? The Judge and the Healer ?
Alex rushed toward Mira without hesitation, heart pounding.
“Mira!”
The name tore through the rain.
Zack froze.
For a moment, nothing existed but that voice. His head tilted, shoulders tightening.
Slowly—so slowly—he began to turn.
His eyes searched, narrowing, scanning, until they landed on him.
Alex.
His target this whole time.
His whole body quivered. The fury in him didn’t burst.
It simmered, boiling up inch by inch until his face twisted into something unrecognizable.
“ALL YOUR FAULT, ALL OF IT!”
The roar ripped out of him, shredding his throat, cutting straight through the night air.
Alex felt it in his chest, a shock like ice water down his spine.
And then Zack moved. A lunge, knife flashing, rain trailing off the blade like silver fire.
Alex staggered back, desperate to track it, desperate to see—but the strike was already there.
His arm came up too late, and searing pain exploded as steel carved across his palm.
Blood burst, warm and bright, dripping down his wrist.
He gasped. Zack didn’t stop.
There was no grin, no madness—only raw torment, grief twisted into rage.
Dante froze. He’d fought Zack once before, enough to know his strength and his thrive for violence, but this —
this wasn’t the same boy.
His boots stayed rooted to the ground. His muscles locked, refusing him.
He tried to step forward, to stand at Alex’s side. His jaw ached from grinding his teeth, the words hammering in his skull—Move, damn it. Move!—but his body wouldn’t obey.
Lino's gaze drifted back and fourth between a bleeding a friend and an exploding one, unable to act under the fear and the pressure.
Alex took his distance, regrouped to breath.
He froze for a heartbeat at the sight of the beast in front of him.
"Because of me… Alex’s chest clenched. I pushed him here. My words earlier are the reason."
"No—"
He realized.
Alex’s pulse roared. His face hardened, feet shifting loose beneath him. Later I can regret. Later I can feel guilty.
Right now—only one truth mattered:
"One slip, one misstep, and... it will all be over!"
"I won't make it home!"
"No hike with Father through the woods, no quiet breakfast with Mother."
"No morning sun over the fields. All of it—gone."
And then—Mira. Someone he respected deeply. And Zack had done the unthinkable to her.
"If I run, he may keep going for someone else !"
"Stop him here! Before more people get hurt!"
Zack charged again.
Alex relaxed his body, fully focused, trying to read the swing arc and ready to move.
Rage and fire against resolve and stone.
One boy tearing himself apart to kill.
The other clinging to the hope of seeing home again one day.
The young constable was still watching the brawl from a distance under the rain.
“Lots of the kids down already… even that red hair girl,” he muttered, eyes tracing the chaos.
“The angry lad bumped into her. They talked for a bit, then she was on the ground. Must have knocked her out and I missed it.” He paused, chewing his lip.
“But… doesn’t matter. It’ll end soon, like the other two said. Maybe I should join them for lunch.”
“Sir! Help!”
The cry came from the chaos. Pinch came running, splashing through puddles, desperate.
“Oh… hello—” the constable began.
“Mira— my friend got stabbed! Help!”
His heart sank. What? He bolted forward, boots slipping on the wet cobbles. Thoughts raced: "I didn’t see it from here… the distance, the rain, the chaos…"
"Is it the girl?"
Then he sees it clearer now as he closes the distance: Zack swinging the knife at Alex, who is barely dodging.
"We should have stopped this from the start!"
He raised the whistle to his lips and blew hard, shrill notes piercing the tumult.
But few paid heed—some lay on the ground, others still swinging fists, none looking to the man for aid.
The children had been left to fight entirely on their own from the start.
“Let go of the knife, now!” he barked, shoving himself between Zack and Alex, voice firm despite the tremor.
Zack barely spared him a glance, stepping past as if the man weren’t there.
The constable lunged, crouching slightly, reaching for the boy—trying to catch him, to pin him down.
At the slightest graze of his coat —
Zack’s body snapped.
A low, furious roar ripped from him, and his arm swung with all the force of his blinding rage, slicing through the constable’s cheek.
Blood spattered, eyes widening in shock.
Alex’s mind snapped.
He saw the opening and drove a fist hard into Zack’s temple, sending the boy falling to the ground.
Dante’s fear surged, then stiffened into resolve. Teeth biting his lip, he charged,
"He is down! A chance!”
The knife wobbled loose. Both Alex and Dante lunged, hands snapping toward it.
“The knife! We have to disarm him!” Alex barked.
“Yeah!” Dante echoed, teeth clenched.
Zack clutched the blade like a lifeline, curling around it as Dante stomped his back and Alex rained kicks along his sides.
Rain and mud plastered hair, faces, and fists; every strike and shove was survival, not mercy.
The fury in Zack only grew with each strike.
The kid shot upright, wild-eyed, forcing Alex and Dante to recoil, hearts hammering.
“Nothing is stopping him!” Dante screamed.
“What are you trying to do? Mira—she’s bleeding! We have to help her, Zack!” Alex shouted.
The constable gritted his teeth, charging again, boots thudding on the wet cobbles.
But someone was faster than him—
A smaller frame ran past the man.
Zack pivoted, pupils dilating as his head snapped toward the sound.
Leo.
No guard, no practiced stance—His calm had slipped away, replaced by a raw urgency.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
His chest heaved, eyes full of focus, tracking every twitch in Zack's movements.
For a single heartbeat, the fire in Zack’s eyes softened, fading like embers under a gentle wind.
A small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips betrayed a fleeting relief—seeing his childhood friend, brought his soul back.
Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, glinting in the rain.
His mouth opened, but no words came—just a sharp intake of breath.
"I thought I hated the idea of just seeing you again…," Zack thought.
"I was wrong."
"Still—"
"There is no coming back."
"Even you won't forgive me."
The knife swung.
Fast.
Straight for Leo’s face.
Rain streaked across Leo’s vision, droplets hanging midair as the blade arced toward him.
The world narrowed—just Zack, the knife, the moment.
Leo’s heart pounded. He lunged forward, every instinct screaming.
Having ducked just in time, planting his left feet with all his weight on Zack’s side, he shifted and launched a right hand with all the power he could muster.
His fist connected with Zack’s face— the collision ringing through the air like a snapped wire.
The impact tore through Zack.
His body spun violently, legs thrashing upward, arms flailing as if trying to grasp the air.
His head slammed into the cobbles, mud and rain spraying outward.
Everyone watched, stunned.
Alex stared, breath caught in his throat at the sheer decisiveness of the move.
"He... did not hesitate."
Dante’s mouth hung open, unable to process it.
Leo didn't stop running. He dashed towards Mira, still laying on the ground with Lino by her side, along with Tonno and Noor following close behind him.
The small Pinch caught up as well, crying at the sight of his friend unmoving.
The constable's hands shook as he darted forward, finally snatching the fallen weapon.
The Red Corner kids gawked.
“Did Zack just… flip midair?”
“What was that?!”
“Hey—hey, is that a copper over there?!” one finally shouted.
“Run!”
They bolted. The constable lurched forward to chase—
“Sir! We need you here!” Alex’s voice cracked as he screamed, kneeling at Mira’s side.
The constable backed off, hesitation written all over his face, before rushing to Mira with the others.
The circle closed around her.
Around the girl, there were faces—concerned, steady, close.
She was not alone.
A few paces away, Zack lay face-down in the rain, motionless.
No one approached.
“Mira—Mira, stay with me,” Alex said, voice sharp, urgent.
Dante’s hands balled tight, the sight of Mira crumpled on the ground twisting something in his chest.
“No! Mira! Wake up!” Pinch’s cry cracked, desperate.
“W-What should we do? Any doctor around here?!” Lino’s voice shook.
Tonno stood frozen, lips parting but no words forming.
Leo’s face had gone pale at the sight of the blood.
“Sir, can you apply first aid?” Noor’s voice cut through, steady, directed at the constable.
He shook his head. “N-No… I’m trained for crowd control… petty theft…”
“Dante and you—” Alex, already moving, checking Mira’s pulse, nodded hard at Pinch—“get long poles. Anything sturdy!”
Stillness clung for a beat.
“Now!” Alex barked.
Lino started, “What do you need the po—”
“A stretcher!” Alex snapped. He bent low, rolling Mira gently onto her back, hands steady despite the rain. “We can’t shake her. I know a doctor nearby—we’ll take her there!”
Dante and Pinch jolted, scattering into the storm.
“No time for that, I can carry her.” The constable reached out with both arms.
Alex’s eyes flashed. “It’s not about speed—it’s about safety. If she’s jostled, the bleeding worsens. But if we don't find poles, we will have to risk carrying her without a stretcher.”
He exhaled in shaky relief—but the shame burned deeper.
“What can I do?” he asked at last, swallowing hard.
“Keep watch in case the other kids come back. Then help us get her to the doctor,” Alex answered firmly, never looking up from Mira.
Lino knelt stiffly, hands pressed too high on the wound, useless.
“You’re pressing wrong.” Alex eased him aside, voice calm but unyielding, and put firm pressure on the gash himself.
His eyes never left her pale face. “Keep her legs up. You—” he glanced at Leo—“hold them.”
Leo obeyed instantly, kneeling, lifting her ankles into his lap. His lips moved, just barely sound: “Mira... Please…”
Noor tore a strip from her skirt, holding it out. “Will this help?”
Alex nodded. “Yes—but I need water.”
She was gone before the last word left his lips. Moments later she was back, hands dripping, skirt soaked. Alex dampened the cloth, cleaned just enough of the blood to see, then tore his own shirt at the hem, layering the makeshift pads. He tied them firm against the wound.
“We got them!” Dante’s shout rang out as he and Pinch returned, poles clattering to the cobbles.
“Your jacket. And you—your uniform. Help me make the stretcher.” Alex ordered.
Tonno flinched but obeyed.
The man hesitated, then stripped his coat too.
Alex spread the fabric wide, knotting sleeves tight around the poles the constable's help.
A crude stretcher took shape.
“On three. Gentle.”
They lifted her together.
Mira groaned faintly, eyelids flickering, but did not wake.
Leo and Dante took the front, the constable the rear.
Alex walked at her side, hand pressed near the wound, eyes sharp. Behind them trailed Noor holding her violin case, Pinch sobbing, clutching the cap that had slipped from Mira’s head, holding it like treasure, and Lino, silent, rain dripping from their hair.
Alex bent low, brushing blood-matted strands from Mira’s brow. “Hang on,” he whispered. “We’ve got you.”
For a moment, the faintest twitch flickered in her brows—just enough to show she had heard.
Doctor Kranz sat alone in his clinic, reading a well-worn medical text by the warm glow of a gas lamp. Outside, the city stirred faintly, but inside the room, all was still. He sipped his tea, expecting his next patient much later.
The front door slammed open with a jarring crash.
Kranz jumped, nearly dropping his cup.
Alex burst in first, soaked in sweat and blood, gripping one end of the makeshift stretcher, followed by the rest of the kids and the constable.
On the stretcher, Mira lay limp. Her shirt was soaked through, blood glistening across her side and stomach. Her breath was shallow, lips pale.
“Doctor Kranz!” Alex shouted. “She’s been stabbed—low abdomen, maybe the liver—please!”
Kranz's tired eyes widened. The book hit the desk with a thud as he shot to his feet.
His composure cracked just for a heartbeat—but then his body moved with old speed.
“Maya!” he barked.
The young assistant was already halfway into the room, her apron clean, eyes going wide the moment she saw the blood. Her hand flew to her mouth.
Kranz was already beside the girl, assessing the wound.
“Prep the surgical table. Gauze, clamps, alcohol, stitching kit—now! And boil water!”
“Yes, Doctor!” Maya rushed off, nearly tripping on the doorframe in her haste.
Kranz’s hands hovered above the wound, not touching yet, but tracking the spread, the color, the sluggish pulse at Mira’s throat. His brow creased deeper.
He exhaled hard through his nose, jaw tightening. "Too deep. We’re lucky she’s still breathing.”
Behind him, the kids stood frozen—hope and fear braided tight on every face.
Kranz looked up sharply. “All of you—waiting room. Now.”
“Can I help ?” Alex started.
“You included,” Kranz snapped, already unbuttoning Mira’s ruined shirt to expose the wound cleanly. “She needs stillness. Silence. Let me work.”
His voice left no space for argument.
Alex nodded once, obedient. He backed away slowly, eyes on Mira the whole time.
The others followed—Pinch sniffing hard, Lino and Tonno pale, Noor wrapping her arms around herself as if cold.
Leo lingered a moment, eyes narrowing. He stepped back, teeth pressing into his lower lip.
And then the door shut behind them.
Inside, the clinic filled with the sharp scent of alcohol and boiling water. Kranz rolled up his sleeves.
“Hold fast, miss,” he murmured, reaching for the clamps. “They’re a headstrong bunch out there, waiting on you.”
The Wolves gang took seats in the waiting room.
Alex, Dante, and Noor caught their anxious glances.
Respecting the unspoken bond they had with Mira, the trio stepped outside.
The constable was already waiting, slouched against the wall, dabbing at the blood on his cheek with a crumpled handkerchief.
When he spotted them, he straightened and flicked his cigarette aside. “Well? What did the doctor say?”
Alex stepped forward, offering him a folded bandage. “Here, sir. Your cheek’s still bleeding.” His own hand was bound in a strip of cloth.
“Thank you.” The constable pressed it over the cut with a wince.
Behind Alex, Dante ducked his head, pulling his cap lower to shade his face.
Alex’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Doctor Kranz is at work on her… I just hope she makes it.”
Dante leaned closer, whispering, “We don’t want eyes on us, buddy. Especially coppers. Boss orders.”
“I don’t care about that now,” Alex replied, voice low enough only for Dante to hear.
Turning to the constable, he asked, “And your name, sir?”
“It’s… Daniel.”
“Thank you for your help,” Alex said, a weak smile tugging at his lips. “You came at the right time, bought me the distraction I needed to fight back, and helped carry Mira. We were lucky you were here.”
“Well…” Daniel hesitated.
“He was in the plaza the entire time.”
Noor’s voice cut through, calm and even, casual almost, as if noting weather rather than issuing a judgment
Alex’s brow furrowed; Dante flinched at her tone.
Daniel kept his gaze fixed on the cobbles.
Noor’s words came crisp, deliberate:
“Together with two others, observing from the outset, since those bullies gathered around me."
“You stayed. That’s more than I can say for the ones who got bored and left.”
"But even then… you did nothing to intervene.”
Daniel bristled, jaw tightening. “We thought it's just kids playing around. I wanted to intervene in the beginning...”
Her words cut across his, steady.
“A girl my age lies bleeding in the clinic. She stood up for us. And men charged with upholding justice, watched."
“Would you, Mr. Daniel, inquire of the gentlemen who slipped away—was the spectacle not to their liking?”
Daniel’s jaw tightened. He clenched his fists, eyes darkening, before exhaling slowly and turning away.
Alex opened his mouth to call after him, but stopped, hesitating.
“What can I even say?” Daniel said over his shoulder, voice low. “We were slacking. There is no excuse.”
"The dark-haired boy had stopped the fight." he thought. "Took control, decided how it would end, and the fight shifted completely under him."
He looked at Alex.
"This one was the first to step in for the girl playing music—he didn’t just fight. He tended to the other wounded girl, organized a stretcher, gave instructions… kept her alive"
He swallowed.
"The kids... did everything."
"And me? Us? What did we do?"
His hand hovered over the badge at his chest. A hollow laugh escaped him.
“I didn’t apprehend anyone. If I file this, all it means is you’ll be dragged in, questioned, branded troublemakers. I know who the guilty ones are, and it isn’t you.”
Daniel glanced once at the group, then walked off into the rain.
"I hope the girl survives."
Alex watched him go, then started back toward the clinic, restless, boots splashing lightly in the puddles.
"Doctor… we’re all counting on you."
Ascension Of The Throne[LitRPG/GunSlinger]
Edric Veyra's new reality. He only wants to survive, but trouble knocks like it's DoorDash. He soon realizes he is the fallen heir of House Veyra—once the pillars of the nation, now nothing more than a story.
System. Before he can mourn his luck, he is bombarded by cryptic memories and a weapon magically appears from thin air: a flintlock gun engraved with runes that shoots magic bullets.
"Why did House Veyra fall?"
WHAT TO EXPECT:
- ?? Weak to Strong:
- ?? 'Lite' LitRPG System w/ Minimal Stats
- ?? Emphasis on Party Dynamics (No Harem)
- ?? 1500+ words/chapter & Smooth pacing