Victor was thoroughly amused as he watched this unfold. The sight of players plummeting from the sky with a mix of excitement and terror was quite the spectacle. They’d all volunteered for this, and yet some appeared to regret their choice mid-fall.

  Naturally, he would be going down as well, but unlike the players, who were fully reliant on their parachutes, Victor had no such need. As a Magus, he could fly down effortlessly while manipulating the wind and elemental forces to his will. Still, he had to admit, he was surprised that Thunder, the player who had uploaded his consciousness into the game, jumped without hesitation. Unlike the others, he lacked the safety net of a convenient resurrection. If he died, that was it for him. Only high-rank Magi had contingency plans to cheat death.

  Then again, even without a parachute, the acolytes had a chance at survival. By precisely manipulating elemental particles in the right way, at the right time, they could potentially slow their descent enough to avoid death. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was better than nothing.

  Shaking the thought aside, Victor refocused and leaped into the sky, the wind howling in his ears as he plummeted toward the earth. Air whipped past his face as he let gravity pull him down faster and faster.

  Nearby, some of the players had already begun activating their parachutes. He noted with satisfaction that none of them seemed to have forgotten his earlier instructions. While it would have been amusing to see one or two panic and crash-land, he couldn’t take this operation as a joke.

  Once every parachute deployed, Victor slowed his own fall, effortlessly controlling the air currents around him to glide with precision. From this higher vantage point, he began monitoring the situation below. Despite the group of slavers seeming like easy prey, he never allowed himself to underestimate a foe. They could have a Magus lurking nearby for all he knew.

  Brown had once served as the loyal butler and covert assassin of House Brightmoon, but now he found himself reduced to a slave. It had all unraveled quickly after the estate was attacked by a powerful Magus family, supposedly to avenge the death of one of their heirs within Brightmoon lands. Nearly every family member was captured and executed in a brutal display just half a month ago, and the servants and guards fared no better—most were taken prisoner or killed in the assault. Even his wife and two sons were slaughtered mercilessly.

  Despite the chaos, Brown, with his extraordinary covert expertise, had managed to flee with the young lady of the house and a few surviving guards, seeking refuge in a neighboring territory. Unfortunately, those hateful Merlins had anticipated their move, sending a Magus to track them down. Even with his skill in concealing trails and creating diversions, they were soon captured and turned into slaves.

  At the very least, the little miss was able to escape… Alone… Into the wilderness.

  Brown was deeply worried, especially since the little miss had been plagued by an unknown curse since birth, but he was bound in chains, trudging along an unknown path. Among the captives were a few remaining Brightmoon guards and villagers who had been kidnapped from nearby settlements and villages.

  Slavery may have been outlawed in the Brightmoon Viscounty, but there wasn’t much enforcement of it. Desperate times often led poor families to sell their own children to reduce the mouths to feed, especially with winter being just a season away.

  Still, Brown couldn’t bring himself to turn a blind eye to the slavers’ vile actions. No matter the circumstances, this land was his home, and he had devoted his life to serving it.

  “I heard there’s one more village farther west, called Thornwood,” one of the slavers said with a sneer. “Should be plenty of young men and women ripe for the taking over there.”

  Unable to hold his tongue, Brown snapped, “Take us if you must, but release these people! The viscounty has outlawed slavery, and you’ll face capital punishment for this.”

  The slaver hawked a glob of spit toward him, accompanied by a mocking laugh. “Hah! As if that matters. The viscount’s dead; the whole territory’s in chaos! Who’s going to stop us from taking what we want in this backwater? Plenty of nobles and merchants will pay a fortune for fresh bodies like these. If we can catch the eyes of those esteemed Magi, it’s even better.”

  Brown gritted his teeth, knowing he was powerless to do anything about this. “Might makes right,” they said, and in times like these, it rang painfully true. The chains binding him were capable of restricting the power of Ki-Warriors, and he was extremely weakened after being starved for days.

  “What’s going on here?” A greasy, overweight man in garish, over-the-top attire swaggered toward the group. His beady eyes glinted with arrogance.

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  As soon as Brown spotted him, his anger boiled over. “Oleg! You’ve thrown in with these scum? After all the viscount did for you? Have you no shame?”

  Oleg had served as the warden of the Brightmoon Viscounty—a man well-acquainted with the underworld. He was responsible for handling criminals and prisoners, but his shady dealings had long been a source of suspicion. The viscount had kept a wary eye on him, but Oleg’s operations were so secretive and meticulous that finding grounds to oust him had proved difficult, even with his investigations.

  The former warden smiled repulsively. “Oh, look who it is, the viscount’s loyal mutt. So what if I’ve switched sides? Out here, I do whatever I want. I’m the king now.”

  “You ungrateful bast—!”

  “Watch your mouth!” Oleg snapped, his hand flying across Brown’s face with a hard slap, sending him crashing to the ground. “Say one more word, and I’ll kill you where you stand!” He spat on Brown, punctuating the insult with a vicious kick to his face.

  Brown tasted blood, but the pain couldn’t compare to the frustration that came from witnessing the viscount’s legacy crumble before his very eyes. Murderous intent filled his heart, but as a seasoned assassin, he buried it down.

  Oleg leered at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some ‘disciplining’ to do with those young captives. Hue-hue-hue.” His laughter was low and vile as he walked off, leaving Brown seething with helpless rage.

  Just as he stepped into his tent, a strange shimmer flickered in the sky, drawing the attention of the slavers scattered around the camp. Some were tending the campfires, while others kept watch over the chained captives. One of the guards, squinting up at the sky, muttered, “What in the hell…?”

  A nearby slaver, gnawing on a piece of jerky, glanced up. “Birds? Or... something?”

  “No. Too big for birds.”

  Without warning, the sky seemed to open, and figures began descending rapidly from the clouds, each strapped into a strange contraption that gleamed in the sunlight. For a moment, the entire camp stood frozen in disbelief.

  “Are they… flying?” one of the slavers whispered, his voice wavering with the first flickers of panic.

  “They’re coming straight for us!” another shouted, dropping his weapon as he stumbled backward, eyes wide with fear.

  Panic rippled through the camp. More of the mysterious figures continued to plummet from the heavens, hurtling toward them with frightening velocity.

  “By the spirits, what are they?” growled the leader, stepping forward, his face twisted in disbelief as he strained to get a better look at the approaching force. Fear clung to his words, though he tried to mask it with anger.

  Brown strained to peer upward, his chains clinking as he craned his neck to see the figures descending from the sky. As they drew closer, he realized they were robed and armed—mages, preparing for battle. His heart leaped. Hope surged within him as he watched a fireball streak through the air, slamming into the camp and setting nearby tents ablaze.

  One of the slavers gasped in terror. “Mages! We’re under attack!”

  The realization hit them like a thunderclap. These slavers were no seasoned soldiers, and the guards were undisciplined mercenaries. Panic spread instantly. Some scrambled for weapons while others fled toward the trees, abandoning all sense of strategy as magic spells rained down.

  “We’re doomed! We’re doomed!” one of the slavers shouted, his voice cracking with fear.

  The first mage landed with a heavy thud, weapon drawn, and a manic grin on his face. “Boom! Stuck the landing, baby!” he bellowed. “You evildoers are about to taste my blade!”

  The slaver leader’s face twisted with disbelief. “No, this can’t be happening! Fight back! Fight—”

  He was silenced as a bolt of lightning struck him down. Chaos then ensued as these crazy mages descended in full force, like divine retribution from the heavens. The slavers had no idea what they were up against, and at that moment, fear like no other overtook them all.

  But for Brown, it was different. He watched the chaos unfold with a newfound sense of hope. It was as if heaven had answered his unspoken prayers.

  As soon as his feet touched the ground, Sean sprang into action. He quickly shrugged off his backpack, letting the parachute crumple to the ground behind him. Without a second glance, he gripped his obsidian magic staff firmly as he prepared to cast a spell. Adrenaline flooded his heart and mind. This must be how those Avengers felt in the movies when they dropped into battle, all eyes on them—heroes in the spotlight.

  Before he could fully savor the moment, a loud, exuberant shout rang out across the battlefield: “Prominence Skyfall squad, let’s wreck ‘em!”

  “Ooh!”

  Sean couldn’t help rolling his eyes, but the shout clearly resonated with a few. Zero, having just landed beside him and discarded his parachute, raised an eyebrow. “Skyfall squad, really?” he asked, unimpressed. “And why does it have your username?”

  Prominence grinned, unbothered by the critique. “Well, if you can think of something better, then be my guest.”

  Zero sighed. “For now, let’s get loose!”

  Ignoring the banter behind him, he murmured the incantation for {Shadowy Grasp}, summoning a writhing tendril of darkness from the earth. It coiled around a nearby slaver, pulling him to the ground with a yelp.

  As if on cue, every player sprang into action, casting spells and charging forward with relentless determination. They weren’t just fighting slavers—to them, these enemies were nothing more than walking experience points and loot drops. The camp was crawling with targets, and each player was eager to outdo the others, vying for the most kills and the best spoils. Sean, naturally, wasn’t about to let anyone else steal the show.

  Then, amidst the chaos, a loud, desperate scream echoed from one of the larger tents. “Aah! Get away from me! How dare you do this to me!”

  Everyone’s head whipped around, and without a second thought, every player made a mad dash toward the sound. Surely, that was the leader of this slaving operation. The final blow was for the fastest one among them!

  Sean was among the first to reach the scene and found a gaudy, greasy-looking, overweight, middle-aged man wriggling helplessly on the ground. The man’s fine clothes were now stained with dirt as he thrashed about, pinned down by none other than a large crimson woman—Butterfly. Her knee was pressed firmly into his back, and she grinned as she held him in place.

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