Will Serfort was magicless.
That made him a no-talent.
He was a Lyzance, but he didn't possess their night vision.
That made him defective.
Magic and night vision were the two defining traits of the Lyzances.
Yet he had neither.
Looking back, it was no surprise he'd been ostracized by his people.
Even he sometimes wondered if he was truly a Lyzance.
Maybe one of his biological parents had committed some kind of taboo—maybe one of them mated with a dwarf.
That would explain his inhuman strength and heightened senses.
For a time, Will looked to the dwarves for belonging.
And the Dwarves of Slumland had truly welcomed him.
They still did.
They treated him like one of their own.
But at the end of the day, Will wasn't a dwarf.
He was like them, but not one of them.
Dwarves never worried about lacking magic or night vision.
They never had those things to begin with.
It only crossed their minds when a Lyzance or elf brought it up, flaunting their superiority.
To dwarves, magic was a luxury, not a loss.
But for Will, it was a constant reminder.
A source of inferiority, even when no one mocked him.
The dwarves had no magic, no night vision—and they never expected to.
Will should have had both.
But he didn't.
He was defective.
Dwarves used their muscles and wielded weapons because that was their way.
That was what they were made to do.
Will did the same—but only because he had no other choice.
A wand in his hand was just a stick.
He couldn't do what he should have been able to.
That was the difference.
A very defining one.
Will was alone in the world.
One of a kind, in a way he never wished to be.
But then he met Asta.
Just like him, Will learned Asta couldn't use magic.
Asta couldn't see in the dark either.
Suddenly, Will wasn't unique anymore.
He was still an outlier in a world where magic was everything.
An outlier of a race that judged everyone by magical ability above all else.
But now there was someone else like him.
Just one person—but that was enough to make Will feel like he belonged.
Because someone else understood.
Someone else knew what it meant to be him.
And Will soon realized that the similarities were only beginning.
Like Will, Asta said there were countless days he'd screamed to the sky, begging the gods for magic.
That he always wore a brave face, pretending it didn't hurt.
That when he finally accepted how different he was, he trained his body until his bones cracked.
He relied on his strength to oppose magic.
He took up a sword and swung it.
Asta told Will he'd been raised in an orphanage.
Just like him.
Left there as a baby, taken in by the man who ran it.
Just like him.
And the day he was left there, he wasn't alone.
Another baby had been left with him.
Just like him.
From the moment he first opened his eyes Will had always had Elfi by his side.
And Asta said he had a brother.
He never told Will his name—only that they'll meet one day.
Will was confused, but he never pushed.
According to Asta, his brother was a magical genius.
Just like Elfi.
And just like Elfi, Asta's brother never treated him like he was lesser.
He respected him.
Just like Will and Elfaria, Asta and his brother were the oldest in their orphanage.
They watched over the younger children, protected them from bullies, and helped keep the place together.
Even the teasing felt familiar.
Apparently Asta, like Will, was teased a little by the younger ones—though never in a cruel way.
Once was a coincidence.
Twice was a pattern.
Three times?
That was fate.
Will never believed in fate—not until he met someone so uncannily like himself.
It was as if he were staring at another version of him.
And it was clear Asta felt the same, the way his eyes widened at every shared experience.
Sometimes Will wondered if Asta could be considered his soulmate.
Though the way he meant it felt very different from how Elfi did whenever she made that same claim.
Anyway, that was a matter for another time.
What mattered now was that Asta was like an older version of him.
An older version with some height issues, admittedly.
(Honestly, when Will first met him, the man barely grazed 5'2". He had a growth spurt not long after—but Will still had two inches on him.)
Asta stood at 5'4", around twenty-five years old.
And even that height was mostly made up of ridiculous muscle.
(Sometimes Will wondered if one of Asta's parents was a dwarf.)
Anyway—getting off track.
The point was, Asta was like a grown version of him.
Slightly stronger.
Faster.
Better battle IQ.
Sharper instincts.
Better with the sword.
Seen more, lived through more—and though Will never asked, maybe lost more too.
But at his core, Asta was just like him.
Will never had to hide around him.
He didn't need to hold back in the academy like Workner-sensei made him.
Asta wasn't going to chain him down and dissect him.
Because Asta was just as different.
Will wasn't foreign to him.
Sparring with Asta was one of the few times Will could cut loose outside the dungeon.
He could go all out.
And maybe—just maybe—he did have a bit of warrior blood in him.
Because during those fights, something awakened.
An indescribable thrill.
A joy he couldn't explain.
Blood pounding.
Adrenaline spiking.
Ecstasy bubbling beneath his skin.
He didn't know why, didn't know what made sparring with Asta so different from fighting a Minotauras—
But it just was.
It felt right.
If those closest to him ever saw his face during those matches, they'd think they were dreaming.
They'd probably compare him to that savage at the top of the tower.
Maybe this was the real Will.
Or maybe it was something else entirely.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Will darted forward across the grassy plain, moving in a blur that kicked up a sharp breeze.
Angling himself low, he slashed upward with his wooden sword, aiming for the left side of Asta's neck.
Unfazed, Asta sidestepped.
To Will, he seemed to move in slow motion—yet still just fast enough that his neck slipped out of range.
Will wasn't the least bit surprised.
He hadn't expected to land a blow on the first strike.
As Asta twisted his leg, suddenly his kneecap filled Will's vision, barreling toward his face.
Will dropped low and slid under it.
Asta's foot followed with a sweeping arc.
Will raised his wooden sword horizontally above his head, gripping both ends—then deflected the kick upward.
Twack.
Cruch. Cruch.
The sound of wood clashing against bone rang out, followed by Will's kneecaps digging into the hillside.
Before he could even stop his slide, his ki flared—danger incoming.
He reversed his grip, sword held behind his left shoulder-blade.
And then—Twack!
Pain vibrated through his arms as wood struck wood.
The impact rattled his bones.
Asta followed through with a heavy side-swipe, twisting his torso into the blow.
"Chk!" Will gritted his teeth, bracing—before being launched sideways.
"Ugh!"
Chk!
Crunch!
Bam!
He hit the hill like a stone skipping across water, bouncing off his head, side, and back.
He rolled, tumbled, careening downhill.
His sword began slipping from his grip—but Will's eyes snapped into focus.
He opened his mouth and bit down hard on the handle.
Clamped tight.
With both hands now free, he thrust his palms downward as he fell.
Then, channeling his upper body strength, he bent his arms—and flipped.
A clean backflip midair, somersaulting once—landing squarely on his feet with a graceful thud.
Before he could slide down, Will dashed up the slope like a gazelle.
His feet pounded against the angled surface of the dip until he reached the top of the hill.
Asta was waiting at the edge like a merciless reaper, ready to kick him straight back down.
But Will was ready.
Just like when he scaled the alley wall, he crouched low—then launched high over Asta's head.
He landed cleanly at the center of the hilltop, immediately settling into a sword stance.
Feet grounded.
Core locked.
Eyes forward.
This time, Asta didn't follow.
He simply whistled low, looking at him with a faint grin.
"Not bad."
Will didn't blush or ease his stance.
He tightened it.
Balanced on the balls of his feet, he stood alert, awaiting the next move.
Asta's smile broadened.
He began circling him slowly.
Will didn't turn to follow.
He kept his eyes on him, shifting only his hips and feet, staying calm.
"What's the first rule of ki?" Asta asked as he walked.
With each lap, the circle shrank.
Will answered without hesitation. "Trust your body."
Asta nodded and began to instruct him, voice steady and clear.
"Everyone has ki. It's a broad term for the life energy flowing through all things."
"It moves through us without conscious thought."
"In every motion we make."
"When someone looks at you."
"The rhythm of their breath."
"The beat of their heart."
"The way the ears twitch."
"A subtle sniff of the nose."
"A tongue across the lips."
"A slight finger twitch."
"All of it—big or small—signals a change in thought or intention."
"In battle, and not just combat, but negotiations, interrogations, surveillance… we read ki."
"To predict their next move, or understand the current one before we act."
By now, Asta was within striking distance.
Or maybe Will was within his.
Still, Asta circled, and Will didn't rise to the bait.
"We use it to see through lies," Asta went on.
"To gauge probabilities."
"To develop a kind of foresight, you could say."
Asta suddenly stopped moving.
Will twisted his body to face him.
Neither made a move.
Asta simply pointed the tip of his blade at him.
"Animals, magical beasts, familiars, dungeon monsters, demons… these primitive beings use ki subconsciously, just like us."
"But unlike us, they respond. They register every shift—every twitch, breath, glance—and they act on it."
"We humanoids, on the other hand, dismiss those signs as meaningless, or overthink them until it's too late."
He gave Will a slow, deliberate glance up and down.
"And that's your problem."
"You, with the senses of a monster, already had a stronger grasp of ki than most even before I started training you."
"That's why you picked it up so fast once given formal instruction. Faster than I did."
"But."
"You've barely progressed since."
"I had already mastered ki in less time than you've spent treading water."
He didn't say it aloud, but Asta had only started learning ki at about the age Will was now.
For the first time since the match began, Will's focus slipped.
His jaw clenched. His hands gripped the wooden sword tighter.
"Why is that, Shishō?" he mumbled, frustration thick in his voice.
Normally, Asta would've punished that lapse with a swift blow to teach him a lesson.
But not today.
He sensed something fragile in Will's energy, something that didn't need breaking right now.
So instead of forcing Will to figure it out, he gave him the answer.
"Doubt."
"Your innate senses are powerful. Stronger than mine, even."
"They remind me of a beast I once fought—one that broke my arms using ki without even knowing it."
"But that beast never doubted itself."
"You, though? You ignore what your ki tells you."
"You overthink like a human. You hesitate like a Lyzance. You let emotion, anxiety, and what others think lead you off course."
"You make the wrong move because you don't trust your instincts."
Will opened his mouth to respond, but Asta raised a hand.
"I'm not saying to throw away your reasoning as a human."
"That would make you no better than a beast… or some unfeeling magical weapon."
"That defeats the entire point of ki."
"Ki isn't just about sharpening the senses to beastlike precision or pushing them beyond. It's also about calling on the human mind—your judgment—to decide the next move."
For a moment, something flickered in Asta's eyes.
A sorrowful, complicated glint.
"I never want you to become something like that again…"
Not again…
"Huh?" Will blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone.
But once again, Asta moved before Will could press the question.
The strike came first.
"Gah!"
Will gasped as he was brought to his knees, gripping his training sword with both hands, held horizontally above his head.
Asta pressed down with unrelenting force.
Will tried to slip back—but Asta didn't let him.
"Ugh!"
A growl escaped him as Asta's heavy boot came down on his left foot, pinning it in place.
The added weight increased the pressure on Will's arms.
Crack.
The ground beneath him began to crater.
He sank deeper as his bones rattled and groaned.
Sweat trickled down his back, his grip faltering.
Asta shook his head.
"You still hesitate."
"Because of that, you lost your chance to escape. If I had even one comrade nearby, they'd take that opening and end it."
"Remember this, Will—"
"Dungeon monsters. Demons. Beasts. No matter how terrifying they look, they're still beasts. They act on instinct."
"But one cynical, broken human? One deranged soul angry at the world—even if they're mediocre, even if they're nobody—they can do more damage than a Floor Keeper."
"As cliché as it sounds, the pen is mightier than the sword. Not in poetry or words, but in strategy. In thought."
"A dull monster will tear through a village."
"But a smart human will burn an entire kingdom to ash."
"Your greatest enemies won't be monsters. They'll be people."
"And if you give them one opening, they'll make sure you never even have the chance to regret it."
"Monsters have senses."
"Humans have minds."
"But you—"
"You have both."
"And instead of letting them complement each other, you let them clash. You treat them like rivals. Like opposites."
"AUGHH!!"
Will's vision pulsed.
Veins burst behind his eyes.
His face flushed—not from shame, but the strain. The breath leaving him. The blood rushing through him.
His knees buckled.
His lungs wheezed.
His vision blurred.
The crater deepened.
Then—finally—Asta lifted his sword.
Will collapsed forward, gasping like a fish denied water.
With shaky limbs, he clawed his way out of the hole.
Hah… hah…
He lay flat on his back, chest heaving.
His eyes stared up at the simulated sky.
His vision was filled with Asta looking down at him.
"You need to stop doing that, Will. The truth may hurt, but let's face it—neither of us are Lyzance."
Will's eyes sank.
Asta continued.
"Stop living by their standards. Stop molding yourself to their norms."
"Don't become a mindless monster either… but be you. Be us—whatever kind of bug we are—and give yourself the benefit of the doubt."
"Have the courage to trust what your body and mind are telling you. Tune out the rest. All the noise, all the fanfare—that's just fairy dust."
"If you're a sword, stop thinking like a mage."
"Yes, you can take inspiration from them—from monsters, from dwarves—but that's all it is. Inspiration. Not imitation."
"Do what they do, your way. That's the path to true efficiency. And only by walking that path will you ever unlock the real potential inside that vessel of yours."
Will swallowed a dry lump in his throat.
Then, slowly, the tension in his chest faded.
A weak chuckle escaped him.
"Shishō… you sound really smart today…"
Asta smiled. That same complicated light in his eyes flickered again—the kind that always left Will wondering what he was really thinking.
"Let's just say Shishō's worried about you…"
Will didn't get the chance to ask what he meant.
Asta took a step back.
"Get up. The day's still young."
Will groaned—then sprang to his feet.
Without hesitation, he kicked his sword into the air, caught the handle mid-flip—and lunged forward.
Thwack!
The sharp clash of wood against wood rang out across the hilltop.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
As the deep of night darkened the sky, Will—fresh from a bath—grabbed the packed dinner Noelle had prepared for him: onion soup.
He offered a polite nod of thanks, then took his leave.
Noelle watched him go for as long as her eyes allowed.
Though her body had undergone a few mutations since arriving in Paradise, her night vision still lagged behind that of the average Lyzance.
She could only see so far—and with the forest obscuring the path, Will soon vanished from view.
Sighing quietly, she closed the door and turned around—only to find her husband, shirtless with a towel draped around his neck, cradling their sleeping son against his bare chest.
Noelle smiled gently and stepped toward him.
Taking the towel, she dabbed at Asta's damp face.
"Seriously, what am I going to do with you…" she moaned, overly dramatic. "It's like I've got two babies to take care of…"
Asta grinned and matched her teasing. "But you love me anyway."
Her cheeks flushed, but she snorted in classic tsundere fashion. "Hmph. Don't get so full of yourself."
With exaggerated flair, Asta sighed and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her in close—nestling her beside their son, against the other side of his chest.
Her blush deepened.
"Yes, yes… I shall know my place, my dear wife."
Noelle nearly squeaked and recoiled like a startled cat—
But then… she let herself enjoy it.
Her fingers lightly traced across his chest as she looked up.
"It still feels strange… looking up at you now."
Asta chuckled. "A bad kind of strange?"
Noelle shook her head. "No… not at all."
She backed off just a bit, meeting him at eye level.
Then tilted her head.
"…I'm not nearly as good with Ki as you freaks, but even I can tell something's up. So, my dear husband—want to tell your wife what's bugging you?"
Asta went quiet. Then nodded.
And answered honestly.
"Will had some white strands in his hair."
Noelle's eyes widened. Her breath hitched.
"You don't mean…"
Asta frowned, then nodded again.
"His memories… he's probably slipping again."
Noelle bit her lip.
"You're sure?" she asked, though her voice betrayed little hope.
"I'm not," Asta admitted. "I didn't dare probe or test him too much—I was afraid of triggering something. But he's forgetting small things again…"
Tension thickened the hallway.
Noelle clenched her fists.
Both their breaths grew shallow.
And as if sensing the unease, little Nigel began to stir.
Quietly, they moved to their room.
They placed their son gently in his crib, wrapping him in a snug blanket.
Then lay down side by side on the bed, listening to each other's breath, heavy with thought.
A moment later, Asta broke the silence with a hoarse whisper.
"I-It's so unfair… All that boy ever wanted was magic. And the power he got… it breaks him. Empties him."
Magic wasn't supposed to do that.
It was supposed to empower someone.
Fill them with joy—not take everything away.
Noelle said nothing.
She simply laid her head on her husband's chest as he poured his heart out.
"So many times with him… good and bad… were lost after that incident…"
Noelle's eyes shimmered with moisture as the memory resurfaced.
Two years ago, Asta had brought Will home.
But it wasn't Will.
It was something else—a being, glowing white from head to toe, restrained by a whip of black Anti-Magic.
That thing. That weapon. That sword.
It had empty eyes, a blank soul, and no emotions.
Just a singular objective:
Destroy monsters.
Combat the invaders held back by the false sky.
He had no memories.
And they had been helpless to do anything about it.
Vanessa, Dorothy, and Nero tried.
Even together, their abilities amounted to little.
None of them understood what they were facing.
Demon Destroyer's causality break had peeled back the transformation—but whatever force had twisted Will…
It felt older than cause and effect itself.
Even after the reversal, he remained like a lifeless statue.
Then—they received a visitor.
A witch. Not from their world… but this one.
She brought Will back.
Artificially.
She inserted fragments of memory—not his own, but from the perspectives of others.
From their time with him.
An identity crafted from observation and love.
That day, Asta and Noelle wept together.
Because the boy who came back to them…Wasn't their Will.
Their Will Serfort had died that day.
What remained was a mimic. A construct.
Programmed to act, talk, and smile like the Will they remembered.
What kept them going was the witch's promise:
That one day, she could truly bring him back.
With all his memories.
And there had been moments—stray words, spontaneous gestures—that felt like the real Will.
Those brief sparks were all they had.
Asta bit his lip.
"I… If only Marx was still…"
If Marx were alive, they wouldn't have had to rely on that witch.
Will would already be back.
Their secrets wouldn't hang by a thread in someone else's hands.
Noelle sniffled faintly.
"He's gone, Asta…"
So many were gone.
So many faces from their past, wiped out with their world.
They had come to Paradise like the elves and dwarves before them—
Not as heroes, but as losers.
Fleeing a battle they couldn't win.
No—a battle they should have been able to win.
If not for Him.
And the cruel twist of fate.
Though they knew it was His fault…
They still blamed themselves.
If only we'd known.
If only we were better prepared.
But they'd lost.
Lost their world.
Lost their people.
Lost friends. Family.
Asta held Noelle tighter.
"The plan hasn't changed."
Noelle nodded. "Of course."
They would take down the invaders.
They would shatter the false sky—to show their son, and all of Paradise, the sun and moon again.
And they would bring Will back.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
As Will passed through Slumland—no longer trying to hide, but still hurrying to make it back to the dorms on time—he paused.
Through the open window of Gina's tavern, he caught sight of Donnan and several other familiar dwarves from the smithy, all gathered at the same table.
But something was off.
They weren't drunk.
They weren't even touching the mugs of beer or plates of meat in front of them.
Every face looked unusually solemn.
That alone was enough to make Will stop.
He wasn't one to pry into others' business—
But his mind, still full of the questions Shishō had left him with, couldn't let it go.
After glancing around and checking over his shoulder, Will Serfort did something a little uncharacteristic.
He ducked down…
Crawled beneath the windowsill…
And listened.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Mercedes Caulis, Floor 50
"A Food Goddess?"
Chariot Incindia Wiseman—current Wand of Fire and Magia Vander presiding over the Incindia Barham fire faction—repeated the words with mild curiosity, peering out an open window from his throne at the top of the tower.
Behind him stood Logwell, his most trusted aide and adjutant of his faction.
A blindfolded old man with his arms folded neatly behind his back, like a disciplined soldier.
Logwell nodded, his tone level.
"Yes, sir. There are whispers coming from Garzaronso. The dwarves are clinging to something... hope."
"Hmm…"
Chariot crossed his legs, clicking his tongue with exasperation, his eternal crescent-moon smile never once leaving his face—a smile eerily reminiscent of a certain shadow mage.
"Honestly… it's always something."
First there had been suspicious movements in Alfswood—movements dear Elleanor had vehemently denied.
Something was clearly brewing in Samios.
And in Terralis as well.
And now, even the dwarves were up to something.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He drummed a fingernail against his armrest.
"Where is Finn?"
Logwell bowed low.
"Abroad. Accompanying Lord Masterias."
"Hah…"
Chariot sighed again, full of drama, his signature grin still carved across his face.
Too many meddlers in and out of the tower.
Too many variables slipping through his grasp.
He looked up—to the barrier in the sky, moon-like and faintly pulsing.
"Honestly… we all know this barrier won't last much longer."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Dungeon, 6th Floor
Near the Entrance to the 7th Floor – Regarden Base Camp
Ten days had passed since Will's first lesson with Asta.
Which meant today was the all-student praxis.
He stood in the circular camp, goggles hanging from his neck and a heavy backpack strapped across his shoulders, flanked by his squad and company.
Lihanna turned her head slowly toward a familiar mop of orange hair. Her expression was flat.
"Colette... I don't remember inviting you to join us."
The fallen noble of House Loire lit up like fire, blushing furiously as she fidgeted and sputtered.
"W-well why not?! If Will's going, then so am I!"
Lihanna didn't argue.
Despite Colette's eccentricities, she was undeniably one of the top five students in their grade—and a rare practitioner of Earth Magic.
That particular element had been in steady decline lately, with the crumbling state of the earth faction, Grantina L'Abysse.
Though Lihanna had heard a rumor about some kind of pervert stirring up trouble within the faction and the tower, it didn't make her think any less of them.
Earth magic—especially in the hands of a skilled caster with a level head—would be an invaluable asset for their team on a dungeon dive.
So, Lihanna gave Colette a simple nod.
The orange-haired girl immediately brightened, her smile wide as she and the others fell in line behind Wignall, Sion, and Julius.
Will lagged behind the group alongside his roommate, Rosti Nauman.
The blonde, carrying a much smaller backpack of his own, offered an apologetic smile.
"The artificers are stuck at base camp for now. Sorry I can't go with you."
Will felt a twinge of disappointment—he had always wanted to dive into a dungeon with Rosti—but he didn't show it.
"That's fine! You already made plenty of magic items for me."
He smiled gratefully. Rosti returned the smile… but then narrowed his blue eyes, making something cold tighten in Will's gut.
Will forced a grin and swallowed. "Something wrong, Rosti?"
The artificer pointed to Will's right hand—specifically, to the silver ring worn over his black glove.
"What's that?"
Will blinked, looking down at the dark-blue gem embedded in the ring. He offered a harmless grin.
"Oh, this? It's a gift!"
He kept it simple.
But Rosti didn't buy it. He leaned in and—oddly—sniffed.
"It smells like a woman… no, multiple women. Who gave it to you?"
His voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp enough to make Will break out in a cold sweat. He had a bad feeling he'd just walked into a trap.
"...Th-that's a secret…" he mumbled.
Rosti smiled.
Will found that smile terrifying.
"Be careful, okay?" was all Rosti said.
Will, feeling like he'd just been spared divine judgment, nodded frantically and backed away.
As he turned and jogged back toward the others, a memory from the night before surfaced—right before he'd left Shishō's house.
Mrs. Silva had casually pressed the ring into his palm. When he asked what it was for, she'd simply ruffled his hair.
"A gift. One to make your life in the dungeon a bit easier. Keep it on at all times, alright?"
She'd offered no further explanation.
And when he asked if he should thank her, she'd replied with a complicated look,
"Don't thank me. Thank someone else."
Will hadn't known how to respond. He'd simply nodded, clutching the ring tightly on the way back to his dorm.
Sometimes he wished his Shishō and his wife would just give him straight answers.
Same with Rosti. And Workner-sensei.
Everyone closest to him had a way of looking at him—like they all knew something.
Something about him.
Something they weren't saying.
Will tried not to think about it.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Snap.
Edward Serfence shut his pocket watch with a sharp click, then cast his gaze over the neat rows of students standing below him.
"It's time," he announced.
"Welcome to the all-student praxis—otherwise known as the field intensive."
His solemn tone brought the murmuring crowd to silence.
Workner Norgram stepped forward next, holding up a finger.
"You have precisely one week."
Adjusting his glasses, he continued with crisp efficiency.
"Unlike a typical praxis, this is a survival exercise conducted within the dungeon."
"Base camps have been established on each floor. Locate them using the maps provided, and always remain aware of your distance from them."
He swept his gaze across the assembled students.
"You're free to choose your own targets and objectives. We won't dictate your goals—this is your time. You're adults now. What you make of it is up to you."
"Some of you may complete your praxis early. Others may withdraw if conditions turn unfavorable. If so, retreat to the nearest camp. Faculty will be standing by."
Workner's eyes lingered momentarily on Will, offering him a barely noticeable smile.
Edward's gaze sharpened.
"For the last time, remember: know your limits, and know your place. Do with that what you will."
He raised an arm, his voice amplified by a communication spell.
"And now, I hereby declare the all-student praxis—begun!"
The moment the words left his mouth, the crowd erupted. Students surged into motion, breaking into squads and fanning out in every direction.
Lihanna, Wignall, Julius, Sion, Will, and Colette moved in a double-line formation—two rows of three.
Without hesitation, they leapt into a massive crack in the earth that served as the descent into the dungeon's lower levels.
Wignall, Sion, and Julius descended with practiced ease, Lihanna stayed focused, and Colette—while composed—kept glancing toward Will, anxiety in her eyes.
She wasn't worried for herself.
She was worried for him.
As a so-called "no-talent," Will couldn't use levitation magic like the rest.
While the five mages drifted down slowly, buoyed by invisible parachutes, Will dropped like a stone—more like a meteor.
They braced for the worst. A harsh landing. A mangled leg.
Death, even.
Yet Will remained calm, goggles secured over his eyes.
And then—
Crack!
He landed directly on the soles of his feet, crouching low to absorb the shock. A shallow crater burst open beneath him.
But he didn't fall.
He stood.
Kiki clung tightly to his shoulder, unharmed.
Will shook out his legs to shake off the tremors still reverberating through them, then looked up at the others.
Colette was wide-eyed.
Lihanna and Wignall both gave faint nods—recognition and quiet approval.
Sion and Julius snorted dismissively and turned away to take the lead.
Will grinned faintly and followed after them.
Wait for me, Elfi, he thought.
I'll get all the credits I need to see you again.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Silva Cabin
Noelle's eye twitched, utterly devoid of amusement.
With a sigh, she facepalmed, already feeling a headache forming as her husband continued staring at her with the most pitiful puppy-dog eyes imaginable.
She groaned.
"What?" she snapped, clicking her tongue.
Asta dropped to his knees in a mock-begging pose, wearing a sheepish grin.
"Well, honey, you know how I've been worried about Will…"
Noelle raised a brow, unimpressed.
"What about it?"
"Ahem." Asta cleared his throat and offered his most ingratiating smile.
"Would you mind tailing him? You know, just to make sure nothing happens."
Noelle almost scoffed.
"You're his oh-so-great Shishō. If you're that worried, you follow him."
Asta stood, sliding his arms around her waist. Noelle flushed bright red as he leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear.
"A-Asta?!" she stammered, heart racing.
She waited—half-expecting a kiss.
Instead, she got:
"I normally would, but, uh… I can't use magic. And there are a lot of eyes in the dungeon right now, so…"
Her expression darkened instantly.
Slipping out of his embrace, Noelle gave him the middle finger with all the grace and spite of a woman reluctantly in love.
"Fine."
Asta's eyes shimmered.
"You're too good to me—" he started, moving in for a hug.
Smack.
Her palm met his face, shoving him back like he was something unsanitary.
"I'm doing this for him and me, not you," she spat.
Asta shrugged, grinning.
"Whatever you say, whatever you say."
Across the room, Nigel watched his mother throw another fit while his father laughed it off.
The infant blinked once, then casually stuffed his pudgy hand in his mouth and began sucking his fingers.
Atop his head sat a small red-and-white bird with half-lidded eyes, its face the very picture of tired disdain.
Get a room.
That, quite clearly, was what Nero thought.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author's Notes:
[1] The current world of Wistoria, also known as Paradise, exists on a single continent divided into three nations. Alfswood lies to the north and is home to the elves. Garzaronso lies to the south and belongs to the dwarves. Between them sits the country of mages, ruled by the Lyzance.
At the very center of the continent stands Mercedes Caulis, the mage capital of the world, surrounded by the great fortress city of Urbus Rigarden. The two largest cities after it within the mage country are Samios to the east and Terralis to the west.
Little is known about any settlements beyond Urbus Rigarden.
[2] Feel free to join the discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar