Chapter 83: Steel Without Chains
The clang of blades echoed down the narrow streets, louder than the market bell and sharper than any alarm.
Alarcus ducked beneath a wild slash that carved a deep gouge into a stone column, then twisted left as the second girl vaulted from a rooftop, her blade tearing across a hanging sign. Sparks danced in the air as enchanted metal met buildings, carts, and cobblestones—anything but him.
He moved like smoke through an inferno. Calm. Controlled.
Still, the girls were fast. Too fast. They moved like puppets guided by unseen hands, their attacks fluid, ruthless, inhumanly precise. Slave collars around their necks pulsed red with every motion, enforcing obedience with brutal magic.
> "They're not fighting," Alarcus thought, sidestepping again, "They're being used."
The taller one lunged—he blocked her blade with his ice-earth weapon, only for the smaller girl to come around with a spinning kick. He barely avoided a broken rib, rolling across crates and landing in a crouch.
Slicing arcs scorched across the buildings behind him. One roof collapsed under the repeated strikes. Still no pause. Still no mercy.
Zetsuei paced at the edge of the fray like a chained hound, ready to intervene. But Alarcus waved him off again.
His fingers sparked as he renewed his body enchantments—lightfoot, tension edge, mana skin. Muscles tightened. Breaths slowed. He could feel the pressure rising.
But it wasn't panic.
It was thought.
It was memory.
Weeks Ago at Mountain Testing range.
A thunderous crack split the air as Kael slammed both fists into the frozen ground. Instantly, a wave of mana rippled outward, and the earth ahead of him erupted into a row of jagged stone spikes, shooting upward like a wall of spears. A nearby dummy was skewered clean through.
"Now that's more like it!" Kael shouted, winded but grinning. "I think I just invented the art of surprise landscaping."
He wore silver gauntlets inscribed with heavy runes and blue-glowing alchemy seals—thick, ornate, and clearly enchanted to enhance physical might and terrain transmutation. Along the inner edge, a label shimmered faintly:
"Vault Entry: FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST SECTION – ITEM 012: Armstrong Combat Gauntlets"
Off to the side, sitting on a supply crate beneath a reinforced tarp, Alarcus observed with calm precision, his expression unreadable. He scribbled into a thick leather-bound journal, unfazed by the shockwaves and flying debris.
> "Gauntlet amplification confirmed. Spike conjuration effective. Control radius: seven meters. Mana drain moderate," he noted silently, never missing a detail. Then commented " to use those things you'd need to muscular as hell".
Kael, panting now, shook out his hands. "Remind me to reinforce my wrists next time. These things hit like a charging beast."
Behind them, stacks of experimental gear sat under protective tarps, some labeled:
"FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST SECTION – EXTREME HAZARD. TEST ONLY WITH APPROVAL."
Reyn jogged up the slope, his scarf flapping and soot smudging his gloves. His eyes gleamed with energy, and in his hands, wrapped in heat-proof cloth, he held something new.
"Alarcus. Kael. I want you to try something. Just finished it this morning."
Kael raised a brow. "That from the vault?"
Reyn shook his head. "Nope. This one isn't in the vault yet. It's mine—fresh."
He unwrapped the object: a slab of sleek, black metal that pulsed faintly with multicolored mana veins running beneath the surface. It was thin, heavier than it looked, and unnaturally warm.
"What is it?" Alarcus asked.
"A prototype alloy," Reyn replied. "Made it from meteor ore, Voidglass, obsidian, and a mana-inert hybrid I forged by accident. It's supposed to absorb magic directly. I want to see if it works under pressure."
Alarcus stood and lifted both hands. A twin-element spell bloomed at his fingertips—fire in the right, frost in the left.
He launched them simultaneously.
The spells struck the slab.
And were gone.
Absorbed completely, without noise or flare.
Then… a series of faint cracks appeared across the surface.
Reyn exhaled. "Still can't stabilize it. It eats mana, just like I wanted… but it it doesnt get erased and can't withstand more than one or two direct hits worth of mana inside itself."
You're making a weapon?" Alarcus asked.
Reyn nodded. "A sword that cancels magic—absorbs the spell the moment it touches it. Not reflected. Not resisted. Just… unmade. Pure anti-magic."
Alarcus narrowed his eyes at the fractured slab. "To cancel a spell completely, you'd need to understand it first. Something that breaks down the structure—glyphs, mana channels, binding anchor but your makeing a material that doeas all that"
Reyn pointed. "That There's a spell similar to anti magic thats called Inversing Magic but i don't want to change it from the sword in the stories."
Alarcus looked up. "What does inversing magic do?"
"It analyzes whatever magic you focus on—spell, item, enchantment—and lets you either cancel its effects completely or, if you're skilled enough… take control of it. Reverse the output. Make it yours. But it's hard to cast, and you have to be very knowledgeable about magic."
Alarcus's gaze sharpened. "Teach me."
Reyn blinked. "You serious?"
"I'm not a swordsman," he said quietly. "I'm a proud mage—and I love learning new magic. If this spell helps me protect others or take down what I can't brute-force through… then I'll master it."
Reyn grinned. "Now that is the kind attitude that belongs in legends to be told for ages."
Back to the Present – Streets of the Border Town
Alarcus ducked low, sweeping one hand across the ground. A jagged wall of ice shot up between him and the charging girls, momentarily slowing them. He pivoted and flung a series of precision fire bolts toward their feet—not to injure, but to make them move. He needed time. Just five minutes.
> "If I can hold them off long enough… I can use Inversing Magic. But I need to understand those collars first."
The girls didn't give him a moment's rest. One flipped over the ice wall, slicing through a magical ward he had just placed. The other circled to his flank, her movements disturbingly graceful for someone so young. But he wasn't aiming to overpower them—he was gathering data.
His eyes sharpened. Mana threads danced around the collars—runes woven into a delicate lattice that pulsed with obedience commands. Some of the glyphs were old—ancient binding languages rarely used anymore. Others were custom sigils, likely added by whoever enslaved them.
Alarcus muttered under his breath and flicked his fingers. A ripple of translucent magic shimmered in the air—Inversing Magic: Passive Observation Mode.
Symbols flared to life in his vision, glowing outlines floating just above the girls' collars. Strings of commands, embedded restrictions, forced aggression triggers. It was worse than he thought.
> "Layered glyph encryption… at least three separate locks. I'll need to analyze each one—can't afford to get it wrong."
He launched a concussive air spell between them, forcing both girls to dive apart. Dust clouded the street, buying him seconds. The runes rearranged in his magical sight—one layer at a time.
> "First layer… emotion suppression. That's why they haven't spoken. Second layer… combat directives keyed to visual targets. Third layer—feedback punishment if they hesitate."
His fists tightened.
> "Turning children into weapons. Truly unjust."
He spun and cast a binding web of ice across the alley's exit, sealing one girl off temporarily. The other launched herself at him, blade-first. Alarcus threw up a barrier—not solid, but elastic—deflecting the strike just enough to slip past. Her momentum carried her forward. He countered with a magic-infused pulse that knocked her backward without breaking bones.
> "I can't kill them. I won't. Just a little more time…"
His breathing remained steady, but sweat was forming. Every cast, every dodge, every layer of analysis burned mana like a leaking cauldron. But his mind was locked in—focused.
> "Four minutes left…"
The tempo of the battle had become a rhythm—a dance of dodges, counters, and careful precision. Alarcus knew every move had to matter. He couldn't afford to cast carelessly anymore; his mana reserves were thinning, and the slave collars were almost fully analyzed.
> "Last layer… fail-safe runes. If the core enchantment breaks incorrectly, it'll backlash directly into their minds."
That knowledge only made him more careful. He weaved through a final flurry of blows, calling upon the last of his strength to launch twin elemental spells—one fire, one wind—to scatter the girls again. The dust they kicked up was now part of his strategy: visual cover for concentration.
He brought his hands together.
> "Now."
His eyes flared with blue and silver light as he cast the full version of Inversing Magic.
Invisible lines raced through the air like lightning through spider silk, wrapping around the collars. The glyphs responded instantly—resisting, twisting, trying to redirect the spell. Alarcus gritted his teeth, sweat dripping from his chin.
> "I understand your magic," he growled. "And I'm unmaking it."
With a final push, he forced the mana stream deeper, reshaping the glyphs one by one, unraveling the lattice. The runes sparked red, then yellow, then—
Snap.
The collars cracked down the middle and fell to the stone ground with a faint clink.
The girls collapsed mid-swing, their blades dropping from limp fingers. Alarcus dashed forward, catching one before she could hit her head. The other landed in the dust beside her sister, unconscious but breathing.
The silence after was deafening. No footsteps, no blades, just the hum of dissipating magic and the sound of Alarcus's ragged breath.
He knelt, utterly drained.
> "It's over…"
And then—
Shouting. Footsteps. Armor.
Town guards burst onto the street, swords drawn. The leader pointed toward them. "There they are! That's the rebel!"
> "No," Alarcus muttered weakly. "They're free now… they're—"
But his voice was too faint. His legs wouldn't move. His hands ached from overuse. The guards advanced, weapons raised.
Suddenly—a blue blur.
Zetsuei.
He burst from cover with a sharp, mechanical snap—its eyes glowing, limbs coiled like a predator ready to strike.
Before the guards could react, Zetsuei's steel whips lashed outward, glinting in the morning light. The enchanted tendrils extended with inhuman speed, wrapping gently around the unconscious girls first, then curling around Alarcus's slumped form with remarkable care.
With fluid grace, Zetsuei retracted the whips, drawing all three close to its armored frame. Its legs compressed—then launched it skyward with a crack of mana-driven propulsion. It shot up over the rooftops, vanishing down the maze of alleyways like a steel shadow with precious cargo.
The guards were left in the dust, weapons raised too late. The head guard shouted " after them, the town lord will have our heads for losing his precious battle slaves".
Only the shattered slave collars remained behind, cracked and sparking faintly in the dirt—silent symbols of a battle that had saved more than just lives.