The next morning, the courtyard wasn't filled with sparring. Instead, the squad gathered in the strategy hall—rookies lined in formation, veterans standing tall behind them. The air was heavy with purpose.
The same senior captain who had tested Dave the day before stood at the front, a scroll in his hand. His voice carried across the room with steady weight.
"Recruits, your training is done for now. It's time to put you in the field. Your first assignment: suppress a group of bandits harassing the western villages. They've raided caravans, burned crops, and killed civilians. This isn't practice—you will be facing live blades and real magic."
A ripple of unease passed through the new recruits. Some straightened nervously, others clenched their fists to hide the tremor in their hands.
Dave stood as calm as ever, hands in his pockets.
The captain's eyes swept over the group before landing on Dave, then shifting to another recruit—a tall girl with auburn hair, a grimoire strapped tightly to her hip. She looked nervous but determined, her jaw set firm.
"You three," the captain said, pointing—at Dave, the auburn-haired girl, and a veteran knight standing to the side. "You'll go together. A balanced team—discipline, raw potential, and experience. The rest will be assigned to other missions."
The veteran knight stepped forward—a man in his mid-twenties with a confident smirk and a scar running across his jawline. He adjusted his cloak with practiced ease. "Guess I'm babysitting," he muttered.
The auburn-haired girl stiffened. "We're not children."
He chuckled, glancing her over before flicking his eyes to Dave. "Him, maybe not. You? We'll see."
Dave just yawned. "Doesn't matter who's babysitting who. Let's just finish the job."
The captain ignored the banter, handing the scroll to the veteran. "Your orders: capture the bandit leader alive. His followers are expendable, but he is to be brought back for questioning. Do not underestimate them—they use fire and earth magic to ambush travelers."
The veteran tucked the scroll away, his smirk fading to something sharper. "Understood."
The team was dismissed soon after. Within the hour, the three of them were mounted on lean, fast horses, riding along the dirt road that cut west toward the villages. The sun was high, the air thick with the scent of grass and dust.
The auburn-haired girl finally spoke, her voice breaking the rhythm of hoofbeats. "My name's Elira. What about you two?"
"Roland," the veteran said shortly, his eyes scanning the tree line. "Don't slow me down."
She frowned but didn't respond. Then her gaze slid toward Dave, who rode casually, one hand holding the reins, the other resting lazily on his knee.
"…And you?" she asked.
"Dave," he said simply, not looking at her.
Roland smirked at the curt reply. "He's not much of a talker, Elira. Best get used to it."
Elira's brow furrowed. "He was the one who fought the captain yesterday, wasn't he? Everyone's been whispering about it."
Roland glanced sideways at Dave, curious too. "Yeah, that was you, huh? No spells, no grimoire. Just fists and some strange movements. Where'd you learn that?"
Dave didn't answer. He just looked ahead, eyes half-lidded, scanning the road with calm focus.
Roland scoffed but let it drop. Elira, though, kept sneaking glances at him—half curious, half frustrated.
Hours passed before they reached the edge of the western forest. A burned caravan lay ahead, smoke still curling from the wreckage. Dead horses littered the ground, and the scent of charred wood filled the air.
Roland dismounted first, crouching beside the wreck. His eyes sharpened. "They're close. Tracks head north, into the trees. Looks like twenty at least."
Elira's grip tightened on her grimoire. "Twenty…?"
Roland smirked again, pulling his sword free. "Don't worry, rookie. That's why you've got me." He glanced at Dave. "And maybe him, if he feels like it."
Dave finally slid off his horse, stretching his arms casually. "Bandits, huh? Shouldn't take long."
Roland snorted. "Cocky. I like it."
Elira bit her lip, forcing herself to steady her breathing. "We'll follow your lead then."
"Good," Roland said, his smirk turning sharp. He raised his sword, pointing into the forest. "Let's go hunting."
The three of them moved into the shadows of the trees, the air growing thicker, quieter. Somewhere ahead, the bandits were waiting—unaware that their easy raids had just ended.
And for Dave, it was just another warm-up.
The forest grew darker the deeper they went, branches clawing at the sky and cutting off the light. Elira kept close, her grimoire at the ready, while Roland moved like a predator, sword glinting faintly in the shade.
Then—voices. Rough, careless laughter. A snap of twigs.
They crouched low behind a thicket, peering through. Ahead was a crude camp—makeshift tents, a burning spit with half-cooked meat, and nearly two dozen bandits sprawled around in varying states of alertness. At the center sat their leader, a hulking man with a jagged scar across his temple, nursing a jug of ale.
Roland's smirk widened. "Perfect. We'll take them fast. Elira, you lock them down with your spells. I'll cut the ones who resist. Dave—"
He stopped when he noticed Dave wasn't listening.
The younger recruit had stepped forward, calm as ever, one hand lifting lazily to his side.
The air… shifted.
Elira froze as black sparks began crackling from nowhere. The space around Dave warped, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Then—
FWOOOSH.
A silver-and-black grimoire materialized before him, pages fluttering open with a sound like steel scraping against stone. Its cover gleamed faintly, etched with a four-leaf clover.
Elira's eyes went wide. "A… four-leaf…?!"
Even Roland, for all his bravado, took a step back, his cocky smirk faltering. "What the hell…?"
Dave didn't say a word. His calm gaze lifted to the bandit camp.
The grimoire glowed, pages halting on one. Dark mana coiled like a storm, the air vibrating with unnatural weight. His voice, steady and cold, cut through the clearing:
"Runination Rain."
The sky above the forest blackened as if night had been pulled down in an instant. A chill swept the camp. Then, instead of water, countless spears of pure void-black ice began to manifest in the air, jagged and humming with destructive force.
The bandits looked up—first confused, then terrified.
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