Arthur POV
That night, the fire crackled, casting long shadows against the trees as Herbert finished an exaggerated story about wrestling a swamp-hydra. We were actually laughing—a rare, human moment—until the air suddenly turned to ice.
Elsa didn't just stand up; she exploded into motion. "Get down!" she screamed.
Her silver hair flared like a magnesium strip, and a massive dome of shimmering, pressurized water encased our camp just as a hail of black-fletched arrows slammed into it. The arrows didn't just bounce; they hissed as they hit her magic.
Out of the darkness, ten figures materialized. They didn't run; they flickered. They moved with that terrifying, cinematic grace of elite ninjas—Black-Sun Assassins, judging by the obsidian crests on their hilts. But they weren't the real problem. Three figures stepped out behind them, draped in heavy, rune-encrusted capes that smelled of ancient dust and ozone.
High Mages. The heavy hitters. The kind of guys who level villages for fun.
Herbert and Barnaby stepped in front of me, their new, "candy-cured" strength radiating off them in waves. "Stay behind us, Art," Herbert growled, his hand gripping his broadsword so hard the leather groaned. "They'll have to pave a road with our corpses before they lay a finger on you."
"Deeply touched, guys, really," I muttered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "But there's ten of them and three Gandalf-wannabes, and I'm pretty sure 'loyalty' doesn't stop a fireball."
"Arthur!" Elsa strained, her hands trembling as she held the water dome against the combined mental pressure of the three mages. "My shield... it's like holding back a landslide! I can't maintain the harmony much longer! You must run! Take the men and go south!"
"And leave you here to get turned into an elven popsicle? Not happening!" I barked. Look, inside, I was absolutely screaming for my mommy, but my mouth has always had a mind of its own. I'm a coward, sure, but I'm a coward with standards.
"The Lightning Relic!" Elsa gasped, her silver hair starting to spark with static. "Master, use the Divine Lightning from your bag! Strike them down!"
The Lightning Relic. Right. My Viper-X Taser.
I reached into my utility bag, my fingers brushing against the cold, tactical grip of the 50,000-volt stun gun-yeah not million. This wasn't a "High-Tier Spell." It was a handheld lightning storm made in a factory in Shenzhen.
"Herbert, Barnaby! Give me an opening!" I yelled, dropping the old blanket and standing tall in my God-Skin jacket.
I didn't have mana. I didn't have a chant. But I did have a full battery and 133 VP.
"Hey, you hooded creeps!" I shouted, stepping toward the edge of the dome. One of the High Mages sneered, raising a staff topped with a skull. He began a deep, guttural chant that made the very ground vibrate.
"You want a report for your Queen?" I snarled, flicking the safety off. The Viper-X let out a terrifying, high-pitched whine as the capacitors charged. "Tell her that in my world, we don't pray to the lightning—we tame it."
I stepped through the watery veil just as Elsa let it drop. The lead assassin lunged, his black blade aimed at my throat.
CRACK-BOOM!
I didn't even wait for him to get close. I squeezed the trigger. Two small harpoon-probes shot out, trailing thin copper wires, and slammed right into the assassin's chest.
The moment the probes bit into the lead assassin's chest, the laws of physics decided to give the laws of magic a brutal lesson.
The ground was still soaked from the earlier rain, and Elsa's water dome had just collapsed, leaving a shimmering film of moisture over every single one of those "ninja" goons. When the 50,000 volts hit the first guy, the electricity didn't just stop at him—it turned the entire clearing into a giant, electrified frying pan.
CRACK-ZAP-BOOM!
Arcs of brilliant blue lightning leaped from the lead assassin to the next, and the next, chaining through the water on their skin. Ten elite Black-Sun Assassins suddenly became human glow-sticks, their bodies jerking in a horrific, synchronized dance of high-voltage agony. The smell hit me instantly—charred cloth and burning hair.
My stomach did a violent somersault. This wasn't a movie. There was no "cool" slow-motion. It was loud, it was smelly, and it was utterly terrifying.
"I'M SORRY! I'M SO SORRY!" I screamed, my voice cracking, but I didn't let go of the trigger. I was shaking so hard the Taser was rattling in my hand. Herbert and Barnaby didn't hesitate; they became blurs of steel, moving through the twitching assassins like harvesters in a wheat field.
"KEEP THE LIGHTNING FLOWING, MASTER ART!" Elsa shrieked, her voice full of frantic hope.
But the High Mages in the back weren't part of the "water-conductor" mess. They were standing on a dry ridge, and they were pissed. One of them slammed his staff down, and a shockwave of dark energy rippled outward, catching Elsa off guard. She let out a choked cry, stumbling and hitting the dirt face-first.
"ELSA!" I yelled.
The lead Mage, his hood falling back to reveal a face like a dried-up prune, fixed his gaze on me. He didn't look at me like a person; he looked at me like a bug he was about to incinerate. He raised both hands, and a ball of fire began to form between them.
It wasn't a "fireball." It was a miniature sun.
The heat was so intense it started to singe the leaves of the trees twenty feet away. The clearing turned from blue-electric to a blinding, hellish orange. My "God-Skin" jacket started to feel warm—and it was supposed to be heat-resistant!
This is it, I thought, my knees finally giving out. I'm going to be a toasted marshmallow in a designer jacket. As the Mage let out a final, guttural roar to release the spell, I did the only thing a panicked 21st-century nerd could do. I didn't run. I didn't hide. I dived into my phone menu with the speed of a professional gamer on his last life.
[EMERGENCY PURCHASE: HYPER-COMPRESSED LIQUID NITROGEN CANISTER (Industrial Grade)]
[PRICE: 80 VP]
[REMAINING BALANCE: 53 VP]
POP.
Damn it, this better work, this is expensive!
A heavy, frosted metal cylinder appeared in my lap just as the Mage launched the sun at my face. "EAT COLD STEEL, YOU OVERGROWN CANDLE!" I screamed, kicking the valve open.
The world turned into a nightmare of elemental physics.
The High Mages released the miniature sun, a roaring sphere of orange-white death that hissed through the air, melting the very raindrops before they could hit the ground. At the exact same microsecond, I kicked the valve of the industrial-grade liquid nitrogen canister.
The collision was not a sound; it was a physical erasure of silence.
The 196 degree Celsius liquid met the 2000 degree Celsius magical fire in a violent, thermodynamic divorce. A massive Steam Explosion erupted, white and blinding, expanding with a shockwave that flattened the grass and sent Herbert and Barnaby flying backward. But the nitrogen didn't just evaporate—it followed the path of the heat. Like a predator sensing a trail, the super-cooled gas roared up the Mage's fire-stream, traveling back to the source faster than he could blink.
The High Mages didn't even have time to scream. The frost hit them mid-chant, turning their smug, prune-like faces into a statue of white, crystalline ice. Their hands were still raised, their mouth still open in a silent "O" of terror, as the liquid nitrogen flash-froze their blood, their bones, and their very soul.
I screamed, mid-panicking and mid-madness.
"STAY! AWAY! FROM! US!" I shrieked, my brain completely fried by adrenaline and pure, unadulterated panic. "Stay away! I don't want to kill you all." I didn't stop. I swung the freezing nozzle toward the remaining three assassins who were trying to crawl away from the electricity. The white mist hissed over them, and in a heartbeat, they were turned into macabre ice sculptures, frozen in poses of desperate flight.
I dropped the canister. Looked around in panic! Oh God! The canister clattered against the stones with a hollow, metallic ring. My Viper was nowhere near me.
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating, and smelled of ozone and flash-frozen pine needles. A gust of wind moved through the clearing, and as it hit the frozen enemies, they didn't just fall. They shattered. Like dropped crystal vases, the High Mages and the elite assassins disintegrated into a million tiny, sparkling shards that dissolved into grey ash before they even hit the dirt.
"FUCK! What the hell did I do?"