Kazuya stood up, his brow furrowing slightly.
The pink flowers had done this, plunging the others into a deep slumber. But if the spore effect could instantly subdue combatants far stronger than himself, why hadn't it worked on him?
A dozen theories raced through his mind, but with no way to verify any of them, he pushed the lingering questions aside. Moving quickly across the dark space, he crouched beside Ling Wu and gripped her shoulders.
"Ling Wu! Ling Wu!" He shook her firmly several times, but received no response.
Though he knew Nergal and Euris were likely in the exact same state, he still attempted to wake them as well, to no avail.
Standing alone in the pitch-black cage, Kazuya felt a surge of helplessness. He had no means to break the dense wooden barrier, nor any way to rouse Ling Wu and the others. All he could do was wait.
Outside the cage, Kalthor knelt on one knee, a single palm pressed firmly against the cobblestones. Blood dripped steadily from his nose, and his chest heaved as he fought for every ragged breath, looking as though he had just sprinted a tremendous distance.
His golden, madness-tinged eyes flickered erratically, unable to focus on a single point.
"Shit... This is taking a heavy toll on me..." he muttered to himself, gasping for air before gritting his teeth. "I can't fail... I just have to maintain this cage a little longer... Heh. Once it's over, I won't just have killed the four of them, I'll harvest immense benefits..."
Suddenly, the charred-black flesh on his left arm began to emit thick smoke before bursting into hot flames. Beneath his mottled skin, the squirming roots grew increasingly hyperactive, writhing like a nest of disturbed worms.
"Ugh..." Kalthor groaned in agony. The fire scorched his flesh while the roots bored painfully through his tissue.
Maintaining a structure of this scale was draining him rapidly, pushing him to the absolute brink of total insanity.
I have to hold on!
Meanwhile, atop a distant tower overlooking the battlefield, a mysterious figure stood watching.
The man possessed sickly pale skin, as if he had spent his entire life shrouded from the sun. He wore dark, slightly tattered clothes frayed at the edges, paired with black leather gloves that gave him a cold, enigmatic air. Perched on his head was a triangular hat stained with unnatural bloodstains, marks that seemed fused into the fabric itself, impossible to wash away. The eerie sight instinctively made anyone who saw him take a step back.
His eyes were a sharp, dark cyan, narrow and calculating like an apex hunter's, radiating the silent promise that no prey could ever escape him.
The man let out a slow breath, his pale lips completely drained of color. Lifting his left hand, a surge of cyan flames erupted from his palm, instantly coalescing into a bow crafted entirely of cyan fire. With his right hand, he repeated the motion, manifesting a glowing cyan arrow.
Drawing the bowstring back, he aimed at the distant target. Both eyes remained wide open, his posture completely relaxed, projecting an air of effortless mastery.
He released the string.
The arrow tore through the sky, unleashing a localized shockwave that set his tattered coat fluttering wildly. Pushing the atmosphere outward, the fiery projectile churned up violent gusts in its wake, bridging the massive gap in under five seconds.
Sensing a sudden, lethal threat, Kalthor tried to twist his body, but the arrow was simply too fast. He managed only a fraction of a movement before the projectile struck.
The cyan arrow punched straight through the right side of his back, tore through his chest, and slammed into the earth below before vanishing into thin air.
Kalthor screamed in agony as blood gushed from a fist-sized hole in his torso. Collapsing to the ground, he struggled weakly as roots and vines frantically converged to stitch the wound shut, while bursts of flame surged across the cavity to cauterize and reinforce his failing frame.
Miraculously, he survived. But his condition was catastrophic.
Who is it? Who's attacking me?! Kalthor snapped his head back, but saw nothing; the distant tower was far beyond his normal visual range.
There's no one there... Could the range be that massive?! That would mean this attacker is no ordinary person... But why? Did I accidentally provoke a High-Class Emanator?
While the term Emanator was used for individuals born with a Foci, the designation remained obscure, circulating only within exclusive circles. Not knowing whether his assailant utilized a Foci or Ritual Arts, Kalthor simply used the term without dwelling on it.
He shook his head, attempting to push himself off the ground, only to collapse repeatedly.
No... I haven't interacted with anyone recently. And if I had, it would've been long ago, meaning they would have tried to kill me back then. Which means... I have zero connection to this person. Why are they targeting me?!
Plagued by uncertainty, panic began to set in.
Judging by that single strike, they're at least Class 4. In my broken state, I can barely be considered a pseudo-Class 4, making an actual fight impossible. The moment I kill Ling Wu and the rest, I have to flee. Even if this person is strong, they won't reach me in time.
As Kalthor scrambled to construct an escape plan, the distant figure let out a hollow chuckle.
"He actually thinks he can flee. How foolish."
Drawing the bowstring once more, the hunter manifested a significantly larger arrow of cyan fire and released it.
This time, Kalthor was ready. He aimed his arm to the side, preparing to shoot out vines and yank himself clear of the strike zone. But just as he moved, his golden eyes widened in horror.
Mid-flight, the massive arrow detonated, scattering into a violent rain of nearly a hundred smaller fire lances.
No matter how weak individual embers were, the sheer volume made defense impossible.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The barrage rained down mercilessly, pulverizing the cobblestones, shattering stone rubble, and riddling Kalthor's body with holes. His wood-and-fire defenses disintegrated instantly under the sheer saturation of strikes. He slumped onto the ruined street, bleeding profusely from dozens of deep wounds.
He was lucky his head had been spared, or perhaps unlucky, as it merely guaranteed a much slower, more painful death.
Coughing up fresh blood, Kalthor rolled onto his side, looking down at his mangled, leaking torso.
Cough! Cough!
As if mocking his desperation, his condition deteriorated further. Kalthor violently vomited a mixture of dark blood and rotting flesh.
Shit, shit, shit... Maintaining two contracts simultaneously has completely destroyed my body... Even with this level of power, I can't even think clearly...
His golden eyes began to lose their luster, and with his cognitive control slipping, the massive wooden structure he had erected began to destabilize.
Inside the cage, Kazuya noticed the thick vines weakening. The structural walls parted and crumbled, while the pink blossoms shed their petals, rapidly losing their luster.
Without a second thought, Kazuya hoisted the unconscious Ling Wu into his arms and stepped out of the collapsing barrier.
Emerging into the open air, he halted, stunned by the sight before him. Kalthor lay on the ruined street in a pathetic heap.
What happened here?
Lacking the full context of the ranged assault, Kazuya didn't waste time dwelling on it. Tightening his grip on the unconscious Ling Wu, he broke into a rapid sprint.
Though he had rested briefly inside the cage, Kazuya's physical limits were severely tested. Deep exhaustion weighed on his limbs, but he refused to drop his pace or let go of his burden.
Ling Wu was noticeably taller than Kazuya, who was still just a youth. Carrying her was a heavy physical strain. Though he kept the thought to himself, a small part of him genuinely worried that Ling Wu might be semi-conscious, unable to move, but perfectly capable of hearing his internal complaints and beating him up later.
Behind them, Kalthor felt his remaining life force slipping away. Sensing his cage disintegrating, he turned his clouded gaze toward the escaping figures. His pupils shrank to pinpricks.
Through the haze, he spotted the boy's retreating back, and the red-haired woman cradled in his arms.
Screw the pain... Screw everything! I won't rest until you're dead, Ling Wu!
Atop the distant tower, the pale hunter let out a soft sigh, adjusting his blood-stained triangular hat with a gloved hand.
"That man is far from ordinary. I don't know what his enemies did to him, but he refuses to let them go even in a hopeless situation. Is it hatred? Jealousy? An obsession with revenge? Whatever it is, it has completely stripped him of his sanity... He is either inherently psychotic, extraordinarily petty, or something truly horrific shaped him into this along the way."
The hunter studied Kalthor's distant form with analytical precision.
He watched as Kalthor miraculously forced himself onto his feet, looking as fragile as a leaf ready to be blown over by a light breeze. Blood poured from his body, his skin was a mottled mess of soil and root, and his golden eyes burned with hollow madness. He looked barely human.
Taking a single, agonizing step forward, a wild eruption of fire and vines burst from both sides of Kalthor's frame.
The pale man murmured, "He intends to drag them to the grave with him."
Without hesitation, the hunter, still holding the cyan fire bow, manifested two arrows in his left hand simultaneously.
Fwoosh!
He released both projectiles at once. They sliced through the air with terrifying velocity, displacing the atmosphere as they flew. Within seconds, they were upon their target.
Had Kalthor retained a shred of tactical awareness, he might have anticipated the vector and attempted to dodge. But consumed entirely by his fixated rage toward Ling Wu, he made no effort to move, he didn't even register the incoming threat.
The twin arrows punched directly through the back of both knees, shattering his legs and sending him crashing hard onto the cobblestones.
Kalthor shrieked in agony as he hit the ground. His muscles spasmed violently, his flames flaring with frantic intensity as his vines thrashed in a chaotic final attempt to attack. But it was useless; his energy was rapidly bottoming out.
Enraged, Kalthor snapped his head back, wanting to glare at his tormentor and unleash his fury. But the moment he turned, he froze.
The attacker he assumed was miles away was standing directly in front of him.
The mysterious hunter held his triangular hat down against a sudden gust of wind as his dark coat settled around his frame.
He took two deliberate steps forward, allowing Kalthor a clear look at his face. He was not handsome; his features were sharp, refined, and distinctly cold, carrying the quiet aura of a seasoned, ruthless predator.
Even in his diminished state, Kalthor could feel the sheer pressure emanating from the man. He couldn't tell if the hunter was an elite Emanator or a practitioner of Ritual Arts, but he estimated his strength to be at least that of a high-tier Class 4, or perhaps even a Class 3.
Yet, despite the overwhelming gap in power, Kalthor showed neither fear nor subservience. Only pure hatred.
"Go... fuck yourself!" Kalthor spat, his voice laced with rage.
The hunter's cold expression didn't flicker. He studied Kalthor with quiet interest before speaking. "You're an interesting specimen. I'd rather not kill you."
Kalthor blinked, momentarily stunned, before his jaw clenched tight. "If you don't want to kill me... then why the hell did you attack me?!"
Before he could finish, another violent spasm racked his chest. Kalthor coughed up more dark blood and decaying tissue. His vision swam, and his arm gave out, leaving him collapsed on the cold stone.
The pale hunter gave an imperceptible nod, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity. "After observing you for a bit, I have a fairly clear understanding of your condition."
Kalthor's sight faded entirely. The hunter's words dissolved into muffled static, and his consciousness slipped into darkness.
The hunter scanned the destroyed street and the surrounding wreckage before stepping toward Kalthor's motionless body. Crouching down, he reached into an inner coat pocket and withdrew a small glass vial filled with a glowing, ethereal blue liquid that swirled like a miniature galaxy of faint stars.
Uncorking the vial, he poured the entire contents into Kalthor's mouth and clamped his jaw shut.
Next, he pulled a length of dark metallic chains from his coat. Though they looked ordinary at a glance, closer inspection revealed intricate runes etched along every link.
Tossing the chains onto the unconscious body, the hunter flicked his wrist. The runic patterns flared with a vivid light, and the metal links sprang to life like coiled vipers, wrapping tightly around Kalthor's torso and limbs.
With a simple gesture of his finger, the hunter commanded the chains to lift the bound body into the air. Without wasting another second, the pale predator turned and vanished into the shadows, taking Kalthor with him.
Silence returned to the ruined district. The remaining vines withered and crumbled into dust, leaving only the unconscious forms of Nergal and Euris lying quietly in the empty street.