The second encounter (4)

Amy realized that Freeman was more tactical than she had anticipated.

Freeman's mastery of Schema, Compound Eye, and the 3% anti-magic had neutralized even her snipers.

It was a way of conducting battle at any distance: close, medium, and long range.

"Were you hiding there?"

Freeman soared through the air, a loaded gun with magical bullets in hand. His process of conquering distance by stepping on trees was so fast that it was abrupt.

The battle that followed was a cat-and-mouse chase.

Amy kept trying to shoot, but she was far from catching up to Freeman. No matter how much she relied on her red eyes, somehow a 3% error would occur.

Approaching a medium range, she could fight to some extent, but ultimately, it was no different from stepping into Freeman's territory.

'There's no other way.'

Amy didn't give up and continued shooting. But Freeman, who didn't even need to dodge, was almost yawning.

Whatever method she devised, it didn't matter. The elusive one wouldn't be caught, and if she got close, he'd avoid her with his compound eye.

"I heard there's a limit to a mage's mental power…"

In the early stages of the battle, a mage who didn't need to replace bullets had the advantage, but as time passed, the advantage would inevitably tilt toward the gunner.

As the speed of the Flame Strike became slower than before, Freeman began moving seriously to capture his prey.

Amy no longer had the mental power to cast magic. She felt her head was blanking out. No omnipotence clung to her omniscience anymore.

"Haha. Haa."

But Amy gathered every ounce of her mental strength. And finally, she released the last Flame Strike.

Freeman calmly observed the impending magic. As a gunner, an expert in ballistics, he had already noticed that the point of impact was slightly off.

Freeman raised both guns and placed his index finger on the trigger. His opponent couldn't even maintain flight magic now. She was now alright to think of as just an ordinary girl.

Pong!

At that moment, a strong impact struck Freeman's temples. For the first time, emotion appeared on his face.

Questions and amazement.

Clearly, the Flame Strike had deviated 10 meters from the point of impact. But how could the impact reach him?

His thoughts only went that far. Freeman, struck in a vital spot, fell to the ground with a thud. Flames began to rise over his face, which had spread into a large letter.

'Marsha…'

Amy, struggling to hold onto a tree and descend to the ground, finally couldn't hold on and sat down.

Her exhaustion was tremendous. Her mental state was more drained than that of a normal person who had been working without sleep for four days.

However, her mood wasn't that bad since her gaming adventure had been successful.

"Hey! Hey! I did it. I won."

In Amy's final attack, the actual range of the sniper mode wasn't even 100 meters.

If Freeman hadn't approached, the Flame Strike would have disappeared even before hitting the target.

However, Freeman had attacked, and that was his downfall. What Amy attempted with the remaining mental power, relinquishing a full 200 meters, was a type of deviation from all sides.

She changed the trajectory to an area that only contained Flame Strike and hit Freeman.

In this way, the attack couldn't be avoided with a 3% anti-magic.

If she had been throwing rocks until now, this time it was like grabbing it with her hand and hitting directly.

"Anyway, I'm glad I won. If I had died, I would have felt so embarrassed that I couldn't have gone to heaven."

There was no time even to recover her energy as her friends were in the midst of battle. Amy limped with a hunched waist as she took difficult steps toward the cliff.

***

Freeman's face burned, yet he didn't even let out a whimper.

From the moment he regained consciousness due to the pain of the burns, there was only one thought in his mind.

'I have to go to Marsha.'

Even as Amy's flames constantly scorched his skin, Freeman's body was also repairing its cells at a comparable rate.

At the crossroads of pain and relief, neither fully alive nor dead, Freeman dwelled on his childhood days with Marsha.

"Ah? It's Freeman. Freeman, the scaredy-cat."

"Freeman, with eight eyebrows! Are you going to cry soon? Just cry!"

Freeman was always the butt of jokes. Because he was a coward.

Of course, nobody is born a coward. He thought his highly arched eyebrows were to blame for it all.

"Hey—stop. It hurts."

"Then cry. If you cry, Marsha will come. I mean, the pretty Marsha."

"Don't bother Marsha!"

"Idiot, Marsha is the leader of the poor neighborhood, who would bother her? Besides, Marsha is fun! Anyway, cry quickly. Eight eight."

"Uwaaaaah! Marsha!"

Freeman couldn't hold back the tears and ran off.

The kids were determined to make him cry. It was common to poke his face with tree branches, and sometimes even throw stones at him.

"Hey! Tell Marsha to come here! Because we're going to play war together."

The kids made Freeman cry so that they could play with Marsha. Nonetheless, Freeman always ran to Marsha's house.

As an outcast, the only place he could go was her house.

He felt this every time he came, but it was a lonely house. His father, a mercenary, didn't even bring furniture into the house. When he went to work, he often stayed up all night, and when he returned, he occasionally beat Marsha.

When he opened the door, he saw her sitting in a corner of the empty room.

In a room without even a bed, a desk, or a common blanket, only some bread crumbs and a glass of milk occupied the space.

"Marsha, sob, the kids hit me."

She always cuts her hair. But she has a pretty face. Marsha greeted Freeman with a tender smile.

"Gosh, don't you get tired of getting bullied all the time? Why do you hang out with those kids?"

"I won't hang out with them. Somehow they find me and intimidate me."

"It's okay, I'll go talk to them. Where are they?"

Freeman wiped his nose as he spoke.

"Do you have to go? If you're out and the old man comes in, they'll hit you."

"They'll hit me anyway. I'll tell the kids that I won't play with them if they bother you."

"I don't want to! You don't even want to play with those kids, but you try hard for me. I don't want Marsha to laugh with those kids."

"Aigoo, I appreciate it. Then make yourself stronger. You're not in a position to complain when you receive help."

Marsha touched Freeman's forehead. Frustrated, Freeman ran to the door, opened his arms, and yelled.

"I still don't want you to do it! Don't go!"

"What's wrong with you today? Try yelling at other kids like that too. Wait, do you like me? Are you jealous because I play with other kids?"

Freeman's face turned red. His heart was pounding so hard that he could hear it, and he felt nauseous.

Marsha waved her hand as if she thought it was funny.

"Hey, it's a joke, just a joke. Anyway, you have a pea-sized belly…"

"Yes! I like you! What are you going to do about it? You're a girl!"

Marsha stared at Freeman.

"Is it wrong for me to like you? Did I even ask you to like me? It's up to me to like someone, but why are you telling me what to do? Am I not allowed to like anyone because I'm a coward?"

When Freeman, who wasn't good at expressing his emotions, got more emotional than ever and shouted, Marsha extended both hands and calmed him down before the situation worsened.

"Y-Yes, it's okay. I'm sorry. Of course, it's your freedom to like someone."

"Ah, damn it! Seriously! Even you treat me like an idiot!"

Freeman got even more angry at Marsha's attitude, as if she were calming a child. Marsha chuckled and pulled him to sit in his seat.

"I didn't treat you like an idiot. Just calm down."

Marsha wrapped herself in a tattered coat and prepared to leave.

Freeman kept his mouth shut for a moment, as if he regretted his outburst, and then slowly looked up.

"Are you really going to play with them?"

"No, I'll just scold them a bit and come back. Let's play together later."

Freeman's expression lit up at Marsha's words.

"Really? You have to come back soon!"

"It's okay. If you're hungry, eat bread and milk. I've already eaten."

After Marsha left, the room returned to its usual silence. Freeman, too, assimilated into the landscape of the poor room, and his expression became somber again.

'I was going to confess by giving you this.'

Freeman took out a small handheld mirror from his pocket. It was something he bought after earning small amounts of money by running errands for three months.

Marsha had nothing more than a set of clothes because her stepfather took everything.

"A girl should have at least a mirror. That old man is strange, to have such a pretty daughter and treat her like that."

Freeman smiled, thinking that Marsha would like it. But his reflection in the mirror was never a smiling face.

Eyebrows with a deeply furrowed nasolabial groove.

His deeply furrowed eyebrows earned him the nickname 'crybaby' since he was a child, and after living like this for 10 years, he had truly become one.

"Is this so weird? This is fine."

As time passed, Marsha and Freeman also turned 17.

Freeman was still a coward in the neighborhood, but he had a good reputation because he worked hard.

However, the only person he really got along with was Marsha.

The reason he saved money from what was left after the cost of living was to buy gifts for Marsha.

Of course, it seemed like his father would take away anything he gave, but Marsha was truly happy when she received gifts.

Freeman felt that no amount of money was too much if it made Marsha smile.

At some point, it seemed that she had lost her smile. He had a vague idea why. Her stepfather had been tormenting her more severely lately.

Of course, most children grew up in similar family environments.

Freeman himself lived with an alcoholic father, enduring daily insults and being called an idiot.

Then, one day, Freeman finally discovered it. He discovered that the abuse Marsha had been enduring was of a completely different nature than what a father should inflict on his child.

"Marsha, Marsha?"

Perhaps it was fate that led him to Marsha's house that night. Her face seemed much sadder than usual when he saw her during the day, and it weighed heavily on his mind.

His anxiety grew when Marsha didn't come out no matter how many times he knocked on the door.

With no other option, Freeman climbed through the window. Since they had nothing to steal anyway, the windows were open most of the summer.

"Hey, Marsha? Were you in your room? But why didn't you answer…?"

Freeman froze at the sight that met his eyes in the moonlit room. Marsha was on her knees, and it seemed as if her soul had left her body.

She was holding a knife, and the blood dripping from the blade was flowing toward a lifeless body on the floor.

"Ma-Marsha…"

Suddenly regaining his senses, Freeman rushed over there. He didn't know where he had found the courage, but he felt that if Marsha was losing her mind, he had to do something.

"Wake up. What the hell happened?"

After shaking her shoulders a few times, Marsha snapped back to reality.

The words that came out of her mouth when she looked at Freeman were shocking.

"Dad… tried to assault me."

Freeman was speechless.

Freeman thought he was a pervert because he was creepy and his eyes were dark, but wasn't he still a father?

When what he feared would happen turned out to be true, an unpleasant feeling overcame him.

"Let's escape. Your father is a mercenary, right? If his comrades find out, they'll come seeking revenge."

Freeman was right. The clever Marsha regained her senses as soon as she heard this. They had to leave home as soon as possible.

Marsha suddenly let out a hollow laugh. She realized she had nothing to take with her; there wasn't a single item she needed to pack.

Grabbing Marsha's wrist, Freeman led her out of the house. Without stopping, they ran to the outskirts of the village.

"Hey! Hey! This should be enough. For now, we should be fine."

"One, they won't drive us out of the village."

Marsha gasped for air and tried to calm down. Although she was afraid of her father's comrades, she trusted that she could flee to the ends of the earth if necessary.