered open. Through the haze of pain, she could still see Karl's afterimage fading into the darkness.
Her mind reeled. In all her years—of betrayal, plotting, and bloodshed—she had never encountered anything like him.
The last flicker of hatred in her heart mingled with something else—an emotion she could not name.
Fear, perhaps. Or awe.
Before she could decide, the chains sealed around her wrists and ankles, locking with a cold metallic click.
Dredy crouched beside her, wiping sweat from his brow. "Alive," he muttered again, half to himself. "She's alive. That's what they wanted."
Arya tried to move, but her body no longer obeyed her. The pain in her shattered limbs blurred the edges of her vision.
As consciousness began to fade, one final image burned itself into her mind—Karl's calm, indifferent eyes, watching her as if she were nothing at all.
Then, darkness claimed her.
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