Chapter 86: Successfully Defended
The fires had been extinguished. The rubble cleared from the main roads. The blood washed away with enchanted rain summoned by the city’s archdruids. What remained was not silence—but song.
Victory, after all, was rare.
The city of Elandra had stood. Barely. And though the scars still smoked and the scent of death lingered faintly in the stone, the people rejoiced.
Banners once sagging with ash now flew proudly again. Children danced barefoot in the plaza, weaving between rows of broken statues. Merchants reopened their stalls, giving out warm loaves and skewers of spiced meat for free. The Temple Bells rang overhead, slow and solemn, but with a rhythm of triumph.
And the name on everyone’s lips—was Inigo.
"The gunslinger?" one soldier asked.
"Inigo Velasquez, Gold-ranked adventurer," laughed another. "He tore through a full platoon of nightcrawlers with that spinning beast of his. Never seen anything like it!"
"It’s not magic, I swear. Just pure iron and death," muttered a shaken archer. "Whatever it was... it sounded like thunder and made the demons run."
Stories spread quickly. Inigo’s minigun became the stuff of legend before the battle was even a full day past. Children drew crude sketches of it in chalk on the stone roads. Tavern songs were already being composed—ballads where Inigo leapt from rooftop to rooftop, a flaming death machine in hand, while the gods themselves watched in awe.
In truth, the man himself sat quietly in the shade of the Guild’s north tower, sipping water from a wooden canteen. His coat had been cleaned, but the dark stains of soot and blood refused to leave. His weapons were stacked neatly beside him—minigun unloaded, pistols recharged with clean rune-cartridges, and a new dagger sheathed at his belt.
Lyra approached with two mugs of mead.