Favia, the owner of the hoverbike, was a seventh-stage magus.
For her age, it was an impressive level—one that marked her as a young genius.
But she was up against five barbarians, each with a sixth-stage crest.
Normally, it would take at least ten sixth-stage crests to stand a chance against someone at her level. But real life didn't follow simple math.
Magi were stronger in groups because they needed support—someone to cover for them while they cast.
Even just two magi could fight far more effectively than one alone.
Favia, however, was alone.
Barbarians, on the other hand, were naturally more suited to fighting solo. But these weren't the kind you'd casually meet on the streets of Barbara.
These were castaways—bandits made up of criminals with nowhere else to go. And that meant they had no choice but to fight together.
They lived like their ancestors were believed to—shirtless to keep their skin exposed, hardened by the elements, and sleeping outside to toughen their bodies.
They fought constantly, not in duels or training drills, but against real enemies. In some ways, they were more dangerous than the military.
Now, they were attacking without restraint.
And it was working.
Favia had cast a spell called Veilguard—a shield of energy that could block various types of incoming damage, but only one type at a time.
She had set it to resist physical damage. Still, it wouldn't hold forever.
While the shield held, she prepared two offensive spells simultaneously. For anyone watching, it would've been breathtaking. Magic was deadly, yes, but it was also beautiful.
Purple lights spun around her as her hands flared red with heat.
Casting two spells at once was normally difficult for someone her age. But Favia was a prodigy, far ahead of her peers.
The arcane spell, glowing purple, and the fire spell, gleaming red, launched together—each aimed at a different target.
She hadn't chosen them for any strategic reason. All five barbarians seemed to be equally dangerous.
This was how a fight between a magus and barbarians usually played out:
Barbarians never backed down. If a spell hit and knocked one out, the magus won. But if the barbarian survived the hit, they'd only grow stronger from it.
Of course, that was how things went only at the lower stages.
This kind of back-and-forth felt almost turn-based—unrealistic, but that was the reality for weaker fighters.
Favia, luckily, was strong enough to knock them out in one shot.
That meant her Veilguard would last just a bit longer.
The two who were struck collapsed on the spot—one scorched by the Ignition spell, the other blasted away by Arcane Explosion.
They wouldn't die—she wasn't that powerful yet. And they were still barbarians.
The remaining three didn't even glance at their fallen comrades.
They kept hammering away at the Veilguard, not with flashy techniques or powered-up attacks, just raw, relentless strikes.
Early-stage barbarians mostly had self-strengthening abilities.
Sixth-stage didn't count as early, but there was no ability strong enough to shatter a Veilguard in their arsenal.
So instead, they bulked up their muscles with an enhancement ability and kept hammering at the semi-transparent blue shield wrapped around Favia.
Meanwhile, she began preparing the same two spells again—just in time.
Her shield shattered right as she finished casting, and two more barbarians hit the ground. But the last one...
He broke through.
The force of the shattering Veilguard blasted Favia backward.
Normally, the backlash from a broken Veilguard wasn't too severe.
But she'd already used one during her crash with Caelen, and the strain from back-to-back dual casting had drained her reserves.
This time, it hit her hard.
She was panting now, chest rising and falling fast, while the final barbarian grinned.
Now that her shield was gone, he could finally use his real abilities.
Favia, on the other hand, needed at least a few seconds before she could cast a spell strong enough to one-shot a sixth-stage barbarian.
"If you take another step, I'll blow up the hoverbike," she warned.
"Haha! You think I'll let you?" the barbarian scoffed. "Before you even finish a chant, you'll be dead."
Favia frowned. The bluff hadn't worked—but she started casting anyway.
It wasn't aimed at the bike. It was aimed at him.
The barbarian saw her hands move, and his Crest of War flared red. His speed surged as he charged toward her position, the one she'd landed in after the blast.
He'd need three seconds to reach her.
She needed five to finish her spell.
It was hopeless.
He closed the distance rapidly, and time seemed to stretch. Her mind raced—Mental Overclock kicking in—but even with accelerated thoughts, she couldn't find a way out.
Her instinctual fear of mutilation started to emerge. She didn't want to die, nor lose a limb.
If she were willing to lose a limb, she could block the blade with her arm. It would buy just enough time to finish the spell.
But no magus would accept that.
Not at her age, without enough training to overcome their instincts that much.
So she kept casting, silently, desperately, while death rushed toward her.
Then, just before the strike landed, the barbarian veered sharply to his right.
There, buried in the ground where he stood before, was an old blade.