"M... Mage?!"
The blue-haired man, who had intended to stop his companion, watched as the fan-shaped Black Flames burned a living person into charcoal. Even with the mask covering his face, his raspy voice betrayed his endless terror.
As for Durin, his right hand clutched the wound on his abdomen while his left hand trembled uncontrollably. He bent over, gasping for air in large gulps.
"Ha... ha..."
His gaze was fierce, fixed intently on the blue-haired man. In reality, the excruciating pain radiating from his abdomen, back, and left arm made it nearly impossible for him to stand. However, the blue-haired man seemed to have been scared out of his wits by Durin's ferocious black flames. He didn't care about Durin's current state at all, turning and fleeing madly into the distance without even looking back.
Tap tap! Tap tap!
The blue-haired man stepped through the puddles and vanished into the rainy night almost instantly.
"Ugh..."
Watching the retreating back of the blue-haired man, Durin froze for a moment. Only then did his tense muscles slowly relax, and the metallic, decaying scent filling his nostrils gradually dissipated along with the magic.
He felt as if more than half the energy in his body had been drained away all at once. Durin could no longer hold on; he collapsed toward the ground, his hands desperately propping himself up to keep from falling into the sewage-filled puddles.
His chest heaved violently as he gasped for breath. He felt his head spinning, and his vision became a blurred, hallucinatory haze.
The miserable screams of the outlaw with the Mantis Blades before his death had clearly attracted passersby from the surrounding streets. A man emerged inquisitively from a distant corner of the street, only to see the charred corpse being washed by the rain.
The passerby fled in panic, shouting, "Murder... there's been a murder! Where is the patrol? Someone come quickly, help!"
The residents living on the surrounding streets didn't dare come out, much less poke their heads out, for fear of bringing trouble to their own doorsteps.
Durin ignored them and looked down at his left arm. He had clearly released a burst of extremely high-temperature flames just now, yet his palm showed no signs of being charred or burned. Instead, a faint trace of violent magical aura still lingered on the surface.
How... how did I cast that fire magic?
No, now is not the time to think about that.
I have to leave this place first and then treat my wounds.
Thinking this, Durin gritted his teeth and first picked up the Mace and the battered small shield from the ground, placing them at his waist and back. Then, he staggered over to the charred corpse, knelt on one knee, and with a ruthless look in his eyes, raised the Mace to strike at the joints of the unmelted Mantis Blades.
This thing clearly wasn't cheap. It hadn't been destroyed by the black flames; the blades had only turned black, so the material was definitely unusual. Since he had been stabbed, he had to take this as his trophy no matter what.
As for any money on the outlaw, that was unlikely. The body was burned to such an extent that any metal coins had probably melted into a puddle of molten iron.
Clang!
Clang!
On the third strike, the Mantis Blade, its surface blackened by the fire, completely detached from the mechanical prosthetic. Blackened bolts and nuts fell to the ground along with it.
Durin stopped and took a short rest. The movement just now had pulled at the puncture wound in his abdomen.
At that moment, a series of hurried footsteps came from the street corner, along with voices that grew clearer as they approached: "Quick! Move faster!" "Bastards, don't let the criminal escape!" "There are always those who aren't afraid of death and dare to break the rules set by the Barons!"
Durin's expression changed instantly. The passerby must have called the patrol over. He hurriedly stuffed the Mantis Blade and the Darkin Harp into his leather backpack.
Even though there was a large hole in the backpack, causing a section of the Mantis Blade to stick out, Durin couldn't worry about that now.
Although he was the one who had been mugged, he was carrying many secrets. If he were taken away by the patrol, things would become very troublesome.
He forced himself to stand up, struggled to put the heavy backpack on his shoulders, and stumbled away from the scene.
Durin splashed through the rainwater, crossed the intersection, and entered a small alley undergoing renovation. Only after confirming that no one was following did he lean against a nearby building's iron scaffolding, gasping for air to keep from collapsing.
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