"Where’s Soren anyway?" I asked, already feeling the last threads of my patience snap like overstretched rubber bands.

"He had a prior engagement at the Royal Palace," Agatha replied smoothly, as if that sentence didn’t just seal my fate.

I closed my eyes for a second.

Just one second.

To process.

To grieve.

To accept that the one person responsible for this entire mess had very conveniently removed himself from the situation and left me—me—to deal with the consequences.

I opened my eyes again and staring blankly into the distance where Gawain’s screams were steadily becoming more distant and, somehow, more dramatic.

The mastermind was out attending royal tea or whatever people did in palaces, the Mad Dogs were out for blood, Agatha had decided this was peak entertainment, and I—

I was apparently the designated emergency response team.

I dragged a hand down my face, already feeling a headache forming.

"Great," I sighed. "Perfect. Amazing. Love that for me."

Another crash echoed somewhere far off, followed by someone yelling something that definitely involved violence and possibly dismemberment.

I straightened a little, my brain finally kicking into survival mode.

"Okay," I said slowly, more to myself than to Agatha, "I can’t fight all of them head-on. That’s not happening. I enjoy being alive."

Agatha nodded like that was a very reasonable and expected conclusion.

"So..." I continued, pacing a little now, "I either need to distract them, misdirect them, or somehow make Gawain less... chaseable."

"My Lady," Agatha cut in gently, which was already a bad sign because she only used that tone when she was about to crush my hopes and dreams, "just a small reminder—those Mad Dogs are absolute lunatics. They don’t care who they face as long as they complete the Master’s orders."

That didn’t help.

That actually made everything worse.

I paused mid-step, staring into the distance like answers might materialize if I looked hard enough, but all I got in return was another distant scream and what sounded like property damage.

"...Can I make him invisible?" I asked, already knowing the answer but hoping reality would, for once, be kind.

"No."

"Can I fake his death?"

"That would require a body."

"Can I borrow a body?"

Agatha gave me a look—the kind that made it very clear I had officially crossed into concerning territory.

"...Right," I muttered, waving a hand. "Ethical concerns. Fine."

Another scream rang out, louder this time.

I froze. "...He’s not going to last long, is he?"

Agatha tilted her head. "Not particularly."

I inhaled deeply then pointed in the direction of chaos with all the confidence of someone about to make a very bad decision.

"Alright. New plan," I declared. "We’re not saving Gawain the heroic way."

Agatha raised a brow, mildly intrigued.

"We’re saving him the idiotic way."

"And that is...?"

I turned to her with a smile that should have been illegal.

"By provoking them."

There was a very long pause.

Agatha blinked once. "...Will that work?"

"Trust me," I said, already walking toward the disaster like I had personally volunteered for my own funeral.

This plan had a perfect success rate in my previous life. Granted, that success was measured by "I didn’t die immediately," but honestly, standards matter.

"Step one: say something so offensive, so outrageous, that they forget Gawain exists," I continued, scanning the street ahead for exits, alleys, anything ahead for the fastest route to my impending regret.

"And step two?" Agatha asked, now following behind me like she had fully accepted she was about to witness something catastrophically stupid.

I cracked my knuckles. "Step two is survive long enough to regret step one."

We turned the corner, and right on cue, I spotted them—

Eight heavily armed, deeply unhinged individuals mid-chase, moving with the kind of focus that suggested they would absolutely follow through on their threats.

Somewhere ahead, Gawain was still running, screaming like a man who had just unlocked the consequences of every bad decision he’d ever made.

I glanced at Agatha. "Hide. I’m pretty sure some of them recognize you."

"But what about you—"

"Don’t you know I’m also a master of escaping?" I shot back, already stepping forward before she could argue further, because hesitation was just another word for death sentence at this point.

Before my brain could stage a rebellion, I cupped my hands around my mouth and took a deep breath.

"HEY!"

The shout cut through the chaos like a blade.

Eight heads snapped toward me in perfect, terrifying synchronization.

I smiled and instantly regretted it.

But it was too late now. Pride, stupidity, and momentum carried me forward.

"You call yourselves the Elite Squad?" I yelled, pointing directly at the bulkiest one like I had a personal vendetta. "You’re more like rabid dogs without your master!"

And then—

silence.

The kind of silence where eight armed lunatics stop moving at the same time and just... stare at you.

One of them tilted his head. "So what?"

Another squinted. "Who are you anyway?"

A third leaned forward slightly, peering at my face. "And what’s with that veil covering your eyes? Can you even see us?"

"What you said is true though," someone added casually, like we were discussing the weather instead of their dignity.

"You know us, missy?"

"Are we that famous?"

"Correction," one of them chimed in, raising a finger like he was correcting a minor spelling error instead of a full-blown insult, "our squad name isn’t Rabid Dogs—it’s Mad Dogs. Get that right."

Another one nodded seriously. "Branding matters."

And then—

"She’s pretty but she’s dumb."

My brain stalled.

So... they acknowledged it? They just... accepted the insult?

What kind of psychological resilience was this?!

I stared at them, momentarily thrown off balance, my carefully constructed plan already cracking under the pressure of their sheer unpredictability.

...Okay.

New tactic.

If insulting their identity didn’t work, then clearly I had to aim lower.

Much lower.

Straight past dignity, past reason, and directly into the personal attack territory that usually gets people banned from polite society.

"Hey you, baldy!" I snapped, pointing at one of them with absolute confidence. "Did you forget your wig at home?!"

I didn’t even pause to admire my own audacity before swinging my finger to the next unfortunate soul. "And you—fatty! I’m genuinely impressed you’ve made it this far without collapsing. That’s actually kind of inspiring."

"Hey—!" the poor guy started, clearly offended and gearing up for a rebuttal.

I cut him off like his response had a strict time limit. "And you! What is that outfit you’re wearing? Are you being punished or did you lose a bet? At this point, just go run around naked, it might actually be an improvement!"

I pivoted again, fully committed to this downward spiral. "And why are you bathed in blood? What do you think this is—Halloween?! Pick a theme and stick to it!"

Another one made the mistake of smiling—big, wide, and unfortunately for him, noticeable.

"You! Don’t smile!" I snapped instantly. "You’re scaring every child in a five-mile radius!"

At this point, I wasn’t even breathing properly. I was just fueled by adrenaline and poor decisions.

"And you! What is with that hairstyle?" I pointed at another, squinting like it personally offended me. "What, you think you’re cool? Fix it before I fix it for you!"

By now, I had successfully insulted seven out of eight.

I turned dramatically to the last one, pointing at him like he was the final boss of bad life choices.

"And you!"

He narrowed his eyes, already looking like he was about to bite me. "What?"

I paused, looked at him, then shrugged. "Nothing," I said flatly. "I just hate dogs."

I had insulted every single one of them.

A full, comprehensive, deeply regrettable tour of bad decisions.

They stared at me, all eight of them, in complete silence, and I thought—this is it.

Finally.

The moment where they snap, forget Gawain exists, and chase me instead. I could practically feel victory within reach. My muscles tensed, ready to bolt the second they moved.

I even shifted my foot slightly, preparing to run, and then something unexpected happened.

One of them sniffed while another wiped his eye.

"...She’s a bad woman," someone said, voice trembling.

"The rudest one I’ve ever met," another added, looking personally victimized.

"I wasn’t even insulted this badly back when we were at war!"

"Huhuhu—did I really become that fat?" the one I called out earlier whispered, clutching his stomach like I’d just shattered his entire self-esteem.

"I was bald because of the war and stress!" the bald one cried, pointing accusingly at me. "My hair used to be more beautiful than yours! Just you wait—when it grows back, you’ll regret this!"

I stood there, frozen. My brain short-circuiting in real time.

"...Wait—no—I—" I tried, lifting both hands like I could somehow rewind the last thirty seconds of my life.

"You don’t have to apologize!" one of them snapped dramatically.

"You heartless woman!"

"Body shamer!"

"Face shamer!"

"Outfit shamer!"

"Bald shamer!"

Each accusation hit me like a thrown rock, piling on faster than I could even begin to defend myself.