“Aaaagh! The Boss Is Mad!”
“Aaaagh! The boss is pissed!”
His minions scattered like roaches at the indiscriminate barrage of punches from FistRockBreaker, who didn't care if they were friend or foe. But he paid them no mind, brushing off his fists as he strode toward Molrangkau.
“Pfft—hilarious. As if a fake like you could be the real deal. You think I'd buy that you're actually Molrangkau?”
“Then take it again and see.”
Molrangkau lobbed another small fireball his way.
“Aww, how cute. Let me send it right back.”
Sneering, FistRockBreaker reached out to snatch it. Or tried to.
Boom!!
The fireball erupted in an instant blaze of hyper-compressed, devastating heat the moment his hand made contact.
“Wha…?”
He froze, engulfed and dazed by the flames that had swallowed him whole in a heartbeat.
“What the…?”
Molrangkau glanced back, leaving him to gawk in confusion. Geum Taeyang was hiding behind the carriage with Hura.
Catching her eye, Geum Taeyang quickly assured her.
“Master is safe!”
She nodded and erected a massive curtain of fire around the carriage. Impenetrable to any intruder.
“You fake bitch!”
While she was distracted, FistRockBreaker snapped out of it and lunged at her in a surprise attack. His charge was blindingly fast—too quick to track with the naked eye.
But.
Whoosh—
“Gah!”
The moment he closed within a certain distance, his entire body ignited, sending him tumbling back.
“Aaaargh!”
He was a seasoned fist fighter, his body tempered through endless training. Normal flames barely singed him—he'd batted away Molrangkau's earlier fireball like a tennis ball. He was all but immune to fire.
Yet now, his hardened flesh was burning away.
This fire… what the hell…
He flailed wildly, trying to shake off the mysterious blaze devouring his trained muscles.
“Urk—”
When it wouldn't go out, he abandoned his pride and rolled desperately on the ground to smother it.
“Huff… huff…”
Staggering to his feet, he glared up at Molrangkau, who looked down on him arrogantly. Her gaze was ice-cold, as if he were nothing more than a bug.
“...You're a ranker, aren't you?”
“Something like that.”
“What a twisted hobby. Hiding your power and mingling with the small fry.”
“Got a problem with that?”
“A bit.”
As he spoke, FistRockBreaker's mind raced.
Fire. Just avoid that fire.
He didn't know how she did it, but if he moved faster—way faster, too fast for eyes to follow, too fast for her to cast—he'd win.
Mages are fragile.
One hit. Just one solid punch to the ribs. Game over. My victory.
And whatever her rank, if she was above him, it'd skyrocket his own.
This is actually great.
Turn crisis into opportunity. Losers kneel; winners claim the glory. That glory would be mine.
Here I go again!
Thud!
He slammed his hands and feet into the ground—a sprinter's crouch start.
“...What're you doing?”
“Heh, dodge if you can.”
Rumble rumble—
The solid earth around his embedded feet crumbled like tofu.
“Hup—!”
Boom!!
The ground exploded where he'd anchored himself, and he vanished in a blur. A residual afterimage lingered—his speed was incomparable to before.
But.
Whoosh—
“Gaaargh!”
Crash!
He became a blind, flaming meteor, smashing headlong into the wall.
“...This guy's got zero learning curve.”
“Aaaargh!”
Molrangkau walled him in with a curtain of fire as he rolled on the ground.
“Time for a private chat, you piece of shit.”
Finally extinguishing the flames clinging to his body, FistRockBreaker belatedly realized he was trapped inside a curtain of fire.
“Gasp—what the hell?”
He rushed toward the blazing wall, desperate to escape. Normal fire—even the kind that had just burned him—he could probably burst through if he moved fast enough.
“Agh!”
But as he cautiously touched it, agony ripped through him. This fire was on another level entirely. Trying to push through would vaporize him instantly, leaving no ash behind.
Fwoosh—
Into this inferno stepped the red-haired mage. The greedy flames danced and swayed, welcoming her like a loyal pet greeting its master.
Thud.
Seeing her embraced by the fire, FistRockBreaker's legs gave out, and he collapsed.
“N-no way…”
The Red Witch who'd once reduced a ranker like him to ash with a flick of her wrist. She overlapped perfectly with the figure before him.
“N-no, it can't be—”
The curtain of fire roared in response to Molrangkau's rage behind her, casting shadows across her face. From those shadows leaped a dark silhouette, its blazing red eyes gleaming fiercely.
In his eyes, she was no witch—she was the devil incarnate.
“H-heek!”
Step. Step.
As she approached, he scrambled backward on his butt, dragging his heels like he'd seen a ghost.
“No way… the real Molrangkau—?”
“'No way' my ass, you fucking scum.”
“Eek—!”
She raised her hand sharply, and he cowered, terror-stricken. Pride long forgotten.
“S-s-s-sorry! I didn't realize!”
“Sorry? You really sorry?”
“Y-yes! Truly, truly sorry!”
“And what? I gotta accept your apology? Huh? Do I?”
“N-no, ma'am!”
“No? Then I can just kill you, right?”
“Th-that's…”
“Huh? Make up your mind. You lying? Not sorry but pretending?”
“No! No, I'm not!”
“There it is—your true colors. Perfect. You said you'd kill me earlier. Go on, try it.”
Molrangkau shoved her forehead toward him tauntingly.
“Sorry! I'm sorry!”
…It was top-tier bullying.
Sealed off from the outside, Hura couldn't see or hear. So she unleashed her delinquent side without restraint.
“Just words?”
She crossed her arms, smirking smugly.
“Wh-what do you want?”
“Hand over your gold.”
“R-right away.”
“Don't need it!”
Thwack—
She kicked him square in the gut.
“Guh!”
Though mages were physically weaker, she had enough strength to crush a low-rank scrub like him.
“My bad! I won't come near again. Sorry!”
He knelt before her, groveling desperately.
“Fine, you're forgiven.”
“R-really?”
“Nah.”
Thwack—
“Urk!”
Molrangkau squatted in front of him as he clutched his stomach in agony.
“Hey.”
“Y-yes?!”
“Let's play a game.”
“Wh-what game…?”
“You seemed to love flicking foreheads earlier?”
“...Pardon?”
“How many can you take?”
A crimson flame flickered to life on her middle finger.
He looked up at her with teary, pitiful eyes. But they wouldn't work on Molrangkau. Fury still smoldered quietly in her gaze.
“P-please, Lady Molrangkau…”
“Shut up, asshole. You had fun when it was you doing it, right? Even made bets.”
“Sorry! I'm sorry!”
“My friend's forehead your toy or what?”
“Didn't know she was your friend! Sorry! Anything you want, just name it!”
“Fuck off. Forehead out.”
Kaboom!!
“Aaaargh!!”
His agonized screams echoed countless times, but never pierced the fiery curtain.
“Taeyang…”
“Yes, Master.”
“My head hurts…”
“Shall I rub it for you?”
“...No.”
I was sprawled on the carriage roof, groaning amid the fiery curtain enclosing us.
Below, the voices of our two merchant clients drifted up as they led the horses.
“Where'd we put 'em?”
“Potions are in the back. Look properly.”
“What? We said keep 'em up front in case we need 'em quick!”
“...Did we?”
After rummaging through the carriage forever, they hauled up a box of potions.
“Here, the potions.”
“...Thanks.”
Geum Taeyang took them for me.
“Master, open wide.”
“...I'll drink it myself.”
I snatched the potion from his hand and chugged it. Mm, strawberry flavor.
“Feeling better?”
The merchant who'd handed it over looked concerned. He had a babyface—bowl cut, cute as hell. High schooler, maybe? Though appearances could be changed, so who knows—could be a granny.
“Yeah, much better.”
Come to think of it, I'd barely talked to our clients. Their leader, the axe guy, always handled discussions and relayed info. Outside mealtimes, our chats were limited to “tastes great,” “thanks for the food,” “so delicious,” “Chef, waaah.”
“...It's all over.”
The other merchant, sitting beside him, muttered despondently. He had neatly slicked-back hair, exposing a shiny forehead—trustworthy vibe.
“Of all people, run into a ranker. Should've played it safe even if we cut it close on deadline.”
“Yeah, got too greedy.”
“Sigh… wonder how long to start over from scratch.”
“Yeah… but we gotta try again.”
“Chef, we're losing it all anyway—eat up now.”
Shiny Forehead pushed the potion box toward me.
“Huh? No way. My friend's still out there fighting.”
“Sigh—she's not even the real Molrangkau. How's she supposed to hold off a ranker?”
“That curtain looks like her last burst of strength before bailing.”
Both merchants sighed deeply.
I asked cautiously.
“Um… but what if—just maybe—she is the real Molrangkau?”
“Hah? Good one.”
“Yeah, you're not just a chef—got jokes too, haha!”
“H-ha!”
I forced an awkward laugh, matching their shoulder slaps.
Then asked again.
“But seriously, if she were the real Molrangkau? Could she beat that ranker?”
They glanced at me, then each other, and burst into even bigger laughter.
“Hahaha! Beat him?”
“Wahahaha! It's Molrangkau, Chef!”
After laughing among themselves, they finally noticed my straight face and stopped.
Now they looked flustered.
“...You really don't know?”
“Yeah, that's why I'm asking.”
“For real? Never heard of the Red Witch Molrangkau?”
“Nope.”
Their eyes widened; they blinked at each other.
“Doesn't know Molrangkau? How's that possible?”
“Chef must be new to the game. Makes sense he'd miss it.”
“But c'mon, you browse the net, right? No way you miss her.”
“True… unless you're totally uninterested in games. Plenty don't touch Fantasy World.”
Watching them, I recalled what Dahyun had said.
These days, top Fantasy World rankers outshine most celebs.
Molrangkau was a ranker? I'd pegged her as just a strongish mage.
Sure, I'm a total noob who knows zilch.
“Molrangkau's a ranker, huh…”
Bowl Cut replied to my mumble.
“Not just any ranker—a high ranker.”
“High ranker?”
What's that?
Shiny Forehead jumped in.
“Yeah. Top 100 get called high rankers. Know what number Molrangkau is?”
Top 100. That fist guy was like 997th, so she'd crush him easy? No need to worry.
Relief washed over me. I guessed casually.
“Uh… 98th?”
“Nope. No chance.”
“...71st?”
“Still no.”
“38th!”
He shook his head.
“Wrong. Molrangkau's 5th.”
He held up five fingers.
...Did I hear wrong?
“...5th?”
“Yep. Top 10's a whole other world—gaps are huge. And she's 5th.”
My jaw dropped. A ranker was shocking enough—overall 5th?
I froze in shock.
Ignoring me, they kept debating my hypothetical.
“But say she is Molrangkau, like Chef says? Suddenly wants an escort quest, hides her identity and joins.”
“Ridiculous. She'd solo to the death—wouldn't party for a fortune.”
“Just hypothetically, based on now. Thoughts?”
“Low-rank scrub gets skinned first. Then us. She'd torch us if we annoyed her.”
“Even after playing fake quietly so far?”
“Yep. Know her rep? Time bomb waiting to blow. Super volatile one.”
“True. No different from now.”
“Easier this way, honestly. Real Molrangkau? Couldn't travel with her. One wrong word or move, dead.”
“...Agreed.”
Rumors get twisted and exaggerated, sure.
But Molrangkau… what the hell kinda game you playin'…?
Then.
Fwoosh—
Speak of the devil—the fiery curtain parted, and Molrangkau returned. Fresh-faced, like she'd just hit the bathroom.
“Ahh, feels great. Can breathe now.”
I could only stare blankly at her.
This doofus… Rank 5?
She tilted her head at me.
“What're you staring at?”