The first thing Joel did was reload his pistols. The metallic click of the magazine fitting into the Luger was lost in the deafening roar of the alarm as he moved along the walls, seeking cover in the shadows of the castle itself. Fortunately, the inner structures offered him a perfect labyrinth to hide and plan his next move.

  He was silently grateful that the constant noise drowned out the echo of his footsteps. Thus, he was able to advance undetected to the inner residence, which he entered through one of its open windows. He wasn't going to stay in the front gardens, exposed as an easy target for the mages. He played his game best when he forced his enemies to fight up close… really close.

  As soon as he set foot inside, he continued moving, trying to avoid any place that seemed dangerous, until he peeked down a hallway and found himself facing a large gathering of men inside a large, chandelier-lit room.

  Ten guards were huddled together hastily, their voices tense and apparently arguing. From the corner of the hallway, Joel watched them for a few seconds, immediately understanding that he couldn't let any more guards gather together, as it would diminish his chances of survival.

  Without hesitation, he pulled two grenades from his clothes. His fingers worked quickly, releasing the safety pins with a sharp click. A deep breath, a moment of calculation… and he released both levers.

  The grenades flew in perfect trajectories, landing over the guards' heads. The double explosion shook the air, bathing the room in a cloud of smoke and metal fragments.

  Some of the guards caught a glimpse of the metallic flash of the grenades before they detonated, but none seemed to fully understand what was coming. The blast engulfed them in a thunderous roar: most of the guards were disoriented and staggering, some with their ears bleeding. One of them, too close to the blast, fell to his knees screaming, shrapnel embedded in his eyes.

  Joel gave no respite and emerged from the cloud of smoke like a sharp shadow, wielding his sword without activating his magic, relying only on the cold edge and the strength of his arms. The slashes were swift, precise, and brutal, finishing off each of the men with a single blow. A spectacle no one could stop.

  Then, a distinct sound rose as the last guard fell dead: screams. From an adjoining room, a group of women and children burst into the living room, their faces frozen in horror as they saw the dismembered bodies of the guards and the man who had killed them without hesitation.

  They immediately retreated, fleeing toward the stairs leading to the second floor.

  But they weren't alone. A towering mage emerged behind them, advancing with a firm stride and icy gaze. His robes billowed with each step, and a black staff he carried seemed to absorb the light from the chandeliers. He reassured the civilians with a gesture and, without taking his eyes off Joel, stood in front of the stairs.

  "You'll never get past this… you damned murderer," the man said, his voice deep.

  Joel knew instantly that this was no ordinary opponent. The mage's robes, reinforced with light plate stitching, were meant to withstand real combat, not ceremony. The staff he carried, a metallic cylinder adorned with runes and topped with a fist-sized blue gem, pulsed with a magical pulse that could be felt in the air.

  Without warning, Joel swung his sword in a sweeping arc, producing a massive arc of energy that ultimately struck in front of the mage's feet, shattering the floor and raising a cloud of dust and debris. Almost at the same time, his free hand drew his Luger, each shot echoing through the room as the bullets spun into the dust screen.

  But the plan failed. The mage's silhouette remained intact, protected by a barrier of translucent ice. The bullets embedded themselves or ricocheted as if striking steel. Then, with a sharp gesture from the man, the barrier exploded outward, releasing a storm of icy shards that flew like blades.

  Joel moved and dodged as much as he could; he intercepted the largest pieces with his sword, deflecting sparks of ice that scraped the air. Even so, several fragments pierced his defense, slicing through fabric and skin, leaving red lines on his arms and sides.

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  The wizard gave Joel no respite. He raised his staff, and a liquid roar filled the hall: a jet of water, so compact it resembled a living spear, shot out with brutal force. Joel threw himself to the side, and the pressure of the attack shattered the floor, tore out columns, and tore through two walls like paper, escaping outside until it impacted, still with force, against the perimeter walls of the castle.

  The air filled with fog and dust, and Joel, crouching among the remains of a shattered table, felt this was a battle he wasn't sure he could win.

  But he didn't waste a second pondering. He overexerted his body to the maximum and became a blur, leaping over broken tables and bouncing off walls to avoid the jets of water. The wizard followed with lethal precision, raising ice shields that exploded in a cloud of icy splinters every time Joel tried to rush forward. Each arrest was an explosion, each fragment, another wound on his skin.

  Joel realized that continuing like this would only wear him down, so he stepped back, hitting the ground with several energy arcs, which ended up creating another cloud of dust. This allowed him to cross a hallway to another room, allowing him to breathe for a moment.

  "This isn't working," he thought, pulling a grenade from his clothes. "Time to get a little more creative."

  He held the grenade in his left hand, the safety pin already removed and the safety lever pressed beneath his fingers. His breathing became deep and controlled. He knew that if that magician received reinforcements, he would be finished, so he decided to make one last attempt to confront him. This time with a better plan.

  Joel propelled himself with all his speed, crossing the threshold of the room like lightning. The dust was still floating, and the mage didn't seem to expect him to return so soon, as his posture was relaxed. Only when he saw him appear did he react and engage in combat again.

  Still moving, Joel unleashed a burst of energy arcs with his sword, which were again blocked by a solid, perfect ice shield. The mage, confident in his defense, didn't notice the small spherical object that, amid the dust and the flash of attacks, slowly flew over his position. And after the shield exploded again in a shower of ice fragments, the grenade Joel had thrown descended upon the mage, impacting and bouncing off his forehead.

  The impact barely gave the mage time to frown before the explosion engulfed him, blinding him instantly. The man screamed in pain, dropping the staff and bringing his hands to his face. His eyes were reduced to empty, bleeding sockets, and his face was riddled with shrapnel embedded in his skin. Then, dazed and unable to perceive anything, he didn't see the figure rushing toward him.

  Joel's sword pierced the mage's throat with a clean, brutal thrust, severing his cervical spine, leaving his body completely paralyzed. The man remained suspended in the air for a few seconds, convulsing, his mouth trying to breathe air he could no longer reach. A tragic fate that lasted until Joel removed the sword and let the lifeless body fall.

  Joel, his body burning from the extreme exertion, couldn't help but feel a strange satisfaction. It was a deep echo, a reflection forged in all those battles of the lives he had dreamed of as a warrior. Blood and death felt as natural to him as eating or breathing. However, the delight immediately dissipated when he heard hurried footsteps from one of the hallways. Wasting no time, he forced himself to move again, heading for the second floor.

  This time, he ran into all sorts of people who were clearly not mages: servants and castle residents who ran aimlessly whenever they crossed paths with him. When it came to wizards or warriors, Joel could be brutal, bloodthirsty, and merciless. But when faced with women, children, or civilians with no intention of fighting, he would never consider deliberately harming them.

  Through one of the windows, he could see the castle's magical shield vibrating with a multitude of colors: a sure sign that the cult leaders were on the offensive. It was only a matter of time before their rescue arrived.

  Joel continued through the second-floor corridors, encountering a few defenders, most of them low-level. In those cases, a bullet to the eye was the most efficient way to save his precious energy. Only rarely did he have to resort to his sword.

  He began to suspect something strange was going on: the total lack of organization was all too evident, as if no one really knew what to do and everyone was left to their own devices.

  “Maybe the one with the staff… or that high-level mage at the entrance were the real leaders of the place,” he thought.

  As he reached the end of the main hallway, he found a staircase leading to the upper floor. At the top, a female mage stood guard. For some reason, Joel felt no threat. She didn't seem to be high level; she was barely standing, trembling with fear as she gripped a small golden staff with all her strength.

  The sight of Joel—covered from head to toe in blood, his clothes scorched and torn in multiple places—made him look like the very incarnation of a demon sprung from the bowels of hell.

  "Who are you... murderer?" The woman's voice trembled, but she tried to hold the staff steady. "What did we do to deserve this?"

  Sweat beaded his forehead, his eyes wide, a mixture of fear and rage.

  Joel tried to think back... and he couldn't recall ever killing a woman, at least not directly. He wondered if it really made sense to start right now.

  The woman seemed to gather the courage to say something else, but she didn't get the chance, as Joel moved too quickly. A blink of an eye, and he was in front of her. With a swipe, the golden staff flew away, clinking as it hit the stairs. With his other hand, he grabbed her by the neck, barely lifting her off the ground.

  She tried to defend herself with desperate fury, striking out with her fists and throwing kicks that barely grazed his torso. Panic was evident in every erratic movement. Joel watched her silently, without a hint of emotion on his face. All he had to do was squeeze a little harder for her to gasp for air, and her resistance was extinguished like a flame in the rain.

  "I need to find someone... I could really use your help," he said calmly.