1.50.4 Defence of the Madwin’s Barrow

Asin Goldheart arrived at the Madwin's Borrow. 

An army of Titan Spawns led by four [Mages] were being deterred by one low level [Mage] and that [High Practitioner] with a ridiculous mana pool that made Asin gnash his teeth with envy. They were ingenious in using bomber ants for the defence of the village. It would take at least a [High Mage] to generate such a powerful ring of mana-invested flames, and it would take them at least an hour to do it. 

He didn't deal with the flames.

He wasn't here to help his underlings win this war—the battle was already lost with Castra's involvement, and her knowledge of what was really going on. He was here to salvage the lives of his underlings—he couldn't afford to lose them.

Asin watched two women flying for the village. He didn't stop or attack—he wasn't here to flare Castra's ire. That would certainly complicate things. There was a reason he was concealing his presence—Castra out-matched him in every way imaginable. Blasted woman! 

***

Michael blinked, then paused, stopping his spell meant to obliterate the massive boulders, the spell dissipating into harmless sparks.

"What happened?" Liam said—he did not stop attacking, but his eyes were fixed on Michael. "Why did you stop?"

"Two people are flying in our direction."

Michael synergized his Mana, focusing on the newcomers, and struck out with his spells.

The two figures paused and flew sideways opposite to each other. Neither of his [Whispering Arrows] touched them.

Michael, prepare to shoot another volley of [Whispering Arrows]. He focused to release the… 

"Stop! We are not your enemies."

Michael attacked. Not his enemies, indeed. What else could they be? He did not believe in Deus ex machina.

The two incoming women flew like a bird with their feather caught in fire—dodging all his attacks.

"Did you not hear me? We are not your enemies," the girl said, half hysterical.

"Why should I believe you?" Michael said, sending another shower of [Whispering Arrows] in their direction. He had seen too many TV shows where a man met his death for believing Pretty Little Girls who were ugly as fuck on the inside—rotten to the core. He would not make the same mistake. Unless proven otherwise, of course.

"Stop your attacks. I have proof of my allegiance."

One of the flying women pulled something out of her bag and preferred it before her for him to see. It was a badge, an image of a woman holding a wand carved into it.

What was that supposed to prove? He did not know anything about this world. He could not risk listening to them, potentially giving them time to prepare a deadly spell or who knew what else.

He prepared another volley of [Whispering Arrows], frowning at the woman who wore armour that reflected the light of the fire, flashing like the damnation itself. What kind of stupidity takes a person to wear such flashy armour? The woman was either full of herself or was confident—with some backbone to it.

Abruptly, Liam placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

"That's an Insignia given to a family that has produced an Archmage under the age of 60, declaring them a valuable asset to the empire. Attacking a member of such a family is a crime, and will land you in a fate worse than death."

"Besides," Liam continued. "Haven't you noticed that not a single one of those roaches has crossed the pathways since these two arrived?"

Michael shifted his gaze and noticed that the glass-like barrier was preventing the Titan Spawns from crossing the pathway of boulders. 

He hesitated, but listened to Liam, stopping himself from firing the spell. Though he kept it ready—he was not that stupid.

"What do you want?" Michael asked finally.

"To protect this place," the girl who was not wearing the armour said.

"Why?"

"Because I want to. Because these honest people do not deserve to die. Because we have accepted the request to obliterate these abominations."

Michael decided to trust her—not entirely, of course. "Fine, I will believe that you are on our side… For now."

The two women approached them. Suddenly, the one with the armour stopped, eyes widening. Then she hurried in his direction.

"Wha—"

Before Michael could do anything, the woman grabbed him by his chin and turned his head side to side. She did not stop there and began poking him as if to make sure he was real. She even pinched herself before lifting his shirt, exposing his scar above his navel he had received in an accident he did not remember—but he knew was caused by Nairobi.

This was too much! Michael slapped her hands away. "What are you doing, woman? I'm not your plaything—I'm too young for you."

"Is that you ... Michael?" She said.

Michael's jaw dropped.