The rifle’s crack echoed through the valley, followed by another, then another. Bullets streaked across the clearing, but none ever reached Berry.
They shattered midair, clattering to the ground uselessly just a few feet in front of him.
The intruders cursed under their breath, confusion flashing across their faces. To them, it must have looked like the air itself was betraying their weapons. But Berry knew better.
He let out a small sigh of relief, whispering more to himself than anyone else.
"Good thing Lucian’s always paranoid..."
Above him, tiny wings shimmered like fragments of starlight in the false daylight of the valley.
Dozens of fairies hovered in the air, their little hands pressed together, their magic knitting an invisible barrier around Berry.
It flickered for only a moment—like a thin ripple across glass—before disappearing again.
Berry adjusted his stance, staring at the group before him. Their leader stood tall at the front, gun still raised, her fiery eyes refusing to waver.
Her men glanced nervously at one another, clearly realizing something wasn’t right, but none dared lower their weapons.
He raised his voice, calm but carrying weight.
"I’ll ask one last time. Will you stop attacking and walk away peacefully?"
The woman let out a humorless laugh, the sound sharp in the quiet clearing.
"Peacefully? You think we trekked through hell just to turn back because some brat asked nicely? For the sake of my future livelihood, I can’t do that. If we don’t take what we came for, we die out there anyway."
Berry’s chest tightened. Her words carried no malice—only desperation. And that, in a way, made it worse.
These weren’t villains chasing power. They were survivors chasing scraps. Forced into cruelty because the world had left them no choice.
He looked at her men, saw the exhaustion etched into their faces, the hollow hunger in their eyes. For a moment, sadness washed over him.
"I see. Then don’t forgive me."
He raised his hand. The fairies instantly understood.
Like sparks igniting, a dozen of them darted forward, their wings leaving faint trails of light. The soldiers shouted in confusion, trying to track the small shapes whizzing around them.
"What the hell are those—?"
One started, but the sentence died as a fine dust rained down over him.
Another barked, trying to swat the fairies away. But it was already too late. The silvery dust clung to their clothes, their helmets, their bare skin where it peeked through.
Within moments, their movements slowed, rifles drooping in sluggish hands.
"Ugh... what’s happening—"
One by one, they collapsed, their groans swallowed by the grass. The leader fought it the longest, stumbling forward a few steps before her legs buckled.
Her gun clattered to the ground beside her, her fingers twitching uselessly before she, too, went still.
Berry exhaled, lowering his hand.
"Good work, everyone."
The fairies gathered around him in a flurry of wings, their tiny faces lighting up at his praise.
They chirped and trilled in delight, spinning in little circles like children begging for more acknowledgment. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novèlfire.net
"Did we do good? Did we help?"
Berry chuckled, the tension in his chest easing.
"Yes, yes. You all did wonderfully. I’ll be relying on you again."
They shuddered in happiness, their glow brightening as they scattered back toward the trees.
With the battlefield quiet, Berry jogged down from his perch and approached the fallen intruders. They lay sprawled across the grass, breaths steady in deep slumber. He crouched beside on
"All right... now for the hard part."
From a pouch at his side, he pulled out a small plant—its twisted leaves pulsed faintly, as if alive. Lucian had given it to him just days ago, with strict instructions.
"This will nullify abilities."
Lucian had said in that small, childlike voice of his, though the weight behind his words was anything but childish.
Berry shuddered at the memory of testing it himself. The moment he’d chewed a single leaf, he’d felt his strength ripped out of him, his body collapsing as if the ground had swallowed his bones.
Even breathing had felt like a struggle. He hadn’t forgotten that helplessness—and he doubted he ever would.
Shaking the memory away, he worked quickly.
One by one, he pried open their mouths and placed the leaves inside, making sure they swallowed even in their unconscious state.
"Better you feel weak than wake up swinging again."
When the last of them had been fed, Berry bound their wrists together with thick rope, tugging each knot tight enough that even if they woke, they’d have no chance of causing trouble.
Then, grunting with the effort, he dragged them toward the valley’s holding cages—simple structures Lucian had designed for exactly this purpose.
As he worked, his mind drifted back a year. He remembered his own body bound, dragged against his will.
The fear, the anger, the bitter helplessness. He had been in their place once. And though he told himself this was different, the memory made his chest ache all the same.
"Berry! Berry, what did you catch?"
The high-pitched voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
He turned to see Mira bounding over, her small feet pattering across the grass, the wolf pups tumbling along beside her with tails wagging. Her wide eyes sparkled with excitement as she peered into the cage.
"Intruders. But you don’t need to worry about it."
Berry said simply, brushing the sweat from his forehead.
Mira puffed her cheeks, clearly dissatisfied with the vague answer.
"I’m not worried anyway! Lucian’s here. If Lucian’s here, nothing bad can happen."
Berry blinked, then let out a soft laugh. For all her childish stubbornness, there was a comforting truth in her words.
Before he could respond, Lucian’s voice carried from the fields, sharp yet oddly casual.
"Berry, Mira—stop wasting time and get over here. The crops won’t take care of themselves."
Berry gave the cage one last check, ensuring the knots were secure.
"All right. Let’s go."
He started toward the fields, Mira and the pups scampering at his side. Behind them, the intruders lay unconscious, trapped in cages they had no hope of breaking.
The valley was quiet again, but the weight of what had just happened lingered in the air.