Sylvara's Rebirth: A New Dawn for Abel novel Chapter 78

**Chapter 78: Blame Is a Weapon Too**

Sylvara blinked, her mind racing as she processed the information displayed on Veyric’s optical computer. The image of Issac loomed large in her thoughts, embodying every stereotype she had ever encountered about the arrogant, loud, and lawless types. He was the epitome of entitlement—a spoiled thug who coasted through life on the privileges afforded by a wealthy father.

But, as she stood there, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that this was a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black.

“No, seriously, you’ve got it all wrong. She didn’t steal my bad—” Sylvara began, her voice rising in frustration.

“I know, I know,” Issac interrupted, his tone dismissive as if he was already tired of her protests. Without waiting for her to finish, he reached out and clipped the badge back onto her arm with a swift motion. “She’s just using her superior strength and mental energy to intimidate people. But don’t fret. With me around, that ugly witch won’t dare to lay a finger on either of you. She’s not taking your badge.”

As he spoke, Sylvara couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to take on the role of a self-appointed protector. These two little fans of his—so soft, so vulnerable. It was almost endearing, and it was his duty, he felt, to step up and shield them from any harm. He wanted to show them that they hadn’t made a mistake in looking up to him.

Yet, Sylvara stood there in silence, grappling with the absurdity of the situation. What even was this? This was one colossal misunderstanding, and she felt trapped in the middle of it all.

Deep down, she really didn’t want to be Chief. The weight of the badge felt heavy on her arm, and she was desperate to hand it off as quickly as possible. Why did everyone keep jumping in to stop her?

Veyric, too, was quiet, lost in his own thoughts. Had this spoiled brat actually changed? No way. Issac had always been wild, arrogant, and reckless. Everyone knew he treated life as if it were a game, and those who dared to play with him often ended up shattered. To Veyric, the concept of “decent” was completely foreign to Issac’s vocabulary.

Meanwhile, Mavena lay on the ground, her gaze fixed on her right palm—the one that had grasped the badge. It was raw, burned, and bloodied, a stark reminder of the struggle that had just unfolded. A significant patch of skin appeared scorched, and a numbing sensation crept up her arm, leaving her unable to feel anything.

With determination, she braced herself with her left hand, gritting her teeth as she pushed herself upright. She was acutely aware that she stood no chance against Issac, the Chief of the Combat Department, so she spun around, her mind set on seeking justice.

“Mr. Stone! They ganged up on me—three against one! I got injured! They used a sneak attack!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of indignation and desperation.

The chaos around her was palpable.

Multiple challengers had already taken the stage, and fights erupted everywhere, loud and intense. Drenvar had only looked away for a moment, and of course, this corner of the stage was once again in disarray.

Three against one? Injured? This was combat, after all. Getting hurt was part of the game, wasn’t it?

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