Argus lifted his head.

  The world swam in a haze of ache and lingering mana depletion, every breath scraping the inside of his lungs as though he had inhaled powdered glass, yet the sound cut cleanly through the fog that clung to his thoughts. His body protested even the slight shift of posture, muscles trembling with that hollow weakness that came after overextension, when one has drawn too much from channels not yet fully recovered. He tasted iron at the back of his throat and forced himself upright regardless.

  Another scream followed, higher this time, threaded with the brittle edge of panic.

  He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and listened not only with his ears but with that deeper sense that pulsed behind his sternum where his mana channels lay coiled and exhausted. There were fluctuations ahead, uneven but not chaotic, bursts of flame and steel and defensive barriers forming and dissolving in measured rhythm.

  Not a rout.

  A battle.

  He could walk away.

  His legs almost convinced him to.

  He felt the bruising along his ribs, the stiffness in his shoulders where earlier strain had left small tears that would ache for days, and he understood with a clarity that bordered on cruelty that he was in no condition to involve himself in another engagement. The rational course was to retreat, recover, report any anomaly he had sensed to The Frontier Wardens and allow those of proper rank and strength to handle it.

  Yet the scream persisted, and for a fleeting moment, the ash-choked mountain around him vanished. Instead, he was in the polished marble halls of the manor, his sister’s terrified wail echoing through the corridors, so raw and jagged that it tore at something buried inside him. He saw Dravien strike with perfect precision, cutting down the attacker, yet in that fractured memory, it was too late.

  The image of her fall hung heavy across his consciousness, and the pain was as real as the mountains beneath him. That memory, though only a blink, coiled around his chest like a vice, demanding that he act.

  He began to climb.

  Each step up the rocky incline required a deliberate negotiation with his body, and the mountain did not grant mercy to those who faltered. Loose stones slid beneath his boots, sending small cascades clattering down the slope behind him, and more than once he had to brace against jagged outcroppings to steady himself while a wave of dizziness threatened to drag him back to his knees. The air grew warmer as he ascended, the faint scent of scorched earth drifting toward him in steady pulses that matched the rhythm of distant impacts.

  He reached the crest and saw them.

  Four figures stood in a rough diamond formation within a shallow clearing carved between blackened rock formations, their silhouettes illuminated by bursts of controlled flame that danced in disciplined arcs rather than chaotic bursts. Surrounding them were creatures that seemed less born than assembled, hulking masses of lava rock and fused debris whose bodies glowed faintly along their fissures where molten light seeped through cracked stone.

  Argus recognized them the monsters. They were the offsprings of the Monster Ashstone.

  The scale, the uneven shaping of their limbs, the way they moved with brute force rather than refined aggression all spoke of immature forms. Each stood perhaps the height of two men stacked, their surfaces jagged and imperfect, fragments of broken masonry and hardened slag jutting from their torsos like ill-considered armor.

  And the adventurers faced them as though they were inconveniences.

  Argus observed them in silence. One elemental user, one spellsword and one defensive healer by the look of it. The system told him their ranks, all were mithril except for the girl standing apart from them. She was protected from the monsters, and Argus assumed she was the one who screamed earlier. Though she was not in any danger.

  The elemental control user stood slightly forward, palms open as he directed ribbons of flame with subtle rotations of his wrists, his fire not wild but sculpted, compressing into narrow streams that lanced through the creatures’ glowing seams with surgical precision. Each strike caused the molten veins within the monsters to flare brighter before dimming as cracks spread across their torsos.

  To his left, the spellsword moved with almost lazy grace, blade shimmering with a thin coating of mana that altered its weight and reach with every swing. He did not hack or cleave with desperation but stepped into openings with precise footwork, severing limbs at their weakest junctions and pivoting away before the debris of his own cuts could entangle him.

  Behind them, the defensive and healing specialist maintained a lattice of translucent barriers that shimmered like layered glass, absorbing stray shards of molten rock that flew from the creatures when struck. His other hand traced quiet sigils in the air, threads of restorative light occasionally flickering toward his allies whenever a blow landed closer than expected.

  And in the center of that formation she stood, looking no older than seventeen, her staff held in hands that trembled not from incompetence but from concentration. She was attempting to shape a spell that hovered uncertainly at the tip of her focus crystal, sparks forming and dissolving as she struggled to stabilize the pattern.

  “Ease your breathing,” the healer called without turning his head, his tone almost conversational despite the hulking monsters pressing toward them. “You are compressing the third rotation too tightly. Let it flow.”

  The spellsword laughed as he sidestepped a heavy swing that shattered the rock where he had stood an instant earlier. “If you choke your own mana like that, it will rebel. Think of it as a dance partner, not a prisoner.”

  The elementalist flicked two fingers and sent a spiral of flame corkscrewing into the chest of the nearest creature. “You are safe, little ember. We are not letting any of these brats touch you.”

  The girl huffed out a strained laugh that dissolved into another shaky attempt at spell formation. “They are not brats,” she protested, though her voice wavered, “they are enormous.”

  “Enormous brats,” the spellsword corrected lightly.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Argus watched from the edge of the clearing, half concealed behind a fractured pillar of stone. At first glance, it might have appeared that the three Mithril rank hunters were treating the battlefield as a training yard, their banter easy and unhurried, their expressions unlined by fear.

  Yet beneath the levity he perceived something else.

  Their eyes never stopped moving.

  The elemental control user adjusted the intensity of his flames not by instinct alone but by constant micro-calculations, altering heat levels to avoid over-melting the creatures into unstable molten bursts. The spellsword’s blade arcs were measured not for flair but for structural compromise, always targeting stress points where cooled lava met newer formations. The healer’s barriers overlapped with subtle redundancy, ensuring that if one layer fractured the next would already be in position.

  They joked, but their bodies held no slack.

  They exchanged no words, and yet coordinated effortlessly as if they knew each other for decades. Which, they probably did.

  They were alert in the way predators were alert, every muscle tuned to the slightest deviation.

  Argus exhaled slowly.

  No one here was about to die.

  The smaller creatures fell one by one as coordinated attacks exploited their weaknesses, molten cores exposed and then extinguished beneath combined flame and steel. When one of the lava constructs broke formation and lunged directly toward the girl, smashing through the outer edge of a barrier with unexpected force, she screamed and thrust her staff forward in instinctive defense.

  The half-formed spell shattered against the creature’s arm, dispersing in harmless sparks.

  The spellsword was already moving.

  He intercepted the monster mid-stride, blade flashing as it sliced through the creature’s knee joint. The elemental control user followed with a compressed sphere of superheated fire that detonated within the exposed fissure, and the construct collapsed in a cascade of smoking debris before it could reach her.

  “See?” the healer said gently as he reinforced the barrier around her position. “Your failure did not kill you. Adjust and try again.”

  The girl swallowed and nodded, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve. “I will.”

  Argus allowed his shoulders to ease, a small release of tension he had not realized he was carrying.

  Then the ground trembled.

  It was not a violent quake but a deep, resonant vibration that seemed to originate from beneath the mountain itself, traveling upward through stone and bone alike. The remaining lava constructs froze mid-motion, their molten veins flaring brighter in unison as though answering a silent call.

  The adventurers stopped joking.

  The elemental control user lowered his hands slightly, flame dimming but not extinguishing. The spellsword shifted his stance, blade angling downward in a guard position that suggested readiness rather than offense. The healer’s barriers thickened, their transparency darkening into something more substantial.

  Argus felt it before he saw it, a pressure rolling outward from the cavern mouth at the far end of the clearing, heavy and suffocating.

  The air grew hotter.

  Chunks of rock along the cavern entrance cracked and fell as something vast pressed through from within, forcing its way into the open with patient inevitability. When the creature emerged fully, the scale of it rendered the earlier constructs almost laughable in retrospect.

  The mother.

  She was not merely larger but denser, her body composed of tightly fused layers of lava rock that pulsed with internal heat so intense that the ground beneath her feet began to soften. Where the smaller constructs had uneven surfaces, she possessed a terrible symmetry, limbs proportioned for balance and power, her core protected by overlapping plates that glowed along their edges.

  Argus’s breath caught.

  The system showed it as an Adamantium tier monster.

  This was not a variant suited for this region.

  This was something that belonged deeper within unstable zones where the earth itself rebelled against intrusion.

  What was it doing here near the outskirts of the zone? Only weak mithril rank and higher gold rank monsters were found here. So where did she come from.

  The spellsword’s voice carried easily over the rumbling of the greater variant. It had lost its levity. “That was not in the report that the scout showed us.”

  The elemental control user swore under his breath, flame intensifying as he reassessed. “She must have wandered.”

  The healer’s jaw tightened. “Or was driven.”

  The girl’s face had drained of color.

  Argus felt the instinctive urge to withdraw surge up within him, sharp and undeniable. His channels were strained, his reserves dangerously low, and the presence before them radiated a weight that pressed against his senses like a physical hand. This was not a foe for a Silver rank adventurer on the verge of collapse.

  He stepped back.

  Dravien’s voice stirred within him, smooth and detached. You recognize the disparity.

  “I do,” Argus replied inwardly, his gaze fixed on the towering form as it took another step forward and the ground shuddered again.

  Then observe and learn. Survival is not cowardice when weighed against futility.

  The mother construct moved.

  Her arm descended in a sweeping arc that shattered the outermost barrier like fragile glass, molten fragments spraying outward as the healer grunted and reinforced the inner layers. The elemental control user unleashed a concentrated torrent of flame at her shoulder joint, heat meeting heat in a clash that sent sparks exploding in all directions.

  The spellsword darted in, blade carving along the seam between two plates, yet his strike barely penetrated the outer shell before being forced back by a retaliatory swing that cracked the earth where he had stood.

  This was different.

  Argus felt it immediately in the rhythm of the battle.

  Where the smaller constructs had telegraphed their movements with crude force, the mother’s strikes were deliberate and measured, each attack testing the formation for weakness. She adapted after every exchange, adjusting the angle of her blows to exploit even minor shifts in barrier placement.

  The girl attempted to cast again, voice trembling as she chanted through clenched teeth, but the mana pattern destabilized under the oppressive heat radiating from the creature.

  “She is not going to stabilize that,” Argus murmured, though none heard him.

  Another barrier shattered.

  The healer staggered, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as backlash rippled through his channels.

  Argus felt something twist inside his chest.

  He could leave now and no one would blame him.

  He could retreat while they were still holding.

  Dravien’s presence coiled around his thoughts once more. You are depleted. If you enter that field, you risk more than defeat. You risk permanent damage to channels already strained.

  “And if I do nothing?” Argus demanded silently.

  Then you survive.

  "Then they die. Why don't you take over, help them?"

  The spellsword lunged again, this time aiming lower, and managed to cleave away a chunk of the mother’s outer plating. Molten light spilled from the exposed wound, but it did not slow her. Argus returned his attention inward.

  Why should I? Such is the law of nature that the weak die whle the strong survive.

  "They have families, friends who care for them. Who will miss them. Please." Argus's heart throbbed, almost drowning out the sound of the battle.

  Then they can miss them, didn't the monsters that they just killed also have a family? What harm did they do to the adventurers who killed them?

  "They would have leaked onto nearby villages and towns if not killed. This is necessary." Argus continued, while his eyes tracked the battle going on in the background.

  Then the adventurers knew what they were walking into, if they die it is because of their own weakness. If I save them today, they die another day. What are 4 adventurers compared to the numerous souls lost every day?

  Argus had no answer to that, and while he hated to admit it Dravien was logically correct. But Argus wasn't thinking with his mind right now, he had witnessed his sister die infront of him. And no way was he going to stand here and do nothing.

  Dravien wasn't going to help. So he only had himself.

  Meanwhile the battle in the background was going on, the spellsword retaliated with a backhand strike that caught him mid-evade, sending him skidding across the clearing in a shower of sparks.

  The elemental control user shifted position to cover him, flames flaring brighter, yet Argus saw the strain in the man’s posture now, the increased drain required to counteract the mother’s internal heat.

  The girl screamed again as a fragment of shattered rock flew toward her unguarded flank. And in that moment Argus made up his mind.