Second Stratum – Ice Faction:
Clk.
Heels echoed through the stone corridor as Sarissa walked briskly, tray in hand, nerves tightly coiled beneath her usual calm. Two steaming mochas rested on it—one hers, the other for the sake of appearance.
So neither Creirwy nor Monica would suspect something was up.
In reality, she had no plans to give the other to Elfaria. That one was for the show. She'd finish one now. Maybe the second later. Alone.
She reached her quarters and pushed the door open.
Creak.
Then froze.
The stack of parchment she'd just left on her desk—gone.
"…"
Her brows pinched together for a moment before she exhaled through her nose. There was only one person in Albis Vina with the authority and audacity to slip in unannounced.
Still, she couldn't be sure.
Her heels clicked again as she turned and made her way down the hall. Each step sharpened by the slight tension settling into her spine.
She stopped in front of the Chief's office and raised her hand.
Rap.
"Lady Elfaria?" Her voice came out small—uncertain.
No reply.
She hesitated. Should she leave? Try again? Force her way in, like usual?
But then—barely above a whisper:
"C-come in."
Sarissa's breath hitched. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the knob.
Click.
Creak.
The door opened slowly.
She didn't step in right away.
Scritch. Scrib. Scritch.
There she was. Elfaria, hunched at her desk, head bowed beneath a curtain of pale blue hair, signing form after form in mechanical silence.
Sarissa stepped forward.
Still not a glance.
"..."
She placed one of the mocha cups gently beside her.
Elfaria paused mid-stroke.
Sarissa kept her voice low. "For you. Mocha with two shots… and chocolate syrup. Just how you like it."
Elfaria didn't look up. But she gave a single nod.
"…Thank you."
Then, without touching the cup, she resumed—left stack, sign, right stack. Repeat.
Sarissa circled around and stood over the signed pile, watching the rhythm.
She adjusted her glasses with one finger.
Then her tone shifted—flatter, cooler, measured.
"Make sure you're signing between the lines."
Elfaria's hand slowed. "Okay."
"Don't just sign. Read the contents."
"Okay."
"And if something's off—mark it up. Cross it out. Or tear it in half and throw it away. You're allowed."
"…Okay."
Silence returned.
The scratching of the pen slowed.
Sarissa cleared her throat. "You know, you can use Ars Weiss for this. Delegate it."
A beat passed.
Elfaria's hand stiffened around the parchment.
"I should probably do this myself…"
Sarissa pressed her lips together, then gave a small nod. "I agree."
More silence.
Then—Squeak.
"S-sorry."
Sarissa blinked.
Elfaria still hadn't looked up. Her voice was brittle, faint. Her shoulders trembled.
Sarissa stared for a long second.
She tightened her grip around the tray.
Then let out a soft sigh.
"Me too."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Fourth Stratum – Thunder Faction:
"Keep running, Serfort!" Guilford's voice thundered across the track field. "And I better not catch you slacking again! Run until you drop, maggot!"
Will winced, picking up his pace with an awkward grin. "S-sorry, sir!"
Thump.
In a few strides, he pushed back toward the front of the pack.
Huff. Huff.
Lihanna, lightly sweating but holding steady, glanced over her shoulder as he caught up beside her.
"You alright, Serfort? Losing a race doesn't really sound like you."
Will gave a weak smile. "J-just got a lot on my mind."
He hadn't slept much. Not after what his Shishō told him yesterday.
Great Mage Yuno… wasn't just some other powerhouse in the tower.
He was the brother. The one Shishō used to talk about with a fondness deeper than blood.
The same Yuno who nearly killed Elfie and took her seat.
Will didn't know how to feel about that. Part of him still wanted to hate the guy.
But now?
What a mess…
And seriously—why were all the people around his Shishō absolute monsters?
What kind of absurd family tree did that man have?
"Will?" Lihanna leaned slightly, brow furrowed.
He snapped back to attention and forced another smile. "I'm just finally starting to get what you meant before. Like… what kind of faction makes their mages run nonstop as training?"
Lihanna let out a low groan. "Yeah. Apparently it has to do with—"
"I BET YOU'RE WONDERING WHAT BUILDING PHYSICAL STRENGTH HAS TO DO WITH TRAINING TO BE A MAGE!"
Guilford's voice shattered the moment. Will flinched.
Lihanna winced, visibly annoyed. So loud.
Guilford continued marching along the center of the field, chest puffed like a stormcloud.
"Wonder no more, maggots! From the mightiest muscles comes the mightiest magic!"
He paced along the edge of the track, eyes sharp.
"A mage with a flimsy frame can't even hope to call thunder an ally! This is why we run! Like your life depends on it! Like you're being chased by a lightning beast!"
Will blinked, then looked ahead.
Three runners had pulled far ahead of them.
First, a bronze-skinned woman with long white hair and an athlete's build.
Beside her, a hulking man with the same complexion and cropped black hair.
Then, a shorter boy—pale, messy black hair covering his eyes—keeping pace effortlessly.
They were known unofficially as the Thunder Faction's Big Three, right behind Komari, Guilford, and Zeo.
Milia Zazah. Olganeau Olgan. And Nanaru.
Milia leaned forward, matching Olganeau's pace. "Hey, Olganeau, what lap you on?"
"Eighty," he grunted without glancing back. "That dope, Guilford's starting to piss me off. I'm thinking of picking it up."
"…"
Nanaru said nothing, keeping stride with the same calm detachment. Not a word. Just rhythm.
"!" Will raised his brows and snuck a peek at Lihanna.
"I don't want this to sound rude, but… I'm actually impressed. You're holding up."
Lihanna smirked. "That's not rude. Just a couple days ago, I was collapsing with the rest of them."
She tilted her head slightly.
Will followed her gaze to the field's edge.
Two of their classmates were face-down on the dirt, groaning. Guilford stomped around them, barking orders and spittle. His voice echoed across the plains.
"Either get up now or hit the showers! AND NEVER COME BACK!"
"Augh…" The two boys groaned, and clutched their stomachs as they forced themselves to their feet. Stumbling down the track.
Will frowned.
He thought about helping. Then hesitated.
He didn't even know their names.
Right now, he needed to focus on himself.
"So?" he asked. "What changed?"
Lihanna took a breath between steps, lips curling faintly. "A-Anna-senpai gave me some tips. Helped me regulate my pace better."
Bzt.
Will's eyes dropped to her feet.
She was using tiny bursts of magic to propel herself forward—small, controlled pulses of electricity, enough to ease the strain without wasting energy.
Pretty clever.
"I heard about Ms. Theralde," he said. "From the Terminalia. Where is she, anyway?"
Lihanna tilted her chin again.
Will followed her line of sight—far across the field, to a patch of artificial woods.
His eyes widened.
"Is that…?"
Lihanna nodded. "Yeah. Apparently, they've been going at it since seven."
Krack!
Bzzt!
Boom!
Will squinted, shielding his eyes from the electric glare. Bolts clashed—white against yellow, thunder dancing through the air.
The yellow bolts were wild, raw, terrifying.
The white ones were clean, surgical—efficient.
One style screamed dominance. The other, precision.
It was impossible to tell who was winning.
Will gave a low whistle. "Holding her own against a Vander… that's no small feat. Ms. Theralde seems… interesting."
Lihanna's nod was slower this time, her voice softer. "She really is… isn't she?"
"?" Will glanced at her expression, puzzled.
Then smiled, shaking his head and looking back to the lead pack.
The Big Three hadn't even broken a sweat.
He grinned.
"I gotta show I can keep up with the best of them."
Dash.
He surged forward.
Lihanna sighed. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
But Will was already gone—too lost in his own world to hear her.
Vrr.
Will zipped past the Big Three, wind trailing behind him. They blinked, mildly stunned, as Olganeau squinted after his back with a pitying look.
"Hoo boy. Kid doesn't know what he's walking into, does he?"
Milia exhaled, brushing sweat from her brow. "Nah. He's new. No one warned him about Guilford and his obsession with screwing rookies."
"That obsession's gotten worse." Olganeau scoffed. "What's with the torture lately?"
Nanaru, uncharacteristically vocal, muttered from behind, "Probably still worked up about yesterday. Taking it out on the fresh blood."
"…"
Neither Olganeau nor Milia replied. The rumor still didn't sit right.
That their Vander had actually lost a fight?
Olganeau shrugged. "Nah. He's just jealous that Anna's sparring with Lord Zeo."
Milia pouted. "So am I! I wanna throw down with the boss."
Despite the banter, the trio never broke pace, their stride unshaken. And in the time it took them to circle a few more laps, Will had lapped them—and everyone else—over thirty times.
He reached the finish line and slowed to a stop, barely winded.
He gave a short nod to himself. Alright. Now that that's over, I'll start my daily swings—
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST STANDING THERE, SERFORT?!"
Will flinched as Guilford stormed over, boots slamming the turf, cape flaring like a stormcloud.
"GET BACK TO RUNNING!"
Will blinked. "B-but sir, I'm done—"
"YOU'RE DONE WHEN I SAY YOU'RE DONE!"
He reeled back. "Isn't it 100 laps—?"
"INSUBORDINATION!" Guilford snarled, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You think you're hot stuff just 'cause Great Mage Zeo likes you?! I run this faction! No one gets special treatment while I'm around!"
Will went pale. "S-sorry, sir!"
Fwap!
Guilford jabbed a finger toward the track. "Give me another 100, nerd!"
Will clenched his jaw but didn't argue. "Yes, sir!"
Dash!
Twenty minutes later, Will skidded to a stop again.
Hah. Hah.
"D-done, sir!"
Off to the side, Olganeau wiped sweat from his neck with a towel, chuckling. "Kid's got spunk."
Nanaru gave a nod.
Milia clicked her tongue. "Guilford hates failures. But he loathes overachievers."
Unless your name was Zeo Thorzeus Reinbolt.
Sure enough, Guilford barked again.
"We in the Thunder Faction push past limits! You didn't know that? You're gonna learn today! Another 100!"
"A-another?!" Will staggered, then straightened. "Yes, sir!"
Twenty-five minutes later—
"F-finished, sir!"
"Two hundred more!"
Forty minutes later—
"Done—"
"Three hundred!" Guilford shouted mid-slurp from a milkshake.
An hour passed.
Will stumbled up to him, breathless.
"Four hundred! Now!"
Another hour and a half later, Will was crawling on his hands and knees.
"Five hundred!" Guilford roared, now lounging beneath an umbrella, shades on, munching popcorn beside a cooler of soda.
Two more hours.
Will collapsed at his feet, face hitting the pavement with a dull thud.
Clink.
Guilford set down his soda and clicked his tongue.
Tch. "What's the matter, Serfort? All tuckered out?"
Will's legs were jelly. His lips barely moved.
"Yes, sir… I'm sorry, sir…"
Guilford crouched beside him, lifting his shades. His voice dropped to a growl.
"You think you're some big deal 'cause you're a Sword, huh, four-eyes? Think again. Great Mage Zeo doesn't give a damn about you. Ya hear me, nerd?!"
Will gave a defeated nod, sweat trailing down his cheek. "Y-yes…"
The Big Three watched with mixed amusement.
Milia stretched lazily on the grass, reaching for her toes. "The newbie doesn't get it yet. He'll keep running 'til he drops. Doesn't matter how fast you are. When you're new. You never leave the track early."
Sure enough, while the veterans who had finished 100 laps were doing warm-downs and drills, Lihanna and two other boys remained on the circuit. Despite having long exceeded that amount.
They didn't even bother to count anymore.
They knew better.
This was a Thunder Faction tradition. Wreck you daily for a month. And only if you survived… were you accepted.
Olganeau paused mid-pushup. "Gotta admit though. He's something. First one to break 1600, right?"
Nanaru, lifting a dumbbell, shook his head. "Anna hit that. But Serfort just cleared 1700."
He nodded once. "New record. Pretty cool."
As Will trembled in the dirt, a familiar voice sent a chill up his spine.
"Feeling warmed up yet?"
"?"
Will blinked—then yelped as someone grabbed his collar and yanked him upright.
"Ngh?!"
Zeo stood in front of him, sweat on his brow but a grin splitting his face. Komari waited behind him, arms crossed with a matching look of anticipation.
"Cause I am. Time to spar. Make it fun, or else."
Will shivered.
Something about the grip on his shirt felt… familiar.
He croaked, "G-Great Mage Zeo… y-you haven't by any chance tossed me into a dungeon before, right?"
Zeo tilted his head, confused. "Huh? What kinda crap are you spouting?"
Then his grin sharpened. He licked his lips.
"Though now that you mention it… sounds like fun! Wanna try it?"
Will shook his head violently. "N-no! I'll take the spar! Thank you!"
Zeo laughed. "Good man!"
Behind them, his subordinates bowed in sync.
"Good day, Great Mage Zeo!!"
Will let out a shaky sigh, sweat dripping down his temple.
How am I supposed to spy on anyone… under these conditions?
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Fifth Stratum – Flame Faction:
Fwoosh.
From the tip of Cariott Wiseman's wand, a black magic circle erupted into existence—and from it burst a searing wave of flame.
Strangely, not a single rug or flammable surface in the main hall ignited.
But four Flame Faction recruits lay on the floor—burnt, bloodied, and barely moving.
Three of them were unconscious.
Sion, breath shaking, raised his head.
He glanced at Lyril and Gordon.
He couldn't hide the shock on his face.
Cariott chuckled lightly, descending from the pedestal where his ornate throne loomed.
"Apologies for the explosive welcome," he said, boots clicking softly on the floor. "But it's the quickest way to test you."
He continued toward the chamber's door, unhurried, almost disinterested.
"You may not understand yet… but this is an initiation by fire."
Sion blinked slowly. So this is what Lord Logwell warned me about…
Cariott never stopped walking.
"One to weed out the cans from the cannots, so to speak."
He paused at the door and looked back, that crescent moon grin still plastered across his face.
"Like most factions, we lost promising mages during the Terminalia."
He turned the door's handle, voice still light, as if this conversation no longer concerned him.
"I had hoped this year's seedlings would make worthy replacements."
A beat.
"But it seems I was too hopeful."
He began to step outside.
"Leopold. Logwell. I'll leave them to you—"
"Wait!"
Sion gasped the word between ragged breaths as he staggered to his feet.
Blood trickled freely down his face, but he didn't bother wiping it.
"Keep going… please. Continue the initiation. I refuse to be left behind by that buffoon. I have to become stronger! I'll do whatever it takes!"
Cariott paused.
Then turned.
His smile remained—but for the first time, it looked faintly sincere.
"Perhaps I spoke too soon."
Fwish!
Flames crackled and danced between his fingers.
"This year's harvest may shape up to be the most bountiful yet."
Sion clenched his wand tighter, forcing a shaky grin despite the heat radiating toward him.
Intimidated.
But determined.
Beside Cariott's throne, standing in absolute silence, Leopold and Logwell watched with unreadable faces.
Bzz.
Leopold's maser buzzed quietly.
He checked the message.
His eye twitched.
With a low sigh, he spoke. "Lord Cariott? May I have a word with you?"
Cariott turned slightly, raising a brow.
His smile widened.
Rare was the day he was in a good mood—and rarer still he didn't mind an interruption.
"I hope it's good news."
Leopold gave a dry, crooked smile. "I'll leave that to you to judge."
A pause.
"It's certainly… interesting."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Sixth Stratum – Fairy Faction:
Within Elleaf's Canaan throne room, stone pillars and vaulted ceilings blended seamlessly with botanical gardens, floating platforms, and gently flowing rivers.
Waterfalls lined the far wall, their mist catching the light.
Atop a red rug below Ellenor's towering throne, two new recruits were presented.
One knelt.
The other stood.
On either side of the rug, ten elves stood in two lines—five facing five.
Four had traveled down from Alfswood.
Four resided within the tower.
The remaining two were Patri and Fana.
To Ellenor's right stood Lefiya.
To her left, Filvis.
Ellenor rested her chin against her knee, expression unreadable—bored, unamused, or both.
Wignall, kneeling, could barely focus on her.
His gaze kept drifting sideways to Selia.
Standing?! She's actually standing in the council's and queen's formal presence?! So Selia is a High Elf?!
It clicked.
There was no way High Elves would descend from Alfswood just to witness his ceremony.
Even a passing moment of their time was far too valuable.
They'd come for Selia.
He had merely been brought along.
Wignall's anxiety bloomed.
Is Mr. Patri one too?
Ms. Fana?
Sylor-senpai?!
N-no, it can't be. I'm being ridiculous!
He dared not lift his head, still rattled.
Has he ever shown Selia any disrespect?
He combed through every interaction this past week.
Thankfully, nothing came to mind.
But the thought that he'd been casual with her now made him sweat.
He kept his head low, hand over his chest, eyes shut tight.
Lefiya's voice rang out, cool and formal.
"Selia Silvamillion, you have been brought into the tower to prove your worth and blood."
Filvis continued, her tone unyielding. "We expect nothing short of excellence from you. Is that understood?"
Wignall frowned slightly. What are they talking about?
Prove your blood? Is she a High Elf or not?
Carefully, he cracked one eye open—not to look at Selia, but at the council.
Fana and Patri wore forced smiles beneath visible frowns.
The four elves from the tower looked just as lost as he felt.
But the High Elves... they stared at Selia with conflicting expressions—regret warring with disdain.
That only deepened his confusion.
Only the High Elves and the current attendees knew Selia was not from Alfswood.
Only a very select few amongst them knew she was a half-elf.
And only Ellenor, Lefiya, and Filvis knew she was not of this world.
That final secret, with luck, would remain sealed.
Selia stepped forward and offered a poised curtsy.
"I understand. I will not betray your trust, nor waste your goodwill."
Ellenor gave a slow nod.
Selia stepped back in silence.
Lefiya and Filvis then turned to him.
Fwip.
Wignall snapped his eyes shut and lowered his head again.
Lefiya studied him gently.
"Wignall Lindor. Six years ago, you left Alfswood to attend the academy."
Filvis spoke behind her mask. "But you were incapable of skipping a grade, and thus left behind as the only elf languishing in a classroom."
Wignall winced.
He didn't dare argue. Didn't even lift his head.
He could practically hear the council's unspoken judgments.
He's no smarter than a common Rhizanth.
Hard to believe he belongs to the royal house of Lindor.
Naught but a stain on Great Mage Ellenor's name and our people.
Wignall trembled inwardly.
It felt like he was right back on that day—the moment Ellenor severed his arm, and their connection.
The helplessness hadn't changed.
I-I can't take this!
He clutched his chest.
I feel like I'm in an interview where I'm not allowed to speak!
It's pure torture—
Clack!
His eyes blinked open.
Something had fallen in front of him.
It was round. Metallic.
He reached out, confused, and looked up.
"W-what is this—?"
"Put it on. Now," Ellenor cut in, folding her legs casually.
Wignall's ears twitched, his eyes wide with emotion.
"Is… is it a gift? Thank you, Great Mage Ell—"
"Who said anything about it being a gift?" she snapped, face shrouded in shadow.
Fwip.
She appeared in front of him without warning.
Before he could react, she fastened the tool around his neck.
Chk.
"It's a collar, as any fool could tell," she said with a smile.
"The perfect accessory for breaking in those who shame our people."
Wignall froze.
Ellenor's grin twisted—manic, sadistic… and slightly possessive.
"As long as you have that around your neck, you will not escape me. Understand, my dear Wignall?"
He blanked.
Huh?
The High Elves acted like nothing had happened.
The tower elves suddenly became fascinated with the floor.
Patri and Fana exchanged confused glances.
Only Lefiya and Filvis remained indifferent.
To… whatever this was.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
"..."
Wignall forced an awkward smile as he walked beside Selia, returning to the cliff they'd frequented these past few days.
None of them were in the mood to train after the meeting. They'd needed air more than action.
He scratched at his throat—or tried to.
His nails clinked against iron.
"U-Um… Lady Selia—"
"Just Selia," she cut in with a frown. "Don't start treating me like I'm so special, or I might start calling you Prince Wignall."
Wignall chuckled bitterly.
"I'm not a prince… more of a bastard."
Selia shrugged. "Then I suppose we're not so different."
Wignall raised an eyebrow, then shook his head.
"A-anyway, Selia… how much longer are you going to stare at my… collar?"
Selia twitched.
Then forced a wry smile.
"I-I was just surprised. Am I supposed to put one on my brother too, to keep track of him?"
Wignall blanked.
He cleared his throat.
"I don't believe so. I wouldn't say this is exactly normal."
Selia nodded.
But she looked... disappointed?
Wignall hoped he was imagining it.
They reached the familiar cliff and sat on the edge.
For a while, they said nothing.
Then Wignall broke the silence, glancing over hesitantly.
"Selia?"
"Yes, Wignall-senpai?"
He cleared his throat again.
"Do you mind telling me what that was about?"
Selia paused.
She let out a sigh.
After a moment of quiet mulling, she settled on the alibi Lefiya and Patri had prepared for her.
A white lie. Truthful in parts.
She turned to him and clicked her tongue.
"First off—remember when Big Sis Lefiya told you I'm a remnant of a small clan?"
Wignall nodded.
Selia folded her hands in her lap and stared past the artificial horizon.
"Well… we had a village of our own. A small but beautiful place. It was called Elysia."
Wignall blinked. His eyes widened.
"Wait—"
"Yes," Selia cut in, nodding. She already knew what he was thinking. "Uncle Patri told me what happened in the dungeon with you. That spell of his... it was the same Elysia I'm talking about."
Wignall's jaw dropped slightly.
"Beautiful doesn't even begin to cut it," he muttered.
Selia's eyes misted.
Her throat caught as the weight of it all surfaced again.
She missed home.
She nodded, swallowing thickly.
"Y-yeah. It does, doesn't it?"
Wignall clenched his jaw.
His voice came out as a whisper.
"What happened?"
Selia turned to him with a teary smile.
"It was destroyed."
Wignall froze.
Only for a moment.
He'd expected it—just from her tone.
Softly, he asked, "How?"
Fwip.
Selia wiped her tears with her sleeve and took a breath, steadying her heart.
"First of all… do you remember what Lord Masterias talked about during the Bloom?"
Wignall blinked. "Huh?"
Selia looked at him calmly.
"Or Lord Cariott. In regards to the Vander and the Great Barrier."
Wignall paused, brow furrowed.
"That their lives are linked to it?" he answered hesitantly.
Selia nodded.
"Exactly. Not completely, but enough—especially months after the Terminalia. Meaning if a Vander dies, a hole opens in the barrier… and if multiple do…"
"A bigger gap will form," Wignall finished with a gasp. "T-ten years ago, when multiple Vander died… during the Great War… didn't that mean—?"
Selia shrugged.
"I-I honestly don't know how they managed to divert disaster and keep the sky up. But that's not what I'm talking about."
Wignall pinched the bridge of his nose.
"So what are you talking about?"
Selia pressed her lips together.
"Do you remember what happened at your school about six years ago? Near the start of the academy. The gas leak."
Wignall blinked, then slowly nodded.
"Y-yeah. Class was cancelled and we had to evacuate... but how do you know that?"
Selia wasn't a student there.
Not to his knowledge.
She sighed.
"I'm getting there. Just be quiet."
Wignall winced and lowered his head. "Sorry."
"Do you remember any other momentous occasion that happened around that time?"
Will chuckled internally. So can I talk or not?
Then lowered his head, thinking.
"Anything big…?"
He really couldn't recall anything.
Most of his time had gone into training—preparing to reunite with his sister. He hadn't been paying attention to the news or gossip.
Only the major headlines had reached him. Like the crowning of a Vander, or—
He froze.
His mind jolted.
Eyes widened.
"N-not long after the previous Albis Vina… Lady Yulvar passed away!"
Selia nodded.
"Correct. Or should I say—incorrect."
Wignall blinked. "W-what do you mean?"
Selia turned to him, face solemn.
"She didn't pass away before the gas leak. Rather… she was the gas leak. Or the gas leak was used to cover up her death—at least initially."
Wignall stiffened.
Selia continued without pause.
"The Terminalia was only a few weeks away, so the barrier was already weak. With her death, a hole opened. Small—but real. Big Sis Lefiya and Sir Logwell patched it quickly, but…"
Wignall swallowed. "But what?"
Selia's voice dropped to a whisper.
"But a Heavenly Invader managed to slip through."
Wignall's pupils dilated.
"A Heavenly Invader?!"
Selia brought a finger to her lips.
"Shush!"
Wignall winced and nodded, but cold sweat ran down his jaw.
To hear that just six years ago, their world's fated enemy had actually descended—and that the Great Barrier wasn't as absolute as they thought—left him reeling.
Selia kept narrating with an almost detached expression.
"It descended near my village. We didn't stand a chance. Uncle Patri and Auntie Fana escaped with me and Big Brother, but the rest fell like dogs to that monster."
…Auntie Dryad also got away.
Wignall went still.
Selia shivered, remembering.
She was telling the truth.
Sort of.
Not Paradise—but their old world. Their home.
The first Heavenly Invader, a mere foot soldier, had landed between Elysia and Heart. Not long after they'd all lost their grimoires.
She could still see Uncle Vetto being torn apart. Uncle Rhya, devoured. Spirit Guardians hacked like meat.
Her parents and so many others were slaughtered like livestock.
Wignall hesitantly put an arm around her shoulder, trying to anchor her.
The little girl—who suddenly seemed her age—gradually calmed down.
She sniffled, eyes puffy.
"...After destroying my village." (…And Heart.) "The beast, for some reason, headed toward Rigarden." (To Clover.)
Wignall's jaw dropped. "T-that's not possible! There's no way we wouldn't have known."
Selia shrugged.
"It had some help. It escaped through the Mage Queen's gate… into the Tower."
"T-the Tower?!" Wignall clambered. "The Mage Queen's gate?!"
Selia nodded again.
"They probably had help from Gohtia. Anyway, with the Vander outside the tower—hunting it down, unaware the monster had doubled back—things looked bleak. Mercedes Caulis was in mortal danger."
Wignall swallowed hard.
"S-so then what happened? W-who could possibly deal with that thing without the Vander?!"
Selia's voice dropped to a whisper.
"The previous Albis Vina. Elfaria Serfort."
Wignall froze.
"Her?! But she was just a ten-year-old child!"
He didn't believe it.
He couldn't believe it.
A child killed the kind of creature that had haunted their people for five centuries?
Genius didn't even begin to explain that. It wasn't even funny.
Selia shrugged.
"That's the official explanation Big Sis Lefiya gave us when we escaped to Alfswood." (This world.)
In reality, Elsyia was decimated nearly a month before and they'd used the short window created by Yulvar's death—when the Great Barrier had weakened—to cast the Door of Fate.
They arrived in Paradise unnoticed… then split up and scattered.
Wignall stared at her, curious.
"You don't believe it."
Selia shook her head.
"It was just a foot soldier. But I still don't think Lady Elfaria could've beaten it then. She must've had help."
Wignall's head spun.
Only a foot soldier?
A mere foot soldier had forced Mr. Patri—Lord Aaron's adjutant—to flee… and massacred an entire village of elves?
Are we really doomed…?
He shivered and gulped as he ran a troubled hand through his hair.
"I-I still don't understand what this has to do with you climbing the tower. And proving your blood, as they put it?"
Selia sighed.
"Alfswood didn't know of us till our arrival. Not a single mention of us was in your records."
"Not even in the high library?!"
Selia nodded.
"Not even. Without my parents, making my lineage questionable, and the fact that I can use light magic, the High Elves are troubled with whether they should acknowledge me as one of them or not."
"But why?!" Wignall spread his hands in confusion. "I don't see them troubling Mr. Patri! Your uncle, by the way."
"That's different."
"How?"
"...My village didn't have many founders." Selia turned to him. "To keep us from dying we needed a larger… genetic pool."
Wignall blanked.
"Huh? What do you mean?"
Selia sighed.
"I mean… my brother and I have some human blood, unlike Uncle Patri and Auntie Fana."
Wignall blinked.
"Interracial marriage?"
That was a big taboo. Especially for a race as xenophobic as the elves.
Selia smiled wryly.
"Yeah. I'm a half elf. Do you think less of me now?"
Wignall paused, then shook his head seriously.
"Not in the slightest."
Selia's expression softened as she chuckled.
"Thanks, Wignall-senpai. You're a good guy."
Wignall snorted in self-deprecation.
"I'm not. Not at all."
Selia looked at him but didn't comment as she sighed.
"Anyways. Now you know why those four were giving me the stink-eye. They don't have any clue what to do with me."
Wignall raised a brow.
"So you have to prove your worth by climbing the tower? And fast? To show that the elven blood in you is real?"
Selia nodded.
"That's the deal anyway."
Wignall narrowed his eyes.
"You don't seem very concerned."
Selia shrugged.
"I'd say it's more like I'm lacking motivation."
"What does that mean?"
Selia exhaled a tired breath.
"After losing my family, I came to Alfswood to perhaps gain another, and to feel at home again. But big sisters Ellenor, Lefiya, and Filvis aside, all I've been met with by those in the know of what I really am, is stigma and prejudice…"
She clicked her tongue.
"So I guess I'm not particularly concerned about whether they acknowledge me or not. I just go along with this because I didn't want to trouble Uncle Patri and Auntie Fana, but recently they told me they don't really care for Alfswood either and have given up on them too."
She laughed softly.
"So I'll do what I want from now on. If those annoying elders approve of me, then great. But if they try to nitpick, I could care less. If worse comes to worse I'll just join the Light faction or the Wind faction."
Wignall chuckled.
"Well the Wind faction might be a bit troublesome—"
Wrr.
Wignall was cut off as Selia held out her palm. A miniature cyclone whirled in it.
Wignall blinked.
"You're a multos?"
Selia nodded.
"Only wind though."
Wignall let out a bitter chuckle.
"Well, I for one believe you're an elf."
That was normal for their people—having multiple attributes. A failure like him was one of the few exceptions.
Wignall then gave Selia a strange look.
"W-wait, can your brother use light magic then?"
Selia gave a half-nod.
"Yeah. But just like how I'm worse with wind, he's worse with light."
In their own world, half-bloods sometimes had two attributes.
But Selia and Sylor weren't half-bloods in the sense of having one human and one elf parent. Rather, both of their parents were half-elves.
Selia had light magic.
Sylor had wind.
And that's how things were.
But then they arrived in Paradise and bloomed like the rest.
In addition to Fantasy magic, Selia developed a weaker affinity for wind—and Sylor for light.
Wignall raised a brow.
"Did your brother have to prove himself?"
Selia shook her head.
"Big Brother was only in Alfswood for a month before leaving for the tower with Uncle Patri. He's never really been troubled by them."
Wignall chuckled.
"Lucky."
Selia's face lit up.
"Right! Maybe I should just leave? Wanna come with me, Wignall-senpai?!"
Wignall paused, seriously considering it, before shaking his head.
"I'm flattered, but this is where I want to be. With my sister."
Selia's eyes widened, then she sighed.
"Alright. To each their own."
"So you're going to leave."
Selia shook her head.
"No. I'll give those annoying pests one last chance. Besides, even if they are bothersome, something tells me that they're clean. We still have a mission to complete for Ms. Serah, and I believe this faction is one of the safest to do so."
Wignall nodded, his expression slowly hardening as he stood up.
"Then, let's get busy."
Selia got to her feet as well.
"Sure! Lead the way, Senpai!"
The green-haired elf chuckled wryly.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Seventh Stratum – A few hours earlier:
Julius blinked.
He stood on a wide, open grassy plain. It was nearly empty, save for some mountains, dips, and a towering stone pillar.
Beside him stood his chief.
Noelle's hair was tied into a tight bun as she broke into a few light stretches.
Julius was filled with questions—and a very heavy stomach.
He thought Ceridwen was in a league of her own, but the buffet Fumito fed them last night made him question whether being a five-starred chef was a common skill for High Mages.
He had never eaten such a scrumptious meal in his life. Not even in his mansion back home.
He went to sleep bloated.
Only to be woken up at dawn and dragged out of bed by his chief—and now he wanted to know why.
"M-Mrs. Silva, what are we doing here?"
Noelle straightened and turned to him.
She got straight to the point. "Factions occupy up to the sixth stratum. So what's beyond that?"
Julius blinked. "The test floors?"
Noelle nodded. "Stratums seven to fifty are titled the Domain of Trials. Pass one, and you can climb higher. Reach the top, and you become an Ascendant—with the right to challenge a Vander at the beginning of each year."
Or so that dwarf told me.
Julius scratched his cheek. "So?"
Noelle sighed. "The Mercedes Mirror may have silenced doubts inside the Tower, but I still need to prove my worth to Paradise before they start banging on my door and asking questions."
She paused, then continued.
"The founder of a faction should at the very least be an Ascendant. Don't you think so?"
"Right." Julius nodded, then tilted his head. "B-but what does that have to do with me? Do you want me to test myself here and see how far I can reach?"
Noelle shook her head. "No. I want to reunite with my baby as quickly as possible. You can test yourself later—when you feel ready."
Julius winced, then forced a smile. "T-then?"
Noelle gave him a look up and down. "I brought you here to observe me."
Julius blinked. "O-observe you?"
Noelle nodded, arms folding. "You want my spells, right?"
Julius froze.
Had she already caught on—again?
He forced out a bitter laugh. "Can you use that Ki thing too?"
Noelle nodded. "Yeah. But I don't need it when it comes to you." She smiled slyly.
Julius' cheeks flushed. His throat went dry. "O-okay, and?"
Noelle placed her hands on her hips. "Well, I don't mind."
Julius blanked. "Come again?"
"You heard me. My spells. You can have them."
Julius' jaw slacked. "J-just like that?! Y-you're going to pass them onto me?"
Another nod. "Yes. But no."
"Huh?"
Noelle sighed. "Like I've said before—my priority in life is looking after and raising my baby. Period."
She rolled her neck. "I don't have time to raise a disciple or hold your hand and teach you how to use my spells."
She pointed at him. "What I can do is offer advice and pointers now and then. I'm giving you permission to observe my spells—and me in action—and try to figure it out yourself."
Julius hesitated. "But that's—"
"You managed it with Elfaria's Ars Weiss, didn't you?" Noelle chuckled. "You're a prideful and capable mage. Don't act meek now."
Julius sucked in a cold breath and nodded along. "A-Alright."
"Good." Noelle nodded, then raised a hand. "But I do have one bit of advice."
"Yes?"
She matched his gaze. "I'm giving you permission to take my spells—if you can. But instead of copying them, I want you to use them as inspiration."
"Inspiration?" Julius blinked. "For what?"
"To make your own spells!" Noelle declared. "There's no such thing as the strongest spell or wand—only the most suitable. There are no bad spells. Only bad mages. So create a spell, by you, for you, to bring out your power and potential. That is your first mission. Do you understand?"
Julius stiffened.
All of a sudden, Noelle didn't seem like just a reserved woman.
She felt like a battle-worn general.
He gulped and nodded profusely, giving her a rigid salute. "Yes Ma'am!"
"Good." Noelle nodded again, then tilted her head. "Now get back. You don't want to be mistakenly registered by the trial."
Julius blinked, confused, but followed her advice and stepped back.
Noelle stepped forward addressing her subordinate without turning around.
"You've seen this pillar on the first stratum. Every level has them. Sealed within are the guardians."
"L-like the Zoctonia," Julius remarked.
Noelle nodded.
"Through summoning magic, the great founder Mercedes bound the guardians to the pillars. They serve as both guards of the Vander and obstacles for those who wish to climb."
She drew her wand.
"To defeat one is said to be the same as gaining her permission. And with that said, observe."
According to that pest anyway.
She pointed her wand at the pillar.
A faint magic circle appeared at the tip as she intoned quietly.
"Access code: Noelle Silva."
A light shot from the array and sank into the stone.
Nothing happened at first.
Then the pillar rumbled.
Rumble!
Like with the First Bloom, sand spilled off its sides.
Something crawled out.
It was massive.
A draconic beast.
Wingless, standing on all fours.Its claws were sharp, its scales a deathly white.
Empty eyes.
A tongue that slithered like a snake's.
It looked alive, but Julius could feel it wasn't.
It was a puppet. A construct.
A drake.
He shivered at the aura pouring off it.
Sweat rolled down his neck.
Dammit, you can't even compare the zoctonia to this thing!
Is this really just the first test level?
It feels like I'm staring at a Grand Duke!
Dash!
The drake lunged.
Noelle didn't flinch.
She calmly raised her wand and began to chant.
"Bones of the drowned world, stir. Current of abyss and sky, unite. Scale of the ancient wyrm, awaken. Let the ocean's roar shatter stillness. Tide of cobalt wrath, crash upon my foes. By dragon's blood and salt I command you: Maridraco Silva!"
Bwoom!
"Rawwr!"
Water burst from her wand, swelling into a tidal serpent.
In an instant, the sea dragon slammed into the drake and crushed it in its jaws.
There was no struggle.
What could a mere mimic do against the will of a real dragon?
"FLOOR 7: CLEARED!" A mechanical voice resounded from seemingly nowhere.
Julius stood there, speechless.
His jaw dropped.
"I don't think all spells are equal," he muttered. "I'd rather just have that."
Noelle's spell wasn't just upper tier.
It was infinitely close to supreme.
She turned her head and rolled her eyes.
"Stop dallying. Off to the next floor."
"Y-yes, Ma'am!" Julius scrambled after her.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Julius' shock was just beginning.
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"FLOOR 19: CLEARED!"
One shot each.
Twelve more guardians, gone in record time.
Noelle even skipped her chant.
Just twelve Sea Dragon's Roars—no added power—rather lowered power, and no strain.
Before heading to Floor 20, she tapped her space ring.
A pouch popped out, and from it came two sandwiches.
She handed one to Julius while chewing on the other with content ease.
The former princess wiped her red lips.
"Apparently things pick up from Floor 20. We should fill our stomachs first."
Julius blinked.
Are we having a picnic or climbing the tower?
He didn't know.
Only that the sandwich tasted damn good.
He went back to eating.
Sure enough, things got harder.
She needed two roars now.
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"FLOOR 29: CLEARED!"
Noelle wiped sweat from her temple and gave a low whistle.
"Wow. That's quite the workout. Not bad!"
Julius was starting to question everything.
She patted his shoulder.
"Don't look like that. Apparently Floor 30 and on is the real struggle."
Or so that imp said.
His lip twitched.
He was done with "apparently."
That word meant nothing anymore.
But Noelle didn't lie.
It was a real fight now.
She had to bring out other spells.
Sea Dragon's Waterball for multi-blast attacks.
"Mariorbis Silva!"
Sea Dragon's Nest for defense.
"Marinidus Silva!"
Sea Dragon's Cradle for stalling and recovery.
"Maricunabulum Silva!"
She mixed in other spells too, for mana conservation and coverage.
Most of hers were too brute-force—either defensive walls or overwhelming offense.
She needed more precision.
"Aqua Clarus!" — a mirror-like reflection to confuse enemies.
"Gutta Venatus!" — a sharp raincloud of piercing shots.
"Unda Silentium!" — a grand wave to submerge and silence.
"Oscillatio Nix!" — a disorienting ripple that threw off balance.
But still, she always returned to her signature.
Sea Dragon's Roar.
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"Maridraco Silva!"
"FLOOR 39: CLEARED!"
Hah.
Noelle let out a tired breath and sat on the grass, looking up at the artificial sky.
"I've been taking it really easy since I got pregnant. I haven't worked this hard in a long time."
Julius scratched his cheek awkwardly.
He didn't know what to say.
Every time a new guardian emerged, radiating pressure like a suffocating curtain, he thought this is it.
This is where she struggles.
But all that changed was the time it took to win—maybe 20 seconds longer, at most.
No injuries. No panic.
Not even a meaningful setback.
For a second, he wondered if Mercedes' trials were just outdated.
Then he shook his head.
He'd heard the whispers.
From the Second Bloom on, people said his Chief was already at Vander level.
If she struggled here, it would've proven them wrong.
But she didn't.
She was simply strong.
And so the climb continued.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
As Noelle and Julius stepped onto the 40th floor, they stopped short.
Rumble!
The floor trembled violently.
The pillar cracked open with a roar of steam and pressure, and something monstrous clawed its way free—a massive ape, like a mechanical King Kong.
Its plated chest puffed with each breath. White steam hissed from joints and wires along its adamantine limbs. Veins of pale blue light ran under its steel skin, and its face, half-armored and half-exposed, twitched with restrained aggression.
Julius shuddered.
This feels like I'm staring at the Devander…
Not the evolved version that devoured the Dinobori, but something just beneath it—yet still terrifying.
Noelle didn't blink. However her expression turned faintly solemn.
She raised her wand.
Water shimmered at her feet. A magic circle bloomed below her like a lotus, etching delicate sigils that spiraled upward and folded into her body.
She chanted, voice calm and steady.
"I am the hunter. One of grace. I am the predator. Of steady pace. With a brave will and noblesse oblige, I take my stand and beautify the battlefield. I am a knight: Bellatrix Silva."
The light burst outward.
A burst of liquid armor enveloped her—breastplate, faulds, spaulders, all sculpted from hardened magic, flowing like tide-polished silver.
Her limbs glowed with power. A gleaming tiara crowned her head. Wing-shaped filaments of water sprouted behind her shoulders and hips, fluttering like trailing ribbons in a deep sea current.
In her hand she held a spiralling lance.
She no longer looked like a noblewoman.
She looked like a goddess of war.
A Valkyrie of the sea.
Julius' jaw slackened.
What the hell is that transformation…?!
The mechanical ape pounded its chest, generating a shockwave that cracked the stone beneath its feet.
Then it charged.
Noelle didn't move.
At the very last second, her body shifted—one step, then another, her motions impossibly fluid.
She backpedaled midair, almost taunting the beast.
Each swing of its mountainous fists missed her by a hair. Not because she was too fast—but because she allowed it to almost reach her.
A dance.
Every dodge was precise. Every spin a statement.
Julius realized—she was playing with it.
Noelle's expression sharpened.
She met the ape's glowing gaze.
And for the first time in the tower, something behind a guardian looked back at her.
Not just power.
But will.
Life!
Its aura was blurry, diluted—but it had Ki. Not much. Not human. Not readable.
But alive.
Noelle's grip on her lance tightened.
It didn't matter.
She was stronger.
With a ripple of water around her feet, she vaulted upward, then spiraled into a backward flip—twisting gracefully like a ballerina caught in an underwater current.
She inverted.
Lance-first, she came drilling down from the sky.
BWROOM!
The lance struck the ape's crown—piercing straight through its head.
A blast of water spiraled behind her, forming a vortex of destruction that chewed through the mechanical beast's torso, hips, knees—until it crashed to the ground in wet, smoking pieces.
Noelle landed on one toe.
Graceful. Effortless.
She brushed a strand of wet silver hair behind her ear.
"FLOOR 40: CLEARED!"
Julius just stood there, staring.
Noelle didn't look at him.
Her gaze lingered on the pillar behind the disintegrated beast.
She whispered quietly to herself.
"…This Mercedes person is very interesting."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
From that point on, the challenge… wasn't even a challenge.
Noelle's stats—speed, strength, precision, mana control—all of it skyrocketed with the Valkyrie Dress.
Every guardian that came forward?
Slain in a flash of water and steel.
She danced through the tower like a tidal phantom.
She didn't fight them. She hunted them.
And they never saw her coming.
"FLOOR 41: CLEARED!"
"FLOOR 42: CLEARED!"
"FLOOR 43: CLEARED!"
Each new floor brought stronger monsters, faster machines, trickier traps—it didn't matter.
Her lance shattered enchanted cores.
Her spells broke through arcane barriers like paper.
Her armor turned the very battlefield into her domain.
"FLOOR 44: CLEARED!"
"FLOOR 45: CLEARED!"
Even Julius—initially terrified—could only watch with awe as her technique evolved in real time. Her every movement was sharper than the last.
By Floor 47, she wasn't just faster. She was colder. Focused.
By Floor 49, her water magic flowed like it had a mind of its own.
"FLOOR 50: CLEARED!"
Then, silence.
Noelle let out a shallow breath as her form finally unraveled.
The Valkyrie Dress burst apart into particles of mist, leaving her standing, tired and bare-shouldered, her clothes soaked in residual mana.
She panted hard, her lungs pulling for air.
Her mana… was gone.
Not low.
Empty.
She staggered, and Julius rushed to her side on instinct—But she waved him off.
They climbed the final staircase.
At the top sat the throne room—its stone doors opening without sound.
Inside were five thrones in a clean, perfect line.
Three of them sat empty.
Two were occupied.
Masterias Noah sat silently, his face carved from stone.
Beside him lounged Cariott, the Wand of Fire, casually folding his legs as he rested one elbow on his throne's armrest.
He smirked as Noelle entered.
"If it were anyone else pulling this off, I'd be surprised. Impressed, even." He gestured lazily at her. "But I've seen your power before. So even this absurd win streak… isn't shocking."
Noelle shrugged, too tired to muster a reaction. "Okay."
Then she turned to Aaron. "I've done my part. If anyone complains about me now, it's your problem."
Aaron, the Wand of Light, narrowed his eyes slightly.
He looked behind her—at Julius, who had crept in behind her with wide eyes.
"Only Adjutants and Ascendants may enter this chamber. No exceptions."
Julius flinched under Aaron's gaze, shivering faintly.
Noelle gave a casual nod. "Yeah. He's my adjutant."
Cariott raised an eyebrow. "He is?"
Julius blinked. "I am?"
Noelle nodded again, unbothered. "Yep."
Julius opened his mouth. "B-but, isn't your husband—"
"Nope." She cut him off flatly. "I'm already stretched thin as a Chief. Making Asta an adjutant too would mean Nigel has no parent free. He needs at least one of us around at all times."
Julius's mouth hung open. "B-but I'm just a High Mage… and the lowest rank at that! Shouldn't Argenta—"
"That mess?" Noelle scoffed without hesitation.
He coughed. "I-I mean… shouldn't Fumito—"
Noelle stepped closer and stared him down. "The only thing those two have over you is age."
She jabbed a finger at his chest.
"They haven't climbed the tower. They have no intention of doing so. But you do. You have ambition. That's enough."
Then she extended her hand, tone suddenly formal.
"I'm assigning you as my adjutant. Do you accept?"
Julius stared at her hand.
Then straightened.
And bowed.
"Yes, Ma'am!"
Noelle gave a curt nod, then turned back toward the thrones.
Cariott offered her a dry smile. "Are you done with your conversation?"
"I am."
"Good. You're now officially an Ascendant."
He leaned forward. "Do you wish to challenge one of us?"
Noelle shook her head. "No."
Cariott blinked. "No?"
She nodded. "Too much work."
Her eyes drifted toward the high windows beyond the thrones.
She didn't want this.
Didn't want to be locked to a stone tower while her son played without her in the fields.
Didn't want to miss holding him.
Didn't want to forget what real air smelled like.
Cariott chuckled. "Yes. It is too much work. And sometimes I wonder if any of this is worth it." He glanced toward Noah. "Too bad, though. I was hoping you'd rid me of that savage."
Noelle turned away.
"A shame," she said without looking back.
Julius hurried after her, still reeling from everything.
And Aaron watched her disappear down the corridor, her silver hair vanishing like mist behind the door.
He closed his eyes, exhaling.
When can I retire?
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Fourth Stratum – Thunder Faction:
The artificial sunlight dipped low behind the hills, casting the training field in gold and shadow. Will collapsed onto his back with a sharp exhale, his limbs twitching in protest.
"Augh."
Zeo stood nearby with his hands in his pockets, watching with visible boredom.
"Tch. You call that a fight?"
Will forced his head up, but the rest of him wouldn't budge. "I-I'm sorry, Great Mage Zeo!"
You didn't even give me a second to rest after running 680 kilometers! What did you think was gonna happen?!
Zeo clicked his tongue. "Don't give me that shit, Sefort. You think you're gonna become a Vander with weak excuses like that?"
Will stiffened under the weight of his gaze.
Zeo's grin twisted with challenge. "You're Thunder Faction now. That means if you want to become a supreme one while I'm still breathing, there's only one path."
He stepped forward, boots crunching the dry grass.
"You take my seat."
Will's eyes widened.
"And when I say take, I mean rip it from me. I'm not handing over a damn thing. Understand?"
Will swallowed hard, then nodded. "Y-yessir!"
Zeo let out a low chuckle. "Excellent. Good thing you can swing that Magic Sword. Now I just have to beat some real fight into you, and you'll be able to cut through anything."
He turned on his heel, scratching the back of his neck as he walked off.
"Finish your drills, then come find me. We'll spar. Got it? From now on, your days end with me."
Will watched him go, his stomach curling into knots.
He makes sparring sound like a bedtime story. It's murder.
He rolled onto his stomach and slammed his fists into the grass.
Training makes me tired.
Sparring nearly kills me.
Honestly, how the hell am I supposed to make time for spying?
"Mreow!"
Kiki, his tiny Carbuncle, bounced toward him and licked the scratches on his arms.
Will let out a small laugh as the sting faded.
Well... at least someone's on my side.
From a shaded corner of the field, Milia watched with puffed cheeks.
"So not fair! First Anna and now him?! I get that they're strong, but I wanna spar with Great Mage Zeo too!"
Beside her, Nanaru dabbed sweat from his face with a towel.
"The New—" he hesitated, voice quiet. "Talent is talented."
"Yeah, he's amazing," Olganeau muttered, then shifted his gaze toward another part of the training ground. His tone soured. "But them? They're another story."
Two boys were dragging themselves upright again, only to be knocked flat by Guilford's relentless attacks.
"They're hopeless," Olganeau scoffed. "It's been a week since First Bloom and they still can't survive a hundred? Give me a break."
He folded his arms.
"I bet they quit and run like the rest of the dropouts. No use staying if you can't even stay on your feet."
His voice wasn't exactly quiet.
The two boys flinched.
Neither looked up as they turned and shuffled off toward the locker rooms, faces down, shoulders tight.
Milia exhaled sharply. "That was a bit harsh."
Olganeau shrugged. "If they can't take criticism without crumbling, even more reason to beat it."
Milia clicked her tongue. "At least the girl ain't bad."
"Bare minimum," Olganeau replied flatly. "Nothing impressive like Serfort."
Behind them, Lihanna stiffened.
Nanaru glanced her way, then added coolly, "Owenzaus is no good. So much for the famed Knights of Thunder."
The Big Three turned and walked off, their backs straight, unbothered.
Lihanna's hands balled into fists.
She dipped her head, biting back heat in her throat as she crouched low, curling into herself slightly.
Silence.
"..." From across the field, Komari watched.
She didn't speak.
She didn't approach.
She simply stayed there, quiet and unnoticed.
Miss Perfect had her share of imperfections.
She was as human as anybody.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Somewhere far beyond the Tower's reach—or maybe not—buried beneath layers of secrecy, a chamber pulsed in darkness.
The walls were carved with cryptic sigils, etched deep into black stone. Faded murals bled into eerie banners, their symbols impossible to decipher. The air carried no warmth—only tension, silence, and the faint thrum of latent magic.
At the center of it all sat an obsidian table.
Six masked figures occupied the thrones around it, each cloaked in black, motionless as statues. Four wore partial masks that covered their faces from the nose upward. Two were fully veiled in expressionless porcelain.
Their voices, when they came, echoed with oppressive gravity.
"How's the plan coming along?" one asked, the tone light, almost amused.
Another leaned back with a dismissive shrug. "Barely acceptable. Headless and Marze bungled their missions and cost us more than we can afford. Worse, they're tied up in some other scheme now, completely separate from the Terminalia. So we're short-staffed—again—and left to clean up the mess."
"Leave them," a third cut in coldly. "We have more pressing concerns."
A flicker of tension passed through the room.
"The Tower's been destabilized," the voice continued. "Too many shakeups. People are watching—closely. Every faction's on edge. And now, with the founding of Fluvia Silva, there's a new faction we have no eyes in."
Click.
The last speaker flicked his tongue.
"Elves. Too proud to sway, too sharp to deceive. They won't align with us... forget giving them a reason, we can't even manage to hold a conversation with those bastards."
"And the Old Man?" another asked.
"He keeps his dogs on a leash so tight they don't even bark without permission. That route is closed."
The first speaker nodded slowly.
"Then forget them. We have plenty among the Colorless. Let the elves fall with this world. And the light is just a ruse. The water faction is what matters—and soon, we'll have it entirely under our control."
A low, creeping chuckle rippled through the room.
"Hah... hah... hah."
The one who'd begun the meeting leaned forward.
"The purpose is eternal."
He placed a gloved hand flat on the table.
"Liberate the true sky. Tear down the false heavens. Unlock what the traitors have sealed away. That is our path."
He turned his head toward the darkened end of the chamber.
"And for that... we'll need the key."
He didn't raise his voice—but his words carried the weight of fate.
"Baal."
A shift in the shadows.
"Seize it at once."
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Footsteps echoed—slow, deliberate, and unhinged.
From the void beyond the light, a figure stepped forward.
She was short. Unkempt black hair clung to her face. Chains bound her wrists and curled beneath her dress, which hung awkwardly from her neck, hoisted up by a collar of iron links. Her smile stretched too wide. Her tongue, far too long, ran across her lips.
Her eyes glowed black like a spectre from hell.
"Ahahaha... Shade likey the sound of that!"
Her voice pitched high and low, bouncing unpredictably.
She tapped her temple with a crooked finger.
"Well, I guess what Gohtia wants... Gohtia gets!"
She spun once in place, arms spread as her chains jingled around her.
"Just leave it to me!"
Her voice dripped with hunger.
"It's high time this shitty tower crumbled to dust. And I know just where to start."
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author's Notes:
[1] In some translations, you might see the name Alfeskogr instead of Alfswood.
That's no mistake—skogr is simply the Scandinavian word for forest or woods.
Different name, same meaning. It all refers to the same place.
[2] If you'd like to chat, discuss the story, or hang out, feel free to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar