Misha's Resolve

Months ago, Old John's remains had been reduced to ashes in a fire set by soldiers. At that moment, the hatred and fury in Misha's heart had surged like a torrent, shattering the last traces of peace within her. A roaring blaze had seemed to ignite within her heart, tightly enveloping her body and leaving her curled up in a corner, helpless to break free. And in that very instant, she had suddenly discovered that she possessed the power to create and control fire. It was as though an innate gift, catalyzed by Old John's death, had been awakened. *Crack...* Misha opened her palm, and a dancing flame burst to life within her hand. The fire burned blazing and bright, like the embodiment of her very soul. *If I release this power, maybe I can catch Lord Trump's attention.* *Maybe I can even earn His Majesty's notice, and then... avenge Old John with my own hands.* A fiery light flared in her brown eyes, though whether it was the reflection of the flame in her hand or the stirring of her emotions was impossible to tell. Slowly, Misha raised her hand. *Boom!* With an explosive roar through the air, a long dragon of fire surged from her palm and shot straight into the sky. The flames bloomed violently overhead, showering sparks in every direction. "What is that?" "It's magic!" "It's so hot! Get away from here!" Under the searing heat, the air shimmered and warped, and the surrounding crowd fell into total disarray, scattering frantically for safety. "Enemy attack!" "Protect Lord Trump!" "Damn it! Who dares disrupt the military formation?" The spear-wielding guards rushed into the panicked crowd, searching for the source of the magic, only to find a young girl who looked barely eight or nine years old. "You don't need to look. It was me." Misha met the guards' gazes without the slightest evasion. She held out both hands, openly displaying the dancing flames in her palms. "It's that girl!" "It really is her!" "She was the one casting the spell! Grab her!" The guard captain raised his spear and shouted at the top of his lungs, having no desire to be seen derelict in his duties under Chief Minister Trump's direct gaze. The surrounding guards moved in tensely, steadily tightening the cordon to seize the unidentified spellcaster. Suddenly, Trump's voice rang out. "Halt." "Don't be so anxious. How could mere fire ever harm me?" "Y-Yes, of course, my lord," the guard captain stammered, hurriedly bowing his head. Trump descended slowly from midair, lightly tapping the ground with his staff. He looked down upon the girl surrounded by soldiers not far away. He studied her closely. She appeared to be about eight or nine, small and frail, with smooth skin smudged with dirt, but showing no signs of dragonification. Though trembling all over from sheer nervous tension, the girl still gazed up at him from a distance, her eyes resolute and unyielding, far from cowed by the intimidating scene. And by Trump's estimation, the power of that spell just now had reached the third circle—which meant she was very likely born with talent approaching that of a fifth-level sorcerer! At once, Trump narrowed his eyes, an intrigued expression appearing on his face. *An innate sorcerer, is she...?* *To possess spellcasting power of this caliber without having received a boon is rare indeed.* *She could become an asset to the kingdom.* With that in mind, Trump took slow steps forward. Putting on what he considered an exceptionally gentle smile, he spoke in a soft voice: "Child, don't be afraid. I am Trump, Chief Minister of the kingdom." "Is there something you need?" Yet when Misha looked up, the ogre's massive frame loomed over her, a strange grin plastered across his hideous face, baring his long, curved tusks. She could almost smell the bloody stench wafting straight toward her. Even so, sustained by sheer willpower, she refused to cower, even though her body shook like a sieve. At last, Misha spoke up timidly, "L-Lord Trump." "I... I..." She gritted her teeth in brief silence before finally making her choice: "I want to see His Majesty!" "Oh?" "Lord Trump, I want to see His Majesty," Misha pleaded again. Her voice was faint, yet remarkably firm and earnest. Trump slowly shook his head and tapped his staff against the ground once more, turning halfway away. "Those who seek an audience with His Majesty are countless beyond reckoning. Some come for wealth, some for power, some for strength, and some... merely to behold His Majesty's magnificent presence." He turned his head back, lowering his voice. "And you—what is your reason?" "I... I..." Misha hesitated for a moment, then answered with firm conviction: "I want to avenge my grandfather. He was killed in the Magur Incident." Trump replied nonchalantly, "Then your wish should already be granted. Just two months ago, Marshal Duoluo led the kingdom's armies to annihilate the northern coalition. The kingdom has already avenged you." Misha shook her head forcefully, gritting her teeth. "No, it isn't over yet! That damned Leo Bosque was the one who planned the incident! He escaped using the power of fiends and has yet to face judgment!" "I want to kill him with my own hands!" Tears welled in Misha's eyes, and a sudden spark flashed deep within her pupils. "Intriguing." A hint of amusement surfaced in Trump's eyes, and he casually waved off the surrounding guards. "Stand down, all of you. She is merely a brave child; there is no need for such wariness." "Yes, my lord." "As you command." The guards tactfully withdrew. Next, the massive ogre slowly crouched down, his burly frame like a mountain of flesh—even crouching, he loomed vastly taller than the girl before him. Looking down into the girl's brown eyes, Trump asked softly, "Child, tell me: what is your name?" "Misha. My name is Misha." "This... is the name my grandfather John gave me." Summoning every ounce of courage, Misha lifted her head and looked straight into the ogre's eyes, her voice no longer trembling. Trump rose to his feet, smiling. "Very well, Misha." "Come with me. I shall take you to the royal palace. I am sure His Majesty will be most pleased to see you as well." The ogre archmage lightly raised his staff, and an unseen force lifted both him and Misha, suspending them high in the air. "Ah!" Misha could not help letting out a gasp of surprise, but she kept her excitement contained, glancing down at the ground with occasional curiosity. It all felt like a dream. The satyrs beat their war drums once more, striking up stirring military marches. The attendants hurriedly formed neat ranks, crowding around Trump again as the procession moved forward. The triumphal ceremony resumed, and the surrounding crowd buzzed with chatter, filled with envy—wishing they could rush forward to take her place and stand by the ogre's side. "Who is she? How is she worthy to accompany Lord Trump?" "What a lucky girl." "I'm so jealous..." "Indeed. To win the Chief Minister's favor... looks like another great figure is in the making."