No sooner had she finished bellowing the taunt—and they said a well-educated young lady should never raise her voice—than all six turned toward her. The three trolls, without hesitation, charged at her.

"Ashen, now!" her twin shouted the order.

Their strategy was the same one they had planned for the trolls, one of many they had used since forming their team in the first year at the academy.

It was simple, but terribly effective. Erika would get the aggro, Ashen would cast his high-level fire protection on her, and Octavius would unleash his fire tornado, also at a high level, upon the young tank.

And it wasn't that she was at the epicenter of the firestorm and thus spared from its harmful effects, no... Because despite the fire protection, she always got burned, and it hurt, and immediately the healing spell would fall on her to alleviate it. But it kept burning... Normally, Ashen would use his three daily healing spells during that attack to keep her safe.

Honestly, she increasingly questioned whether she was mentally ill for preferring this pain, which she had grown accustomed to over time, to enduring sitting properly and taking tea with other ladies or dancing in the arms of a gentleman.

Besides, with this strategy, the pain passed quickly thanks to Ashen, the flames would extinguish once the spell's duration ended, and the two swordsmen would finish off whatever might remain of the charred creatures, if anything remained at all.

The truth was that they hadn't tried it with trolls, and they knew trolls could regenerate. Octavius had told the rest of his group that the trolls would survive, but they'd be wounded enough to make them easy to finish off. After all, his fire did much more damage per second than they could heal.

So, at that moment, the tank had the aggro and the three trolls were practically upon her. The young woman heard the order given to the healer to protect her while her brother cast the tornado spell.

But the protection never came. Erika heard a cry of pain and turned her head toward Ashen. An arrow had hit him in the staff arm, cutting off his casting midway. But her twin did finish his spell, and an impossible pain ran through her, especially where the metal touched her flesh. She screamed, along with the trolls who were burning in flames. Without fire protection, she wouldn't survive. She was going to roast alive inside that metal prison. However, before the pain consumed her, she felt someone grab her and pull her out of the tornado of flames. Once outside, she realized it was one of the hooded skeletons. The flames had burned its leather equipment, revealing its body made of bones. Black flames inhabited the sockets of its eyes. It had saved her and, before the astonished female gaze, with the bony phalanges of the hand that wasn't holding a shield, it gave a few pats on her pauldron to extinguish a flame that was lit there. All this while it was engulfed in flames that had set its bones on fire and were undoubtedly taking away its hit points.

The young woman's armor, unlike the skeleton's, remained intact as it was metallic. But she was cooking inside. The skeleton moved away, and a reinvigorating healing spell fell on Erika, healing her burned flesh and all the damage the infernal heat had done to her in the moment her twin had unleashed it.

"Erika, what have you done?" her brother yelled at her. "You just ruined my attack."

The young woman, for her part, noticed that the trolls had also escaped the flames. However, they weren't coming for her. Neither were the skeletons. In fact, while it seemed like the undead trolls had just freed themselves from her taunt, the other three seemed to have never been affected. Indeed, one of them, the archer, was the one who had shot the healer.

A second healing spell fell on her, as she needed it. The maelstrom of flames continued to spin in place, without harming anyone. The fire mage didn't have a high enough level in the spell to move it toward his enemies.

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"Can't you hear me?" he continued shouting at his twin sister.

She decided to ignore him because what she would like to answer was something that a lady like her was only allowed to say when launching her taunt.

She snorted, as they wouldn't see or hear her inside the helmet, and approached the healer to protect him if necessary. The two swordsmen had also retreated, and the enemies made no attempt to attack them.

"Ashen, purify them with your sacred magic," Octavius ordered.

Immediately, he cast a sacred seal on one of the trolls, from which several spears of light fell and pierced it. But once the spell had ended, the zombie was not only still alive but beginning to regenerate.

Erika stared at it in amazement and wondered what powerful undead these were, capable of withstanding sacred damage like that. And why, despite the hostile attitude of her and her group, they weren't attacking them.

Soon she discovered the reason: two young people were coming running, the two first-year students. One of them was the necromancer. Although he was quite far behind his female companion.

I arrive running well ahead of Ronan—naturally, since I'm more agile and have the mastery. I see a light sigil forming in the sky, creating a magic circle similar to Mary's but smaller, hovering over one of the trolls. From it, white spears emerge and begin raining down upon the zombie. I remember the desert dungeon clearly: this spell inflicts severe damage to undead through purification. Yet compared to my friend's power, this guy's magic seems underwhelming. He's a third-year with more education under his belt, not to mention being highborn and likely trained since childhood. Because of this, I expected to see the poor troll drop dead instantly. However, the healer lacks Mary's high affinity for light magic, and I'm beginning to understand just how crucial that difference is.

The troll, despite not being a boss like that lich, withstands it. Once the light sigil vanishes, I watch its charred flesh begin to heal. It's as if it's growing back, regenerating.

"What are you doing?" I shout at them. "They're not mobs, they're Ronan's minions. Leave them alone."

"Well, if it isn't the first-year rookie who boasted about dungeon fighting," says the idiot from the other day, the great Octavius Laltiery, from the ducal house of Laltiery.

Please...

"Don't be stupid. You're only alive because Ronan ordered them not to harm humans. And he just told them to stop defending themselves."

I didn't actually hear that last part, but from what I saw approaching, I've no doubt he gave that mental order.

And why am I insulting a noble who outranks me? To save his stupid ass.

Ronan hasn't arrived here yet, but he will any moment.

My goodness, doesn't this moron have two brain cells to rub together? Doesn't he know who he's dealing with?

"Since when do I take orders from some ill-bred rookie who isn't even high nobility and clearly doesn't know her place?"

Now he comes at me with that, with the fact that I'm just a count's daughter. He's so stupid. Do I really need to keep trying to protect him? I'm done.

I hear footsteps and Ronan's labored breathing getting closer. I turn to see him stopping beside me.

"My lady, are you unharmed?" he asks me.

"I'm fine, don't worry."

I see how his gaze hardens when it lands on Tom, badly damaged by the flames. He approaches him—I think they're communicating mentally. Tom's flames went out when the fire whirlwind extinguished, but his bones show visible scorch marks, and I can see his health bar is down to a third. Knowing Ronan, he's probably asking his friend if he's okay.

Then he turns to Octavius.

"You should apologize for the damage you have done to my friends."

"What? How dare you!" Octavius replies, caught between disbelief and offense.

"He's not going to do it, he's an idiot."

And I don't regret saying that to Ronan, because I'm already tired. I'm not going to calm my friend down. They should be thankful I'm not going after them myself, or sending the dog after them, or letting Ronan loose with the dragoness.

Ronan reacts immediately. He steps forward, extends his hand toward Octavius, and with just a touch, I see life and mana flowing from the mage's arm into the necromancer's fingers.

Perfect, that'll shut him up. I'm simply on alert in case Ronan doesn't stop after a few seconds.

The dark-haired swordswoman makes a motion to reach for her sword, and I position myself in front of her. The message is clear: if you want a fight, you're dealing with me.

She looks me over with disdain and hatred; I think she's reassessing me. Well, if I'm just an earth mage, why am I standing so confidently in front of her?

She draws her sword. I do the same. I parry her thrust. We exchange a couple of blows before their tank stops us.

"Melly, wait."

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