Cain vaulted up the cliff, his body moving on pure survival instinct — yet even as he climbed, he couldn't stop himself from looking back.
A bitter taste rose in his mouth.
He wanted to fight. Wanted to turn, to retaliate, to claw something back.
But reality slammed harder than any blow.
He was only an apprentice-stage magician — the lowest class.
Cain grit his teeth and flicked his terminal open mid-climb, the transparent menu flashing to life against the gray mist of his stealth spell. His fingers danced across menu's and then an idea struck him hard.
There it was — friends list.
'Let's me do it then.'
Dozens of names, dozens of company offering discounted prices, friendships tested with cash and benefits.
For a flickering second, Cain wondered — should I really go for broke.
Movement below caught his eye. Cain's gut twisted. He hadn't expected it.
From the disassembling alloy and cracking stone — a smaller golemite suddenly popped out.
Almost like a man.
The golemite's sensing crystal buzzed faintly, catching the residual magicule strands it had become too familiar with.
It followed the path without hesitation, clinging to the traces Cain had unknowingly left behind.
Ragta stood on the broken field, watching. He didn't chase. He didn't sprint. He didn't rage.
He simply walked.
Slow, deliberate.
He knew what he was seeing — the golemite, clawing up the cliff face like a child running to its master.
It wasn't climbing to escape. It was climbing to follow.
And Ragta knew exactly who it was chasing.
The little human rat who thought he could outmaneuver giants.
The golemite reached him, battered frame scraping the earth, moving low, almost reverently.
It crouched near Cain like a loyal hound waiting for its master's next command.
Cain didn't look at it. He couldn't.
Seeing it mirror him — even the small nuances of his stance, even the shape of his face — there was something deeply wrong about it.
Something he didn't have the strength or will to address right now.
He kept his gaze ahead, voice low and firm.
"La..."
The golemite watched carefully and mimicked, folding itself into the rubble like a boulder.
But Ragta.
Ragta didn't hesitate.
The giant leapt high into the broken sky, cutting a towering figure against the shattered mist.
Prana flowed under his feet, crystallizing into footholds midair, each step an act of divine judgment.
For a moment, Ragta was a deity.
Looking down on ants.
"Sakalam pala oyak, ota!"
"You were strong, human!"
He said in his native tongue — calm, final.
No more speeches nor drawn-out warnings — only execution.
He raised his colossal scythe high above his head, prana wreathing the blade in earthy burning lines of power.
Then swung.
Cain didn't run, instead, he screamed into the mist.
"Fire now!"
There was a split-second of silence — the air screeched like nails on chalk.
A whistling shot, so fast it tore the sound barrier apart in a ripping thunderclap, hurtled toward them.
From the Borderwall, a forgotten ballista — an ordinary carbon steel bolt, nothing magical, nothing fancy, nothing sleek.
Just raw mass and speed.
Mach 10.
The bolt tore across the battlefield like the wrath of a dying god.
It collided mid-swing — shattering against Ragta's scythe, splintering into dozens of shards with devastating force.
The explosion of impact wasn't fire or magic, it was sheer physics.
The twenty-meter giant's body was ripped through — pierced from all sides, embedded with broken fragments of the carbon steel shaft.
Ragta stumbled, arms slackening, blood spraying across the battlefield.
Cain didn't cheer. He didn't even breathe. He moved.
Dragging his battered body forward, he checked Ragta's twitching frame — just to be sure.
His eyes confirmed, the giant was still smoldering, the injuries were nothing severe that their regenerative bodies couldn't handle quickly.
Not dead, not even crippled — still good enough.
[Assist Confirmed]
[Billed Total: 10 Gold 99 Silver]
[Thank you for your purchase!]
Cain turned to the golemite, barely holding himself upright, and climbed onto its battered back.
He pointed into the huge wall on horizon — toward the direction of safety, toward survival.
The golemite followed, trudging forward without question.
Cain slumped against its frame, too exhausted to savor the moment.
Three cores heavy in his backpack.
Not a full victory, but enough — small, bitter consolation in his heart.
Cain leaned back against the golemite's rough, crude alloy frame, letting it carry him forward like an exhausted older brother hauling a stubborn sibling.
The thing still had bombs embedded in its body, too — hidden charges ticking quietly beneath the steel.
The radiant core, half-exposed, pulsed faintly against his chest like a heart hoping for a brighter tomorrow.
Cain knew the truth. Golemites weren't trophies — they were burdens.
Keeping one alive was easy.
But feeding it and expecting anything in return — you'd have better luck believing pigs could fly.
Only a few people in recorded history had managed it.
Even then, having it gives you status — that's it.
But none of those records or even other titans Arthur had fought — ever mentioned shrinking.
Their goal was always to grow larger, not smaller. Cain's fingers tightened unconsciously against the rough metal.
His mind, despite himself, drifted.
He remembered the old xianxia novels his grandfather used to confiscate — those bright, naive books full of destined heroes and infinite luck.
Arthur had always said they rotted a man's sense of reality. Made them too hopeful.
'The real world eats men who wait for miracles, grinding them to nothing.'
Cain almost smiled at the memory.
Almost.
He was about to let his mind wander further, slipping into exhausted daydreams, when the golemite abruptly stopped.
It turned its head — no words, no sound but it looked at him.
'Is it asking me which way?'
Cain blinked, clearing the fog from his mind.
He pointed east — toward the longer path, the broken ridge that circled the cliffs.
"Taking the long way, huh."
His grandfather's voice echoed in his head again.
Rough, gruff, and secretive as if he didn't want to be heard.
'Got a friend out that way. Might even sell you some decent scrap without gouging your guts out.'
"Grandpa, that guy better not be a cheapskate like you."
Cain smirked faintly, bitter and amused.