After a few tense moments...
"You know pretty well," Arson finally growled, "letting you die makes the game boring."
Sylvia's lips curled into the faintest smirk despite the pain in her body. "So you won't kill me."
His jaw clenched. "You're just taking advantage of my weakness."
She didn't deny it.
The fire in his hand flared brighter for a split second — then suddenly extinguished. Arson scowled, kicking a broken piece of armor aside before leaning down toward Hard.
"I should kill you for what you did," Arson said, his voice a low, threatening growl. "But thanks to this stupid princess, I'll act like you escaped."
Hard coughed, wincing in pain, his relief clear despite the terror in his eyes.
Arson's voice darkened further. "But listen carefully — if I ever see your face again, I'll burn you alive." His eyes blazed. "And if you're not gone in the next 30 seconds… I'll kill you anyway."
Hard didn't wait for a second warning.
Despite his injuries, the Metal Tribe general scrambled to his feet, stumbling through the remains of the door, and bolted into the forest, vanishing as fast as his broken body allowed.
Arson watched him go, his expression a dangerous mix of anger and grim satisfaction.
Sylvia leaned heavily against the wall, every inch of her body aching. "Your tribe always burns those who hurt your pride…" she murmured. "Yet you let him go."
Arson shot her a look. "Don't get it twisted."
She raised an eyebrow, waiting for his excuse.
His voice was cold. "You're the only reason he's alive."
Sylvia crossed her arms weakly. "And what about me?"
There was a flicker of something in Arson's gaze — annoyance? Amusement?
He looked her over, taking in her injured, worn-out form. "You? There's no way you hurt my pride," he said with a rough smirk. "You do your tribe's boring nature stuff — I do my own. It's what makes the game interesting."
Sylvia tilted her head, her green eyes calm. "Even if you won't admit it," she whispered.
Arson gritted his teeth but didn't respond.
Before Sylvia could say anything more, he suddenly scooped her up in his arms. She gasped, her body too weak to fight back — not that it would have made a difference.
"You're heavier than you look," Arson muttered, though the complaint didn't seem genuine.
Sylvia, too tired to argue, just rested her head against his shoulder.
"Where are we going?" she asked softly.
Arson's flames flickered faintly as they stepped out of the ruined house into the cool forest night. "Back to those annoying neutral people."
Sylvia blinked. "Why?"
His expression darkened. "To get you healed."
She stared at him, surprised. "And why would you care about that?"
Arson scowled. "Because if you die, there's no one to mess up my fun."
Despite the absurdity of his reasoning, a faint smile touched Sylvia's lips.
By the time they reached the neutral residents, the sight of Arson carrying Sylvia — bloodied, bruised, and clearly furious — sent a wave of fear through the people. Some grabbed makeshift weapons, others backed away.
"Heal her," Arson ordered, his voice as sharp as a blade. "Or I'll burn your whole village to the ground."
The neutrals, terrified but understanding the unspoken demand behind his words, quickly gathered supplies — bandages, herbs, anything they could offer.
The old man, the same one who stopped Arson's execution earlier, stepped forward. "We'll help her," he said carefully.
Arson watched closely as Sylvia was laid down and tended to. He crossed his arms, his flames burning faintly at his fingertips.
Sylvia, half-conscious as the healing process began, looked up at him. "You're terrible at saying thank you," she whispered, a weak smile on her lips.
Arson's face twisted with a mix of irritation and something else.
"Shut up and get healed," he snapped.
And so, as the neutral tribe worked to heal Sylvia, Arson stood like a looming shadow, a prince of destruction watching over a princess of nature bound not by loyalty or affection, but by a strange, chaotic bond neither could fully explain.