Transmigrated as My Support Mage Avatar-Chapter 59: Ch: A Hero Still Stands

The masked man turned away from Fran’s trembling form and slowly faced Dila.

His boots scraped across the dirt as he began walking—no, gliding—with a theatrical spin.

He raised his arms slightly, mimicking a twisted ballet dancer, his body swaying with each exaggerated step. His coat fluttered in the wind like a dancer’s cape.

"Ohhh," he said with a sing-song tone, smiling beneath his shadowed mask. "Your dear father will be so delighted, Princess. I’ll be taking you home now."

His steps were unnerving—light, deliberate, almost joyful.

Dila’s body tensed, still kneeling, her injured side burning. Her eyes stared up at him with quiet defiance.

Just then—

"Stop!"

Sarios’ hoarse voice rang out from the dirt.

The masked man halted and tilted his head lazily toward the sound.

He grinned.

"What now?"

Sarios forced himself to sit up—his body shaking, blood trailing from his lip. He stared at the masked man with all the strength he had left.

"You..." he started, panting. "...you can’t... take the Princess against her will."

The masked man raised an eyebrow.

Sarios gritted his teeth.

"She’s said it time and time again... she doesn’t want to be tied to the throne. She doesn’t want to return to that life. Or maybe Not yet or she will not, and Not like this."

The masked man gave a low hum, amused.

"Ohhh? And you—" he pointed dramatically toward Sarios, "—a battered, broken hero, dare tell me I can’t bring her back home? When her father—King Albedo himself—is desperate to have her back?"

He stepped forward again, his grin widening beneath the mask.

He took slow, heavy steps toward Sarios.

"Or... perhaps..."

Another step.

"...you want to take another beating, hmm?"

His voice was low, threatening, but filled with dark delight.

He rolled his neck with a loud crack, then raised his foot and stepped even closer, shadows crawling behind him like snakes.

He grinned—eyes glowing beneath his mask.

Sarios’ fists clenched as he pushed himself up, just barely.

Dila looked between the two, breath still trembling, her hand slowly moving toward Fran’s.

The air thickened again.

It was about to snap.

Dila’s breath hitched as she dragged herself across the rough ground—one hand gripping her injured side, the other clawing at the dirt to move forward. Each inch came with pain that rattled up her spine.

Her vision blurred slightly, but she kept her eyes on the fragile figure just ahead.

"Fran..." she whispered, almost choking on her breath. "Are you... okay...?"

Behind her, the sharp thuds and cracks of distant blows echoed—Sarios likely clashing again with the masked man—but Dila tuned it out. Her entire focus was on the trembling girl ahead of her.

Fran’s small body lay curled, knees pulled toward her chest, hands weakly clutching her throat where the masked man had choked her.

Dila’s chest ached—not from the injury, but from the sight.

Then, faintly... Fran’s voice came.

"S... Sister..." she rasped, her lips barely moving.

"I-I won’t... leave you..." she said, teeth chattering, as if chilled to her bones. Her body trembled uncontrollably, her face pale, her breath short and erratic.

"I... I’m scared..." she admitted, eyes still shut tight.

Dila’s heart clenched.

She reached forward with her left arm, gently placing her palm on Fran’s head, trying to soothe her even as her own strength faded.

"I’m here..." Dila whispered, her voice soft but fierce. "I’m not leaving either."

The wind swept softly across the broken battlefield, rustling their hair.

Even as chaos unfolded behind them... in that small moment... they clung to each other.

Two girls.

Wounded.

Terrified.

But not alone.

Amid the cracked stone and eerie silence under the blood-dimmed sky, Sarios still stood—barely.

His once-pristine black armor was now dented, fractured, and smeared with ash and blood even more. Almost every plate bore the evidence of a relentless onslaught—countless fist-sized dents pocked the chest and sides, some edges even peeled and sparking.

His face was swollen and violet, one eye nearly shut, the other locked onto the shadowed figure ahead.

Yet his arms remained up—shaking, heavy, but still raised in a hand-to-hand stance.

Every breath he took sounded like a rusty blade dragged across gravel.

Across from him, the masked man bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, as if this was all still warm-up. His posture was relaxed—too relaxed.

Only his right hand was raised, curled into a loose fist.

"Heck," the masked man said with a mocking chuckle, "I don’t even need to use my 1% strength to pulverize you i only need 0.001%."

He skipped forward a step, then back, his grin wide, wicked, and effortless.

Sarios swayed slightly, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth even more.

He should have fallen by now.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he spat to the ground and muttered through split lips, his voice ragged but defiant—

"D-Dream on..."

The masked man blinked.

And for just a second—just one—he tilted his head as if amused.

Then he laughed.

"Still barking, huh? You’re worse than a mutt. But I’ll give you points for loyalty."

Sarios grit his teeth, ignoring the pain that screamed through his body like wildfire.

He wasn’t protecting himself anymore.

He was buying time.

For Dila.

For Fran.

Even if it meant standing as a shield that would break any moment now.

The masked man sneered, lips curling into something cruel and hungry.

"Hm... Let’s see how thick that heroic shell really is."

And then—

CRACK—CRACK—CRACK!

A storm of punches rained down from his right fist like cannon blasts.

Sarios barely had time to brace. He raised both arms in a cross-guard, but—

SHHHHRIP!

His gauntlets tore apart at the seams. Metal screeched and peeled. His right bracer snapped, revealing shredded cloth and raw flesh underneath.

"GAAARGHH!!"

A scream tore from Sarios’ throat as his right arm flung backward, limp from the crushing force. Blood flew from the gash, trailing like red threads in the air. His body staggered, knees wobbling, his left arm the only shield now left.

And even that—was buckling.

Still, he refused to fall.

He tried to keep his eyes open—but the pain was too much.

His mouth twisted.

Tears spilled.

He clenched his jaw, tried to hold it in—but a choked sob escaped his lips.

"Hhckt..."

The masked man froze mid-punch.

Then, slowly... he leaned back. And then he laughed.

"Hahahahahaha!"

"Ohhh, hero..." he said, covering his face with his right hand, only leaving a slit between his fingers to gaze at the moon. "A crying hero. A weeping knight."

He opened his hand, looking down with wide eyes filled with mocking joy.

"I never thought... I’d get to witness this. What an honor."

He tilted his head to the side, hair swaying.

Then back to Sarios—

"You’re not just broken, are you?" he whispered with wicked glee.

"You’re human and unfortunately they always broke."he smile like the happiest elf man in the world as like winning a lottery.

Sarios was still trembling, his one working arm raised, his knees buckling.

But through the blood, the pain, and the haze of laughter—

He still stood.

Sarios’ vision blurred—blood dripping from his brow, his right arm still hanging limp, shattered from the masked man’s brutal assault.

He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.

His legs trembled.

His armor, once proud and noble, was shredded, barely clinging to his battered frame.

Yet—

He gritted his teeth, his jaw trembling with fury.

Not for himself.

Not for glory.

But for Dila. For Fran.

For the promise he made—to protect them no matter what.

His left hand shakily reached down.

Clink.

Fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

"...Haaa..."

He tightened his grip.

The blade dragged slightly from his scabbard, sparks trailing from the metal, his energy nearly gone—but his will unbroken.

Then—

With one final, breathless roar from the depths of his chest:

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!"

He ripped the sword free, brandishing it with his one working arm, holding it out toward the masked man, his entire body shaking.

His eyes, bloodshot and filled with tears, burned like flame.

"Even if I’m a rookie... an almost nobody hero..." he growled through clenched teeth.

"Even if I’m weaker than anyone else—I’ll still stand. I’ll still fight."

He took a single trembling step forward.

"I don’t care if I’m beaten, broken, crawling on the ground—I’ll NEVER let you lay another finger on them!"

The air thickened.

His sheer determination seemed to spark a vibration in the wind itself.

The masked man paused, eyes narrowing with a flicker of something new—not mockery.

But caution.

Sarios stood tall—half-dead, fully determined.

Sword raised. freewēbnoveℓ.com

Spirit blazing.

"...Because that’s what a hero does," he whispered, eyes like iron.

The masked man stared blankly for a second... then slowly tilted his head.

"What does a hero do...?" he repeated, almost innocently.

A grin began to stretch across his face—

Wide.

Mocking.

Cruel.

His shoulders rose in a shrug, and he held both arms out like a performer on stage.

"They die."

His voice turned low, venomous.

"Heroes die in the mud, bleeding out like dogs. That’s all. That’s the truth."

He took a step forward, the sound of his footstep echoing like a verdict.

"You talk about glory, and think Protection, Ohh please?"

He laughed—cold, hollow.

"Glory’s just a fairy tale told to corpses."

Sarios’ hands shook.

The sword in his grip trembled—not from weakness now,

—but from rage.

"Shut up!" he roared, stepping forward.

His whole body moved on instinct—blood-stained, broken, but burning with fury.

"You don’t know anything about what a hero really is!!"

His shout cracked the veil of silence, even making the masked man pause mid-step.

Sarios gritted his teeth, his voice trembling from raw emotion:

"A hero isn’t about honor or death... it’s about standing! Standing again and again! Even when you’re hurt! Even when you’re scared! Even when you’re alone—"

His voice cracked.

"Even when it hurts so bad you want to disappear..."

He looked toward Dila and Fran, both weak, both watching.

"...You still get up."

He tightened his grip on the hilt.

"Because there’s someone behind you... who needs you to."

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