A Weakling (I)

Even though he'd sensed the man's presence some time ago, Cyril couldn't help the look of mild shock subtly creeping onto his face. Such was the nature of involuntary reactions, after all.

For the time being, he wasn't very concerned with the giant minotaur Victor had brought along. Although the monster was certainly the largest and most imposing threat in the vicinity by far—it was hard to describe the domineering creature as anything more than a hulking beast. The monster leaned forward, lowering itself to a knee and burying both fists into the dirt. Viscous white fluids dripped from its salivating snout and despite his proximity to the beast, Cyril couldn't make out the distinct red pupils that ought to have been gleaming in its eye sockets. The sclera was still visible, however, writhing with the same bulging veins marking the minotaurs body.

I guess they've drugged the minotaur as well. It certainly won't make things easy but...

As Cyril held that thought to himself, he tore his gaze away from the inhuman fiend and instead settled it on the creature's master, the one riding atop its shoulder.

Victor took note of his momentary lapse and responded with a snicker. "I've been waiting a long time for this day; your interference last time caused me a great deal of trouble you know."

"Trouble?" Cyril sharpened his glare. "I'm not sure what you went through but after the commotion you caused last year, you can't seriously be complaining about a bit of trouble after your lackeys made such a mess of this city."

"Yes but results still matter. That operation could barely be called a success—stealing the pod was no easy feat. Aside from the casualties it also came at the cost of temporarily losing my ability to chant, no thanks to you. I've been demoted ever since. Scarecrow—the new second in command —has proved himself quite capable. Thus, our pragmatic leader is having us participate in a little game, whoever takes you out will be cemented as the new number two."

Victor raised his outstretched arms, his grin widening from the influx of malice. "I have to give him credit; he's really done me a favor by making things this simple. Truth be told, I was planning to come kill you either way."

Cyril heaved a heavy sigh. "So, I take it that's why there's a bounty on my head?" he asked reflexively.

"More or less. I didn't want that bastard Scarecrow to get a head start on me while I was recovering. You must have realized it by now but...there's no need for a bounty anymore, you're going to die here, after all."

"That so?" Cyril scoffed, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes shifted between the five men gathered around him, their weapons already drawn and ready. "If you're talking this much, I assume you'll have no problems chanting later."

"Correct, it wasn't easy finding a healer that was capable enough, but my larynx has been repaired—all thanks to your friend Carissa."

"....What?"

The response had escaped him thoughtlessly; Cyril's expression began to drown under a massive wave of shock at the mere mention of that name. It was one of the few times in his entire life where the boy had been so quick to doubt his own ears, he'd even begun to wonder if he'd heard the man right.

Once his mind processed the implication behind those words, Cyril took a long breath and stepped forth.

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"What does Carissa have to do with any of this? Do you have some sort of business with her?" he asked in a serious tone, sparing no effort to conceal the venom in his voice.

Victor snickered again, brandishing a leer malicious so malicious it was practically oozing malice. "Don't ask stupid questions boy. Who wouldn't want an enchanter like that on their side, right you guys?" Victor spread his arms again, inviting his companions to join in with their own taunts.

"There you have it kid. She's been assisting us for quite some time now," Victor spoke harshly, as if to bury the young man under the weight of his words. "I must say, your connections are remarkable. A saint previously shielded you, Carissa risks herself for you, and who knows how many others stand in your corner. All that, just to protect someone so weak— Honestly, it's enough to make a man jealous."

As he said that, Victor summoned a thin, transparent shroud of pure mana onto his body. The aura quickly took form, submerging both him and the growling beast inside a literal nimbus of power strong enough to spawn cracks in the earth, rumbling it like a meteor strike. The other men did the same, each on imbuing themself with a terrific surge of mana despite the obvious toll it was taking on their bodies.

"Unfortunately..." Victor announced as he emerged from beyond the veil of dust and debris. "...there's no one left to protect you. In just a few hours, we won't need Carissa anymore—and when that happens, your free pass expires. Today, you die."

Catching that last word, Cyril tapped his chest and let out a long breath. "Good… good. That means she's still alive."

"Huh?" A restrained look of disbelief appeared on Victor's face. It was a rather odd sight to witness. Victor's appearance now mimicked that of his companions, a pallid complexion writhing with veins and teeming with malice.

He was an easy fit for the textbook description of a mass murderer, and yet, just a few words from the cocky highschooler were enough to unfasted the taut muscles in his face.

"If you're talking in the present tense, then Carissa's still alive. I don't know what that idiot's planning, but I'll ask her myself. If she's alive I can save her."

"You—save her?" Victor parroted the words balefully. "Are you daft?"

"Listen, I don't have time to waste on you," Cyril said, casually waving him off "I'm here for Scarecrow—and now I have to save Carissa too. You're the last thing I need to deal with right now."

Victor's face twisted with rage again, he stomped on the minotaur's skin, priming the creature for action. The monster rose to its feet with a low growling sound before winding its arm back for a punch.

"I'm not sure if you still think this is a game, but things aren't going to play out like they did last time. You're going to die here and that's final." Victor raised a hand and slowly lowered it to give the signal. His eyes narrowed as he gave the dreadful order— "Kill Him"

Unleashing a roar, the minotaur complied in a heartbeat, slamming its fist into the ground with earth shattering force. The tremors dispersed through the ground like a wave, rocking every tree in the vicinity.

For a few seconds, it was quiet.

A massive dust cloud spawned at the point of impact, but Victor felt no relief as he observed the aftermath.

He's not going to die from something like that. As he thought to himself, his hunch was proven right in the very next instant.

"Grrraaaagh!!"

The minotaur let out a sudden scream of anguish, yanking back its outstretched arm with tremendous force. The battlefield fell silent; every other sound drowned beneath the creature's tortured wails.

Victor's eyes widened as he caught sight of the cause.

A cluster of white flames danced across the minotaur's wrist.

Strangely, the fire wasn't charring the flesh as he expected—it hadn't even singed the coarse hair on its skin. Instead, wherever the flames touched, they left behind trails of rime: ribbons of biting cold that threatened to freeze the creature down to the bone.

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