Chapter 131: Robbery

Serar’s gaze swept across the dark woods surrounding them. The shadows of the trees under the moonlight looked like crouching monsters.

“That Scarface from earlier today—he might have already marked us.”

Lyra turned to look at Freya.

She was still asleep, wrapped in the dark gray coat, her pale lavender hair scattered across her shoulders.

Her face looked even paler under the moonlight, her lips nearly colorless.

She couldn’t be disturbed.

Lyra gently laid Freya’s head back on the sleeping bag, stood up, and gripped her short dagger. Golden light mana bloomed from her palm, coating the blade with a faint glow.

“You guard the Boss.”

She said to Serar.

“I’ll draw them away.”

“You’re going to die.”

“I can fight—”

“You’re not going to fight, you’re going to die.”

Serar cut her off.

“Those people aren’t ordinary bandits. They specialize in hunting mages. They came prepared. If you go out alone, you’ll walk right into their trap.”

Lyra gritted her teeth. Red and golden light flickered in her eyes.

“Then what do you suggest?”

Serar pulled a fist-sized crystal ball from his Space Ring. Inside it, some silver-white liquid was sealed.

He handed it to Lyra.

“Take this. If things go wrong, crush it.”

“What is it?”

“A signal flare. The Winter City Patrol will see it and come to support. But the earliest they can get here is a quarter of an hour.”

He paused.

“For that quarter hour, we’re on our own.”

Lyra held the crystal ball in her hand. It was cool to the touch. She nodded and tucked it into her chest pocket.

Faint sounds came from the woods—something moving quickly over the snow.

Not one person. Many people, closing in from all sides.

Serar retreated to Freya’s side, his back to her, his short sword gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

Lyra stood on the other side, the golden light on her dagger growing brighter.

From the darkness, a figure stepped out.

It was Scarface.

He stood at the edge of the firelight, the old scar on his face looking even more sinister in the shadows.

Behind him followed five or six others, all wearing dark fur coats, holding various weapons—

some with knives, some with axes, and one carrying a long iron chain.

“Don’t be nervous.”

Scarface spoke, his voice low and hoarse.

“We only want the one with purple hair. You two can leave.”

Lyra’s pupils contracted sharply. She stepped forward.

“In your dreams.”

Scarface looked at her, then at Serar.

“Two young people, why throw away your lives for someone unrelated?”

His gaze passed over them, landing on Freya, still sleeping.

“She has something very valuable on her. You can’t protect her.”

“Valuable?” Lyra’s voice was as cold as ice.

“You mean the Mana Heart Crystal in her heart?”

Scarface’s eyes lit up.

“You know about it?”

“I know. But do you know who left that Heart Crystal for her?”

Lyra’s voice grew even colder.

“Cecilia Christo Dale. The strongest mage in the Northern Territory. You dare to touch something of hers?”

Scarface’s step faltered.

Cecilia’s name clearly gave him pause, but he quickly laughed again.

“Cecilia is dead. Whatever was hers is now up for grabs.”

Lyra said nothing more.

The golden light on her dagger erupted. She shot forward like an arrow released from a bow.

Scarface clearly hadn’t expected this frail-looking girl to attack first. He froze for a moment.

That moment was enough. Lyra’s dagger slashed across his arm. Blood splattered onto the snow, stark and vivid.

“Get them!”

Scarface retreated, clutching his arm. The men behind him charged.

An Ice Wall rose in front of them, blocking the first wave of attacks.

Ice Spikes shot from the top of the wall, forcing back two enemies trying to circle around.

But there were too many. Cracks began to appear in the Ice Wall under the relentless assault.

Lyra’s Light Whip lashed out, striking an ax-wielding man. He screamed and fell.

But the next second, the iron chain flew in from the side, wrapping around her wrist.

The chain had some kind of magic-suppressing rune. The golden light on her wrist dimmed instantly.

“Lyra!”

Serar’s Ice Spikes shot toward the man who had thrown the chain. He dodged, and the chain loosened.

Lyra pulled her hand back, leaving a ring of purple bruise marks around her wrist.

Gritting her teeth, she gathered her mana again. The light was much weaker than before.

Scarface stood behind his men, watching the scene. A smug curl touched his lips.

“Kids, you won’t last long.”

Before the words faded, a silver-white light blazed up behind them.

Not Lyra’s gold, not Serar’s ice blue—but a colder, heavier silver-white, like moonlight condensed into solid form.

Scarface’s smile froze on his face.

He turned around and saw Freya rising from beside the sleeping bag.

She wore the dark gray coat, her pale lavender hair shimmering coldly in the moonlight.

Her face was still pale, her lips still bloodless, but those pale lavender eyes shone with an astonishing light.

She looked at Scarface like he was something insignificant.

“You want my Mana Heart Crystal?”

Her voice was soft—soft as a petal falling on snow.

Scarface opened his mouth to say something, but found he couldn’t speak.

Not from fear—but from pressure.

An invisible pressure radiating from Freya, like a mountain pressing down on his chest, crushing his breath.

The men behind him began to retreat.

They had hunted many mages, seen all kinds of magic pressure, but never like this—

not fire, not frost, not lightning—but something purer, more ancient, a power from another dimension.

“Boss!”

Lyra ran over, reaching out to support her.

Freya didn’t let her. She just stood there, staring at Scarface.

“Cecilia is my mother.”

Her voice was calm.

“Who dares touch what she left me?”

Scarface’s face turned deathly pale.

He looked at those pale lavender eyes, at the silver-white light flowing around her, and suddenly recalled a legend—

Cecilia sealed her life’s mana into a Heart Crystal before she died, leaving it for her daughter.

The power of that Heart Crystal could shake heaven and earth.

He had thought it was just a story.

Now he knew it wasn’t.

“Let’s go.”

His voice trembled. The men behind him fled as if pardoned.

Scarface turned too, his steps growing faster until he was almost running.

A mess of footprints remained on the snow, quickly scattered by the night wind.

Freya stood there, watching the retreating backs, not moving.

The silver-white light slowly faded from around her, like a tide receding.

Then her body swayed.

Lyra caught her.

“Boss!”

“I’m fine.”

Freya’s voice was weak, but steady.

“Just a little tired.”

Serar walked over, looked at her face, then at the direction Scarface had fled.

He was silent for a long time before speaking.

“You shouldn’t have activated the Mana Heart Crystal. Your body can’t take it.”

“I know.”

Freya’s voice was very soft.

“But I couldn’t watch you two get hurt.”

Lyra’s eyes reddened.

“Boss—”

“Help me sit down.”

Lyra helped her to the sleeping bag and leaned her back against a tree trunk. Freya closed her eyes, her hand on her chest.

The stabbing pain in her heart was even sharper than before, like a dull blade sawing through her heart meridian.

But she didn’t show it. She simply sat there quietly, breathing light and slow.

Serar relit the fire.

Firelight illuminated the camp, casting clear shadows of the footprints.

Lyra crouched beside Freya, holding her hand. Her red eyes were full of self-reproach.

“Boss… I’m sorry… I didn’t protect you…”

“You did.”

Freya didn’t open her eyes.

“You bought us time.”

“But in the end, you still—”

“Enough.”

Freya interrupted her.

“You did well.”

Lyra lowered her head. Tears fell onto Freya’s hand.

Freya didn’t pull her hand away. She didn’t speak. She just sat there quietly, letting Lyra hold it.

Serar added a few sticks to the fire. He stared at the dancing flames, complex emotions churning in his deep blue eyes.

He thought of Cecilia—

He had never met her, but he had read every record about her.

The strongest mage on the continent. Free as the wind. A wild horse that could never be tamed.

Everyone had thought her power came from talent, from hard training, from the accumulation of years traveling the world.

Now he knew it wasn’t just that.

She had left her most precious thing to her daughter.

The fire crackled. The night wind wailed.

In the distance, the outline of the snowy mountains loomed faintly under the moonlight, like a sleeping giant that had opened its eyes.

By the time the fire blazed up again, the eastern sky was already turning fish-belly white.

Freya leaned against the tree trunk, eyes closed, her silver-white hair scattered over the dark gray coat like a quiet painting.

Lyra crouched beside her, still holding her hand, her red eyes fixed unblinkingly on Freya’s face.

Serar stood on the other side of the fire, adding wood, but his gaze kept sweeping toward the woods outside the camp that were still dark.

After Scarface and his men fled, the night returned to its proper sounds—

wind through pine branches, silent snowfall, the occasional distant cry of a night bird.

But Serar felt that something was still lurking in the shadows. Though the footsteps had faded, the feeling of being watched hadn’t dissipated.

He knew those men wouldn’t let it go. They had been beaten back, not killed.

Once the shock of Freya’s silver-white light wore off, once they came to their senses, they would come again.

And this time, they wouldn’t underestimate them.

“Serar.”

Freya’s voice suddenly rang out—still soft, but clear.

He turned.

Freya had opened her eyes. Those pale lavender irises looked exceptionally bright in the firelight.

“That man, Scarface—he said I have something they want.”

Her voice was calm.

“Word about the Mana Heart Crystal isn’t common knowledge. Those people have someone behind them.”