As I listened, I could hear someone—somewhere nearby—calling out with a kind of desperation that didn't belong in this world. It wasn't the usual fear, or the usual anger. It was something sharper. Something that carried willpower in it, like a person refusing to fall apart even when they were already breaking.
My hands stayed closed, pressed deep into the pockets of my pants as I walked.
Someone needs my help.
That was the thought that came first, and it was the only one that mattered.
I kept moving.
Ahead of me, voices rose—loud enough to be heard clearly, but not loud enough to sound brave. More like the kind of noise people made when they wanted to feel in control.
A man stood there wearing a yellowed crown of flowers, the kind an archer would wear as if it meant something. Like it made him important. Like it made him untouchable.
"Wait a minute—where are you going?" he snapped, stepping forward. "You can't just barge in like you own everything or something…"
He lifted his hands, spreading them out as if his body alone could stop me. Like a wall made of skin and confidence.
But before his palms could even settle into place, the Knight moved.
There was no dramatic swing of a blade. No loud command. No warning.
Gravity itself lowered within his plane—quietly, cruelly, and instantly.
The archer's expression changed so fast it almost looked unreal.
His body dropped.
The medium vest he wore folded as he hit the ground, the yellow badge on his chest flashing once before being swallowed by dust and humiliation. His hands followed him down, useless, trembling, unable to hold him up.
It wasn't only him.
Around us, other archers jerked in alarm and began to prepare their arrows. Knights reached for their swords, fingers curling around hilts, armor plates shifting with sharp metallic clicks as they readied themselves to fight.
But none of it mattered.
With my ability active, no one could finish a single movement.
Arrows remained half-drawn, frozen like decorations.
Swords were trapped halfway from their sheaths, caught in the moment between threat and action.
Everything stuck in place, like the entire world had been pressed into thick glue.
"What are you doing…?" the Knight Alexander demanded.
His hands clenched harder, gauntlets grinding, the sound of metal plates squeezing against his fists. Even that small motion looked like it took effort, like he was trying to wrestle against something invisible and losing.
He looked around.
He saw it.
He saw that the arrows meant nothing. That the swords meant nothing.
That steel and training and numbers meant nothing.
So he did the one thing everyone could still understand.
He chose to go bare-handed.
Slowly, he brought his arm forward, not drawing a weapon this time—just reaching. And as he did, the runes along the cane in his grip began to glow faintly, lines igniting like silent embers waking up.
The air shifted.
Not violently. Not explosively.
Just enough to make the space feel… wrong.
It got awkward after that.
The kind of awkward that creeps into a room when someone realizes they've already made a mistake, but they're too proud to admit it. The Knight stood there, watching me like he was waiting for me to do what it needs to be done, and everything would explain itself to him.
He tried to look calm. Tried to look impressive.
Tried to look like he wasn't confused.
"Umm…" Adam muttered, then coughed as if the sound could fix his dignity.
Something should be said, right?
Silence could only stretch so far before it turned into a challenge.
So I spoke.
"I only wanted to do something," I said, my voice steady even if the situation wasn't. "Lay off your weapons, because I don't want violence…"
I paused, then added what I knew would sting them most.
"Besides, you entered our territory first."
It wasn't exactly true.
It was the witch's territory.
But in that moment, I said it anyway—because I needed them to hesitate, and because sometimes the truth didn't matter as much as what people believed.
Alexander didn't answer right away.
His gaze stayed sharp, but it didn't have the same confidence anymore.
Then, beside him, the master swordsman laughed.
Not a polite laugh. Not a quiet one.
It was loud, careless, and soaked in amusement—as if the tension around us was entertainment meant only for him.
"I say we should just do what he wants," he said, grinning like this was all a game. "Besides, what's he gonna even do anyway? Just to escalate this situation with a battle. Hahaha."
His laughter echoed in a way that made my head feel heavier.
It was tiring.
Tiring how even now—even now—it felt like I needed permission from everyone here just to exist in the same space.
Tiring how arrogance could survive anything, even fear.
The young swordsman—barely older than a boy, really—was being pulled away, dragged back by the confidence of older men who thought they'd already won.
And in an instant, I was beside him.
No warning.
No sound.
Just there.
Close enough that the air between us felt too small.
Teleport...
As Richard could...