"Aaaahhhh!!!"
Screams of terror echoed through Urbus Rigarden as Lyzance of all ages scattered, doing their best to flee in every direction.
Yet the devilish monsters pouring from the Mage Queen's gates fell all across Rigarden, leaving little room to run.
The best anyone could do was hide—ducking into alleyways, shops, and market stalls—while the patrolling high mages leapt into action to confront the threat.
Clairie soared high above on her broom, watching in horror as building after building crumbled to dust, as life after life edged closer to death.
She trembled slightly. Dinoboros?! What are deep dungeon monsters doing above ground?!
Snapping herself out of it, she shifted her focus to the east. Her voice, boosted by communication magic and tinged with desperation, rang out.
"Rodge! I'll throw up some defenses! Hurry up with that incantation!"
Down below, Rodge Holland—a scout of the Fire Faction—nodded without looking up.
"Thanks!"
He raised his arm toward the small group behind him as he stepped forward with purpose.
"Get into position and prepare to engage!"
"Yes, sir!"
Fwoo!
Above, Clairie blew into the back of her wand as if blowing bubbles—and she did.
Keridos Gardinas!
Several large bubbles floated into the air before her, each engraved with a glowing magic circle. From them emerged five identical constructs.
They were knight-like golems with no feet, their armor forged entirely from water.
Each limb floated disjointedly, held together by an unseen force.
They almost resembled chess pieces, with white-lined engravings across their chest and body plates to give them definition.
Particles of light shimmered around the constructs, drawing Colette's gaze skyward in awe.
Until now, Earth Magic had always been considered the peak of magecraft. Fantasy aside, the only element that could rival it even slightly was ice.
Other elements—fire, lightning, wind, darkness, and light—could be used for constructs, but the results were usually crude at best.
Water magic, the parent element of ice, had never been an exception.
So to see something this intricate made of water... it was breathtaking.
As the water knights dove downward to distract the swarm of Dinoboros, Rodge's group moved into position to face the one with the eerie halo and sword.
"Begin the incantation! Let Clairie's guardians handle the front line!"
Wands aimed forward, they began to chant in practiced unison.
"O flames of the smoldering abyss! Cacophony of my agonies and woes! Incinerate all who stand before me — Cinder Helice!"
"Kill them all!" Rodge bellowed as a crimson magical array flared to life at the tips of their wands.
Then, five identical spiraling blasts of flame shot out, crashing into the beast and engulfing it—and an entire block behind it—in a sea of fire.
As smoke flooded the air, not far away, Wignall and Sion crouched protectively around a pair of children.
Wignall didn't notice the boy in his arms staring up at him in wide-eyed shock, stunned that an elf would touch him so casually.
How did she create so many guardians?!
They stamped out the surprise attack in but a second!
They thought in rapid succession, while Lihanna whispered to herself, eyes wide.
"So that's what it means… to be a high mage from the Tower…"
Rodge stood waiting, eyes on the smoke.
Seeing no shadow, no movement, he sneered and turned.
"They would defile the very city the Magia Vander call home? Fools."
He snapped another command over his shoulder.
"Trace the magic circles back to their source! That's where we'll find whoever released these monsters! I want them seized at all costs—"
He froze mid-sentence, turning back as the smoke finally cleared.
The same Dinoboros stood there.
Seemingly unharmed.
It survived the barrage?!
His wand shot forward again, this time unleashing an incantationless spell.
"You little pest! Just go down quietly!"
Another beam of fire exploded from his wand and struck the beast.
But the moment the smoke faded—it was still standing.
Still unharmed.
What?!
He fired again, faster this time, but something changed.
The Dinoboros slowly raised its grotesque sword to the side.
And Rodge's magic, like a string being pulled, veered off-course.
Instead of striking the creature's chest, the blast twisted mid-air toward the blade—then vanished completely before touching it.
Rodge's pupils widened in confusion, anxiety prickling at his spine.
Why? Why isn't it working?!
He kept firing. Blast after blast.
His subordinates joined in, pouring magic into the target—but every flame, every surge of power fizzled out before contact.
Like a campfire lit under rain.
Not that any of them had ever seen a rainy day.
Clairie, watching from above, suddenly stiffened. Her voice rang out in panic.
"Rodge, look out!"
But it was far too late.
Wearing what could only be called a malevolent grin, the Dinoboros finally took the initiative—swinging its grotesque sword in a lateral arc toward the flame faction scout.
And in that brief instant, as the blade neared, Clairie and Rodge's subordinates shared a single thought.
Oh…
Rodge…
Sir…
Is about to die—
Zzzt!
A sharp crack of lightning rang in their ears just as the blade was about to cleave Rodge in two. Then came a flash of white light.
"Auggh!"
A scream echoed—not Rodge's, nor any human's, but the Dinoboros's—as it was hurled backward, skipping across the concrete like a stone skimming water, before crashing into the burning rubble of a shop.
As for Rodge... he was now 30 feet in the air, seated on the rooftop ledge of the very building he'd been standing beside just seconds ago.
Sweat slid down his chin as he, and everyone else who'd witnessed his near-death, turned to look at the one beside him.
The person with a hand resting on his shoulder.
She wore the thunder faction's robes, though they'd been cut short and trimmed to suit her own taste—much to her faction adjutant's ongoing dismay.
She was short, with striking tanned skin, darker than most in the Tower and even Rigarden.
Her frizzy blonde hair—clearly dyed—was tied into high twin pigtails, with a single thunderbolt-shaped strand jutting upward like a declaration.
Several flowery hairpins were clipped in at random, serving no real purpose beyond being a bizarre fashion statement.
Her eyelashes were absurdly long, her fingernails painted dark.
Pink sashes wrapped around her waist and ankles like accessories, with matching leg warmers over dark flat shoes.
Essentially, she was a gyaru.
Not that anyone in Paradise would know what that meant.
Or should.
The girl winked and threw up a peace sign.
"You gotta go on a diet, Rodge. Any heavier and I wouldn't've been able to whisk you away in time!"
Rodge blinked, then let out a deep sigh as his heartbeat slowly settled.
"A-Annelie... thanks for the save…!"
Komari Imari's smile thinned slightly before she forced another burst of enthusiasm.
"No problem. I, Annelie..." Because that's definitely my real name. "...won't ever let a friend die on my watch (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧!"
Not again, anyway.
Rodge blinked again, this time at her odd expression, but shook it off. Just her being her usual weird self. For someone from the thunder faction, that was basically normal.
Either way, this wasn't the time to be distracted.
Creak.
The sound of rubble shifting made Rodge, Clairie, and Komari—no, Annelie Theralde, as she'd gone by the past few years—turn toward the wreckage.
"Rawrr!"
With a dragon-like roar, the Halo Dinoboros rose from the debris.
Annelie raised a brow, frowning.
Not even a scratch?
Sweat slid down Clairie's cheek.
Neither Rodge nor Anna had left even a mark?
She scanned the city—saw the signs of destruction. Her guardians were gone, annihilated in seconds, allowing the Dinoboros to continue their rampage.
And everywhere she looked, her comrades were faring no better.
Magic doesn't work on them?
Are they Magebane?
No, that doesn't make sense!
She'd fought plenty of Dinoboros in dungeon expeditions. They were hard to kill, sure—but if you hit them hard enough, they went down.
Which means... they aren't immune to magic. They're neutralizing it!
A sharp instinct struck her, and her gaze snapped across the city.
Every Dinoboros with a halo—clearly the leaders—had one other thing in common.
They carried a sword. A grotesque, twisted thing.
Clairie had yet to see one up close, but as Tower Arbiter—and Caldron's disciple—she'd been warned.
No…! That blade!
Caldron, watching the carnage from the academy's rooftops, clenched her fists behind her back.
Mage Slayers?!
Is it that same group?!
Is it really Gohtia?!
Behind her—through spoken word or echoing through her maser—came panicked reports. Repeated failures to hold the invaders. Desperate pleas for guidance.
What are we facing? What do we do?!
She barely registered any of it. Her thoughts kept spiraling.
Did that same group—the one Finn and his team got theirs from—already mass-produce them?!
Or were we too late, only retrieving scraps from a finished operation?
This is far too organized for a simple assault on Rigarden…
What are they thinking? What are they after?!
Lihanna had reported that the instigators of the all-student praxis mayhem spoke of tearing down the false sky.
So why wait until after the Terminalia ritual?
If it's the same group—and they weren't lying—shouldn't they have struck during it? Or even before—
She froze.
A chilling thought gripped her.
N-No... it can't be!
The attacks intensified. But as her gaze swept the battlefield, a detail emerged—monsters weren't just slaughtering civilians at random.
They were moving.
Controlled. Directed.
Converging on a single destination.
I knew it. The attack on the city was a diversion!
"Headmistress! They've breached the school grounds, we need to evacuate—"
"No!" Caldron snapped, thrusting out a hand.
"Stand your ground—and defend the tower!"
Everyone froze.
Their eyes widened as her words sank in.
Rigarden Academy was built around Mercedes Caulis.
The last thing standing between the invaders… and the tower.
And if Caldron said defend the tower—
That meant…
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Mercedes Caulis: Floor 50
"...So we're the ones the enemy's after, eh?"
The King of the Magia Vander, Aaron Masterias Oldking, posed the rhetorical question as he sat at the large round table with the rest of the Vander.
Behind each member stood their faction's adjutant.
The silence that followed served as agreement. Sarissa Alfeld, adjutant of the Ice Faction, adjusted her glasses, her expression tight with unease.
"B-but all of you exhausted most of your magic casting the Great Barrier…"
Ellenor folded her arms, her tone flat and unconcerned.
"That's exactly why they struck now. Terminalia's the one day in the year when the Vander are all weakened."
For those treated like gods—or saints—it was the only day they were mortal. Vulnerable.
She scoffed.
"I don't know which idiots are behind this, but this had to be their goal."
Logwell, adjutant of the Fire Faction, stood tall and rigid, arms clasped behind him like a seasoned soldier. Though blindfolded, his voice carried with sharp clarity.
"Lord Carriot, the Magia Vander must join the battle."
His volume rose into a firm shout.
"If not, innocent lives will be lost! The Vander must turn their strength at once to—"
"Silence, Logwell," Aaron interrupted coldly.
"Or would you like your windpipe torn out the same way you lost your eyes?"
His voice cut like a blade.
"Know your place. You've already disgraced yourself enough."
The air thickened.
Tense. Suffocating.
At least, for Sarissa.
Filvis, standing to Ellenor's right, kept up an emotionless expression—but she was quietly panicking beneath it.
As for Logwell, it was hard to read anything behind his impassive face.
Neither he nor Lord Carriot betrayed a single thought.
Carriot simply sat there, wearing his usual eerie crescent-moon smile.
Zeo had his feet rudely propped on the table, hands stuffed in his pockets.
No one called him out for the lack of decorum. It was a pointless endeavor.
He was the next to speak.
"So... what are we supposed to do, Old Man? Just sit here on our pedestal and watch?"
"Yes. Exactly." Aaron subtly nodded beneath his hood.
"I forbid any Magia Vander from leaving this place."
"If even one of you falls and the Great Barrier breaks, the Celestial Host will come pouring through."
"Then not just Rigarden, but the entire world will be reduced to cinders."
"That is the one thing we must avoid at all cost."
Zeo clenched his jaw as the screams from below grew louder, but he said nothing.
This is the reality of a world constantly on the verge of extermination.
In such a world, morality matters little.
You can idealize all you want, but lives aren't equal.
Life is judged by worth and contribution.
The life of a single Vander is worth more than a city. The life of a single Vander is, quite literally, worth the world.
Because if one falls, it's the end of times for everyone.
Maybe that's the hardest part of being a Vander.
Drawing a line between yourself and everyone below.
Only other Vander share your worth. Only adjutants and ascendants can speak to you as anything close to an equal.
Beyond that... everyone else is just an ant.
From the top of the tower, all life looks like ants—so treat them as such.
The Vander aren't heroes. They're pillars.
It's the job of those below to guard them—so they can keep the sky from falling.
Not their job to risk themselves for those beneath.
If a single pillar crumbles, so does the world. So they can't move. Not even a step.
It's ironic.
The world's most beloved heroes are the ones most restricted.
The only ones who can't act.
A sad kind of irony.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Mercedes Caulis: 2nd Stratum
Arvin Olus—the acting chief and adjutant of the wind faction, Solphis Neamhain—paced frantically back and forth inside headquarters, gnawing on his fingernails.
He had medium-length, slightly messy blonde hair, a long fur-lined coat, and a shirt patterned with swirling wind motifs.
W-What do I do?
T-The city's under attack.
They've been asking for reinforcements—should I deploy the faction?
Dammit, Chief, why'd you leave me in charge?! I can't do this, I can't—I-I wish someone would just give me orders…
"Arvin!"
"Eek—!" he yelped, freezing in place and whipping around to face the voice.
A petite woman stood in the doorway. She had long, flowing blonde hair, a large beret, and a poncho-like sweater over a short skirt that left most of her legs bare.
This was Monic Orphan—the Wind Faction's number three, and current acting adjutant.
"W-What is it, Monica?" Arvin asked, cautious.
She gave him a flat, withering stare.
"What do you mean 'what is it'? You're pacing like a deranged lunatic. Would it kill you to calm down?"
Arvin trembled. "Yeah, it might."
Monica pressed a hand to her forehead, sighing deeply as a familiar migraine bloomed. Every second in this idiot's company shaved years off her life.
"Can you at least explain yourself?" she asked. "What's got you so worked up this time?"
Arvin threw out his arms. "W-What do you mean, Monica? Don't you hear the cries for help outside?! What am I supposed to do?"
"..."
"I mean, do I deploy our faction or not?!" he continued, voice cracking with desperation. "Would it help—or would it just add to the casualties?!"
Monica stiffened.
He wants to deploy the Wind Faction...?
T-That's not good.
Monica tried to keep her composure as she adopted a solemn expression and shook her head.
"You shouldn't. It would just lead to meaningless bloodshed—"
"But Monica!" Arvin shouted, suddenly stepping far too close, invading her space.
Startled, Monica flinched. He was practically nose-to-nose with her.
She shoved him back with one hand, gritting her teeth as her control started to fray. "The enemy is clearly targeting the Vander. We can't leave the tower defenseless—"
"But Monica!" he shouted again, stepping forward once more, this time nearly pinning her against the wall.
Spittle flew. His eyes were wild.
"That's precisely why we need to act now!" he barked. "If we strike first, we can drive them back before they reach the tower!"
"And even if they do get past us, there are seven other factions, plus the Colorless, already stationed inside!"
Monica blinked.
Her anxiety spiked. Her patience snapped taut.
Should I just kill him?
The intrusive thought came fast and sharp. She stared at the fool in front of her and—for just a second—seriously considered turning him into a puppet on the spot.
But no. That would be unwise.
As bitter as it was to admit, Arvin was still an Ascendant. Stronger than her by a margin. No matter how much sway she had over him, she couldn't guarantee he'd go down quietly.
Besides… her chief was far too sharp. The kind of sharp that gave Monica the constant, skin-prickling illusion that she was being watched. That even now, someone might be seeing right through her.
Monica took a deep breath and shook her head.
"Still, Arvin… if the situation truly calls for it, the Vander will issue the order themselves. Until then, we stay put."
"The other factions haven't moved. Neither should we."
"But—"
"No buts!" Her voice sharpened. "The Chief trusted you with his faction. You really want him coming back to a pile of corpses? You want him regretting ever putting you in charge?"
The words hit their mark as she grasped his psychological weakness.
Arvin's face crumpled as years of insecurity and self-loathing surged up. He collapsed to his knees, clinging to her legs.
"B-but what do I do? People are bleeding out there—dying, maybe!" His eyes glazed over, wet and wild. "The screams, Monica! They hurt! W-what do I do—"
Monica silenced him by pulling something from her pocket—a bluish, crystalline orb. She dangled it in front of him like a treat before a dog.
Arvin froze.
"I-Is that…?"
His pupils dilated. A string of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth.
Monica's smile turned sharp. "Yes, Arvin. Yes, it is. Do you want your candy?"
Arvin's eyes lit up as he reached. "Yes I do! Yes I do!"
Monica pulled it back, just out of reach. "Nuh-uh. Only good boys get candy."
Arvin whimpered and dropped into a full prostration.
"I'm a good boy! I'm a good boy!"
Monica arched a brow. "Is that so?"
He nodded frantically. "Yes I am!"
She tilted her head, mock-considering. "But how can I be sure?"
Arvin clenched his jaw, then forced a trembling, desperate smile. "I'll stay here! I won't move until I'm ordered!"
"And whose orders are those?" she asked, her tone sharp and testing.
He sprang to his feet. "Yours! Of course, my sweet Monica!"
Monica grinned. Darkly. "That's right. Remember, Arvin. I'm your master. Not the Chief. Not the Vander. Me. No one else."
He nodded eagerly, tail wagging in his imagination. "Yes, Mistress!"
"Heh." She snorted and flicked the candy orb into his hands. "Vent your frustrations here, and here alone. And clean up after yourself."
She turned toward the door, already done with him.
Arvin didn't take offense. If anything, he beamed as if praised.
"Yes, Mistress!"
He popped the orb into his mouth and bit down hard, never breaking eye contact.
Crunch.
"Heh." Monica laughed again and tapped the wall.
A ripple of glowing runes lit up around the room, silencing the noise of the chaos outside. Without another word, she stepped out.
BAM!
The door slammed shut behind her—a door that any other member of the Wind Faction would treat like a sacred relic, the Chief's own office door.
And then silence.
Arvin stood still, alone, his posture perfect. He waited. Patiently.
One minute passed.
Then he moved.
"Ack! Ack! Ack!" He bent over, spitting out the crushed bits of candy onto the floor in a fit of revulsion. He stuck a finger into his mouth and started scraping between his teeth, tongue working feverishly to sweep out every last crumb.
Once satisfied that not a single trace remained, he waved his hand. A gust of wind swept across the floor, grinding the candy into dust and scattering it to the corners of the room.
Then, with the same composure as if nothing had happened, he walked over to the desk, poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher, and took a long, deep drink.
Glug. Glug.
"Ahh…" He let out a soft exhale and wiped his mouth. His expression began to shift—slowly, steadily darkening.
The idiot act was gone.
"Master Yuno…" he murmured under his breath. "How much longer are you going to let that bitch do whatever she wants?"
His eyes narrowed, voice low, flat, sharp. The mask had slipped, but only in the privacy of silence.
It was getting harder to maintain the charade.
Every time he was alone with Monica felt like walking barefoot on knives—one misstep and she'd gut him. But she still thought of him as nothing more than a pathetic fool, which… made the act easier. Too easy.
Arvin wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insulted.
He sighed and looked out the window at the burning city below.
"Please… no one die," he whispered. "My conscience can't take it."
He hoped staying put was the right choice.
He'd already failed Gharzela.
He didn't want to disappoint Yuno too.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Meanwhile…
Outside the tower, Marze stood with his hands in his pockets, one foot propped on the balcony railing. He clicked his tongue in open disgust.
"Psh. Looks like those damn Magia Vander are too scared to show their faces."
He tilted his head, eyes narrowed at the chaos unfolding below.
"We're dangling the bait right in front of them. If they just had any guts, we'd have finished them already."
Beside him, Headless raised a hand, tracing dark script into the air with dripping ink-like magic. The letters shimmered faintly, jagged and messy, just barely legible.
Then let's just sit back… and enjoy the view…
Marze chuckled, low and mean, as another wave of screams echoed from the streets.
"Heh heh…"
Music to his ears.
Enjoy the view?
Yeah. He could do that.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Iris X. Stellamaris clutched her knees, trembling, her pupils dilated behind the lenses of her fake glasses.
"No… this can't be…"
All around her, chaos reigned.
Mages fled in blind panic from the rampaging Dinoboroses. Buildings crumbled, one after another. Screams—raw, terrified, final—rose into the sky like smoke.
She heard them all. The last cries. The dying shouts. Mage or civilian, it didn't matter. Lives were being harvested.
"No... the city's greatest treasure... the people—our talent, our future! They're going to be wiped out! We need them to fight the heavens!"
We can't let this happen—
"Mommy!"
A child's wail snapped Iris's head around.
A young girl sat in the middle of the shattered street, knees scraped raw, her torn dress clinging to bruised legs.
She held the limp hand of her mother—buried waist-down beneath collapsed stone and wood. Blood streamed from the woman's temple, her eyes fluttering in and out of focus.
Even so, she whispered hoarsely, voice cracking.
"Annabelle… m-mommy's okay… y-you need to run…"
Then everything stopped.
Iris. The mother. The daughter.
All frozen—paralyzed.
Because one of the haloed Dinoboroses loomed over the pair like death incarnate, its massive blade raised high, that broad, twisted smile stretching across its grotesque face.
It didn't speak. It didn't taunt.
It simply swung.
"No—!" Iris screamed, thrusting out her hand, a desperate reflex.
A blast of light exploded from her palm—
—and bent away. Just like Rodge's spell before, her magic veered, dissolving uselessly in the air before it could reach the creature.
The Dinoboros didn't even look at her.
Didn't acknowledge her.
Its blade continued its arc.
And all Iris could do… was watch.
She expected blood.
Two heads, cleanly severed. A spray of red. A child's final scream echoing through the rubble.
But that wasn't what came.
"AUGH!"
The cry wasn't the girl's. Nor her mother's.
It was the monster's.
The Dinoboros's massive arm was severed at the shoulder, blood gushing from the stump as it howled in agony. It staggered back, clutching the wound—only for another blur to slash past.
Its head hit the ground a moment later.
The beast—so invincible, so untouchable—collapsed in a lifeless heap.
Silence followed.
Then the blur slowed, and Iris saw it clearly: a lone figure tearing away the debris, pulling the injured woman free with careful hands.
Tears filled her eyes.
"Will…" she whispered, voice catching.
The magicless swordsman turned his head slightly. A faint smile tugged at his lips—but it didn't reach his eyes. The woman, legs miraculously intact, clung to her daughter and ran.
Will said nothing.
He just kept moving forward, his massive Moria blade trailing behind him before rising in wide arcs. Each swing ended a Dinoboros. Effortlessly. Thoughtlessly. A reaper's rhythm.
But his mind was nowhere near his blade.
Why?
Why is this world so cruel to swords like me?
To dwarves… to Shishō…
What did we ever do to deserve this?
He blinked hard, breathing shaky, as the answers—nonexistent as always—refused to come. His grip tightened.
I've asked myself that so many times... and I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel bitter…
But this—
This was never what I wanted!
"Aaaaaahhhhh!"
Will roared as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, his blade flashing with every landing—decapitating, cleaving, ending one Dinoboros after another.
"Huff… huff…"
His hands trembled. His breath came shallow. Physical strain, mental fatigue, and the crushing weight of his soul bore down on him.
But he gritted his teeth. Tightened his grip.
Get a hold of yourself!
Every second you hesitate—someone dies! There's no room for pity. No time for doubt!
Snarling under his breath, he funneled Ki into his legs. His muscles constricted, then launched him forward like a cannonball. A blur of steel and fury.
Another fell.
And another.
"Graaah!"
One unarmed Dinoboros turned and fled, shrieking in fear. Will hesitated—caught between instinct and calculation.
Do I chase it? Or double back?
What if there's someone still alive behind me? What if chasing this one means someone else dies?
His heart raced. His body ached. His mind spun.
The boy was in no shape to have such thoughts weighing over his mind.
Especially during the current carnage.
I can't—
"Will!"
A voice cut through the haze. Rosti, blonde hair tousled, sprinted across the rubble with Kiki clutched tightly in his arms. He didn't slow, just shouted with certainty.
"You take the ones with weapons!"
Then he pointed his wand at the fleeing creature.
"Crysto Wreath!"
A floral burst of spiraling water surged out, crashing into the Dinoboros. It slammed into a wall with a wet crunch, the stone collapsing over it in a cascade of rubble and blood.
Rosti turned back, eyes sharp.
"We mages can handle the unarmed!"
Will blinked.
And then—for the first time in hours—he smiled. A real, bright, grateful smile.
Rosti… you always have my back.
You've always been there.
If it weren't for you…
Will shook his head hard—snapping himself back into the moment.
"Right! Got it!"
In a blink, he vanished, a streak of motion hurtling toward his next target.
The Dinoboros caught sight of him and grinned—an ugly, jagged thing—before rushing forward to meet him head-on.
Clang!
Mage Slayer met Moria Blade, and the impact shook the air itself. Wind kicked up, stone cracked. Neither gave ground.
Will narrowed his eyes, digging his heels in, muscles straining.
You think swords are obsolete? Worthless?
No.
We have a place too—
There are things swords can do that wands never will.
His grip tightened, his aura flared.
And right now—I'll prove it. To myself. To Edward-sensei. To everyone.
I belong in this world.
"Grr..."
Chhk.
Grk.
The Dinoboros's expression twisted in confusion—then panic—as cracks spiderwebbed through its Mage Slayer. It didn't have time to retreat before the weapon shattered with a snap.
The last thing it saw was Will's blade swinging down.
A clean, decisive arc.
Shlunk.
It split in two, joining the rest of its kin in death.
Will exhaled slowly and raised his sword skyward—challenging the world, defying its rules, daring exhaustion to drag him down.
Then he ran again.
I can do this.
I'm a warrior.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author's Notes:
[1] Sorry for the delay—I'm pacing myself this time to avoid burning out like I did with my last story. Taking the extra time to brainstorm and refine things has really helped.
[2] If you'd like to chat, discuss the story, or hang out, feel free to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar