When the Hero Strikes, It's Always an Instant Kill

Elesha struggled to rise from the ground.

Every inch of her body burned with pain.

Her fair arms were scraped raw by the jagged gravel, blood streaming down in rivulets.

To make matters worse, a sharp stone fragment had embedded itself deep into her thigh, rendering her unable to stand.

"Ah!"

Clutching her wounded leg, Elesha let out a pained cry.

Her distress seemed to draw the man's attention—another fireball came roaring toward her from behind.

"Get up, Elesha! Run!" Lanxia's hunched form stepped in front of her, conjuring a magical barrier that intercepted the fireball.

"Oh? A mage as well?" The man cast a cold, slightly surprised glance their way.

The barrier held against the flames and heat, but its glow visibly dimmed.

"Tch. Just a useless old hag." The man sneered.

Against most mages, he wouldn’t dare be so dismissive—older practitioners usually boasted greater experience and deeper reserves of magic. But this withered crone couldn’t even sustain a basic barrier. Clearly, she was a talentless, mediocre apprentice.

Several new fireballs began coalescing around the man.

"Elesha, stand up! You must flee—I can’t hold on much longer!" Lanxia’s aged face paled further.

"Grandmother... I can’t!" Elesha trembled, her hands slick with blood from her thigh. As a pampered noble daughter, she’d never endured such agony before.

"You must survive! The Norman bloodline is everything... Run! Stand up, Elesha! How could the Norman family produce such a weakling?" Lanxia’s voice was frantic.

"But I truly can’t move!" Elesha staggered to her feet, tears streaming, only to collapse again with a scream.

"You’re disgracing the Norman legacy!"

Their exchange was cut short as another fireball hurtled toward them.

Lanxia barely managed to reinforce the barrier, the heat forcing her back step by step.

"Has it... all come to this?"

Defeated, Lanxia slumped to the ground, watching helplessly as the man advanced.

She didn’t even know him—he was just a hired blade.

"Protect Lady Elesha!"

The remaining guards rushed forward, only to be repelled by searing flames.

The man bypassed Lanxia, stopping before Elesha. "Target confirmed."

But as he raised his hand, his brow furrowed. He turned sharply.

A shabby cargo wagon had intruded upon the battlefield, driven by an elven woman. Its cargo wasn’t goods, but three breathtaking figures—a man and two women.

"Shouldn’t we... stay farther away? This looks dangerous!" The petite girl’s voice reached the man’s ears.

The other two radiated no trace of magical energy either.

Fools with a death wish.

The man flicked his wrist, sending a fireball toward the wagon to erase the nuisance.

Yet the flames vanished mid-flight, as if swallowed by the air itself.

What—?

His pupils contracted. He raised his staff, summoning another fireball—but this time, the magic dissipated before it could fully form.

Panicked, he began chanting, only to realize he could no longer sense any elemental energy at all.

"This guy actually tried playing with fire in front of Aina... How naive." Liyana murmured, stroking Mo Lini’s fur.

The crimson beast had bolted into her arms at the fireball’s approach, now hastily squirming free.

"Back in the day, Aina held the title ‘Flame Sovereign’... though I doubt anyone remembers that now." Liyana mused.

Mo Lini blinked. "Huh...?"

How long ago was "back in the day"?

She stole a glance at Aina’s stunning face beneath the hood—she barely looked older than herself—then quickly averted her eyes.

Best not to overthink it... Liyana was probably just rambling.

"You tried to burn us alive just now, didn’t you?"

Xia Lun’s voice came from beside the man, soft as a whisper.

When had he moved? He’d been on the wagon moments ago!

This was supposed to be a simple job. What kind of monsters had he stumbled upon?

The man leaped back, putting distance between himself and both Elesha and Xia Lun.

"I’m giving you a chance to explain."

Xia Lun watched the man’s tense expression with something like pity.

The man attempted magic again—still nothing.

Who were these people?

Fine. Close-quarters combat it was.

He drew a dagger from his back. As an elite assassin of the Blood Pact, he was no stranger to melee combat—magic wasn’t his only weapon.

Though not a warrior, he could temporarily enhance his physical prowess with magic, even if it tore his muscles apart. It would be enough to end this quickly.

With a burst of speed that left a crater in the ground, the man shot toward Xia Lun like a bullet, trailing afterimages. A sonic boom cracked the air as he outpaced sound itself.

A high-ranking assassin had his pride. He wouldn’t abandon the mission over mere complications.

His blade flashed toward Xia Lun’s throat—

Then, his target vanished. So did his consciousness.

Xia Lun snapped his neck cleanly, granting him a painless exit.

"Those who disregard life... must be prepared to lose theirs." Xia Lun lowered the corpse gently.

"Good work, Xia Lun." Aina took his hand. Though unbloodied, she wiped it with a handkerchief anyway.

Then, rising on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. "Don’t dwell on it. You did well."

Xia Lun gazed at the twisted corpse and nodded.

Aina’s fingertip ignited, engulfing the body in flames.

Moments later, only ashes remained, scattered by the wind.