Chapter 62: Blades in the Storm

Ten bandits. Luke counted them in a heartbeat—four crossbowmen, three archers, two warriors… and a mage.

Damn.

They were prepared.

“You move quiet, kid,” one of the warriors said, spinning his axe lazily. His grin didn’t reach his eyes.

The mage stepped forward, raising his staff. Orbs of lightning crackled into existence, humming as they floated in lazy, deadly circles.

“Hand over everything,” the second warrior added. “We’re already pissed. Meant to catch you before you touched the orb.”

Luke’s eyes scanned the terrain. Every exit was covered.

“It’s nightfall,” the mage said, voice sharper now. “Midnight Wardens will be out soon. So unless you want to end up tied to a tree as bait…”

Luke didn’t have time for this.

Charlie was still sealed in his soul. Summoning her would take seconds—seconds he didn’t have. Not against this many ranged weapons.

“If I give you my gear…” Luke’s voice stayed level. “You’ll let me walk?”

The warrior chuckled. “As long as you don’t try anything… yeah. You walk. Now. Empty your inventory.”

Crossbows leveled at him. The tips glowed with mana, primed to fire.

Luke raised his hands. Slow. Controlled.

“The kukris. Drop ’em.”

He obeyed. Carefully placed both blades on the dirt. His muscles stayed taut. Ready.

The warrior stepped forward, axe in hand. “If he moves, shoot him,” he ordered.

Luke’s mind raced.

Inventory items can’t be stolen. Only traded.

If he died, everything in the inventory would be locked—lost to everyone. That’s why they needed him alive. He had to willingly transfer it through the system.

The warrior stooped, scooping up the kukris, testing their weight. “Nice blades.” He grinned, then raised his axe. “Now… touch my arm. Transfer. All of it.”

Luke stepped forward. Hand extended.

And in the same motion—snapped a throwing knife from his belt and flung it straight at the mage.

The mage’s eyes widened. His body twisted, barely dodging as the blade hissed past his cheek.

Luke exploded into motion.

The warrior’s axe came down—too slow.

Luke vaulted backward just as a storm of arrows and spells tore through the space he’d been standing in a heartbeat earlier.

A bolt of lightning detonated against stone—ripping it apart in a cascade of light and debris.

Luke twisted midair, landed hard on the broken wall of a collapsed building. His fingers flicked up.

[Magnetic Return]

Both kukris ripped free from the warrior’s hands, flying back into Luke’s grip.

“What the—?!” the warrior gasped.

But Luke was already gone. A blur of motion diving from the wall into the shadows of the forest.

Chaos erupted behind him.

“GET HIM!”

Footsteps hammered the dirt.

“Light him up!”

Crystals soared through the air—glowing shards that burst midflight into searing spheres of white light, flooding the woods with broken, flickering brightness.

“There! Fire!”

Bolts sliced through branches. Arrows shattered bark. Lightning ripped holes in the ground, sending showers of dirt and roots flying.

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Luke dove over a fallen log, rolled beneath a thornbush, then pivoted hard—slamming into a tangle of vines.

“You’re dead, kid!” the warrior roared behind him. “This is OUR territory!”

Luke didn’t answer. His mind was already three steps ahead.

Detection arrows flew through the trees, trailing green sigils—probing the dark, scanning for movement.

The glow of tracking crystals bounced through the woods, casting fractured light across slick bark and twisted roots.

Every breath was a risk. Every footstep a calculation.

He had seconds. Maybe less.

Then came the low rumble. Not magic. A storm.

The first drops whispered through the canopy. Gentle. Deceptive. Then a hiss. Then a wall of water— a downpour so dense it drowned sound, blurred sight, and devoured footsteps.

A sharp crack split the dark.

“There!” an archer barked.

Arrows tore through the rain—silent streaks of death.

But they weren’t alone.

Knives erupted from the shadows—sleek, spinning, multiplying midair like reflections in broken glass.

“Shit!” a crossbowman screamed as steel punched through his hand.

The forest dissolved into chaos—wet leaves, broken branches, scattered light, and the relentless pulse of rain masking everything.

The lead warrior didn’t flinch. His fingers spun the axe lazily. “Come on out, little kitten,” he called, voice dripping with arrogance. “Let’s see those claws.”