Ruth had regained her senses. Only a fool wouldn’t flee now.
She clearly understood—that white-haired human possessed the power to alter a witch’s very consciousness. Hattie must have fallen victim to him by careless mistake!
Now weakened beyond combat capability, her only option was escape.
Find a hiding place. Wait out the Night of the Witches. Regain full strength. Then make him pay.
Ruth swore upon her soul—when that ti ca, she’d make him experience the most agonizing, most terrifying death imaginable!
With this vow, her massive form barreled through the slums. Behind her, Charles stood montarily dumbstruck before lurching into pursuit.
One step.
White-hot pain shot through his wounded leg, nearly toppling him. A silent curse burned in his mind: Damn it!
Gritting his teeth, he fumbled for his spellbook. Cure Wounds—that’s what he needed to run again.
But no—his spell slots hadn’t replenished!
Three attempts yielded nothing but frustration. Another muttered oath escaped as he slumped back, minimizing movent to prevent further injury while waiting for his magic to return.
Two minutes. She can’t get far in two minutes...
Above, the two trench-coated observers exchanged stunned glances.
"Could I have misjudged?" murmured the first. "Is he actually a high-level spellcaster who simply never learned second-circle magic?"
By his count, the youth had already cast seven or eight first-level spells tonight. Even with magical artifacts, his reserves should be exhausted.
"How does he still have mana for so many protective spells?"
"Incredible," the other murmured. "What is that power? To think he not only kept both legs but actually drove the monster away!"
Their original script had been simple:
tripping Charles with subtle magic
Let the monster sever his legs
Watch him bleed into unconsciousness
Step in, immobilize the monster
Offer their contract to the desperate human
Even when Charles blocked the first attack, the cambions remained unconcerned. The wounded boy couldn’t run. The next strike would finish him.
Yet against all expectations, that strange milky energy had enabled an extre counterattack!
Now the prey chased the hunter!
Truly... unbelievable!
As they watched the recovered Charles pursue the fleeing monster, the leaner figure asked quietly: "Well, Regolas? Do we proceed?"
The other cambion pondered briefly before nodding. "Proceed. You immobilize the monster. I’ll persuade him to sign. Even if he refuses, Lord phistopheles will appreciate capturing such a specin..."
"Agreed!"
The two figures soared after Ruth’s distant form.
On the ground, Charles’ two-minute wait ended. A whispered "Cure Wounds" nded his injuries, and the chase began anew.
Though faster than the weakened Ruth, he had to carefully follow her chaotic trail—twisting through alleys, terrified of losing her.
Close now. She’s exhausted. Can’t have gone far...
Rounding a corner, his heart leapt. There—Ruth’s massive form wriggled weakly ahead, her strength nearly spent!
Yes! Finally, you’re mine!
He surged forward—
—just as an incantation bood from above:
"Hold Monster!"
Ruth’s massive form froze instantly.
Charles blinked in shock as a lean figure in a black trench coat descended beside him. "Whew—just in ti!"
The stranger turned with a benevolent smile. "Well done, young man! To hold off such a creature for so long..."
"You’ve protected Liberl Port’s citizens! A true hero of the city! Such righteousness is rare. Tell , young man, what’s your na?"
The sudden praise left Charles stunned.
This tone... this deanor... Could he be one of the port’s high-ranking officials?
Since when did Liberl’s peacekeepers respond so quickly? They usually arrived only after the dust settled.
Had tonight’s chaos been severe enough to rouse even their kind?
Hiss... Then how can I ta Ruth now?
A thousand suspicions raced through his mind as he maintained wary courtesy, bowing slightly. "Nigel Charles. And you are...?"
The lean figure’s smile never wavered. "Regolas, a mage from Blackstaff Tower. Fear not—I’m here to resolve this matter."
He gestured to the emblem embroidered on his coat, the movent ant to reassure.
Blackstaff Tower—the mage organization safeguarding Liberl Port. They intervened only during major crises or foreign invasions.
Their exact numbers were unknown. So said five hundred, each a master of at least third-level spells and multiple tamagic feats—truly elite mages!
Ordinary citizens rarely glimpsed them, but none doubted their honorable standing.
Most young apprentices would be awestruck. Yet hearing "Regolas," Charles’ pupils contracted sharply.
Damn it! An imposter! I knew Liberl’s response teams weren’t this efficient!
Regolas—an Archdevil from Cania’s Eighth Layer, phistopheles’ very apostle in the Material Plane. A cambion of formidable strength and utterly repulsive thods!
This guy likes to use so small actions to interfere with the player’s tasks. When the situation deteriorates to an irreversible level, he suddenly cos out to help you out and blackmail you for a large sum of money. At the sa ti, the new players who don’t know the truth have to thank him!
So, my tripping just now must not be an accident, it must be him!
What bad luck, how could I et this guy!
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