CHAPTER 7, THE “GODIAN” OF BARENISS

  “Why is everyone so quiet? Did you all become mute like this maid after following Grant?” Gustaff taunts, his voice dripping with amusement.

  Mop raises her hand way too high, eyes brimming with disgust. I immediately gesture for her to calm down. Not now, Mop. Not now.

  We don’t know how many enemies Gustaff brought with him. He wouldn’t walk into this alone.

  He’s too smart for that.

  Sharon awakes at the sound of his voice. She flips up fast, instinctively reaching for her weapon, and realizes they are still in the room.

  She quickly smacks Benica on the arm to wake her.

  Benica groans, rubbing her face, dazed and half-conscious.

  Gustaff grins at the reaction. “Well, I wouldn’t have too much faith in people who follow Grant willingly.”

  I catch Baz’s gnce, then flick my eyes toward the room’s exits.

  He understands.

  Baz is a wizard. Sharon is a sharpshooter with guns. Benica is an average fighter. They shouldn’t be on the front line with the Inspector Sector.

  Wizards need preparation time to be in a battle. This is the worst situation a wizard could face.

  I step forward, subtly shifting my weight, a hand on my rapier, signaling Dominic and Mop with my eyes.

  We will have to hold them off while the others fall back.

  “Why him? I mean, Grant? He got to be one of the dumbest aristocrats I have ever seen.”

  Gustaff smirks, but his gaze shifts, watching Baz quietly slipping back.

  “Wow, wow, wow. That’s rude of you, Librarian,” Gustaff drawls, pointing his fingers at Baz.

  “I’m talking here.”

  Baz freezes, caught.

  The concierge behind the counter looks seconds away from fainting. Her hands tremble as she grips the edge of the desk, eyes darting between us and Gustaff.

  “Alright,” Gustaff sighs, his tone shifting.

  The amusement drains from his face, repced with something colder. Sharper.

  “Let’s get straight to the point,” Gustaff says calmly.

  “Hand me the Lion Prince, and I’ll be gone.”

  A suffocating silence.

  “I don’t care about any of you.” He gestures vaguely at us. “As far as I’m concerned, you can all kill yourselves right here if you want.”

  Sharon flinches at his words, but Baz’s expression hardens.

  “Just hand me Grant.”

  His gaze darkens, and for the first time, there’s a weight behind his words.

  “The Emperor Killer needs a proper trial to death.”

  He says with an awfully joyful grin.

  Trial to death.

  He’s already decided the verdict.

  The concierge lets out a tiny squeak and then colpses behind the counter, unconscious.

  He isn’t bluffing.

  The real question is: How many people did he bring with him?

  I scan the room, but there’s nothing—no visible fighters, no backup in sight.

  But that means nothing.

  Inspectors are trained to conceal their energy flow. They don’t fre their presence like Shin brutes.

  They are famously fast for energy formation, striking before their targets even realize they’re there.

  Most average Shin masters need time to gather energy before a battle. Inspectors are designed to sneak on those people.

  If they’re here, they’ve already surrounded us.

  Gustaff’s talk buys us time—his arrogance, his theatrics, his smug self-satisfaction.

  The three of us—Dominic, Mop, and myself—have used every second wisely.

  Our energy is gathered. We’re ready.

  But the three behind us?

  That’s what worries me.

  Benica is still half-awake, her mind sluggish, movements unfocused.

  Sharon and Baz are sharp, but they aren’t front-line fighters.

  If the Inspectors strike all at once, they will go straight for the weak links first, taking them hostage and forcing us to comply.

  Gustaff knows this too.

  That’s why he’s still smiling.

  Gustaff cps to ”deescate“ the situation, “Please. Please. Please. There’s no need to tense up. See! We already freaked out a nice dy. We wouldn’t want more attention, right?”

  His breath flickers. Hesitation?

  Why is he saying like that?

  That’s it!

  Omenmia has no direct jurisdiction here. He doesn’t want things to go big because he doesn’t have Obelius’s permission at all.

  Then, our best bet is to create as big a commotion as possible. Dealing with Obelius’s strict rule is so much better than dealing with Gustaff. Especially, since Grant is not here. He won’t be bmed for this.

  My smile to him startles him.

  I exchange another eye contact with Baz.

  Let’s make it count.

  I raise my hand high.

  “What are you doing? No question and answer section here,” Gustaff taunts.

  I swing my hand down in the air.

  “What does that m…”

  His sentence is cut short.

  “Bugs!” Mop’s sp already arrives on his face, striking him out of the inn. She follows my order correctly.

  I crash out of the window to follow him and gesture Baz to go.

  Let’s make our scene in the morning market!

  “Oye! Oye! Oye! Where’s the manner?”

  Gustaff nds in front of a fish stand, boots hitting the cobblestone with a solid thud. The merchants freeze at his arrival. Then, without hesitation, they start packing their stalls.

  Baz and the girls bolt upstairs for their gear.

  From the bar, two more inspectors emerge.

  From the market, another two.

  Shadows shift from the alleyways. At least six more.

  They surround us like vultures. Cautious. Calcuting. Waiting.

  Mop frowns. “Dirt everywhere. Mop hates.”

  Dominic dashes through the doorway to help.

  “Argh!”

  A bck-booted kick sms into his ribs.

  He crashes onto the rooftop with a grunt.

  A figure in a slit uniform follows after him, nding gracefully.

  An Inspector. An elite one.

  “I told you—there was no need for a fight. But no! Now look! The entire city’s gonna come for you. Happy?” Gustaff clicks his tongue.

  Dominic groans, rolling onto his feet. Not broken. Yet.

  He notices something coming from the street.

  Dominic shouts to me, “The Legionnaires are here.”

  Two shiny pte armors show up by the corner of the market.

  Gustaff shakes his head. Four of the Inspectors break formation, heading toward the Legionnaires.

  No time to waste.

  I kick an Inspector’s head down, unching toward Gustaff.

  As I speed up, I show Mop one gesture with my hand–“Crash them.”

  Mop’s eyes spark. Her grin stretches wide, like a child allowed to py games.

  Oh, she loves this.

  Mop grabs the Inspector’s head before he can stand. With a giggle, she swings him like a ragdoll, smming bodies in her path.

  They are not elite inspectors.

  I barely have time to register before Gustaff’s saber crashes into my rapier. His stance shifts—battle instincts locked in. Immediate reaction.

  As expected from an Inspector.

  “I thought the librarian was in charge.” He smirks, twisting his bde. “Guess I was wrong, shadow soldier.”

  His attacks sharpen—faster, heavier. I step back, barely avoiding his next strike. His Shin mastery is sharper than I expected.

  “You’re well-trained.” His eyes beam with despise. “I thought being a maid had softened you.”

  My gaze tightens up. I need to make more mess. We need more Legionnaires.

  This body isn’t trained enough. I’ve had no time. No chance to adapt—just fight, fight, fight. Forced into action, again and again. I need to be more vigint.

  The two of the Legionnaires are fully occupied by the four inspectors. Their hand bdes crash with the sabers.

  We need more chaos.

  The battlefield is packed with Shin masters. Too many. The energy in the ground is thinning—drained by every fighter pulling from the same source.

  I remember my fight with Benna and Rox. Four of them—including Dominic—had drained most of the energy. By the time Benna nded her fatal strike, my Shin healing was useless.

  The inspectors have the habit of hoarding their energy at the st moment. I might be able to take advantage of that.

  I hear a smack from behind. Benica has joined the battle with her mace. She teams up with Mop. Mop throws. She hits.

  The line is secure.

  I slide over to Gustaff, pretending to cut his lower half. He dodges elegantly, with a smirk, lie “Is that all you got?”

  However, I successfully reach where I want. The fish stands. I ring the bells on the stand constantly.

  “Oh, come on!” Gustaff compins.

  As he moves over to me, I grab the fish on the stands, throwing at him, one after another.

  “Hey!” the fish merchant yells.

  I’m sorry, sir. But I’m not.

  Gustaff cut the fish one by one. He’s breathing harder and harder. I got his nerve.

  “Stop it!”

  He crashes the stand in front of me. I retreat to another, continuing with the bell ringing.

  These consecutive actions make more locals flee from the scene.

  Another fish smacks him right in the chest. Gustaff snarls, slicing it in half. “You can’t mock me! I’m a real person! You are not!”

  THWACK. Another fish. Gustaff’s eye twitches.

  Three more Legionnaires arrive, changing the tide of the street.

  A kid watching cheers, “Fish fight! Fish fight!”

  His mom grabs him from behind and drags him back in the door.

  A saber falls down to the ground.

  From my angle, the inspector girl is already at Dominic’s mercy—pinned to the chimney with his sword at her throat. His silence is as sharp as his bde. “Yield.”

  “You think Obelius is going to let you get away with this!” Gustaff warns, slightly trembling in rage or frustration.

  That’s why I’m doing this. Illegal-policing in his city or seeking asylum, the weight is clear who is more in trouble.

  I smirk back as I see Sharon open the window with Grant’s rifle, aiming at Gustaff. Baz rolls his shoulders, exhausted. “I hate rushing spells.” He starts chanting a spell.

  Glowing green light emits from stone paths, roots climbing out from the gap, tangling all the inspectors, including Gustaff, on the ankles, unbancing them.

  It’s not a superb spell, but an enough one to give out advantages.

  Mop and Benica speed up on knocking out the inspectors. The elite inspectors all are subdued by the five Legionnaires.

  Gustaff tries to cut off the roots that tangle him. And that is the point he realizes he made a mistake.

  His saber doesn’t cut through the roots because there’s no energy left below him.

  I took all the surrounding energy gradually while throwing fish at him.

  I swiftly knock his saber out with my rapier. Without his Shin to protect, the saber flies away and breaks in half.

  I jokingly gesture a handgun towards Gustaff.

  I make a blow. Pew!

  An electric bst explodes on his back. Gustaff’s face falls to the ground as Sharon is satisfied with her shot.

  I show a good job sign to her.

  Alright, how are we going to wrap this up?

  Grant rushes into the scene with Ellina following, confused with the scene.

  “What did I miss?” he shouts.

  “Apparently, everything,” Ellina replies with chuckles.

  Where were they all this time?

  This question secretly intrigues me.

  Sharon rushes out to see the victory, and that is the moment she loses her victorious spirit.

  She gazes at Grant, who is standing next to Ellina.

  “Grant?”

  In this instance, a sudden chill runs through me.

  “Felicia!!” Baz yells frantically.

  It’s too te. Gustaff is already back on his feet, aiming his magem pistol at Grant while in shock.

  Sharon notices and rushes toward Grant.

  BANG!

  My hand misses Gustaff’s wrist by a palm’s length.

  A breath catches in my throat. Someone was hit.

  Blood. Spttered across Grant’s hands.

  Grant is standing. Sharon is not.

  It’s a shot in the heart.

  Grant panics as Sharon loses her life on his hand.

  “Grant?” Sharon whispers. She doesn’t understand yet. “So dark?”

  Grant looks down. His fingers tremble.

  “No. No, you’re fine,” Grant mutters.

  He grips her tighter like that can hold her together.

  I sm my boot into Gustaff’s skull.

  Once. Twice. I cut through the tendons in his arms and legs, disabling him temporarily. He won’t be getting up again soon.

  I should shatter him entirely—but I don’t.

  Ovivica raised him. And I still can’t bring myself to ruin what she loves.

  “Felicia!!” Baz yells frantically.

  I drop beside Sharon. I press my hands to the wound, hoping my Shin healing skills is still as adept as I was in the st life.

  “No, Sharon… no!” Grant stutters.

  The blood is not slowing down, the magem bullet contains some fire magic, but with that said, a fire keeps breaking her from inside, hindering my healing speed. I didn’t master the skill enough.

  The fire magic burns through her. The magem won’t stop.

  Her body is already failing.

  No, no, no.

  Breaking into her body and retrieving the bullet requires a higher level of Shin mastery to heal an even bigger wound unless there is a doctor here.

  I look at Ellina, hoping she has the skill.

  She panics and shakes her head. Ellina clutches her own arms, trembling.

  Not because of the blood. Because of Grant.

  The Legionnaires don’t move.

  They know.

  Because I am already doing the best treatment we can.

  Mop watches from behind them, her face scrunched in confusion.

  “Mommy? Sharon? Fix?”

  Her voice is small. Uncertain.

  She doesn’t understand, yet she is already crying.

  Benica holds her in her arms.

  Baz’s mouth trembles.

  “Someone helps!” Grant yells. His voice is raw, desperate.

  I grit my teeth.

  I gather everything—the st scraps of energy in the air, funneling it through my hands, forcing it toward Sharon’s wound.

  Shin energy surges.

  I press down, pushing through—

  I can feel her fading.

  I don’t have enough energy to keep her brain functioning.

  Shin healing forces the body to restore itself. But her body is shutting down.

  Shin cannot revive the dead.

  I press into her wound more—

  Fire. Fire still inside her. It burns against me, blocking the flow of Shin. Right now, they’re colliding inside her body.

  My Shin pushes to close the wound—

  The magem forces it open again.

  “DO SOMETHING!”

  I look up at him.

  “Please.”

  His voice cracks.

  A prince begging.

  Shin and magic pull from the same source. The difference is: Shin guides the flow. Magic rewrites the flow.

  The magem bullet…

  It doesn’t need a wizard. It doesn’t need willpower. It just needs energy.

  A spell usually needs strong willpower and knowledge. With magem, you don’t need either of them. Even a commoner can create chaos with magems, with the right amount of course. As soon as a wizard finishes a spell on the magem, all you need to do is store energy in it.

  I’m trying to heal her. And the bullet is using my own energy to kill her faster.

  This isn’t a wound.

  This is a trap.

  Grant’s breath quakes.

  His trembling fingers curl around his rifle from Sharon. Two streams of tears carve down his ashen face.

  He stumbles toward Gustaff.

  Slow. Unsteady. Dangerous.

  He raises his rifle.

  His hands stop shaking.

  Shin or not, a bullet in the skull will kill anyone.

  Gustaff sees it too.

  “So you are a killer after all,” he taunts even at his death. His face contorts—between pride and panic.

  Grant locks eyes with him.

  “You,” his voice is not his own.

  “Don’t talk to me.”

  I’ve never seen him so chill and unstable at the same time.

  Grant tightens his grip.

  A heartbeat.

  Two.

  “Stop.” a serious voice command, cutting through the air.

  The voice that halts the entire street.

  The voice that shuts Grant down mid-breath.

  The voice that carries w. Authority. Absolute power.

  The world stills.

  A shiver goes through everyone's presents.

  He arrives.

  Obelius Uda.

  The “Godian” of Bareniss.

  The continent’s legend.

  A towering figure in bck armor, cloak shifting as he walks.

  A greatsword rests on his back, untouched—because he doesn’t need to draw it.

  Sharp dark eyes pierce the battlefield. His bck goatee is trimmed to perfection—not a single thing about him is disordered.

  This is a man who allows no disorder.

  After all these years, his presence only becomes more dominating.

  Grant’s rage crashes against him.

  “WHY?!!” he roars. His voice shakes the air.

  Obelius doesn’t blink.

  “No one kills in my city.”

  And in a glimpse—he’s already taken Grant’s rifle.

  It happens so fast, that Grant doesn’t even register it.

  It’s still quite breathtaking to see that Shin can make you reach this level.

  His fingers twitch—empty.

  His chest rises and falls in short, rapid gasps.

  Obelius is still looking at him.

  Waiting for Grant to understand.

  Grant’s rage shatters into something worse.

  Hopelessness.

  Obelius arrives at Sharon’s side.

  He kneels. Not to Grant. Not to Ellina.

  To the dying girl.

  “She doesn’t have much time.”

  Then—he stabs his own hand into the wound.

  “ARGH!”

  Sharon’s body jerks.

  Her final gasp of life.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Grant lunges.

  I catch him. Hold him back.

  Obelius doesn’t react. He pulls the bullet straight out.

  The second it leaves, Sharon’s entire body shudders.

  And then—Obelius heals.

  A golden glow immerses Sharon’s entire body, like a topaz. The energy pulses like a living thing. Like light itself is bending to his will.

  The fmes in her wound slowly vanish.

  The torn flesh stitches itself back together gradually.

  Sharon stills.

  Silence.

  Everyone Holds Their Breath.

  No breath.

  No breath.

  No breath.

  A heartbeat.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Sharon breathes.

  “She’s lost too much blood,” he says, his voice steady, but softer.

  “She’ll need days to recover.”

  The Legionnaires salute immediately.

  Obelius stands.

  His stern face scans through the aftermath.

  The carnage. The chaos. The disorder.

  He turns to us.

  “So.”

  His voice is calm. Unmoved. Absolute.

  “Can anyone tell me what happened here?”