If you closed your eyes, you could almost forget a person was sitting there at all—it felt like a sword, impossibly sharp, resting on the floor.
Alia scratched her head. She didn't understand Gauss's current state, but seeing he was unharmed, she fully relaxed.
Vmm.
Vmm.
Right then, the energy around Gauss seemed to crest. Power bled outward. Rachel gently herded the three teammates behind her like a solid wall, then stared at Gauss with open astonishment—not because the energy was frightening (to her it wasn't; their gap was too large), but because this wasn't what a freshly condensed class should feel like.
It was far beyond that—enough that for a moment she might have mistaken him for a Level 3 or Level 4 Sword Class. And she knew he wasn't—even his sword class hadn't fully set.
Curiosity prickled: what would he be when this finished?
Air rippled in rings around him; dust motes were pushed away by a force with no shape. With each passing beat, Rachel's wonder deepened—she even felt something that brushed the soul itself. She waved the others farther back. She herself didn't mind; body and soul were one piece in her, and both were strong enough to weather this kind of spillover.
Gauss sat in an inward storm—adrift in a chaos of will-shards and memory-splinters. Try to focus and they blurred like flowers in fog. Only insights about "the sword" sped by:
"What is a sword?"
"A tool for killing?"
"A power to protect?"
"An extension of technique?"
…And then, in the depths of that jumble, a single truth cracked like thunder, lighting his inner sea:
"A sword is will."
He "saw" it.
A streak of blade-light rose from the root of his soul.
Chang!!!
His basics and White Falcon training broke apart, were refined, and then dissolved into a single, condensed aggregate of will within his body.
Beside the chalice of mana, a slender, pure light-sword took shape—small, radiant, beautiful.
A clear sword-cry rang out—not in the air, but through the soul itself, like the first cicada call of midsummer.
A unique heart-sword was forged.
An unseen ripple rolled across the room—not raw energy, but the keen declaration of an existence unsheathed. The heart-sword announced itself to them—to the world.
All three involuntarily took another step back. Then, just as quickly, every leak of aura and power rushed inward like rivers to the sea, not a drop left outside. He still sat there, eyes closed, posture little changed—yet if you felt closely, everything had changed.
Wholeness and edge—two contradictions, humming together.
Gauss opened his eyes. Rachel met them—and found no blinding glare, only clarity, a deep, polished brightness, as if his soul had been washed clean. Beautiful, gem-bright eyes. Even Rachel, who didn't care for jewelry, couldn't help but admire them.
He was quiet a moment as his mind climbed out of the haze. He'd glimpsed many odd shards of memory; waking scattered them like a dream at dawn.
"How do you feel?" Rachel asked. The trio stepped forward.
"Great. Second Class—condensed," Gauss said, satisfied. His panel had updated:
Current Classes: Mage Level 4, Sword Soul Level 2.
Yes—his sword class had burst straight to Level 2 at birth. And by feel, his fighting power was more than "just" Level 2.
Also:
Strength +1
Constitution +1
New totals:
STR: 11 → 12
DEX: 9
CON: 10 → 11
INT: 14
PER: 10 (9)
CHA: 10 (9)
He could tell, though, that unlike the main class, the second wouldn't reliably feed him stats. This bump likely came from the initial condensation.
That's the rub of dual-classing; most who try run into diminishing returns. The time you spend for a sliver of gain might push your main class farther if focused there instead.
In theory, though, a perfect dual-classer has the highest ceiling: the secondary doesn't cap the primary. Two masters at the pinnacle—one with a second class still has another vein of equal potential to cash in… if talent, time, and effort can advance both in parallel.
On that, Gauss had confidence. There shouldn't be a "talent" greater than his. And he needn't fear backsliding in one while lifting the other. Besides, Sword Soul was a compatible path.
He raised his right hand. No drama—two fingers as a blade, a light touch into empty air.
No sound, no flash, no spectacle.
"Sever."
He exhaled long.
"…Gauss, what was that?" Alia blinked. She'd expected a demo of new power, not… a mime in the air. "Nothing happened."
Gauss looked at her, paused, and gave her a gentle, pitying gaze. Serandur and Shadow only felt that it hadn't been simple—but without the hit landing on them, they couldn't tell what layer it touched.
Only Rachel understood. That strike targeted the soul. What a mysterious class… Against a peer, a blow at the essence is the most terrifying kind.
She herself was too far beyond; even standing still, he couldn't harm her—but between equals, that edge would be dreadful.
Gauss smiled and didn't elaborate. Sword Soul is the purest sword—so pure it needs no blade.
Class Trait: Blade's Will. It lets him stack that edge onto most attacks, diversifying damage and maximizing force. With a real sword in hand, his techniques would hit even harder.
"Congratulations," Rachel said. Yet a seed of doubt lingered—whether a second class, for a genius like him, would be boon or burden. Only the future could answer. Whatever her thoughts, she wouldn't interfere; this was his will.
"Thank you for everything, Guildmaster," Gauss said. Rachel had done a lot—dragon-moss extract, personal coaching. Without her, this might have taken much longer.
"Something happened just now, didn't it?" Even deep in the breakthrough, his subconscious had felt the tremor.
Rachel didn't hide it; she sketched the attack and city unrest. "More trouble?" Gauss sighed. "If only people could live in peace…"
The undercurrents in Sena were obvious even to a newcomer. And problems that fester do so because of tangled interests and old grudges—never a simple matter of right, wrong, or "prejudice." Hate only knots tighter until it cycles into despair.
"Yeah," Rachel said, helplessness in her tone. "The Guild spans continents—maintained by many races and nations. Our prime tenet is neutrality; we don't meddle in local politics. Unless the Guild or large numbers of civilians are directly threatened, we won't intervene. If they hadn't hit our doorstep today, I wouldn't have moved."
Someone seemed to want the Guild dragged in. But that was for the main hall to investigate; this was only a branch.
"Understood."
In human cities, human adventurers were the majority; in dwarven, elven, halfling towns, other races filled the ranks. Within the pact of allied races, the Guild must not be biased. This would be written up as an "ordinary attack."
"Gauss—be careful," Rachel added after a beat. "No hard intel—just a sense. The timing was too neat. It might have been meant for you."
"Probably a coincidence," Gauss said, filing the warning away. "But thanks—I'll keep my guard up." A citywide spasm in a season of rising tension made sense on its own. To suggest the East Branch was bombed just to disrupt his breakthrough felt… self-centered.
"We'll be going, then," he said. He'd finished—and he was hungry. And after a brawl on the Guild's front step, Rachel would be buried in follow-ups for days.
"Take care."
…
Outside, the plaza was a scar—cleanup was underway, but the force of the blast still showed.
"Let's head back to the inn," Gauss said. His strength had shot up fast lately—maybe the pressure cooker of Sena was part of it. Chaos is a ladder, as a certain tale once put it.
Too much comfort and an adventurer stalls; throw yourself into big events and you grow faster.
From the start of the year, how many crises had they touched? The labyrinth outside Barry City—brushes with death. The Lincrown outpost—multiple battles, including a sizable Beast Tide.
The non-public commission—hundreds, thousands of goblins—ending with burning out a tribe. Sena—rewards, first time at sea—and everything since.
Most pros don't step into that much so fast, and these weren't humdrum jobs but "special incidents." Add the Adventurer's Manual as his ace, and the level pace made sense.
"When I finish Fly, let's take a commission and get out of Sena for a bit," he said to the others. Chaos brings chances—but he preferred pure commissions and pure adventure.
In the green woods, the endless sea, on razor peaks and in low valleys—there were so many goblins still waiting for him.
Call it weakness, call it self-soothing—he knew this much: he couldn't save the world. He could kill goblins. That was his contribution. Everyone has a role. His… was to slay monsters. No Upper Limit.