I had barely walked a few steps away from the stall when a loud shout suddenly cut through the noise of the marketplace.
"HAND OVER ALL YOUR COINS!"
The voice was rough and commanding, loud enough to rise above the hum of bargaining merchants and clattering goods. I turned instinctively toward the sound.
The crowd didn't freeze.
They didn't panic either.
Instead, people simply moved aside.
Not stopping. Not reacting. Just… stepping away as if guided by an unspoken rule. Within seconds, the busy street shifted, creating a clear circle of empty space in the middle of the market.
And standing at the center of that space was a man.
He was huge.
Tall and broad, his shoulders were wide enough to resemble a wall. His arms bulged with thick muscle—not the kind shaped by careful training, but the kind built through years of street fights and brute force. Old scars covered his skin: jagged cuts, faded bruises, and pale ridges that had never fully healed.
His clothes stretched tightly across his torso, worn and stained from long use. A ragged cloth hung over one shoulder, darkened by sweat and something that looked suspiciously like dried blood.
His face was hard.
A square jaw. A slightly crooked nose. Narrowed eyes that didn't show anger so much as habit—the gaze of someone accustomed to seeing fear in others.
The corner of his mouth lifted into a thin smile.
Not friendly.
The smile of someone who already knew no one would stop him.
He stepped forward, each footfall heavy against the stone.
"Move it," he growled. "Don't make this difficult."
His fingers cracked loudly as he slowly clenched his fist.
My heartbeat quickened.
Only moments ago the marketplace had felt lively and welcoming. Now the noise seemed distant, as though the world had taken a step back.
Elna stepped half a pace forward behind her stall.
Her usual gentle smile remained, but it was no longer steady.
"Ah… I seem to have left my coins at home," she said lightly, letting out a small laugh that sounded just a little forced. "I was in a hurry today."
The man stared at her.
Then he laughed.
Short. Sharp.
"Hah?"
His eyes narrowed further.
"You think I came here for jokes?" he asked, his voice dropping lower as the threat inside it thickened.
Before Elna could respond—
BAM!
He slammed his arm against the side of the stall.
The wooden rack shook violently. Fruits toppled from their crates and scattered across the ground. Some rolled across the stone pavement while others burst open on impact, sticky juice spreading across the street.
Elna gasped.
"A-ah—!"
She stumbled backward, nearly losing her footing. Her hands grabbed the edge of the stall instinctively, as if she could somehow keep it from collapsing entirely.
Her face had gone pale.
"P-please…" she whispered, her voice small and fragile against the indifferent noise of the market.
My chest tightened.
Without realizing it, my hands slowly curled into fists.
I wanted to step forward.
To pull him away.
To shout.
But I knew what would happen.
If I interfered—
I would be the first person he hit.
My legs felt strangely heavy.
Then the voice returned.
You're useless.
You're a coward.
You always stay silent while others get hurt.
My breath caught.
Enough.
Before I could think myself out of it, I stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
I pushed past the backs of people who had suddenly become very busy with their own business until I found myself standing directly behind the man.
Up close, I could smell sweat.
Anger.
I swallowed.
"Oi."
He stopped.
My heart pounded wildly as I lifted my head.
"Don't touch Elna."
For a moment, the marketplace felt silent.
Slowly, the man turned around.
His shadow fell over me.
His eyes scanned my body from head to toe, measuring me the way a butcher might measure meat.
"Hah?"
"What did you just say?"
I opened my mouth to repeat myself—
But the words never came out.
THUD!
His fist slammed into my stomach.
The air exploded out of my lungs.
Pain tore through my body like a heavy hammer crushing my insides. My legs gave out instantly and I collapsed onto the stone pavement.
"Ngh—!"
A violent cough tore from my throat.
Before I could even draw another breath—
THUD!
A kick slammed into my side.
Then another.
And another.
I curled up instinctively, raising my arms to shield my head, but his boots struck my body without mercy.
"Look at this," he mocked with a rough laugh. "Shows up acting tough."
THUD!
"Skinny little thing thinks he can interfere?"
THUD!
"Late hero, huh?"
Each kick rolled my body slightly across the pavement.
It hurt.
But what hurt more—
was his voice.
"You think anyone's going to help you?" he sneered. "Look around."
I listened.
Or rather—
I didn't.
No shouting.
No one stepping forward.
No one interfering.
"Anyone see anything?" the man shouted loudly, exaggerating his voice as he glanced around the crowd. "No, right?"
He laughed again.
"You belong on the ground."
My body trembled.
Not just from pain—
but because the voices inside my head had returned.
You're useless.
You're a coward.
You always end up on the ground.
I bit my lip hard.
The taste of blood filled my mouth.
Through the blur at the edge of my vision, I saw Elna standing behind her stall. Her hands were pressed tightly over her mouth, her face pale as she watched the scene unfold.
—
I pressed my fingers into the stone pavement beneath me. The gravel dug painfully into my palm, but I barely noticed the sting.
I couldn't stand yet.
Not yet.
But I—
"Stop."
The voice cut through the marketplace like a blade.
"Violence is prohibited in this market."
Footsteps approached steadily.
"Did you not read the regulations posted at the entrance?"
I coughed weakly and forced my head to turn toward the voice.
A woman stood there.
I recognized her immediately.
She was the same woman who had saved me earlier from the Nightbound Beast.
Her posture was perfectly straight, her presence calm yet commanding. Her gaze was sharp and cold, scanning the scene with quiet authority. She held no weapon in her hands, yet the way she stood alone in front of the thug was enough to make the air around us tighten.
The thug clicked his tongue in annoyance.
He stepped closer to her, his massive frame blocking the sunlight.
"So what?" he scoffed. "You gonna make me stop?"
He let out a rough laugh.
"What? Gonna call for help?"
Spreading his arms wide, he looked around the market in exaggerated theatrics.
"Help! Help!" he mocked in a high, dramatic voice. "Anyone?"
No one answered.
The marketplace remained silent.
Satisfied, the thug chuckled to himself.
Meanwhile, a pair of gentle hands touched my shoulder.
"Vein…"
Elna's voice trembled.
"I-I'll heal you."
She knelt beside me quickly, her hands shaking slightly as she placed them carefully over my chest. A faint green glow slowly formed beneath her palms.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I only know first-level healing."
The light spread softly through my body.
The sharp pain in my stomach faded first. Then the burning ache in my ribs began to ease, followed by the cuts and bruises scattered across my body. The wounds slowly closed as if they had never existed.
My breathing steadied.
The pain disappeared.
But my body still felt heavy, as though all my strength had been drained away. My muscles trembled weakly, refusing to respond with their usual energy.
Still—
I could move my fingers.
I could bend my arm.
I could lift my head.
I was alive.
I turned slightly and looked at Elna.
She gave me a small, relieved smile, though her eyes still looked damp with worry.
"Thank goodness…" she murmured.
In front of us, the thug clicked his tongue again.
"Tch. Annoying."
He stomped his foot once, as though preparing to escalate the situation even further.
The entire marketplace seemed to hold its breath.
And I knew—
this wasn't over.
The woman who had intervened still had not moved.
"I am not that much of a coward," she said coldly.
Then she raised her hand.
Her palm opened slowly, facing forward.
For a moment—
nothing happened.
"Huh?"
The thug frowned before letting out a short laugh.
"What are you doing?" he mocked. "Trying to scare me with a pose?"
Several seconds passed in silence.
Even I briefly wondered if nothing would happen.
Then I noticed it.
The air around her hand felt… different.
Not cold.
Not warm.
Just heavy.
Tiny droplets began to form in the air around her palm. They were not falling like rain, but gathering—like dew pulled together by some invisible force.
The thug stopped laughing.
"Oi…?"
The droplets swirled slowly, following the subtle movement of her fingers. They gathered together, thickening into a small rotating current of water floating in front of her hand.
She spoke no chant.
Made no dramatic gesture.
She simply controlled it.
"If you're going to play around," the thug said as he stepped forward, trying to regain his confidence, "you'd better—"
She lowered her hand slightly.
And the water surged forward.
It wasn't a splash.
It wasn't scattered droplets.
It was a dense, compact force—like a compressed wave driving straight into him.
"UGH—!"
His body lifted off the ground and was thrown backward. He slammed hard onto the stone pavement, the impact echoing through the marketplace.
The water struck him at the same time, drenching him completely.
His clothes were instantly soaked.
He coughed violently as he struggled to push himself back to his feet.
"How dare you!" he roared.
He scrambled upright and charged toward her again.
But his steps faltered almost immediately.
The water from the spell had not drained away. Instead, it pooled beneath him, shimmering faintly in the light.
Then—
it began to freeze.
A thin layer of ice spread across the surface, creeping outward like crystal veins across the pavement. The air around us dropped noticeably colder.
The thug didn't even have time to react.
"Eh—?!"
His foot landed on the slick ice.
His balance vanished instantly.
In the next moment he slammed back onto the ground.
"WHOA—!"
He tried to stand.
Failed.
His hands and feet slipped uselessly across the growing layer of ice.
"WATCH IT!" he bellowed angrily. "IF I CATCH YOU—"
"If you catch me, what?"
Her voice interrupted him.
Calm.
Flat.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Yet somehow mocking him without needing to raise her tone.
She stood above him with perfect composure, as though subduing him required no more effort than brushing dust from her sleeve.
I watched from the ground, my chest still trembling.
Not just because of her power—
but because of how quietly she used it.
There was no rage in her expression.
No pride.
No dramatic display.
Only precise control.
In the middle of a crowded marketplace, she had reduced a violent man into something almost pathetic.
And the most frightening part was that she didn't look strained.
Not even once.