Aughh… Come on, Will, you can do better!
Will Serfort cursed himself inwardly as he stood surrounded by his party, watching the mages face off against several ant- and worm-like monstrous creatures.
He had believed Lihanna scouted him to be the party's front-runner—to charge ahead and clear the way for the others.
And she had.
She just failed to mention that being an Owenzaus meant she came from a lineage of knights.
A lineage known for their mastery of close combat, and through manipulation of the lightning attribute, she could move in such a blur that she did cut down prey before he could even react.
He'd had a front-row seat to that earlier, when she single-handedly blitzed through a swarm of crimson ants shortly after they landed in the canyon.
And even now, as she stood still firing bolts of lightning from her wand at the approaching monsters, Will could do nothing but watch.
The others—Colette, Sion, Wignall, and Julius—weren't idle either, each casting attack spells of their own.
Will was always too slow to act, for one simple reason.
He was magicless. He couldn't use even the most basic spell, not just for dungeon crawling but for everyday mage life: Search.
A standard spell used to detect enemies and anomalies.
Essentially, his companions had a built-in GPS and lock-on system, while he had to rely entirely on his physical senses and ki.
Even if he could detect enemies at the same rate—or somehow faster—he still couldn't match the speed of lightning or a fireball.
The enemies were already obliterated by the time he locked onto them.
Will was starting to feel useless. Self-deprecation clouded his thoughts, reigniting that gnawing inferiority complex and slowing him down even more.
Suddenly, his ki-sense flared with danger. He snapped his head over his shoulder, pupils dilating as he caught sight of a familiar head of icy-blue hair.
Instinct took over—he ducked just as a wand was pointed in his direction.
A shard of ice burst forward in front of him, skewering an approaching crimson ant.
Julius, the caster, didn't even look at him—just stared with cold, indifferent eyes.
"Out of my way, Flunkee."
Will bit down on his lip.
They're taking on the whole mob!
I-it's not that I can't spot enemies as fast as them—it's just that Search has a wider range than my senses, even when amplified by Ki!
And their spells travel way faster than I ever could!
Nothing felt more sickening, humiliating, or frustrating than realizing you were starting to become deadweight.
And Will certainly was. He felt like little more than just a porter tasked with carrying the party's supplies.
He felt like a nameless extra.
As his thoughts spiraled, Will didn't register the next enemy until it was too late. A giant ant sprang at him from behind, its razor-sharp pincer slicing down toward his neck like a scythe.
"Behind you!!!" Colette screamed, fear and desperation in her voice.
Will was too slow.
Wignall Lindor wasn't.
Zephros Claw.
With a flick of his wand, a cutting dome of wind erupted around the group. It sliced the ant attacking Will—and the entire swarm of ants and worms—into pieces.
Will stood breathless, amazed.
H-He got them all with one spell…
But only for a moment.
Wignall turned to face him.
Gone was his signature disarming smile, or even the teasing grin he'd flashed at Sion and Julius during the scouting meeting.
In its place was something closer to disgust.
"You're more deadweight than I expected," he said. "Can't even serve as a decent shield."
Will's stomach churned.
Wignall looked past him. "Now I'm starting to doubt your judgment, Lihanna."
Lihanna stood facing the tunnel ahead, her back to them.
"He simply hasn't had time to be a shield yet."
Will felt touched—briefly.
It was good he couldn't see Lihanna's face. Her awkward expression said even she didn't believe her own words.
"We'll see what he's capable of once we find an over-five enemy… probably."
"So it's alright if he's deadweight for now… probably."
"I'm sure he's very strong… probably."
Every probably hit Will like an arrow to the heart—and not the kind that meant love was in the air.
More like the kind that made him want to curl into a ball and disappear.
Sion wasn't even paying him any attention—something Will would normally feel relieved about.
But having his greatest bully treat him like air hit a different kind of painful.
Julius wasn't much better. His eyes stayed fixated on his wand, held aloft as black gas seeped from the corpses of the monsters and poured into it.
But at least he offered a cutting remark.
"See? I told you bringing along a guy who can't use Search would only slow us down."
Will watched the process quietly.
Whenever a dungeon monster is slain, it releases mana particles in the form of miasma—commonly known as magical traces.
The wands in this world are built to absorb those traces for two main purposes.
First, it slows down the dungeon's ability to reproduce monsters, since you're effectively stealing its vital energy.
And second, it allows Rigarden Academy, Mercedes Caulis, and other institutions to track what monsters a person has defeated, and reward them accordingly.
For students like Will, that reward came in the form of praxis credits.
But Will—magicless—could do none of that. He was forced to physically harvest parts from the monsters he slayed as proof of his contributions.
And that was where the problem began.
As Will crouched down to dissect a monster and store the remains in his bag, the others were already walking away.
All except Colette, who pointed back toward him, her voice tight with urgency.
"Wait! We're still picking up the item drops!"
Wignall paused, glancing over his shoulder, face flat and indifferent.
"Those are hardly worth anything. What's the point of carrying them?"
Will wasn't the only one who collected monster carcasses, but the reasons were very different.
The others didn't have his disability. They only gathered corpses when it suited them—whether for experiments, fulfilling school-issued missions, or earning extra credits.
Some did it to brew potions or develop magical tools. It was cheaper than buying materials on the market.
But Will…
He had no choice.
"H-he can't collect traces," Colette argued, voice rising. "If he doesn't bring it back, he won't get any credits!"
"He did take one of them down!" she added quickly, preempting dismissal.
"..."
Wignall, Lihanna, and Julius remained silent.
Emotionless.
But Will could feel it—displeasure, annoyance, and thinly veiled disapproval leaking from the trio like invisible poison in the air.
Being a no-talent meant Will had to stop and pick up the remains of every monster he slayed—something bound to get on people's nerves.
Will really was becoming a porter.
But instead of lugging the group's gear, he was the worst kind—the kind that forced everyone to wait on him.
It had nothing to do with being magicless. No one wanted a selfish, individualistic liability in their party.
If he didn't do something soon, they'd erupt and tear into him.
Shedding an imaginary tear, Will reached for the ant's claw with his right hand.
But the moment he touched it—that's when it happened.
The blue stone on the ring he wore flared with light.
Everyone snapped their heads toward him, sensing the sudden spike of mana.
How's he using magic?!
They all inwardly screamed, but Will was the most shocked of all.
He stared, jaw slack, as miasma poured out from the ant claw and into the ring—before stopping just as suddenly.
Then, without warning, a holographic magic screen burst from the ring like a maser's projection.
It was blank, save for two lines:
Item Inventory:
Traces - Crimson Ant (Mandible) – x1
Will blinked.
So did the others.
Sion, hands in his pockets, scoffed. "Hmph. So you had the brain to bring a magic item. Guess you're not completely pathetic, Learner."
Julius twirled a lock of his hair, eyes narrowed. "Flunkee, what is that? I've never seen one like it. Where'd you buy it from?"
He wasn't the only one staring. Even Lihanna and Wignall showed a flicker of interest in their otherwise bored expressions.
Colette and Kiki were the most obvious—both looked at him, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Yeah, Will! Where'd you get that?"
Will stayed silent for a moment before forcing a smile. "It's a gift."
Almost instantly, everyone but Colette and Kiki lost interest.
They turned and slowly walked away, leaving Will alone with the Earth Princess still eyeing him.
He kept the smile going. "Rosti made it for me."
Inwardly, he apologized to his roommate. Please don't rat me out, Colette.
Luckily, her mood visibly soured at the mention of the artificer. It was clear she wasn't interested in chatting with his friend.
Will suddenly felt grateful the two didn't get along.
As Colette and Kiki hurried after the others, Will lagged a few steps behind.
His gaze dropped to the ring on his finger.
Then he smiled softly.
You said not to, but thank you, Mrs. Silva.
The Serfort boy whispered it in his heart.
His soul warmed and steadied as he admired the bluish shine.
The ring filled him with feelings of being loved, cherished, thought of, and protected.
It reminded him of Blue Tears in color... and something more.
Will suddenly stopped in his tracks.
His face twisted in confusion.
Wait… what's Blue Tears…?
A sharp pang of pain lanced through his skull. He clutched the side of his head.
And just like ten days ago, a voice that wasn't his echoed in his mind.
But this time, he recognized it.
I made it secretly before we came to the academy… for you, Will.
Will's pupils dilated. "Elfi?!" he murmured aloud, incredulous.
The voice returned with a fresh stab of pain, pounding like a second heartbeat.
This time, it brought an image with it.
Will saw Elfaria Serfort—just as he remembered her before they parted at the tower.
She was lying beside him on a bed, in a room he didn't recognize.
It looked like a dormitory from Rigarden... not the outhouse and shack he and Rosti had shared.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crystal-blue pendant.
Then, she handed it to him.
This will give you strength... and cry in the place of a crybaby like you.
And just like before, the voice, the image, and the pain vanished.
Will was left breathless, down on one knee, sweat trickling down his cheeks.
"Mreow?"
He stiffened at the soft paw tapping his foot.
There she was—his familiar, the Carbuncle Kiki—looking up at him with rosy-pink eyes full of concern.
Will sprang to his feet and let her hop onto his shoulder.
He didn't speak, and she didn't ask.
He hurried after the group before anyone noticed how long he'd lagged behind.
As he walked, Will gave himself a light slap on the cheeks to refocus.
Now's not the time for daydreaming!
He clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes.
I'm going to make myself useful.
He wouldn't waste the great gifts others had entrusted to him.
He'd look for answers later.
Right now, he needed to slay monsters.
Will did not notice a few strands of his hair visibly dying themselves white.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Abyss Gates
Noelle Silva arrived at the dungeon entrance located midway between Rigarden and the upper institute of the tower.
It was a large, checkered-floor chamber, sealed by massive twin doors.
Today, those doors stood wide open.
Students and faculty constantly entered and exited—some rejoining the Praxis after a last-minute supply run, others rotating in for teammates working in shifts.
Strangely, none of them noticed Noelle.
That was because she was using the stealth spell Hide—the greatest natural enemy of Search.
Hide didn't just make someone invisible. It completely suppressed their magical signature.
Of course, the spell wasn't perfect. Movement could still cause minor leakage, enough to trigger detection if someone was actively scanning.
But Noelle had no reason to worry.
No one kept Search active in this corridor. With no monsters in sight, it would've been a waste of mana.
Besides, after six years of sneaking around in this world, she had mastered the spell. As long as she didn't let her emotions spike or cast another spell while using it, she could move undetected.
Her husband aside, the rest of their group had all—strangely—mutated after arriving in this world. Their bodies had adjusted to resemble the native humans, the Lyzance, allowing them to adapt to the world's magic system.
They had lost much. But they gained that.
And for Noelle, it meant she could learn common magic—slowly, but surely.
Hide came especially easy for her.
She weaved through the crowd at the edge of the corridor, careful not to bump anyone. She was invisible, not intangible.
Once past the central congestion, she took a wide, roundabout path away from the camps and outposts. She wasn't willing to risk discovery there.
When she was finally alone, she dropped the spell.
Almost immediately, the back of her right hand began to glow.
A magical circle of cryptic arrays flickered briefly before vanishing.
And as it disappeared, Noelle's eyes changed.
Her familiar pink pupils narrowed and darkened—becoming vertical, bestial, and blue.
Her vision, already limited in the dark, suddenly sharpened. More than sharpened.
She could now see everything.
Edges of jagged stone. Cracks in the dungeon floor. Trails of water. Faint glimmers of mana residue.
She heard the soft dripping of a distant leak. Smelled the faint traces of moss, mold, and monster.
A few lesser beasts caught her scent and scurried away in fear.
She kept walking, eyes blank, unbothered.
On her left hand, beside her wedding ring, sat another.
It closely resembled the one she had given Will—except the gemstone was amethyst instead of blue, and the etchings on the band were subtly different.
The stone glowed.
From it, a detailed map of the dungeon floated into view—projected midair.
Two red dots blinked on the map.
One near the entrance, at floor one.
Another deeper, at floor seven.
Noelle clicked her tongue.
Please tell me that's you, Will... and not some critter that ate your ring or walked off with it.
Or else finding you is going to be really annoying.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Will took a deep breath.
His party was surrounded.
A pack of four-legged, brownish monsters stalked the edge of their formation. Each one bore three curved black horns, jagged fangs, and long tails that lashed the ground.
Evil Guards.
That puzzled him.
These monsters were typically territorial—they didn't travel in packs.
Yet here they were. Dozens of them, creeping in like coordinated predators.
Will's teammates, however, didn't seem the slightest bit alarmed. Wands at the ready, they stood poised to strike without hesitation.
Will almost spoke up.
Almost.
But he swallowed it back.
Now wasn't the time to nerd out about behavioral patterns or monster ecology.
And even if he did speak up, it wouldn't matter. His party might not be dungeon scholars, but they weren't stupid. These were the top five scorers of their grade.
Everyone—except maybe Kiki and Colette—had come down here determined to achieve something extraordinary. None of them were about to turn back just because the dungeon was acting strange.
Besides, strange wasn't uncommon down here.
Edward-sensei had drilled that into them from day one: The dungeon is alive. It's sentient. And it adapts.
The deeper you went, the truer that became.
It wasn't unusual for monsters to shift their behavior in response to mass raids. In fact, it was expected.
So Will stayed quiet.
As more Evil Guards emerged from the shadows and entered striking range, Will did something no one expected.
He shut his eyes.
If any of his teammates were watching him, they'd probably assume he had a death wish.
Kiki purred something.
But Will didn't respond.
He wasn't panicking. He was centering.
Doing exactly what Shishō had drilled into him, day after day.
Relax. Focus. Shut out the noise. And look.
Not with your eyes—that's the greatest liar of all.
He inhaled again.
And listened.
And smelt.
And slowly, as the world faded into darkness behind his eyelids, something else began to appear.
Wisps of color. Auras.
Six distinct lights surrounded him.
Cyan—Julius.
Jade—Wignall.
Lihanna's was golden.
Sion, crimson red.
Colette, a warm orange.
And Kiki—light purple—rested near his feet.
Will remained still, letting the moment deepen.
Then his mental field expanded.
And more lights began to bloom.
Dozens of them.
All a dull, eerie pink—surrounding the circle of his team.
The monsters.
Still, Will didn't move.
He waited—focused not just on the monsters, but on his teammates.
He listened to the subtle shifts in their ki as each of them locked onto a path of Evil Guards encroaching from the darkness.
And then—there it was.
An opening.
Several of the beasts stood just beyond his teammates' immediate focus. Targets they hadn't noticed yet.
Will's magenta eyes snapped open.
In the same moment, he dashed forward.
Wind kicked up in his wake as he weaved through the horde, staying expertly outside his comrades' line of sight and fire.
He reached the far side of the chamber—face-to-face with his first prey.
His hand went to his back.
And with a single fluid motion, he drew his broad Moria blade.
The Guard lunged at him, claws raking down in a deadly swipe.
Will sidestepped just out of reach, his hair fluttering with the breeze of the blow—then slashed.
The metal of his blade tore through flesh and bone like it wasn't even there.
A single, clean strike.
Blood sprayed across his cheek—but he didn't stop.
Already, Will had picked up the next shift in his party's focus—he knew exactly where to find the next unguarded prey.
He sprinted forward.
The next beast noticed him this time—eyes narrowing, it roared and rushed to meet him head-on.
Will didn't slow.
Instead, he tossed his sword into the air, letting it arc overhead.
Then he threw a punch.
The Guard's eyes flickered with surprise, then contempt, thinking the boy had lost his mind.
But that contempt turned to horror in the next heartbeat—as Will's fist drove directly into its face, flattening it like a wet pancake.
The skull collapsed inward with a sickening crunch, and the beast dropped mid-stride in a splatter of red and grey.
Still not pausing, Will leapt off the crumpling body—catching his falling blade by the handle mid-air—and dropped straight down onto the next beast.
The unlucky Guard barely had time to smell him.
Then Will landed, driving his blade point-first through the top of its skull.
Skrrrk.
"Aughh!!"
The monster let out a strangled groan.
Blood poured from its ears, its eyes, and the gaping hole in its head.
It thrashed—desperately—but Will held it firm, boot planted between its horns, forcing its skull to the floor.
Then its body went limp.
The color drained from its eyes.
Will pulled his sword free and wiped the blade with practiced precision.
Then he looked up—and paused.
Every single one of his party members was staring at him.
Blankly.
Compared to their efforts, his measly feat of slaying just three beasts in the same time it had taken them to wipe out the rest seemed insignificant.
Yet all of them wore looks of surprise.
Colette's and Kiki's expressions quickly shifted to pride—and something close to triumph.
Sion and Julius scoffed in unison, both turning away with matching sneers.
Lihanna shot Wignall a smug glance, as if this outcome had been expected… no, planned.
Wignall didn't say anything.
But something flickered in his eyes.
A subtle acknowledgment.
And that look only deepened as the day went on.
Will grew faster. Sharper. His contributions started piling up.
In the next room, he took down seven goblins on his own.
The room after that—eight kobolds.
Then nine needle rabbits.
All while still carrying the group's supplies.
By the time they cleared the floor, Will was doing more than pulling his weight.
He was making it impossible for anyone to argue—or even whisper something snide behind his back.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Shortly after they arrived on the 8th floor, Lihanna—leading at the front—came to a stop.
"It's been a full day since the Praxis began… I'd say it's time we take a rest."
No one objected. Just a few scattered complaints.
Julius voiced what they were all thinking.
"Here? In the middle of the dungeon?" he muttered, scanning their surroundings with flat disdain. "I'm not expecting a high-class inn, but a little sense of security would be nice."
Wignall began to smile.
"Then allow me to build us a fortress of flames."
Bwoom!
Bwoom!
With a flick of his wrist and a pointed gesture of his wand—like a conductor guiding an orchestra—flames spiraled into existence around the group, forming a ring of fire that circled them in a protective barrier.
Nardea.
"Whoa… is this elven illusion magic?" Colette asked in awe. She didn't know Wignall that well. In school, he only ever used wind magic—that's what he was evaluated on in Spellwork.
As part of the Earth group, she'd rarely interacted with him, and this was the first time she'd seen him use this magic—and the first time she'd seen elven magic up close.
But something about it felt different from the kind of elven spells she'd witnessed during the Grand Festival, where they shaped whole arenas from light and nature.
This felt… hollow.
Will noticed it immediately as he passed his hand through the flame.
"Yeah… I think so. The flames aren't really there..." he murmured.
Then he glanced toward the edge of the cavern, where a few monsters watched them from the shadows but didn't approach.
"Still, it seems like it's enough to fool the monsters. Keep them at bay."
It was meant as a compliment—or at least a passing remark.
Will Serfort didn't notice how Wignall Lindor's eyes lowered, his face briefly darkening.
He didn't get the chance to, either.
The group began to spread out, each one staking a small section of the camp as their own and setting down their belongings.
Sion shrugged off his robe with a stretch while Lihanna, somehow, produced a neat block of firewood from seemingly nowhere.
As Sion reached for his wand to start the fire, yawning, Lihanna turned to Will with her usual flat tone.
"Serfort. Hand out the rations I gave you."
"Uh—right."
Will dropped the large bag he'd been carrying and pulled out several rectangular packages wrapped in food wrap.
Each one contained a set of three condensed nutrition bars.
Colette and Lihanna took theirs politely.
Even Julius and Sion, surprisingly, didn't give him much trouble.
Julius shot him a nasty glare, and Sion snatched his portion a little aggressively, but that was expected.
It was the elf who proved troublesome.
Will walked toward him, holding his share in a metal tin by the handles.
"Here you go, Wignall—"
He froze as the elf raised a hand in his direction.
"That's close enough. Please leave it on the ground."
Will blinked. "Huh?"
Wignall looked at him flatly, speaking with calm patience.
"Elves only make physical contact with people they deem worthy."
For a moment, he paused—clearly debating something internally—then gave a small nod.
"I admit you've done well so far. You've exceeded my expectations. Though, to be fair, those expectations were quite low. I still don't acknowledge you—not yet. And I don't want to touch you by accident."
Colette froze mid-motion, snapping her head toward them in disbelief.
"H-Hey?! I know elves are picky about what they touch, but come on! We're all in the same party—that's no way to treat a teammate!"
Wignall's signature disarming smile returned.
"You're mages. I'm an elf. We live by different principles. Please—just drop it."
Before Colette could say more, he added, almost casually:
"The only other member of this party I've deemed worthy is Lihanna."
That left Colette completely speechless.
But when she noticed the annoyed and irritated expressions on Julius and Sion's faces, she understood.
Wignall wasn't singling Will out—that was simply how he felt about all of them.
She glanced at her friend, but Will just offered her a tight, reassuring smile.
So she let it go.
The atmosphere turned tense and awkward.
All four boys sat in separate corners of the camp while the girls tended the fire.
Kiki lay nearby, nibbling on her nutrition bar without a care.
Will studied Wignall in silence from the corner of his eye.
He didn't speak.
Didn't challenge him.
There was no point.
Elves and dwarves both came to this world from elsewhere, but they couldn't be more different.
Elves were born gifted with magic.
Dwarves utterly lacked it, relying only on muscle.
Elves looked down on them—and on the native Lyzance humans as well.
Will didn't know how it started.
Had this elitism formed after arriving in Paradise, or had it always been part of their culture?
Regardless, their rule was simple: elves only touched those they acknowledged.
No exceptions.
No loopholes.
There was no point in igniting a conflict over it.
Especially not with a race that had dominated this world since their arrival.
A race whose sense of superiority wasn't unfounded.
There were seven factions in the Magic Tower.
And aside from the Light Faction, only the Fairy Faction—made up entirely of elves—had consistently held the seat of Magia Vander since the factions were first formed.
Even now, the current leader of Elleaf Canaan—and a sitting Magia Vander—was none other than Princess Ellenor Ljos Alf, a high elf.
Picking a fight with people like that?
Completely pointless.
As time passed and the water began to boil over the campfire, everyone but Wignall had removed their academy robes.
Will sat by the fire, glancing up at Lihanna.
Their team leader soon sat down herself, gripping her staff as she addressed them all.
"To recap—our number one target is to defeat the Luminous Naberus."
The image of a three-headed, Cerberus-like creature flashed in all their minds.
"It's the only one of its kind. The Floor Keeper of the 10th floor."
The final floor students had access to during the Praxis.
Colette tensed slightly.
"It's worth 110 credits… That's the most you can get for a single monster in the Praxis."
Seated cross-legged atop a boulder, Julius nodded.
"And for good reason. It's not uncommon for someone to die trying to take it on. It's the toughest boss of the trial."
Sion snorted.
"They say hunting it is a fool's errand. What does that make us?"
Will could practically hear Edward-sensei's voice in his head, glaring down at them.
Arrogant inferiors like you dare overestimate yourselves?!
He imagined that line was directed mostly at him.
But Lihanna didn't flinch.
"You might say I formed this party for the sole purpose of taking it down," she said.
"I want to show the Tower we're strong enough to defeat a 110-credit monster."
Then no one in the Upper Institute could dismiss us.
She took a slow breath and looked each of her companions in the eyes.
"I've already started down this path. I don't intend to turn back halfway."
The last part was unspoken:
If you want to, you'll be leaving without me.
But no one objected.
None of them had the eyes of a quitter.
Wignall, though, did voice a concern.
"...Is it wise to skip the appetizers and jump straight to the main course?"
He had a point.
If they failed—even if they survived—the Praxis would be over, and they'd have wasted a once-in-a-lifetime chance to rack up credits.
Lihanna was on track for a perfect 12,000, so it didn't matter to her.
The rest of them already had enough to ascend to the Tower after graduation.
But Will…
Will was lagging behind.
Forget the Tower—graduating was proving difficult.
He'd earned a good number of credits today, but he wouldn't lie to himself.
He'd rather play it safe.
Keep hunting small fry.
Just get to 7,200.
But he wasn't alone.
He was part of a party now.
And they weren't after credits.
They wanted achievements. Recognition. To draw eyes and ears to their names.
To catch the attention of scouts from the Upper Institute.
Especially Lihanna Owenzaus.
"I want to conserve our magic so we're in top shape when we face Naberus," she said.
"We can leave the other monsters for later."
That, of course, depended on whether they had a "later" to come back for.
"If there are no objections," she finished, "we'll take the shortest route to the 10th floor."
Will had plenty of objections.
But he kept them to himself.
If he ran now—not just from fear, but from doubt—how could he ever hope to make it to the Tower?
Much less climb it to the top?
He clutched his goggles and the ring on his finger.
His eyes steadied alongside his wavering heart and resolve.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
In the deepest trenches of the dungeon, an eerie pair stood amid a heap of insectoid monster corpses.
The first was a man clad in dark clothes—top, pants, boots, and a cloak that draped over his head and upper body like an assassin's veil.
Four knives hung from his waist, two on each side.
Not far from him, crouched low to the ground, was another figure.
Or what was thought to be a man.
It was hard to say, given it lacked a head entirely.
Dark, ghostlike magical energy leaked upward from its neck like smoke.
Its body was flat, lacking any signs of femininity, so it was assumed to be male.
He wore a uniform similar to the assassin's.
Around his neck hung a large, circular disk-like necklace—an eye embedded at its center, unblinking.
The assassin addressed the creature's back.
"Oi, Headless. What are you doing…?"
Headless was juggling two human heads—one in each hand—tossing them gently like playthings.
Had a Rigarden student been present, they might have recognized both.
Each head belonged to one of their teachers.
Headless didn't respond. Couldn't, really.
He didn't have a mouth.
Instead, he casually dropped the heads like garbage and extended one gloved finger, dark magic pooling at the tip like ink.
Then he wrote into the open air.
Nothing much, Marze.
Marze eyed the floating letters.
"Did you kill those two… and the ones upstairs?"
He asked it calmly, like he was asking about the weather.
Fwoom.
More glowing letters scribbled into the air.
They were getting really annoying…
"Oh?"
A final flourish.
So I gave 'em hell (✿◠‿◠)!!!
It was impossible to see Marze's mouth under the hood, but the way his eyes curved made it clear he was smiling.
"Heh heh heh."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
40th Floor
"And that's the last of 'em…"
Finn, a small boy with messy blond hair and clear blue eyes, hoisted his towering backpack onto his shoulders. Despite his size, there was something about him—an adult-like weight in his gaze, an eerie composure that didn't belong to a child.
He looked around at the carnage.
Bodies were strewn everywhere—both those of the Gothia goons and over ten high mages from their own side.
The Masterias Noah faction had paid dearly in blood today.
But it wasn't in vain.
Nearby stood a few of Aaron's elite guards.
Each wore long white robes and featureless masks that hid any hint of emotion.
They showed no reaction to the deaths of their comrades—not even in their posture.
One of them knelt over the shattered remains of a sword.
It wasn't crafted in any dwarven forge.
It had the look of something grown in the dungeon—like a monster, but not a natural one. More like a perverse experiment. Something forced into being.
The masked figure silently wrapped up the jagged pieces, stepped forward, and placed them into his sack. Not a word was exchanged.
At least we got what we came for.
Finn's eyes shifted ahead, focusing on two figures standing side by side.
The first was a man with long blond hair and a heavy beard. His eyes, the color of the deep sea, shimmered with magic circles etched into the irises.
He was the man himself.
Aaron Masterias Oldking.
The Wand of Light.
The King of the Magia Vander.
The strongest man alive.
The low casualty count today was thanks to him—and no one was surprised by that.
But Finn wasn't looking at him.
His interest was fixed on the figure beside Aaron.
The only one among his group not wearing a mask.
And the only non-Lyzance. (Besides him of course– but then again his tribe was a special one).
An elf.
One who'd played a large part in the battle.
Finn stepped forward, addressing him casually.
"What'd you say your name was again?"
The elf turned.
He was slender, with flawless pale skin and an eyepatch covering his left eye—likely the result of an old wound. His blond hair was tied back in a neat ponytail.
Red tattoos marked his face in sharp, elegant lines—patterns Finn had never seen before. Not on any elf of person.
The elf carried no air of superiority despite his race. Instead, he met Finn—a dwarf—with a gentle smile.
"It's Patri," he said simply.
"Oh? That so?" Finn gave a light whistle, his usual cheery grin unmoved.
But behind his smile, a sharp glint flickered in his eyes.
Whether Patri noticed or not, he didn't flinch. He returned Finn's gaze with equal warmth—kind, placid, and unreadable.
Aaron paid their subtle exchange no mind.
"Finn. Guide us back."
"Sure thing, boss."
Finn's smile stretched wide as he moved to the front of the group, leading them forward through the dim halls of the 40th floor.
Behind him, Aaron and his masked entourage followed without question.
They were headed home.
The Terminalia was near.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author's Notes:
[1] Probably no update tomorrow. I got to go to an event.
[2] Feel free to join the discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8a