Transmigrated as My Support Mage Avatar-Chapter 58: Ch: The Breaking Point

As Sarios was dragged like a discarded rag, his armored boots scraping lines into the earth, he clenched his teeth and—through sheer grit—grabbed the masked man’s wrist, trying to relieve the weight pulling his scalp.

"AAARGHH!" he growled, both from pain and defiance. "What the hell do you want from us?!"

The masked man halted.

Everything fell silent.

The air thickened like fog.

Then, slowly... his eyes opened wider—those glowing crimson slits burning like fire under the shadow of his hood.

A deep rage trembled beneath his words, low and seething:

"Do you... realize... how long it’s been?"

His voice wasn’t loud—but it shook like thunder inside Sarios’ bones.

"How long..."

"...since the rightful Princess has been stolen from the throne of Eldor?"

Sarios’ eyes widened. "What...?"

The masked man stepped forward again—his face still half-shrouded in shadow—and hoisted Sarios up with one hand, still clutching his hair.

Sarios grabbed his wrist again, gritting through the strain, his boots dangling off the ground.

"You—!! Just say it already!" Sarios growled. "What does that have to do with—"

"ENOUGH!"

The masked man’s voice snapped—raw and furious.

The wind stirred, rustling the grass and Dila’s dress behind her.

Still suspended, Sarios coughed, his armor clanking.

The masked man leaned closer—his whisper sharp and poisonous:

"Tell me, knight of Exonory... do you think hiding her forever will change her bloodline?"

Sarios’ hands trembled on the masked man’s arm. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

But deep in his gut... he knew.

He knew what this man was talking about.

And so did Dila.

She looked on—clutching her ribs almost unconscious, barely able to stand—as the truth they’d long tried to avoid was now spoken aloud.

Suddenly.

The masked man tilted Sarios upright with a cruel grip—then, with monstrous speed, unleashed a storm of punches.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Each strike echoed like thunder in the silence. Sparks flew as Sarios’ armor dented deeper, until the chest plate was no longer recognizable—crumpled like a crushed can.

With one final thud, Sarios fell.

Face-first.

Blood pooled slowly beneath him as his arms twitched, trying to push himself up—but failed.

The masked man breathed out through a satisfied sigh, his fingers now resting across his cheek in glee.

"Hahh... there." He grinned to himself.

"A masterpiece."

He tilted his head to the sky, the moonlight catching his fingers as he spread them slowly before his face.

"Moonlight and misery... ahh. I feel better now."

But then—his head slowly turned.

And his crimson eyes locked straight ahead.

Where Fran stood.

Still carrying Dila on her back, trembling—but not from fear.

From rage.

Sarios, barely conscious, lifted his eyes through a blur of blood and dirt. His voice came as a choked shout:

"N-No Fran what are you thinking... Fran... don’t..."

Fran gently crouched and laid Dila down.

Dila’s fingers weakly grasped her sleeve, whispering hoarsely, "Fran... what are you doing...?"

But Fran just smiled warmly through teary eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"...Sister," she said gently, "I’ll do my best now."

Her hands gripped the handle of her dagger tightly.

She stepped forward, shoulders trembling not in fear—but resolve.

The veil around the area rippled with eerie stillness as the masked man chuckled, eyes narrowing with mild amusement.

Dila, lying on the ground, reached out a shaky hand. "F...Fran... no..."

But Fran didn’t stop.

Her feet slid into stance—low, balanced, dangerous.

And with her dagger shining faintly in the dark...

She whispered to herself:

"I won’t let anyone hurt my sister."

The masked man tilted his head, amused.

"Oh? Hoho..."

His voice rasped with a dark grin as his crimson eyes flicked toward Fran, gleaming under the pale moonlight.

"At least this one has a backbone," he murmured, casting a glance at Sarios’ crumpled body, "unlike this broken delinquent of a hero."

He raised his hand with slow, deliberate poise.

Fsshhhhh—

From the black mist swirling around him, a single jagged dagger materialized into his grasp—its dark edge gleaming like obsidian, with faint glowing runes crawling along the blade like veins.

He spun it once with his fingers.

Click. Twirl. Lock.

Then he slid into stance.

His left foot stepped forward slowly, toe raised with eerie grace, like a dancer on the edge of a blade. His knees bent low, balanced and feral. His right hand held the dagger in reverse grip, the point aimed downward like a claw ready to strike.

All while his crimson eyes never blinked—fixed on Fran.

A mocking smile curled beneath his half-shadowed mask.

"Heh... Let’s see if your claws are sharper than your words, kitten."

The moonlight gleamed across the cold arena. The air tightened.

No more words.

Just silence...

...and the heartbeat of an oncoming clash.

Thud! Thud!

Fran shot forward like a blur, her movements light and wild—zigzagging from side to side with nimble footwork, just like a darting feline. Each bound kicked up dust from the ground, her dark navy hair trailing like a ribbon behind her, and her dagger glinting under the moon’s pale glow.

"Hyah!" she cried out softly, her voice filled with resolve.

The masked man grinned as his crimson eyes followed her flickering steps.

"Oh? Fast," he muttered, calmly shifting his stance to track her movements.

"But don’t get cocky—I’m still capping myself significantly."

He raised his jagged dagger lazily, like a bored predator watching a mouse play.

Fssshh!

Fran suddenly appeared on his left flank—her dagger already mid-swing for a slice across his ribs.

But with almost insulting ease, the masked man leaned just slightly. The blade missed.

"Tch!"

Fran instantly twisted her heel, jumped back, and dashed in again from another angle. Her moves weren’t random—they were calculated. She was aiming to cut past his defense with speed, not force.

She ducked low for a leg sweep.

But tap!—the masked man gently stepped over her attack like he was dancing.

"Heh," he exhaled, almost impressed. "Not bad, kitten."

Then he lunged.

A flash. A streak.

His dagger narrowly missed Fran’s shoulder—but she had already twisted mid-air, flipping back and landing on all fours, panting.

Her blue eyes sparkled fiercely.

She knew she couldn’t win through power.

But maybe—just maybe—if she stayed unpredictable, she could outlast him.

The masked man’s grin widened.

This fight was only beginning.

And then.

Fran sprang into the air with a burst of speed.

She spun midair—her dagger sweeping in a spiral arc while her legs followed with a rapid twirling kick aimed at his head.

The wind cracked with the sharp movement of her assault.

Whssh! Whssh! WHAM!

But the masked man didn’t even flinch.

Instead of using his dagger to block, he simply raised his left forearm—casually absorbing both the blade and the kick like it was a game.

The impact echoed—but he stood there, smiling.

"Ohhh~" he chuckled, as if tickled. "There’s no fun if I use the dagger to block. You might get pricked~," he said with a mocking grin, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

Fran’s eyes widened.

Her skin broke into goosebumps.

Something in his voice—it wasn’t just mad. It was pleased. Delighted to be toying with her.

She flipped back, skidding slightly on the ground, clutching her dagger tighter.

"This guy is nuts..." she muttered under her breath.

The masked man tilted his head, stretching his arms like he was warming up for a performance.

"Oh, don’t stop now, little kitten. Show me something exciting."

He stomped the ground once—thud!—cracking the dirt beneath his feet with a single lazy motion.

Fran’s breath hitched.

This wasn’t a fight anymore.

It was survival.

Fran dashed with all the speed she could muster—zigzagging through the shadows again like a streak of midnight.

Her dagger gleamed with intent. Her eyes sharpened with desperate courage.

She saw an opening.

The masked man’s back.

Just one strike.

She leapt.

But he turned.

Too fast. Too precise.

His crimson eyes flared with a twisted glint as a wicked grin spread across his face.

"Got you."

Before Fran could land her strike, his hand shot out.

Snap!

His fingers clamped around her small neck.

Her eyes widened. The dagger fell from her hand with a sharp clink.

She struggled—flailing violently—her legs kicking and thrashing in the air.

"Gghh—hhk...!"

Fran’s throat tightened. Her breathing vanished. Her lungs screamed.

The masked man’s grip didn’t waver. If anything, it tightened, amused by her helplessness.

"Mmm... mmm~!" he hummed through his throat, tilting his head, watching her twitch and claw like a puppet on strings.

His chuckle soon warped into full-blown laughter.

"Muahahaha... oh how fragile... look at you."

Fran’s nails scratched at his arms, her fingers are weakly slicing across his forearm—

But he didn’t flinch.

Blood slid from the shallow cut. He simply watched it drip, unfazed.

Amused.

Fran’s eyes began to dull. Her vision swirled, fading at the edges.

Her mouth foamed slightly, bubbling faintly.

Her limbs slowed.

Her legs stopped flailing.

Her thoughts echoed inside her fading mind.

"Is this it...? Am I going to die...? Mama... Papa... if you’re still out there... I’m sorry..."

And then—

A desperate voice.

A scream.

"STOP!!"

It cracked the air like a bolt of lightning.

The masked man’s eyes flicked toward the source.

Dila.

Collapsed. Barely able to stand—yet standing.

Her eyes, shimmering with tears and fury, locked onto his.

"If you kill her..."

Her voice trembled, but didn’t falter.

"...I swear—I will never return to Eldor Kingdom! Never! I will vanish from this world if I have to!" ƒreewebɳovel.com

She was breathing hard, both hands clenched at her sides, her ribs clearly still aching, but her spirit blazed.

The masked man paused. His expression flickered.

"...Oh?"

He stared for a moment longer, then slowly relaxed his fingers.

Fran’s body dropped like a broken doll.

Thud.

She landed on the cold dirt floor, trembling violently, hands instantly grabbing her neck, coughing, gasping for air as tears streamed down her face.

Her lips quivered.

Her voice was broken.

"...I... I can’t... breathe..."

The masked man stepped back a little, letting out a low chuckle.

"My bad," he said casually, as if brushing dust off his shoulder. "Didn’t realize she meant that much to you."

Sarios lay still, bloodied on the ground, watching with barely open eyes. His jaw clenched in frustration.

Dila, still standing somehow, silently dropped to one knee.

She didn’t even realize she was crying.

She just watched Fran—curled up, coughing, shaking, alive—but barely.

The tension in the air was suffocating.

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