Ahhh, this is the worst. Being surrounded by people who want you dead was something he had grown accustomed to during his last life, but at least they had the courtesy to not kill him in the open. These thugs truly have no class.
My dagger was out in an instant, a narrow sliver of steel with a handle worn smooth from years of use. I lunged at the closest thug—a burly man with knotted arms and a spiked club—aiming low. The blade bit deep into his thigh. He roared, swinging wildly, but I was already ducking out of reach, dragging him off balance.
" Jake, keep the children safe inside the orphanage and don't let them come out."
" But-"
" Don't argue."
Jake didn't argue back and protect the children from the inside.
Lysandra then blurred beside me, her twin knives flashing like silver lightning. She then darted into their formation, dancing between them, cutting and moving before they even registered she'd struck. One went down clutching his throat, another staggered back, bleeding from the ribs.
I fell into rhythm beside her. They came at us in pairs now, trying to surround, outpace, and overwhelm. I blocked a downward strike with the edge of my forearm guard, twisting to bury my dagger in a gut. Warm blood coated my hand, but I didn't let go. I yanked free and shoved the body aside.
The Red Fang kept coming. But for all their swagger, they were used to prey—easy targets. Not soldiers. Not survivors.
"Watch left!" Lysandra barked.
I turned just in time to catch a knife glancing off my shoulder. Pain flared, hot and sharp, but I gritted my teeth and grabbed the attacker's wrist, twisting until something snapped. He screamed. I kicked him in the chest, and he crumpled into the weeds.
Lysandra wasn't unscathed—blood trickled down her temple, staining the edge of her jaw—but her eyes burned with fury. Her strikes grew sharper, faster. They were scared of her now. I saw it in how they hesitated.
The courtyard was turning into a battlefield.
Red Fang thugs swarmed through the broken gate, laughing like hyenas, swinging crude weapons. Most were foot soldiers—scarred, sloppy, overconfident. But I'd seen enough fights to know they weren't here just to scare us.
They were here to send a message.
I ducked behind a toppled barrel, breath tight in my throat. Blood roared in my ears.
System, I called out silently. Give me something. A spell. A weapon. Anything that can clear the yard
< Processing Request>
My vision blurred for a moment as glowing symbols blinked across the edge of my sight—options, costs, risks.
Then the system replied:
<[Wrath of the Archon – Tier VII]
– Incinerates all hostiles within a 30-meter radius.– Estimated casualties: 27 hostile.– Collateral damage: 72% of surrounding structure.– Price: 1.000.000 gold coin– System Warning: This spell may render user comatose. Confirm cast?>
I swallowed hard, sweat beading on my brow.
No. I gritted my teeth. Too much. Too costly.
"Give me something cheaper," I muttered aloud.
The system flickered again.
<[Ember Chain – Tier II]
– Releases a low-grade firebolt chain. Hits up to 5 targets. Minimal drain.– Cast cost: 50 silver coin>
"Accepted."
I raised my hand, palm glowing orange with unstable heat.
"Get behind me!" I barked at Lysandra.
Five Red Fang bruisers rushed toward me.
I flung my arm forward. A whip of fire cracked through the air, lashing from one thug to the next. They screamed, staggered, smoke curling from their clothes—but they didn't die. Not yet. Not all of them.
But it was enough to stop the charge.
Lysandra darted past me in a blur, her knives carving open the first two before they could recover. She moved like she was dancing with death, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadow.
"Remind me why we didn't fortify the garden wall again?" she hissed as she ducked under a mace and drove her blade into a thug's thigh.
"Because it was the one place the kids could breathe," I snarled, flinging another ember bolt over her shoulder.
"And now we're all gonna die in the fresh air. Fantastic."
We fought back to back, bodies pressed to the edge. Every choice I'd made in the past month screamed in my ears.
Still, I didn't regret it.
The Red Fang wanted blood?
They'd have to earn every drop.
I lunged forward again, cutting through their faltering line, driving them back inch by inch. The courtyard was slick with blood and mud now, bodies strewn between crushed flower beds and cracked paving stones.
"Enough!" the Red Fang lieutenant snarled from the far side.
He motioned forward, and three more thugs stormed in from the alley, fresh and full of rage. But I wasn't afraid.
I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Lysandra. We both panted, bleeding, but alive. Ready.
"Go ahead," I growled. "Try again."
The lieutenant's smile faltered.
But they didn't retreat.
No—this wasn't over yet.
They circled closer.
Each step was a drumbeat of exhaustion in my bones. My muscles screamed. My magic reserves dwindled. Even the dagger in my hand felt heavier now, like it had soaked up all the blood I spilled.
One of the fresh brutes swung a heavy iron bar. I barely dodged in time, the edge of it grazing my ribs. I hissed and slashed upward in response, catching his bicep, but it wasn't enough. He barreled into me, shoulder-first, knocking me flat on my back.
The wind left my lungs.
Pain exploded in my spine as I hit the stone.
I tried to roll, but another thug pinned me down with a boot on my chest. His face leered down at me, broken teeth yellow with rot.
"Got you now, little knight," he spat.
Lysandra shouted my name—she was still fighting, bloodied and outnumbered. I couldn't reach her. Couldn't even lift my arm.
The lieutenant stalked forward, a cruel grin tugging at his lips. He drew a jagged blade, its edge chipped and stained dark.
"Should've stayed dead the first time, you persistent brat," he sneered, raising the knife high.
I gritted my teeth, tried to move, to push him off—but the boot pressed harder.
Then—
A thunderous crack.
The ground shook.
The thug on top of me reeled, screaming, his leg suddenly gone below the knee. Blood sprayed across the courtyard like red mist.
The lieutenant turned just in time to catch the full force of a bolt of white energy—pure and searing—right in the chest. It hurled him back like a ragdoll, his scream cut off midair.
Silence fell for one heartbeat.
Then came the sound of hooves.
The gate exploded inward, splinters flying as armored horses charged through. At their head rode a man cloaked in blue and silver, his hair dark as ink, his eyes twin storms of fury. A long, curved sword rested across his lap like it belonged there.
The Marquess had arrived.
His guards followed like a wave of steel, cutting down the Red Fang with precise, brutal efficiency. There was no mercy in their strikes. No hesitation.
The Red Fang turned to flee—but they had no time. The Marquess raised one hand, and a circle of glowing sigils ignited above him.
"Judgement."
A wall of blue flame erupted behind the gang, sealing their escape. The air sizzled with divine energy.
The remaining thugs dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, begging.
The Marquess ignored them. His eyes locked on me as he dismounted, boots crunching over the broken stones.
"Eamond," he said, a familiar voice was heard. "Next time, don't face a gang alone. " It was Vale
I coughed, blood on my tongue. "I had Lysandra."
"She barely counts," he muttered—but the ghost of relief passed through his gaze as he helped me up.
He then heard a cold voice and turned to face the Marquess, who was facing the whimpering Red Fang survivors.
"Clean this filth up," the Marquess ordered his men. "Every last one."
And just like that, it was over.
The children were safe. The orphanage still stood.
The courtyard had gone still, littered with groaning bodies and smoldering scorch marks. The Marquess' soldiers had rounded up the surviving thugs and were binding them with thick manacles. The blue wall of flame faded behind them, leaving only the crackle of burning weeds and the distant crying of frightened children.
I staggered to my feet with Lysandra's help, every part of me aching. Blood ran from a shallow cut above my eye, but I was alive.
Jake appeared from the main doorway, the twins and the other children trailed behind him,
The Marquess turned toward them. He hadn't removed his gloves or his sword belt. His expression was unreadable, but the storm in his eyes had dulled to a simmer.
Vale stepped a few steps from him and gave a formal nod.
"Attention," he said, voice steady despite the blood still drying on his coat. "May I introduce Marquess Alexander Albert, the Gold Hound of the Empire, and he is here for his children ."
The Marquess studied them quietly, solemnly.
The twins didn't speak. Alfon looked wary. Alsa hid half behind her brother, peeking out like a rabbit watching a hawk.
Vale glanced between them and added, "They've been through more than you know. But they've survived. Thanks to Eamond. And Lysandra."
The Marquess nodded once. Then, to the twins, he said simply:
"I've come to take you home."
The children didn't move. Their eyes flicked toward me.
I forced a smile and gave them a small nod. "It's alright," I rasped. "Go on."
It took another long second, but finally, Alfon stepped forward. Alsa followed, hand still gripping his tightly.
The Marquess extended his arm.
And they went to him.
Not because they trusted him. Not yet.
But because they wanted to believe they could.
And as they stood there, uncertain but safe, the last rays of sun broke through the clouds above, casting pale gold light across the wounded garden.
For now, at least, the worst was over, and now the more challenging part would come.