THE DEMIPLANE

THE DEMIPLANE

Rotsgard Academy was on the cusp of summer break.

I, Makoto Misumi, had been juggling my primary role managing the Kuzunoha Company and my side gig as an instructor here at the academy—leading to quite a packed schedule. But with the long break just around the corner, I was finally going to have some breathing room. Might as well make the most of it and set a personal goal or two… Or so I thought.

“Uhh, Makoto-kun… Are you serious?”

His voice was incredulous—the silver-haired young man across from me looked as if I’d just claimed the moon was made of tofu.

“I’m dead serious. Not even a crumb of a joke in there,” I replied flatly, narrowing my eyes. “What’s with that look?”

He practically exploded with astonishment, spraying tea across the table in a spectacular mist. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“But… you want to increase your magic power? You’re already way past me in terms of mana. What’s next? Starting a magic bank?”

I sighed, brushing an errant droplet off my sleeve before calmly clarifying. “I’m not talking about trading favors. I’m not into that kind of thing, all right? And it’s not that I want to have more mana. I want to increase the amount I can use at once.”

We were at the Adventurer’s Guild—more specifically, the Guild Master’s office. Though the title “Guild Master” had been held by the same person for ages, their name, appearance, and even gender had changed countless times.

So yeah, there we were, sitting in the room of that legendary eccentric—I mean, genius—of the Greater Dragon Luto, the Myriad Colors.

The silver-haired man seated across from me was none other than Luto himself. According to Tomoe—my loyal companion and a former Greater Dragon herself—Luto had been a woman once upon a time. Now, however, he presented himself as an unnervingly handsome man.

He defied norms in numerous ways—and coming from me, that was saying something.

“So… what you’re saying,” Luto murmured, arms folded across his chest, “is that you want to increase the output of magic you can channel in a single cast?”

“Exactly.” I nodded, resting my chin in my palm. “But I’ve got no clue how to go about it. I asked Tomoe, Mio, Shiki… but none of them offered anything that seemed promising.”

There simply didn’t seem to be any established method for that kind of training. Much like how one’s total mana pool could grow over years of diligent effort, there were whispers that output could rise similarly, but it would take years.

The other notable method? Forming a Contract with a being far above yourself—becoming their subordinate, their familiar—to forcibly expand your magical capacity.

The first method worked on a time frame completely incompatible with our goals. The second? I didn’t even have a suitable candidate to form a Contract with.

This is getting ridiculous…

I let out a quiet sigh, resting my elbow on the arm of the chair.

“Hmm.” Luto mused, tapping a finger thoughtfully to his lips. “I don’t know the exact method, but from what I’ve seen, Makoto-kun, you’ve already increased your total mana capacity quite a bit. So, I get why you’d assume that, with training, you could also expand the amount of magic you can cast at once…

“That’s exactly it,” I cut in, leaning forward and keeping my voice steady to hide my exasperation. “If I can’t do that, I can’t increase the power of my spells. I don’t need anything revolutionary; I just want to know what normal mages do. Tomoe and the others probably overcomplicate things. They’re always looking for high-level solutions instead of the basics.”

“Normal mages, huh? If we’re talking about what a typical mage would do to increase spell power…

“Well? What do they do?”

“They level up,” he replied with a shrug that said, What else would they do?

“My level hasn’t budged from one. Not even a twitch.”

“Then they upgrade their equipment.”

“Right,” I muttered. “Pretty sure I’m already using gear that’s well above average…

“And that’s it,” Luto concluded, clapping his hands together with finality.

“Wait, what?”

“I’m just being honest,” he replied with a cheerful, unapologetic grin. “That’s how it works for normal mages. They increase their spell strength by using better gear. If that’s not enough, they level up and learn higher-tier spells.”

“So, higher-tier spells, huh… Wouldn’t modifying the ones I already know be enough?”

“Not really.” Luto slipped effortlessly into lecture mode as he crossed one leg over the other. “See, magic spells typically have a fixed range of power—like, say, one to ten. A caster with average abilities will usually hit somewhere around five. If their output is low or their affinity with the spell’s element is poor, the power drops to one to four. But if they have a strong affinity, or a higher output, they might push it up to six, or even ten.”

He paused, holding up both hands to emphasize his point.

“But no matter how much you tweak the spell, you can’t exceed that upper limit of ten.”

His silver eyes were alight with enthusiasm as he went on. “The chant itself determines the spell’s power, range, and effect. That’s the foundation of all magic. Your spell—what was it again, Bridt?—is a complete outlier. The way you use it is… insane, honestly. It’s been modified so much that it barely even resembles the original. You’ve pushed its power far beyond the usual cap. For most people, that kind of customization isn’t even possible. The fact that you can reconfigure it to suit your personal preferences—well, that’s practically a miracle.”

“You really think it’s that big of a deal?” I muttered, a bit deflated. “All I want is to boost my output. Right now, it just feels inefficient. If I could fix that one thing… I might be able to fight a lot more effectively.”

“It feels inefficient because your maximum mana is too high, Makoto-kun,” Luto explained with a wry smile. “It throws everything out of balance. Normally, a mage’s output and their total mana are linked in some capacity. But you? You’re a walking anomaly.”

He sat up again, his expression shifting to something more serious and analytical. “Anyway, that brings us back to what I said earlier—about you thinking your output can be increased with training.”

I stayed silent, giving him my full attention.

“The truth is,” he continued, tapping a finger against his temple, “both mana capacity and output are innate traits. You’re born with them.”

“Innate? You mean like talent?” I asked.

“Exactly. The kind of talent you can’t do anything about. You could dedicate your entire life to it and maybe—maybe—improve it by 10, 20 percent at most.”

“But my mana pool has increased—significantly, even.”

“If you said that out loud in public, you’d be studied in a lab before the week was out. Bagged, tagged, and dissected. Though I doubt they’d manage to contain you.”

“Are you serious?” I asked flatly.

“I’m dead serious. With a capital S,” Luto replied with an all-too-innocent grin.

So, it’s not something that’s supposed to change that easily…

A heavy sigh slipped from my lips. “So output isn’t something you can just train up, huh…

“I’d love to know how you’ve been increasing yours,” Luto said, leaning in with sudden intensity. His eyes gleamed with a strange light. “I’d pay anything. Gold, goods… even people, if that’s your price.”

Luto. You say terrifying things.

Guess that’s it, then.

I’d hoped coming to him would lead to something useful—but it looked like this was a dead end. All I’d really learned was that what I wanted… might not even be possible.

The students were heading off for summer break, and somehow that had stirred up a need in me to take on something new too—a fresh challenge, a personal quest. I thought I’d landed on the perfect theme…

Maybe it’s time to rethink my summer goals.

Archery was already part of my daily routine, so it didn’t count as a seasonal challenge.

Perhaps I should focus on boosting my defenses.

Things had been getting more dangerous. I knew I’d be more confident if there were a more robust barrier between myself and any potential threats.

“Hmm… Even if you ask me to explain it,” I said, scratching my cheek, “I’m just doing normal stuff. Like… a daily routine, you know?”

Luto’s eyes sparkled with interest. He leaned in, resting his chin on steepled hands.

“That must be one revolutionary routine. Will you share it with me?”

“I’m just practicing archery.”

“Archery?”

“Yeah. You should know it, right? Kyudo.”

“Oh, that one. I’ve heard of it. Isn’t that unpopular? I mean, it’s not kendo or judo—that one never quite took off, did it?”

“Say that again, and I will punch you.”

Why do people always compare kyudo to other martial arts? And why does it always sound like they’re putting it down?

“Ahaha—sorry, sorry,” Luto said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “It just slipped out. I haven’t known many Japanese people who practiced it. There were a few into baseball or soccer, and a decent number who did kendo. But kyudo? Not so much.”

“Popularity has nothing to do with the quality of a discipline,” I shot back, fuming. “I’ve dedicated myself to it. Just… let it go.”

“My apologies, truly. Personal tastes are sacred, I agree. So… by drawing a bow in the style of kyudo, your mana capacity levels up?”

He fixed me with a skeptical stare, clearly having trouble believing what he was hearing.

“Probably,” I replied with a shrug.

“Would you mind showing me sometime?”

“Eventually. Honestly, I’m not that fond of being watched. And I don’t exactly have a club or team here.”

“Too bad,” Luto said with a theatrical sigh, clearly disappointed. “Well, I’ll just have to look forward to that ‘eventually,’ then. Here.”

He reached into a drawer, pulled out a few sheets of paper, and handed them to me.

“What’s this?”

“A list of training methods to improve magical output,” he said casually. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. You won’t see dramatic results in just one summer. But they’re the most reliable I could find.”

“Whoa! Seriously? Thanks, that’s a huge help!”

What the hell… After all that talk, he actually had something useful?

Not that I was complaining. I’d take anything I could get right now.

“That’s fine—happy to help, really,” Luto replied with a modest nod, then he shot me a sideways glance. “Still, you’re an instructor and a merchant. You don’t need to start some new project just because it’s summer break. You’re going at it like a student, all fired up.”

“Well,” I said with a wry smile, “ever since I came to this world and stopped going to school, every day’s felt kind of like a Sunday, you know?”

“Really? But you’re a merchant now. Wouldn’t that make every day a Monday instead?”

I winced. “Seriously? Monday? You had to go with the most depressing day of the week?”

He only chuckled in satisfaction.

“Fair enough,” I said with a sigh. “But yeah… something about the phrase ‘summer break’ just hit me with this weird sense of nostalgia. I remembered how I used to get all restless before summer started—buzzing with excitement, wondering what I should do. I guess that feeling just came rushing back.”

Don’t worry, I’m not getting sentimental or anything.

For a moment, Luto didn’t reply. His expression softened, something gentle flickering in his eyes—as if he were comforting me with his gaze alone.

“I was watching Jin and the others—my students,” I added after a pause, rubbing the back of my neck. “And I guess it triggered something. That vibe of anticipation, you know? It’s not like it was that long ago, but somehow it feels distant.”

“I think it’s a good thing,” Luto replied softly. “Recalling the past like that. Setting aside a short stretch of time and pouring yourself into something… That’s a rare luxury. I hope your summer turns out to be something special. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you at the school festival.”

“No pressure, huh? But yeah… thanks, Luto. I’ll see you around.”

I rose to my feet, brushing nonexistent dust from my coat.

Luto gave me a casual wave, his silver hair catching the light. “Come by anytime, Makoto-kun. You’re always welcome here.”

With that, I turned and left the Adventurer’s Guild, Luto’s parting words trailing behind me like the lingering notes of a quiet song.

He didn’t give me any big breakthrough, I reflected as I stepped back into the sunlit street, but he did share some training methods I can work on over time. Even if the results won’t show in just one summer, it’s something I can build on. And I’m curious to see how far they’ll take me.

The sun was still high, casting a bright, almost oppressive light across the city. Summer heat shimmered in the air, and just being outside was enough to wear anyone down.

Not exactly ideal weather to be walking around in, but better to get things done early.

Next on the list…

Right. Eva-san, the librarian at the academy, asked me to drop by. Said she had a book I’d enjoy.

Lately, life had been especially busy. Despite that, I almost always managed to carve out time for reading. During those moments when I had nothing else to do, having a book nearby was a lifesaver. And since Eva rarely recommended a dud, all the better.

Considering how I’d be spending most of summer break holed up in the Demiplane, her books were welcome.

Now that summer had officially arrived, the academy had grown quiet.

Of course, it wasn’t completely deserted. There were still a handful of students around—those without homes to go back to, scholarship recipients who lived in the dorms, and others who, for one reason or another, hadn’t left. The atmosphere was a far cry from the usual hustle and bustle, but it wasn’t dead.

Even now, quite a few students were spending their time taking short-term lectures hosted by temporary instructors or throwing themselves into self-improvement—each trying to make the most of their summer.

Me?

I’d gotten roped into teaching one of those temporary classes after repeated pleas from my students. Totally unplanned.

I’d made peace with it by now, but at first, I was baffled by how passionate they were. Surely it was overkill?

Then I remembered—some of these students had everything riding on this. Their future prospects, their paths forward, all hinged on their grades and how much strength they could gain.

For them, summer break wasn’t vacation time; it was another battleground.

Hard not to compare it to my own second-year summer back in high school…

Yeah. Calling it overkill was unfair of me. I take that back.

As I strolled through the half-empty school grounds, passing the occasional student in training gear or carrying textbooks, I eventually reached my destination: the library.

All right, I thought, pausing at the entrance. Time to switch modes.

“Hello, Eva-san.”

I greeted her with my usual floating bubble of magical text—my workaround for communicating with hyumans.

It was a condition I’d long since accepted. I could talk with non-hyumans just fine, and that worked great in the Demiplane, but here… it really was a pain.

There must be some way to fix this, right?

“Raidou-sensei!” a bright voice exclaimed.

Eva—poised and composed as always—greeted me from behind the counter with a warm, radiant smile. Her glasses glinted as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Sorry to keep you. My business at the Guild ran longer than I expected.”

“I understand you’ve been very busy lately, Sensei,” Eva said gently, her hands folded neatly atop the counter. “I heard from your students that they begged you to keep training them even during summer break.”

“Yes. They’re all quite motivated. I figured I should support them however I can—within reason, of course. That’s part of an instructor’s duty, isn’t it?”

“Most of the full-time instructors have either gone on vacation or gone home for the break. Very few are still on campus. A teacher like you… is a rare sight. But I like people like that, you know.”

Uh… wow, not really sure what to say to that.

I gave her a small smile and a polite nod. “Thank you. That helps,” I wrote, then steered the conversation back to familiar territory. “So—Eva-san, you mentioned you’d found a book you recommend?”

“Yes. Here it is.” She reached below the counter and produced a slim, simply bound stack of pages wrapped in a plain, temporary cover.

“This isn’t a book, is it? Looks more like a thesis… And an old one, at that.”

I’d seen books like this before; research papers tucked away in the dusty corners of the library. They were rarely given much attention. Published quietly, then archived and forgotten.

Without the funding or influence to be copied and distributed widely, these kinds of documents existed only in obscure, single-library collections like this one.

“I remembered that you were interested in the mechanics of mana,” Eva explained, folding her hands once more. “I assumed you’d already exhausted the standard material—so I thought, perhaps something unusual might intrigue you.”

Unusual, huh…

I scratched my temple absently. To be honest, I’d been hoping for something more… textbook-like. Practical, foundational stuff. Still, I flipped the cover open and skimmed the author’s name.

Never seen it before. Not in any of the manuals or training books I’ve read.

Definitely someone from way off the beaten path.

The title read: On the Physical Interference of Mana: Exploring Its Potential Through the Lens of Visualization.

“Physical interference of mana?”

So, not interference through magic but with mana itself?

That’s… actually interesting.

A paper focused on the properties of mana itself, not on spells or casting techniques—even I knew that was rare.

I couldn’t predict where it might go, but it caught my attention. As for mana visualization… that, I was familiar with.

When one casts a powerful spell, mana flows out from the body, becoming a visible aura that swirls and rises like smoke. That surge, that rushing tide of energy, sometimes becomes so strong that normal people can see it—manifesting as a color unique to the individual.

The color of that visible aura varies greatly from person to person. It’s influenced by their affinity, elemental alignment, and the types of magic they specialize in. Literally, a hundred people, a hundred colors.

“Yes,” Eva said softly. “This was the life’s work of that researcher. The theories they present are highly original—esoteric, even. Only a few people even know this paper exists.”

So, it was basically the kind of thesis only hardcore mana-theory nerds had ever heard of.

I’m still just a beginner with the theoretical side of magic, I thought, eyeing the manuscript in my hands. Can I even understand something this specialized?

Still, the title had a strange pull to it.

Besides, I already had Luto’s training methods to work through—why not add this to the pile? With the break ahead, it was a perfect time.

“It’s definitely caught my interest. Looks like I’ve found another goal for the summer. Thank you, Eva-san,” I wrote with a smile.

“Summer goals?” Eva chuckled, covering her mouth as she smiled. “You sound like a student yourself, Raidou-sensei.”

Well… she wasn’t wrong. Even though I was on the teaching side now, being surrounded by students had a way of drawing me back into that mindset. After all, before I ended up in this world, I’d just been an ordinary high school student.

That part of me was still alive and well.

This summer, though, I planned to spend most of my time away from the academy immersed in the Demiplane.

I had a few concrete goals in mind and wanted to focus on them without distraction until I saw results.

For now, my priorities were clear:

Increase my magical output using Luto’s training regimen.

Read through and understand this thesis Eva had loaned me.

Of course, the endless flood of reports and inquiries from the company wasn’t going to stop just because it was summer. But that was work, not a goal—it belonged in a different category.

Plus, I needed to grow, too. I couldn’t let Jin and the others outpace me.

They were still getting trounced in their mock battles with the Blue Lizard I’d summoned for training—but at the rate they were improving… I had a feeling they might just pull off a win before summer was over.

If they did… well, that could lead to some interesting developments.

“Well then, Eva-san, enjoy your summer break. I probably won’t be coming by as often for a while, but if anything comes up, feel free to come to the store. I’ll still be handling consultations.”

“Thank you, Sensei,” she said warmly. “I hope you have a wonderful break as well.”

Eva even took the time to walk me to the entrance. I gave her a polite nod and turned to go.

All right, then.

Time to head back to the Demiplane and really get things rolling.

※※※

This place was neither Earth nor the otherworld governed by that so-called goddess.

It was the Demiplane, which was considered by its inhabitants to be my domain. But from my perspective, it wasn’t that simple.

This space was originally something completely different—created using Tomoe’s abilities before she ever made a Contract with me. It started as her own unique dimensional space, morphing over time into its current form. Or at least, that’s what I used to believe.

Lately, things weren’t quite so clear-cut.

I could now come and go from this space freely. With enough training, even Mio and Shiki gained access. And, of course, Tomoe had always been able to enter and leave at will.

At one point, the four of us ran an experiment: We set specific conditions, allowing or forbidding access to the Demiplane, then tested whether each of us could still enter.

The result? When I restricted access, even Tomoe—who had created the space—couldn’t interfere with it at all.

That said, she could still create separate dimensional spaces and manipulate them with ease.

In other words, it seemed that the Demiplane and Tomoe’s original ability were now fundamentally different things, making the nature of this vast world even more mysterious.

I’d considered renaming it, just to help separate the two; to give it a clearer identity. But knowing Tomoe… she’d probably try to call it something like OEDO,¹ just because it sounded cool or nostalgic. And honestly? That was terrifying in its own way.

Still, one thing was certain: I had the strongest influence over the Demiplane. It probably had something to do with the Domination Contract I’d formed with Tomoe, but I hadn’t gotten around to studying the details.

Not yet, anyway. One of these days…

Anyway, the important thing was that the people living here, regardless of race, tended to rely on Tomoe, Mio, and me for resolving disputes or making major decisions. Often, I was the one they turned to for judgment and approval.

Not that I wanted to be.

I mean, I’m really not the “king” type. Perhaps “landlord” fits better? That’s about the level I’m comfortable with.

When I told Ema—the highland orc who handled most of the Demiplane’s administrative duties—that I’d be spending more time here over the summer, she looked at me like she’d just received a divine revelation.

From that moment on, it had been nothing but a torrential downpour of reports and consultations.

Most of my daylight hours were eaten up by inspections—one after another after another. I barely had a moment to sit still.

Thankfully, the Kuzunoha Company had already posted a notice in Rotsgard: During summer break, our representative will be out of town handling business.

So, at least I didn’t have to worry about being called away for merchant matters. The Demiplane was home to all kinds of races and communities. Naturally, I couldn’t micromanage every little thing, so I’d told them flat out that they were free to handle internal affairs on their own.

Still, this was the result.

If I’d actually tried to take care of everything myself, I’d have worn myself out long before I ran out of work. There just weren’t enough hours in the day—nor was there enough of me—to manage it all.

If this is how things are just within the Demiplane, I thought with growing dread, then trying to “rule the world” would be absolute hell. The Demon King, picking a fight with the hyumans right now, must be some kind of workaholic.

I mean, seriously. What kind of person voluntarily took on that level of stress? Not someone I’d call sane.

Here I was, just doing administrative work, and two weeks had already flown by.

That’s right. Two full weeks. Gone.

A rough estimate put me at about one-third of the way through my summer break already. And what did I have to show for it?

Let’s see… I’d made some progress reading through the thesis Eva lent me, and I’d kept up the training Luto recommended to help increase my mana output. That was about it.

Time really does fly like an arrow… and my productivity barely limps after it.

That said, the thesis was fascinating—and I was starting to feel like I might be on the verge of a breakthrough.

The training, however, hadn’t been all that effective so far. I’d figured that, since I was just starting out, I’d see some noticeable improvement—some kind of early spike from untapped potential.

But… no. Turns out it wasn’t that easy.

I was even doing three times the workload Luto had recommended in his training notes. You’d think that would count for something, right? But still—no real change. It was disheartening.

Come on… I’m putting in the effort here.

Just as I was slipping into that familiar spiral of mild self-loathing, a gentle voice called out from behind the door.

“Excuse me, Makoto-sama. May I come in?”

“Go ahead,” I replied, straightening up with a sigh.

Wake up, work up a sweat, eat breakfast, take a breath, and then—the knock. That had become the rhythm of my mornings. The official start of my workday.

“Good morning, Makoto-sama,” Ema greeted warmly as she opened the door. “Are you feeling unwell?” She was keen-eyed, as always—and, as always, she was already dressed and ready to take on the day, even at this early hour. She must’ve picked up on the weariness written across my face the moment she saw me.

Today, she wore a practical pantsuit that looked built for mobility. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen her wear anything frilly or decorative in a while.

“I’m fine, Ema,” I said, offering her a tired smile. “You told me last night how helpful it’s been having me around the Demiplane for this long, right? That’s all I was thinking about. Trying to stay motivated.”

“Thank you,” she replied sincerely. “Actually, I’ve arranged for today’s schedule to be a little lighter than usual. It weighs on me, having to burden you every day with report approvals and the minutiae of everyone’s daily lives.”

She gave a small, apologetic smile, as if embarrassed by her own sense of responsibility.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I said, waving it off. “I enjoy hearing about everyone. Like yesterday, you told me the gorgon group might finally be joining us here, right? I was happy to hear that.”

“That’s one matter I wouldn’t dream of delaying. I’ll be asking you to make time for it as soon as possible. But… lately, we’ve noticed something.”

She hesitated for a moment, glancing away as if choosing her words carefully.

“It seems that some people have been… creating reasons to meet with you. Just to talk. Even when there’s nothing that truly requires your attention.”

“Seriously?” I blinked.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “It’s been happening more and more. So, I spoke with Tomoe-sama and the others, and we’ve agreed to ask everyone to refrain from that kind of thing. Within reason, of course.”

“I see.” I nodded. “Well, once the academy break ends, things will get busy again for me too—and I can’t exactly neglect the company forever. So, while I’ve got the time, I’d like to spend it with everyone here as much as I can. Besides, I’ve been relying on all of you for so much already. Consider it my way of returning the favor.”

Not that I was the only one asking for favors.

In fact, it was mostly Tomoe and Mio who had the dwarves, orcs, and everyone else running around like errand squads. But I couldn’t pretend I had no part in it.

They acted for my sake a lot of the time, even if they had their own ways of showing it.

Shiki, unlike those two, didn’t rope everyone in at random. He was more focused, and he tended to partner with a few individuals who were particularly suited to the task at hand.

At this time, for instance, I’d asked him to develop a device to help accommodate the gorgons, a race we’d recently interviewed as part of an immigration proposal.

According to his report, the previous night, the prototype was ready. And now, he was shifting his focus to helping them control their natural power to instantly petrify anything they laid eyes on.

A solution that goes beyond what I requested? Yeah. That’s Shiki for you—thorough and quietly brilliant.

I could definitely stand to take a few lessons from him.

Ema, meanwhile, had grown uncharacteristically quiet, her eyes glistening slightly as she bowed her head.

“I… I don’t know what to say. Just hearing that from you, Makoto-sama… it means so much. Forgive me, I’m at a loss for words.”

“Hey now,” I said, blinking. “It’s not like I said anything that moving.”

“And yet… to have a master like you… We’re truly blessed… Her voice wavered, and she sniffed.

Okay. Ema, please don’t tear up on me.

Being called “Master,” “Lord,” or whatever else still didn’t sit quite right with me. I’d never felt like someone worthy of those titles.

Yet… somewhere along the way, I’d gotten used to being called Young Master.

How did that even happen?

“Aaah… Ema?” I said, trying to gently pivot. “How about we get started with today’s schedule?”

“Ah! Yes, of course! My apologies,” she replied quickly, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “Today’s first item is a mock battle with the wingedfolk. It’s part of our ongoing interspecies goodwill initiative—held at regular intervals. However, this will be their first time crossing swords with you directly, Makoto-sama.”

Her tone shifted back into formal coordination mode as she recited the details.

“Their chieftain, Kakun, seemed… extremely motivated. From what I’ve seen, the wingedfolk have already faced several other groups in battle and haven’t lost once. They’re a very formidable tribe.”

The wingedfolk and the gorgons. Both tribes had passed the immigration interviews set during the summer break. The gorgons, due to their unique ocular traits, still hadn’t completed the move, but the wingedfolk had settled in without issue.

The wingedfolk bore wings on their backs, and their culture favored building their homes in elevated places. As a result, their settlement was situated away from the orcs and dwarves.

At present, we were converting a cliffside at the base of a mountain into suitable housing for them.

Back in the Wasteland, they’d lived in much higher, more precarious areas, which served as protection against predators and other threats. I offered to place them somewhere more familiar, but they insisted it would be rude to stay too far from me. I guess here in the Demiplane, that kind of precaution wasn’t necessary anymore.

Besides, we had more than enough space. If the location ever proved unsuitable, they could always relocate later. And since no one else was using the cliffs, they had their pick of the place.

“The wingedfolk, huh?” I folded my arms. “From what I’ve heard, they’re pretty strong.”

Ema nodded, and her tone became more animated than usual. “It’s their flight, Makoto-sama. That’s the key. They can launch repeated wave attacks from a safe distance, making it extremely difficult to counter unless you’re properly equipped. Thankfully, their offensive power isn’t overwhelming. With a few more engagements, I believe even we can prevail!”

Her voice rose with an unusual spark of determination, her cheeks flushed slightly from passion.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed.

“Haha, so even the highland orcs lost a round, huh?”

Ema’s lips pressed into a tight line. She exhaled sharply through her nose, visibly restraining her pride.

“Yes. Unfortunately, we suffered a complete defeat in the first match. Among highland orcs, the role of mages and support casters is typically secondary. But after facing foes like them, it’s clear we’ll need to improve our capabilities in long-range combat as well.”

She crossed her arms, nodding with conviction, before continuing. “Of course, we’ve already begun developing new tactical formations to address the issue.”

“R-Right,” I said, trying not to laugh again.

Ema sounded so serious, like she was declaring a new military doctrine.

Okay, that was probably a bad time to laugh…

“Well then,” I continued, adjusting my posture slightly. “I’d better keep my guard up too. Thanks for the insight, Ema.”

“Ahh, by the way—” Ema suddenly fell silent.

“What is it?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. She’d just been singing the wingedfolk’s praises, so why the sudden hesitation?

“Well… she began slowly, “this isn’t just my opinion. It’s something that’s been discussed among several of the other tribes as well…

“Okay.”

“It’s just that… we believe the wingedfolk might have terrible compatibility with you, Makoto-sama.”

“Compatibility?”

“I-I don’t mean that we’re saying other races are more compatible with you!” she blurted quickly, waving her hands. “If anything, I would say Makoto-sama transcends such categories entirely…

“Stop, I get it,” I said with a small chuckle. “I’m not offended.”

“Right. Apologies. What I meant is that, while we do consider the wingedfolk a powerful race, we suspect you won’t see them that way. Their particular strengths may simply not register as impressive to someone like you. And if you underestimate them based on that, well, it could be a bit unfair to them.”

“So… you’re asking me to give them a higher evaluation than I would normally, because they’re actually stronger than I’ll probably think they are?”

That was… unexpectedly considerate. Especially coming from Ema, who was usually strict and pragmatic around work and combat.

“Not exactly,” she said quickly. “It’s not about changing your judgment. Just… understand that what you perceive might not align with how the rest of us experience fighting them. I’ll be watching the match too, but I have a feeling it’ll be… well… hard to watch.” She trailed off, her tone unusually grim.

“You’re making it sound like I’m about to do something awful,” I muttered, starting to feel guilty.

“Tomoe-sama said,” Ema recounted with a delicate pause, “and I quote… ‘They’re like damselflies.’”

“Damselflies? That woman, seriously…

“I’m not sure what the word meant. But just from the sound of it, I had a vague idea. And I found myself… agreeing.”

She doesn’t even know what it means, and yet she was convinced by the vibe alone? That’s kind of amazing…

Now that Ema had said all of that, I figured I should at least try to keep a fair and objective view of the wingedfolk’s abilities.

Even if…

Honestly, just flying through the air didn’t strike me as that impressive. I mean, they weren’t jet fighters or anything. They were flying in the flesh.

Hit them once and down they go—probably.

Well… no point theorizing. Let’s just see how they fly.

※※※

They were damselflies.

Totally damselflies.

Ema had asked me to stay objective, to account for compatibility and whatnot… But I’m calling it now.

The wingedfolk are the weakest race in the Demiplane. They don’t even hold a candle to the forest ogres.

Sure, they can fly to a decent height, but that’s literally the only advantage they’ve got.

Just as I’d imagined, their tactics boiled down to casting spells and hurling projectiles from above. But if they wanted to deal any meaningful damage, they had to lower their altitude anyway.

Maybe it was a matter of range, or maybe their aim just got worse from higher up. I didn’t know. But it felt like they were throwing away the only card they had.

To be fair, as long as they stayed way up high, I wouldn’t lose to them—yet I also wouldn’t take any serious damage. Like Ema said, they could avoid defeat… but they couldn’t win either. Their firepower was modest, and they lacked anything resembling a finishing move.

Once the orcs and lizardfolk get used to their tactics, the wingedfolk’ll have no choice but to run and stall for time. It’ll turn into a game of tag, not a fight.

Their coordination was… decent, I guess.

They did manage to fire relatively accurate attacks even from above the clouds. Sure, that was impressive in its own right and clearly the result of refined group tactics.

But… yeah. That’s about the only thing I could honestly praise.

There’s just… not much else to say.

No matter how generous I try to be, they’re…

“Ahh. I knew it would end up like this.” Ema sighed deeply, one hand resting on her forehead as she stared out over the field.

It was the sigh of someone who had fully expected this outcome.

“Ema,” I said quietly, glancing over at her. “Be honest with me… the wingedfolk aren’t that strong, are they?”

Among the races in the Demiplane, the forest ogres and dwarves had proven themselves strong enough to be sent out into the world. But the wingedfolk? It’d be a long, long time before I could let them leave the Demiplane.

Just being affiliated with me already made them targets of danger. If they didn’t have the strength to handle that, they couldn’t be allowed outside.

“They are strong,” Ema said firmly, then added, “to everyone except you, that is. I promise you, they are.”

“I get that you want to defend them,” I said gently. “But this isn’t strength. This is just… not losing. That’s a whole different thing.”

I crossed my arms, watching the aftermath of the match settle.

“Well, looks like we’ll need to keep them in training for a while.”

“Yes. That seems inevitable,” Ema admitted reluctantly. “It’s just… well…

Let’s take a moment to reflect on that mock battle with the wingedfolk.

I was standing in the middle of a vast field of reeds, the kind that stretched out endlessly with nothing to block the view. Flat terrain, wide open. Perfect for visibility.

Meanwhile, the wingedfolk had gathered in the nearby forest. As a result, we started the match without a clear line of sight between us.

The moment the battle began, they shot straight up. Their target, of course, was the sky—their primary battlefield.

It was a sharp, fast ascent. No way an ordinary bird’s wings could manage that kind of vertical takeoff. That said, the sky’s pretty big. Getting up to cloud level takes time. So, for that entire climb, they were completely exposed.

So, as a kind of greeting, I fired off a few Bridt at them. I figured they must’ve prepared something to deal with long-range attacks. Surely they weren’t dumb enough to take off like that with no defense in place.

To test that theory, I deliberately held back; I targeted just ten of them instead of the whole group.

What happened? All ten—every single one—crashed.

Yeah. I was like, Wait, what?

If I had aimed at all of them, would they have all gone down?

Moments later, I spotted the second wave, just over twenty, scrambling into the air after seeing their comrades fall.

This time, I didn’t hold back. I aimed at everyone. And—yup. Every shot hit.

Just like game birds shot down by a hunter, they dropped from the sky one after another.

Whoosh, thud. Whoosh, thud. Over and over.

When I scanned the battlefield afterward, over half were already incapacitated.

So, let me get this straight. They launched into the air with zero defense against ranged attacks. And on top of that, their physical defense is paper-thin.

If I’d kept on sniping them during their ascent, the second and third waves would’ve gone down just like the first; they’d be wiped out before they had a chance to fight. That would’ve left me with no way of gauging their real strength.

Well, technically, I had just gauged their strength—and found it extremely lacking. But with Ema’s earlier request still fresh in my mind, I figured I at least owed them the opportunity to show me what they could do. I could see Ema shaking her head where she stood at her distant vantage point, sympathy practically radiating from her posture. She was clearly expecting the worst.

So I held back. I let the third wave and everyone after that ascend without interference. I wanted to observe.

Once airborne, the wingedfolk broke into organized formations, using the natural cloud cover to mask their movements, and in some cases, conjuring new clouds with magic to shroud themselves even further. It was a solid plan on paper; clouds could obscure vision, after all.

Unfortunately, they weren’t walls. They didn’t block spells. My many Bridt sliced right through.

Even if my eyes couldn’t see them, I had my Realm: a field of perception that let me track their positions without relying on sight. It made targeting a formality.

Perhaps realizing that staying at a high altitude only made them easier targets, the wingedfolk began to drop lower.

From midair, they launched coordinated attacks—spells, spears, elemental bursts—all timed with impressive precision. Their teamwork was genuinely spectacular. Their formations were sharp, fluid, almost like a squadron of fighter jets coordinating in a live-combat scenario.

Still… Bridt alone was enough to shoot them all down.

Their attacks, though numerous, were entirely visible, telegraphed, and easy to anticipate. I didn’t need to dodge; I didn’t even need to block. My counterfire was simply stronger, faster, and more direct. It pierced everything, leaving nothing to intercept. Their spells didn’t clash with mine in midair. They were simply overwhelmed, wiped away.

To make matters worse, some of my shots hit targets I wasn’t aiming for. A few bolts clipped their wings mid-formation, bringing down more than I intended.

Watching them tumble helplessly toward the ground, I quickly layered a cushioning spell beneath them to soften their fall and prevent serious injury. That felt like the bare minimum courtesy.

As I was catching the latest group before they hit the dirt, I noticed a shift in the wind behind me.

Subtle but deliberate. A new formation had crept around to my rear, launching its own synchronized strike from behind.

From what I could sense through my Realm, the power of their rear assault was about the same as before. Nothing new. I could’ve just shot them down again, but I figured I’d test it out, let a few attacks actually land.

Well, sort of. I still had a barrier up.

As expected, their attacks didn’t even make it ripple. Not a scratch. It reminded me of how things used to be, back when the highland orcs were still using substandard gear—blunt, harmless pressure. Weak.

On top of that, they were wide open; completely unguarded.

The wingedfolk circled me from above in tight formation, but I could sense a hint of frustration building among them. Not surprising. Every one of their coordinated maneuvers had been completely ineffective so far. Meanwhile, I had their positions mapped out. With that much intel, landing a hit was trivial.

I extended my right hand toward the sky.

Locked on.

Roughly forty wingedfolk wheeling in the surrounding air—all marked, all targets.

Mana surged into my palm, condensing into a sphere of light. Runes began to orbit it like ribbons, etching out sigils in the air with a soft hum. It was a beautiful spell structure. Almost overkill, really.

Since doing the cleanup again would make this feel less like a mock battle and more like a scripted beatdown, I passed that responsibility to Ema. She’d get the crash padding ready.

Now that I thought about it, even though I’d been relying almost exclusively on Bridt and its variations, Ema once told me that my current version had evolved into something completely different—something beyond a beginner-level spell.

According to her, my altered forms of Bridt were already on par with mid- to high-tier offensive magic.

Each variation even had a name. The rapid-fire stream I used during that fight with Mio was apparently called “Albarei Ignis—The Piercing Torrent of Thunderous Blows.”

Dramatic, right?

The one I was about to cast now—the multi-lock-on simultaneous barrage—that was supposed to be called “Haraon Sataniel—The Dazzling Banquet of Blazing Arcs.”

A bit much, if you ask me.

In the end, what I was really using was just Bridt, reshaped through modified chanting. It wasn’t exactly the same as those formally named spells.

That meant, as far as I was concerned, it was just Gatling Bridt and Homing Bridt. Simple enough.

After all, I didn’t come up with those names, and I’d never planned to treat each form as a separate technique. The effects I expected were already embedded in the chant itself, so I never saw a reason to separate them as distinct spells.

Maybe, if I constructed my spells with more precision and actually kept their names in mind while casting, the power would increase a bit. But…

I don’t want to lose the flexibility I have now.

Being able to adapt on the fly to different situations was far more valuable to me than squeezing out a little more firepower.

With that in mind, I wove the pursuit parameters for all forty targets into the spell pattern circling my palm—then unleashed Bridt.

A flash of light tore through the air.

Forty streaks of radiant energy surged upward like ribbons of white fire, streaking across the sky as they homed in on the wingedfolk overhead.

“Whoa,” I said, breathing out. “Not a single one of them managed to block it?”

Most didn’t even get a barrier up in time. They were hit full-on, caught mid-flight in open air.

A few did manage to deploy defenses, but it didn’t matter. Bridt ripped through their hastily formed barriers like tissue, piercing through with brutal ease.

If I remembered correctly, their immigration paperwork listed just under a hundred individuals in the tribe. Considering how many I’d just shot down… that might’ve been the bulk of their fighting force.

Some of them must have been injured or assigned to support roles, and judging by their tactics, they likely operated in coordinated units. Even if a few remained airborne, continuing the fight would be nearly impossible at this point.

Granted, the chieftain Kakun and his adjutant, Shona, hadn’t shown themselves yet… but honestly, this felt like the natural point to end things.

At least, that’s what I was thinking—until something unusual hit my Realm field.

Something different.

Bigger. Stronger.

It was far more intense than anything I’d sensed from the others.

From the direction of the forest—their base camp—an enormous creature burst from the trees, flinging branches aside with the sheer force of its wings.

A giant bird? No, it was almost the size of a small fighter jet. And someone was riding on its back. I focused, and sure enough, it was Kakun himself.

A quick Realm scan told me that the bird was Shona.

Ah, so this is their trump card. They can transform into giant birds.

With her massive wings beating rhythmically, Shona soared upward, cloaked in a dense green magical barrier that shimmered over her body like polished armor. The air around her swelled with rising force as she ascended straight for the clouds.

Curious, I fired off a Bridt identical in both strength and shape to the one I’d used at the start. This time, it bounced harmlessly off the green barrier.

Now that’s more like it.

That level of defensive magic was exactly the kind of countermeasure I’d been hoping to see.

So then… what will they do next?

A tornado, maybe? Or razor-sharp gusts of invisible wind? Could they even conjure lightning from their clouds?

No one in this world had ever used a proper lightning-element spell. The best I could manage was a mild static jolt—barely enough to raise goose bumps. But if they could pull it off? The wingedfolk’s reputation would skyrocket.

Unfortunately, my expectations were dashed almost immediately. I felt their energy spike high above, their power gathering in the air. But what they cast wasn’t some elemental miracle.

It was enhancement magic.

Wind-based mana cloaked their bodies, augmenting their physical strength. In other words, their trump card was a suicidal charge. A straight-up body slam.

“Gaining the advantage of the sky, only to narrow your tactics to a single vector… that’s disappointing,” I muttered.

The signatures of both the giant bird and the rider vanished from my Realm field for a split second—then reappeared in a steep, sharp descent. A vertical dive. It was much too reckless to call it controlled. At this angle and speed, an ordinary person would’ve blacked out.

They kept accelerating, hurtling toward me with such force that if I simply sidestepped, they’d slam into the ground and knock themselves out.

Still, I had no intention of dodging.

For a moment, I thought about using my bow, but decided it wasn’t necessary. Not for this. Instead, I squared my stance, eyes locked on their plummeting forms, and braced myself.

Shona came first—her massive beak aimed directly at me. I caught it with my left hand. Then came Kakun, spear forward, throwing his full weight into the thrust. I brought my right arm up in a rising arc, knocking the strike clean off course.

“You blocked it? But—!” His voice trembled with disbelief as his momentum carried him past me.

“No matter how fast you are, if you’re coming in a straight line, it’s easy to read!” I called after him.

Then I turned to Shona. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but I channeled a status-purging spell into my right hand and drove a clean strike into the side of her face.

The massive bird gave a sharp gasp as her form destabilized midair. She reverted to her original wingedfolk form and crumpled to the ground.

“Not yet!”

Despite a botched landing, Kakun twisted mid-roll and lunged again, his spear flashing as he tried to attack.

With a sigh, I stepped down on the haft of his weapon, halting the thrust. Then, calmly, I raised a hand and let a Bridt charge at my fingertips, just enough for him to feel the checkmate.

Seriously…

I’d hoped, just for a moment, that this might be something more.

“Kakun-san.”

“Yes. I concede,” he replied, his voice low with frustration—but not bitterness.

Just like that, the mock battle with the wingedfolk came to an end.

Everyone worked together to gather the injured into a single area, where Ema and the uninjured wingedfolk began administering healing spells and tending to wounds. Watching the aftermath unfold, I couldn’t help but reflect that yes, “damselflies” really was the perfect descriptor.

These guys were practically made to be shot down. It was actually kind of impressive how consistently easy it was. I hate to say it, but from the perspective of someone using a bow or long-range attack magic, they were just… targets. Clean, helpless targets. Sure, flight sounded impressive, but this? This was just sad.

Kakun and Shona both looked deeply shaken, and they weren’t alone. Every single wingedfolk who’d taken part wore an entirely different expression from when the battle had started. Their pride had been pierced clean through. Still, no one said anything—they just looked at me, clearly waiting for some kind of comment.

But I have no idea what to say.

I searched for words, but there weren’t any gentle ones that felt true. And yet… I couldn’t just stay silent.

There was still time left on the schedule for the mock battle, but pushing them any further today would be a waste for both sides. They’d learned what they needed to—painfully—and I’d learned that holding back any more than I already had would just be condescending.

Next time, I wouldn’t show the same restraint. If they went airborne again, I’d target them mid-ascent without hesitation. The match would be over in a matter of minutes—or less. Honestly, I didn’t even have to wait for them to fly. I could just hit them on the ground before they left it.

But… it was their first engagement, and they had shown courage, even if the execution left a lot to be desired.

So, maybe for now I keep things light? Just a gentle debrief.

“Um… first of all, good work, everyone,” I said.

At my words, the wingedfolk immediately straightened their postures. Their faces were tense, eyes fixed on me with nervous anticipation. A few glanced downward, shoulders tight, while others held my gaze, bracing themselves for what was coming.

“This was our first mock battle together,” I went on, keeping my tone even as I folded my arms across my chest, “so I took the opportunity to carefully observe your combat style.”

Not that it lasted long.

Judging by the discomfort on their faces, I probably didn’t need to mention that.

“Right. So the biggest advantage you have is, of course, your ability to fly.”

Some of them shifted uncomfortably. One or two looked away. But most kept their eyes fixed on me, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Damn it. I really wanted to soften this. But sugarcoating it won’t help anyone.

“But you’re relying on that way too much,” I said firmly.

A visible shiver ran through the group. Several of them flinched. Wings twitched. Their breath caught collectively.

“If you’re going to fight in the sky, it’s not enough to just fly out of an enemy’s range. You need to be ready for situations where your opponent can reach you. You need responses. Plans. Anything that can keep you alive if retreat isn’t an option.”

I looked across the crowd, voice calm but unyielding. “But what I saw today was pure complacency. You assumed the sky alone would protect you—and it didn’t.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the wind.

“On top of that,” I added, “you’ve become way too comfortable with battles where not losing is good enough. But if you’re going to continue training here with me—or against the other races—just surviving a fight isn’t going to mean anything.”

A few pairs of eyes widened. Their postures grew even stiffer.

“You lack decisive power. You need to develop stronger, more diverse offensive tactics. Because eventually, the highland orcs, the misty lizardfolk, the dwarves—they’re going to adapt. They’re going to completely shut down your current firepower.”

I swept my gaze over them slowly, letting the weight of that statement sink in.

“And when that happens, you will be at a massive disadvantage. You won’t be able to break through. And the more refined their strategies become, the more helpless you’ll feel.”

Gasps and sharp exhales rippled through the ranks. Their wings sagged, pride stung by the unvarnished truth.

“And if your solution to that,” I added, narrowing my eyes, “is to bet everything on suicidal charges like the one Kakun and Shona attempted at the end… then I have to say, that’s a strategy you need to abandon—yesterday.”

A few heads jerked up, startled.

“Because against opponents who are ready for it, you’ll be taken out before you land a single hit. You’ll be torn apart by concentrated fire before you even get close. You’ll become nothing but… easy targets.”

Chapter 2

Towering broadleaf trees stretched toward the sky, their thick canopy woven together in a green mosaic. The forest had long since outgrown its infancy, spreading wide and deep with shadowy undergrowth.

Something’s here.

One of the men halted abruptly, his battle-sharpened instincts screaming a silent warning. A presence. It wasn’t sight or sound that told him, but something deeper. A gut feeling.

The Demiplane was undergoing rapid development, the city expanding ever outward from the home of Makoto Misumi. At the edge of the forest behind his house, a team of highland orcs had been tasked with pioneering exploration—mapping, gathering building materials, and preparing the land.

The warrior who had stopped was part of their vanguard.

Others sensed it too, though not as sharply as he did. The unease in the air was enough. A handful of warriors slowed, then stopped entirely as they formed a loose perimeter with the practiced ease of seasoned fighters.

“There’s something out there.”

“Yeah. Can’t pinpoint it yet, but… doesn’t feel like any regular beast.”

“Regular beasts here are often magic-class monsters. Whatever it is, stay sharp. Let’s move.”

“Got it.”

The group resumed its slow advance, their pace cautious now, each footstep deliberate. Their formation flexed with the terrain, their eyes scanning, ears tuned to every rustle and creak.

They gathered samples of flora, felled marked trees, and hunted with practiced efficiency. Much of the Demiplane still held secrets. Every expedition uncovered new species, new terrain features, and new threats. With each discovery, they brought more of the unknown into the light.

It was dangerous work. Exhausting, relentless.

Those chosen for it were not ordinary. Each carried a fierce pride in their role, a solemn duty to tame this frontier. Their strength, discipline, and willpower were without question.

Yet, this was the Demiplane—a world where memory and knowledge from another reality bled into the very fabric of the land. Where Makoto’s fragmented recollections of Earth could manifest as tangible phenomena. Those with access to his knowledge could prepare, to an extent. But preparation was never a guarantee.

On this day, Agarest—the highland orc warrior who had first sensed the anomaly—would learn that truth the hard way.

There was a dull, heavy thud. Agarest turned sharply, his grip tightening on his weapon.

His breath caught in his throat.

“—!”

One of his comrades—they’d been talking just moments ago, affirming their resolve to stay alert—lay crumpled on the forest floor.

The still air shifted. A faint breeze brushed against Agarest’s cheek.

He could still only sense the presence—vague, uncertain, like a shadow lingering just outside his field of vision. But whatever it was… it had already moved past the stage of observation. It had begun to act.

“We’re under attack! Prepare yourse—!” His warning was cut short by a dull, vibrating thrum that rippled through the air.

He spun toward the source. The thick trunk of a nearby tree was trembling. Bark flaked from its surface as a violent shudder traveled through the wood. Agarest’s sharp eyes scanned the surface—and found it.

Claw marks.

Deep. Clean. Brutal.

More than anything, fast.

So fast, he hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t heard it. Not a single trace beyond the savage gouges in the bark.

The words had caught in his throat, not because of the tree’s vibration. No—the reason was far grimmer. By the time Agarest tried to call out the alert, every one of his comrades had already fallen, their consciousness stolen away in an instant.

These highland orcs were elite warriors. Hardened in the Wasteland at the Edge of the World. They’d fought countless tribes, withstood brutal elements, and survived trials that would have broken lesser men.

Yet now, one after another, they’d collapsed—swift and silent, like candles snuffed out in the dark. From the first thud to the moment Agarest began to shout, only seconds had passed.

He hadn’t even finished the sentence… and already, they were gone. Slain? Unconscious? He couldn’t tell. But they were down. That much was clear.

He alone remained standing and unharmed. And yet… it was as meaningless as it was crushing. For a unit like theirs, a single fighter standing while the rest were cut down was, by every measure, complete annihilation.

As both warrior and commander, Agarest had been utterly defeated.

“These claw marks… A wolf? No! The wolves we’ve seen before couldn’t possibly… His voice trailed off, swallowed by the trees and the rising tension that strangled the very air around him.

The warriors chosen for these expeditions weren’t simply skilled. They were taught. Enlightened by Makoto himself. They didn’t just study his memories or absorb his teachings—they received his words directly, passed down from the man who shaped this world.

To speak with their master in person, to carry his will into the unknown—that too had become a source of pride for them.

Now, in this moment of dread, Agarest remembered Makoto’s warning, delivered with unusual gravity.

Two names. Two creatures.

The greatest threats within these woods.

“Wolves.”

“And bears.”

Both creatures were known to be powerful—but when it came to wolves, the warning had been explicit: Avoid engagement at all costs. If encountered, retreat immediately.

“If possible, don’t fight them at all.”

From the way he’d said it, every warrior in the unit had understood—these beasts meant something to him. Something personal. And so they swore, no matter the circumstances, they would never raise their weapons against them.

Agarest had seen one once—during a scouting mission, deep in the forest’s heart. A fleeting glimpse of a creature that matched the description. He had obeyed orders, withdrawing silently and reporting what he’d seen.

This thing now…

This was not the same.

That one… was it really a wolf? Or just a wild dog? Young Master even chuckled and said it was probably just a stray. But this… if this is what he truly meant by “wolf”… Agarest’s heart pounded in his chest.

Shame surged up like bile. Somewhere along the way, he’d let himself believe that as long as he followed the letter of Makoto’s orders, he’d be safe.

Now he understood. That vow—to not lay a hand on them—wasn’t a strategy. It was a shield. A warning. Because this enemy… was on another level.

“Haaah.” The breath he released was slow, deliberate.

Agarest was no novice. His grip tightened on the haft of his halberd as he stepped forward, broad shoulders rising with the weight of resolve.

Even if I’m outmatched… even if I don’t stand a chance—I’ll be damned if I go down without landing a blow.

He adjusted his stance, muscles coiled like a spring, ready to strike. And then it came.

A roar. No—a howl.

“Aooooooooooooooo-ooooooooooooo!!!”

“?!”

The sound hit him like a hammer to the chest.

Agarest’s entire body spasmed, as if jolted by lightning. A tremor raced down his spine, locking his joints, seizing his breath. His eyes widened, vision momentarily dimming under the pressure of that cry.

The killing intent came next.

It didn’t just chill the blood—it crushed the soul. A monstrous force, like claws tightening around his heart.

That wasn’t just a howl… Was it a kind of roar? I thought wolves were just magical beasts—lesser threats. But this… this is worse than any dragon’s roar I’ve ever heard!

Yet, despite it all, his stance never faltered.

Even so, the wolf’s howl locked his body in place and stripped away any control he thought he had. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe right.

The sound wasn’t just loud—it crushed him. It felt like it tore the fighting spirit from his core and scattered it into the forest.

Then, for the first time, he saw the source of the killing intent aimed at him.

A wolf—similar to a dog but clearly something more. It carried a kind of presence Agarest had never felt before. Sharp eyes. Long fangs. Heavy claws. And fur that looked clean and well-kept, almost unnaturally so. He didn’t see it clearly, but he didn’t need to. His instincts picked up everything.

I’m going to die.

The difference in strength was clear. He was prey, and the thing in front of him was a predator. But the thought didn’t last long.

No. I’m not dying here. I can’t. I have to survive—no matter what.

The fear tried to pull him down, but something stronger pushed back. His mind raced through everything he’d endured—life in the Wasteland, the battles he’d fought, his time in the Demiplane. He remembered what it meant to fight, why he was still standing.

He gritted his teeth and let out a shout.

“Haaah!!!”

Summoning every ounce of strength he had, he broke the pressure holding him down. He couldn’t remember his body ever feeling so heavy, but he forced it to move. He stepped forward, standing between the fallen and whatever was still watching. His grip tightened on his halberd. He was ready. If he was going down, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

Then, a voice echoed in his head. Low and composed but firm.

“You’re a warrior. If you don’t plan to claim this forest, I’ll overlook this once. Leave.”

Agarest froze.

“Who’s there?!” he shouted, turning in all directions—but no one answered.

The voice was gone. And with it, the killing intent. The forest was at peace again; a breeze rustled through the treetops. Somewhere, a bird chirped.

“It let me go,” Agarest muttered.

The words felt strange coming out of his mouth. But as the meaning sank in, the tension in his body unraveled.

Agarest staggered back, his legs giving out beneath him.

He didn’t fall far.

Something caught him—something massive, soft, and impossibly warm. A wall of thick fur enveloped his back, the texture so plush and luxurious that for a brief, disorienting moment, it made him forget where he was.

What—?!

He swallowed hard and turned his head, trying to make sense of what had just touched him.

He’d been too focused on the wolf, whose overwhelming presence had demanded everything—his focus, his fear, his instincts. Because of that, he hadn’t noticed a second presence creeping up behind him.

Now, standing over him, was a creature even larger than Agarest himself—no small feat when he was a highland orc.

It towered above him, covered in deep black fur from head to toe. Its round eyes were almost… cute, and there was no trace of killing intent in its expression. It stood on two legs, one massive paw resting casually on a tree trunk, the other hanging loose by its side.

It didn’t look ready to attack.

Agarest still couldn’t move. His entire body was tense, locked up with the same kind of pressure he’d felt when facing the wolf. He didn’t understand what this feeling was yet, but deep down, he already knew.

It was fear.

Not the abstract kind born from overwhelming difference, like when standing before Makoto or his followers. This was something far more real—fear grounded in the knowledge that he could die here. That he would die if things went even slightly wrong.

A bear?

Young Master’s warning echoed back to him: “They’re terrifyingly strong, so be careful, okay?”

The massive beast slowly raised its free arm. It still didn’t show any hostility, but that didn’t matter.

Agarest’s instincts screamed at him.

This was too much. The wolf, the bear—what were these creatures? To run into both at once—was this some kind of curse? Had Young Master’s misfortune rubbed off on him somehow?

“Ah— Aaaaahhhhh!!!”

His body moved before his mind had a chance to command it.

There was no space to use his halberd—it was too close. So instead, he threw his weight forward and launched a shoulder charge, slamming straight into the bear with all the force he could muster, armor and all.

The bear didn’t even try to dodge.

The hit landed clean. His shoulder was buried deep into the thick fur and heavy muscle. And that was it.

The bear didn’t flinch. Didn’t budge an inch. It was like charging into a mountain.

A terrible sensation pressed in through the armor on Agarest’s shoulder.

That’s right… I was told this before. Bears are covered in thick layers of fat, although you would never know by looking at them. Regular attacks don’t do much unless they’re strong enough to break through. So why the hell did I just…

A heavy thud cut off his thoughts as he was thrown backward.

When Agarest looked up again, trying to steady himself, he saw it—the bear’s massive right paw swinging down in one smooth, effortless motion.

There was no time to dodge.

The blow landed with a sickening impact, and pain exploded from his chest down to his gut. It felt like his torso had been split clean in half.

And then—nothing. His vision went dark, and his consciousness cut off right there. But in reality, his body remained intact.

There was blood, yes—plenty of it—but no lethal damage. His halberd, instinctively raised just before the hit, had been shattered in the process. The broken weapon had absorbed enough of the blow to keep him from being killed outright.

Even so, the overwhelming fear had tricked Agarest’s senses. His mind had exaggerated the force of the attack. To him, in that moment, it felt like death.

The bear reached down, grabbed one of the unconscious highland orc’s legs, and began dragging him into the forest’s depths.

“That’s far enough, young cub.”

The voice of the wolf—the same voice Agarest had heard earlier—echoed clearly through the trees.

The bear stopped and looked up, scanning the surroundings with slow, deliberate movements.

“That one has my permission to live. You will not lay a paw on him.”

The bear didn’t respond.

“If there’s a next time, I won’t stop you. Do what you like. But not this time. You won’t make me break my word… will you?”

Still, the bear said nothing.

It didn’t look pleased. If anything, it seemed reluctant—like it was holding back only because it had to.

It obeyed.

With clear reluctance, the bear released Agarest’s leg and turned away, disappearing into the deeper woods.

At the same time, the wolf’s presence vanished as well. Neither of them had any intention of tending to Agarest’s wounds.

Maybe they knew help was coming. Perhaps they sensed that the other warriors, slowly regaining consciousness nearby, would take care of him.

Later that day, when Agarest’s team limped back from the forest, battered and barely standing, their report said only one thing:

“Encountered both a wolf and a bear.”

※※※

Reading papers every night was starting to wear me down.

I wasn’t used to academic writing to begin with, so just getting through each page while actually understanding what it said took more effort than I liked to admit. The content was interesting, no doubt about that, but not everything was directly connected to my actual goal: increasing my mana output. Some of it veered off into completely different areas, and it left my head spinning.

I figured it was time to sit down and sort things out.

In this world, mana was generally treated as the cost for using magic. You couldn’t see it or touch it under normal circumstances, but you needed it to cast spells, like paying a fee. I guess that made it kind of like currency. Then again, since it mostly recovered after a night’s rest, the analogy didn’t totally fit.

Mana was said to be invisible and intangible, but I already knew from experience that when someone used a large amount of mana all at once—for example, during an especially powerful spell—it could take on color and become visible. That didn’t mean you could tell how much mana a person had in total. It just lets you see the amount they were actively using.

Still, the fact remained; you could see it.

This paper claimed that when someone output a large volume of mana over time, a faint, secondary effect occurred: A soft barrier formed from the colored mana.

The author called it a “barrier,” but its strength was laughably low. Weaker than the most basic defensive spell, totally impractical. In real combat, no mage in their right mind would ever rely on something that flimsy. If you were casting something big enough to generate that much mana, you’d bring your own barrier along—or have one ready.

The author didn’t care about that.

What mattered to him was the fact that you could touch it.

Even if it was barely there, even if it did nothing to protect you, that weak mana barrier had physical form.

That meant mana could, under the right conditions, be both visible and tangible.

That was the heart of their theory: The more mana you released, the more solid it became. They believed that if you kept pushing that idea further… it would eventually lead to materialization.

Of course, the “touching” part was hard to prove. The author admitted that without help from an extremely skilled mage, it was nearly impossible to track what was really happening.

He also wasn’t a particularly talented spellcaster himself. By his own admission, he had average mana and average skills. So it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t been able to reproduce the phenomenon on his own.

That was why he’d started researching a second topic in parallel—ways to increase their total mana output. In fact, this paper included several techniques for compressing more mana into a spell. Luto had already taught me some of those, but a few of the others were completely new to me.

Honestly, I was grateful. It felt like something that would genuinely help me moving forward.

According to Luto, this kind of thing only produced results after very long-term training, so I hadn’t seen any real changes yet. But at least I wasn’t wasting my time.

Still… he really tried to tackle mana materialization head-on?

That alone was impressive.

Seriously—what kind of person looks at a concept like that and says, “Yeah, I’m gonna figure this out”?

Phew.

Even after setting a clear goal—enhance my spells by channeling more mana into them—I still hadn’t found a method that really clicked.

Maybe it’d just be faster to focus on memorizing a bunch of new spells.

Like higher-tier offensive magic, or something along those lines.

After all, every spell has a base mana cost built into its chant. Instead of forcefully increasing the output like I was doing now, it might be easier to just learn spells that naturally use more mana in the first place.

That came with its own problem. If I couldn’t immediately picture the right chant when I needed it, I’d be useless in a crisis. In that sense, my go-to spells—barrier and Bridt—were still the most reliable. Sure, they were completely self-taught and lacked structure… and yeah, they probably wouldn’t scale much in power given my casting style and affinities, but they were fast and familiar.

“Just pumping out mana by itself is the easy part… I muttered under my breath.

Whether it’d be useful was another matter, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try recreating the experiments from that paper. One of the training methods Luto gave me mentioned “long-duration mana output,” so it would still count as practice.

Of course, if I started leaking mana all over the place in the middle of the night, I’d probably freak people out. So I slipped out my window and headed outside.

It was late enough that the whole settlement was quiet with sleep. Still, doing this near the houses would be asking for trouble.

I looked around and picked a spot—a stretch of open field far from my home and the village. Once I was sure no one was nearby, I let mana start to flow from my body, slow and steady.

Just releasing it like this was easy, like turning on a faucet. No effort, no strain.

Alas, that was the problem—it didn’t do anything.

Mana by itself didn’t act. If I wanted to turn it into magic, I had to pull it back inside and activate it from there.

I’d figured out how to speed that up by borrowing the focus I used when drawing my bow, pulling ambient mana back into my body. But even then, it wasn’t efficient. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more pointless it felt.

If I’m just going to pull it back in anyway, what’s the point of sending it out in the first place?

Back when I first arrived at Zetsuya—the base city in the Wasteland—I was leaking mana everywhere without even realizing it. I ended up tripping every combat sensor in the place, putting the whole defense squad on high alert; they were coming at me full force before I had time to explain myself.

Yeah… that was a disaster.

Just remembering it made my eyes sting a little.

Yeah, let’s not relive that.

Anyway.

I was beginning to wonder—was there a way to use the mana I released without pulling it back into my body? Like, could I somehow cast a spell using both my internal and external mana at the same time? Double the output?

First step: release mana.

I poured out enough to stain Draupnir, the mana-absorbing ring on my finger, bright red. There was a decent amount visibly pooling outside of me.

Then I started the chant for Bridt. No shortcuts this time. I went through it carefully, keeping my focus on the external mana.

And—activate.

A bullet of magic launched cleanly from my outstretched palm into the air. It’d worked… but just like always, it’d pulled the mana from inside me to cast.

What if I tried ignoring the mana inside me entirely? Like, pushed it out of my awareness and treated it like it wasn’t even there?

No, that’s not realistic. There’s no way to just “ignore” part of yourself like that.

Okay. What about that feeling I get during kyudo? Hard to explain, but when I’m drawing a bow, it’s like the boundary between me and the target disappears. Like we’re connected through the space between us.

I gave it another try, letting my mana flow out again.

Then I adjusted my perception—tried to see myself, my internal mana, the mana I’d released, and everything in the immediate area as a single, unified thing…

… and chanted Bridt again.

Huh?

It might’ve been my imagination, but this time it didn’t look like the shot came directly from my palm. It seemed to appear just a bit in front of it.

Which mana did it pull from?

Damn.

I’d focused too much on casting and missed the moment it drew the energy. I couldn’t tell what the source was.

All right. One more try.

This time, I carefully noted how much mana I released ahead of time. I fixed the number in my mind and then cast Bridt again. There it was. Again, the shot formed just a little ahead of my palm.

This time, I was sure.

The spell was pulling at least part of its energy from the mana I had already pushed outside my body. It didn’t rely entirely on the external mana, but the fact that any of it had been used at all…

That’s huge.

Wait. So, what exactly does this mean?

No—this wasn’t the time to celebrate. I had to make sure this wasn’t just a fluke. I needed to confirm it was reproducible, that it was something I could rely on.

Tonight, my goal was to test this phenomenon. I wanted to find out if drawing mana from outside my body could make a difference in how efficiently I spent it. For now, I just had to cast Bridt repeatedly and see what kind of results I got.

Theory could wait. First came the trial runs.

If it worked… then maybe, eventually, I’d be able to pour mana into a spell from both inside and outside my body—double the capacity.

Heh. Luto’s expression would be priceless if he saw that.

I kept pushing mana out of my body.

Focused.

Cast Bridt.

Focused again.

Cast another Bridt.

Again—focus. Again—cast.

Huh.

Stopping to refocus between every single shot is getting annoying.

When I was shooting in kyudo, each shot ended with a clean release and posture reset. It was a complete process. It made sense there because form mattered. But this—this was magic training. There was no need to interrupt the flow every time.

…

Yeah. I’ll just keep the concentration going.

As long as I could hold the state, I’d keep firing from there. I kept casting Bridt, again and again, without breaking focus. And it started to pay off.

I could feel it; the mana consumption was gradually balancing out.

The amount of mana I was drawing from inside was slowly decreasing. I was using way less than usual. I could tell the rest of it was being supplemented by the mana I’d already pushed outside.

Good. I’ll keep going until I can shift the ratio—maybe even hit a clean fifty-fifty between internal and external mana.

Once I could do that consistently, the next step would be to restore the internal mana portion to its original bullet-level output.

That would mean excess mana being pushed into the spell. And more mana meant one thing: more power.

If I can pull that off… my magic output could go way beyond its current limit.

I kept firing Bridt.

Each shot brought me just a little closer to the goal—barely noticeable progress, but steady. And that feeling… It was satisfying. Strangely comforting.

It’s been a while since I felt this focused.

I leaned in, pouring my attention into balancing the mana. Inner and outer. Both merging into a single current.

Shoot.

Shoot.

Shoot…

That was all I did. Nothing else existed. Just the rhythm. Just the repetition. Etching the sensation into my body, locking it into muscle memory.

And then—

What the— Bright?!

A sudden, blinding light stabbed into my eyes. It hit without warning, a searing flash that snapped me out of my trance.

Why is it so bright? It’s the middle of the night. Where’s that light coming from? From me… or from the other me?

But there’s only one of me…

Who am I again?

“Young Master!!!”

“Young Master!!!”

“?!”

The shout jolted me like a splash of cold water. Someone was calling out to me—Young Master?

That’s… me? I blinked hard and looked up.

Two women in kimonos were standing over me, breathing heavily as they leaned in close.

“I was… curious what you were doing, and, well… huff, huff… one of them stammered as she tried to catch her breath.

“You weren’t in your room this morning, and when we looked around…

She didn’t finish the sentence. I looked around, confused.

Why are they here in the middle of the night?

Wait, it’s not dark anymore?

The world around me was washed in a faint gray light.

“Y-Young Master?” one of them asked, sounding more worried now.

“Tomoe-san, Young Master is acting strange!”

I turned my gaze upward and saw that, indeed, the world was starting to brighten. Dawn was creeping into the eastern sky.

Morning? But it was the middle of the night just a second ago.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the fog, and pushed myself up off the ground. Something felt off.

Who… are they?

No, I knew them.

Tomoe.

Yeah. That was it. Tomoe.

She was the dragon who had made a Contract with me. Obsessed with samurai, loved period dramas, even had a katana custom-forged by the elder dwarves.

The other one was Mio.

The black spider that had once attacked me out in the Wasteland. A full-blown natural disaster. I was pretty sure she’d almost eaten me that day. But somehow, like Tomoe, she’d ended up forming a Contract with me instead.

She lived for food. A little unhinged.

Hmm, a little? Right. And I was—

“Ah. I’m Makoto. Makoto Misumi.”

“Hah? Yeah, we know.”

“Yes. You’re my master. Makoto-sama.”

Right, the sky…

Had I really been casting Bridt all night? It only felt like I’d been out here for maybe an hour or two. But this meant I’d been doing it nonstop for over six hours.

I got so absorbed that I lost track of everything… No. That’s not normal.

My memory and sense of self had gone completely out of sync. Something had gone wrong. It was probably the way I’d handled my concentration—how I merged myself with the mana. How far I’d pushed the connection between my body and the mana I’d released.

I’d misjudged the depth. Gone too far in. Lost perspective. Next time, I’d have to be more careful. Intense training was supposed to be exhausting—painful, even. That was fine. But getting so lost that I couldn’t think straight?

That’s not training. That’s just dangerous.

I was onto something, though. I’d felt it. I couldn’t let that breakthrough slip away.

“Tomoe. Mio. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Young Master,” Tomoe replied with a polite bow.

“Good morning, Young Master,” Mio echoed.

They must’ve woken up, wondered where I was, and rushed out to find me.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“Huh?”

“Eh?”

“It’s nothing. Let’s go back,” I said with a smile.

All night, huh…

I flexed my hands, opening and closing them, then rolled my shoulders a few times to check how my body was holding up.

Hmm. I’m not tired at all.

Back in Japan, if I’d trained straight through until morning like this, just dragging myself to school the next day would’ve taken every ounce of willpower I had.

Maybe this world just didn’t push people the same way. Physically, I felt fine. That… might actually have been a problem.

If I didn’t even notice it, I could’ve been getting complacent. Slowing down without realizing it.

I might need to rethink my training. Make it hard enough that my body feels it—like, really feels it.

Letting myself go soft? Just imagining it gave me chills. I shook my head hard, trying to dispel the cold sensation crawling down my spine.

No way am I going back to how I was as a kid. Weak. Fragile. Dependent.

Not a chance.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Young Master?” Tomoe asked, her tone calm but laced with concern.

“Of course,” I answered without hesitation.

“All right. I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, there’s something I’ve been meaning to report. Something… a bit curious, actually.”

“Oh?” I leaned forward, intrigued.

Mio immediately cut in, “Tomoe-san! You know we don’t do that before breakfast!”

“Fufu. Yes, yes, I know,” Tomoe responded. “It’s certainly an interesting matter, but not urgent. I’ll save the report for after we’ve eaten, just as Mio says.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it, then,” I replied.

I turned to Mio, a small smile tugging at the edge of my mouth. “So… Mio, I’ve noticed you’ve really gotten into cooking lately. Don’t tell me—today’s breakfast is your handiwork?”

“Y-Yes!” Mio exclaimed, her posture straightening with enthusiasm. “I haven’t taken over completely just yet, but about half of it today is mine. Before long, I’ll be preparing all your meals myself, Young Master! Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“Half already, huh? Well, that’s something to look forward to.”

“Please do! I promise it’ll be worth the anticipation!”

She meant it too.

Mio’s cooking skills had been improving rapidly. It was becoming normal seeing her in the kitchen, confidently holding a knife and handling ingredients like she’d been doing it for years.

I could cook a little myself, mostly as part of general household chores, but let’s be honest—she was already better than I was. Before long, the only thing I’d be able to help with would be simple prep work.

And that’s fine.

Once that happened, I’d just shift roles—be the guy who hands out traditional Japanese recipes or modern home-style dishes from my world. I could live with that.

It’s a good thing she’s this dedicated.

Apparently, Mio had been spending a lot of time around the top chefs in Tsige, practically forcing her way into their kitchens to learn as much as she could.

“You know, the chefs in Tsige are already busy with their own work, but they’re still taking the time to teach you,” I reminded her. “Be sure to thank them properly and try not to overstep.”

“Of course, I understand,” she replied, nodding with quiet pride. “I’d never do anything to shame you, Young Master. Besides, recently, I found someone very skilled, so I haven’t been visiting the restaurant kitchens as often.”

“Oh, really?” I tilted my head. “Guess I didn’t need to say anything, then. Sorry about that. So, who’s this ‘very skilled’ person?”

“She’s an adventurer. Not a professional chef, but she knows a lot of unusual recipes. It’s been quite educational.”

An adventurer, huh? So, not someone in the food business.

In that case, maybe her specialty is outdoor cooking? Probably stuff like campfire meals or survival dishes. Recipes that make smart use of preserved ingredients…

…

Ah. Now I was picturing something delicious.

Okay, I seriously need breakfast.

Come to think of it…

Wow. I’m actually starving.

“Yeah. Talking about food’s really got me hungry. Let’s head back and eat. Oh, and Mio—make sure to thank that adventurer properly.”

“I paid her in advance, so it’s fine. Now, now, Young Master, let’s hurry!” she urged me enthusiastically.

“Ah, Young Master.” Tomoe leaned in close, whispering in my ear, “If that little bowl of persimmon from the other day shows up again, do consider sharing a bite with me, will you?”

Naturally, Mio was standing just as close. She heard every word.

“Tomoe-san! I made enough for everyone, so be patient and eat your own portion!”

“It’s your fault for making such outrageously good food!” Tomoe huffed. “You keep whipping up dishes that make me want to drink first thing in the morning. It’s practically sabotage!”

“Well, yes! Today I made shiraae with dried persimmon and a mirin-like-glazed persimmon appetizer, thank you very much! But I will not let you take Young Master’s portion! If you’re going to steal, take it from Shiki!”

“Grnnngh…

She had a point.

I’d tried both dishes before, and, yeah, they were incredible.

The shiraae was a small, lightly sweet side dish using dried persimmon and tofu—subtle, comforting, the kind of flavor that leaves a quiet aftertaste.

As for the mirin-like-glazed one, I hadn’t even realized until Mio mentioned it just now, but the texture was slightly different because she’d kneaded the persimmon a little beforehand. It gave the fruit a softer bite. Then she’d lightly drizzled it with a mirin-like sauce that, while simple, had a deep, mellow flavor that went extremely well with alcohol.

Incidentally, the reason she called it “mirin-like” was because real mirin hadn’t been fully replicated in this world—yet. But ever since Tomoe tasted that one dish, she’d been oddly fired up about recreating authentic mirin. With how serious she’d gotten, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she managed to drop the “-like” label before long.

But, both of those… for breakfast?

No wonder Tomoe’s already dreaming about booze.

Tomoe didn’t get drunk often, but once she started, she went all in. Next thing you knew, dwarves and lizardfolk would gather around, and it would be a full-blown party. From the outside, it looked like some kind of festival, and it hadn’t happened just once or twice. It caused more trouble than I’d have liked to admit.

I’ll have to make sure she keeps it to just a sip or two.

“Tomoe,” I said, giving her a pointed look as we walked, “I know it sounds harsh, but it’s breakfast. Don’t drink so much—it could get in the way of your work.”

“I’ll keep it under control… she replied with a sigh, folding her arms behind her back. “But you must understand, those dishes pair extremely well with a strong drink.”

“Yeah. I get it. That shiraae with dried persimmon hit me pretty hard. You love the persimmons from the Demiplane, don’t you?”

Tomoe nodded thoughtfully, her gaze turning upward in quiet admiration. “In truth, I haven’t come across anything like them outside the Demiplane. I’ve even thought about sampling persimmons from across the lands someday, just to compare. And today… both dishes are on the table. But I can’t take Shiki’s portion… Hmm…

She genuinely looked like she was weighing her options. And not as a joke—she really was considering stealing from someone else.

I mean, they were just small side dishes—nothing extravagant—but the portions were limited, so I couldn’t blame her for being tempted.

Mio, who had been listening with arms crossed and a growing frown on her lips, finally snapped.

“Tomoe-san,” she warned, eyes narrowing. “If you go too far, I’ll start taking persimmons off the table. Except for desserts.”

“Guh… Tomoe recoiled slightly, clearly wounded. “Fine. I’ll settle for Shiki’s portion.”

“Good.”

As for Mio, when it came to her trial dishes, she wanted as much feedback as possible. I often got asked for detailed impressions.

There was one answer that was strictly off-limits: “Tomoe took it.”

It was her least favorite feedback, by far.

Thus, the three of us made our way back, our footsteps quick and our stomachs expectant. We kept the conversation light—anyone listening probably would have thought we were just a bit strange—but it felt good.

I was in a great mood.

After all, I’d found a solid lead. Something real to chase.

※※※

“No way!” I exclaimed, louder than I’d intended. “That close?!”

After breakfast, I finally sat down with Tomoe to hear the report she’d mentioned earlier. It turned out the news had come from one of the investigation teams, and according to their latest report, Agarest—one of the highland orcs’ top warriors and the leader of his unit—had finally made contact.

With a wolf and a bear.

In the Demiplane, animals from Japan sometimes showed up, but, for some reason, they tended to be ridiculously strong. They lived comfortably out in the wild, completely unfazed by the magical beasts Tomoe had released into the ecosystem, which meant they weren’t just wild animals; they were something else entirely.

When even armed orcs and lizardfolk struggled against them, it was safe to say they were no joke.

I’d already warned Agarest’s group that bears were particularly dangerous creatures. I’d seen them a few times back in Japan, mostly in zoos, and even then, they’d left a strong impression. Big, powerful, and terrifying. Sure, they were round and charming, and their thick fur looked delicately soft—almost like a carpet—but that contrast between their cuddly appearance and raw strength had always stood out to me.

In my view, bears were the undisputed rulers of the forest.

That said… I’d secretly been hoping there might be wolves out there too.

Now and then, scouting unit members of the highland orcs or misty lizardfolk reported seeing creatures that might be wolves. Big, powerful animals, yes, but they often just sounded like feral dogs—not actual wolves.

I hadn’t seen one myself, of course. I hadn’t even seen a taxidermic specimen of a Japanese wolf back when I lived in Japan. The Japanese wolf was officially extinct. But maybe that was why I found them so captivating. They stirred the imagination. There was something about them that felt mysterious… almost divine. Part of the reason I felt that way probably had to do with all the times I’d come across Japan’s mountain worship traditions.

When I heard the word “wolf,” I didn’t think of just an animal—I saw it as a kind of phantasmic beast. Something closer in nature to a dragon or griffin. A creature more mythical than real.

Because they were already extinct, there was no real threat or damage tied to them anymore. Unlike bears or wild boars, which could be dangerous to humans, wolves didn’t carry that same negative image.

In fact, if anything, they were remembered in a positive light. Sometimes, the word “wolf” was even written using the characters for “great god”—大神.

Not that long ago, there were even wolf-worshipping traditions in some regions, with people using wolf skulls as protective charms.

Of course, that kind of reverence might have also contributed to their downfall. People hunting them for bones and pelts could’ve played a part in accelerating their extinction.

I’d read somewhere that after wolves disappeared from Japan, the population of deer and wild boar exploded. As you can imagine, that caused real problems for farming communities.

Some said the wolves were necessary to keep the ecosystem balanced, and I think they had a point.

Of course, in countries where wolves still existed, they often caused serious damage to livestock. In some regions, they were considered pests. So, I couldn’t say they were always necessary.

In Europe, for example, wolves were often painted as villains—cunning, dangerous figures in fairy tales and folklore.

Still—wolves, “great gods,” Okami…

There was something undeniably mysterious about them.

Maybe I’m just romanticizing it. Projecting my own admiration onto something I’ve never seen in real life.

Still, that being—the one that incapacitated the highland orc scouting team without killing them, that overwhelmed Agarest and sent him home alive with a warning—that presence…

To me, “wolf” felt like the only word that fit.

The bear too—the one that took down a fully armored Agarest in a single hit, with fur so luxuriously soft that he remembered the texture through his fear.

That had to be the real thing as well.

This had been the first confirmed bear sighting.

A wolf and a bear, huh.

To think the very beasts I’d always held in special regard were living in a forest this close to the city in the Demiplane.

I’d barely explored the area behind my house until now, so it had turned into a bit of a blind spot.

It was unexpected but welcome news.

“From what I’ve seen in the report,” Tomoe said as she closed the folder in her hand, “this creature possesses considerable power, likely classifiable as a high-level magical beast. With that in mind, I was considering leading a confirmation squad myself… or sending Mio in my place.”

So that was her proposal.

She was probably offering out of concern—trying to handle it herself so I wouldn’t have to.

My thoughts were headed in a different direction. The wolf had shown restraint. It had given a warning instead of taking lives. I want to respect that… and maybe, just maybe, try to build some kind of relationship.

Is that selfish of me?

“No. I’m saying no,” I announced.

Tomoe raised an eyebrow. “And your reasoning, Young Master?”

“Agarest and his team were given a warning. They were allowed to leave alive. If we just march back in now, that’s ignoring the message.”

“Admittedly, yes. That would be the implication,” she said, her tone cooling slightly.

“And from what you told me, the message came through some kind of telepathic channel, right? Almost like direct thought transmission?”

“Whether it was true communication is unclear,” Tomoe replied with a slight frown. “It sounded more like a one-sided message he received—no exchange of ideas.”

“That’s still enough,” I said, shaking my head. “Even that shows a level of intent. And besides, I’m finally making progress with something I’ve been working on. If things go well, it might help us prepare for situations involving the bear or the wolves.”

Tomoe narrowed her eyes and folded her arms.

“Young Master’s preparation, is it? And what sort of trouble are you planning to cause this time, if I may ask? Is it related to what happened this morning?”

“A little,” I admitted. “But that’s exactly why I want to see results before doing anything else. If we rush into that forest now, ignore the warning, and make them think we’re enemies, we’ll never be able to recover from that. Even if we do need to take action later, I want to be ready. I want to approach it with options—ways to talk, negotiate.”

Tomoe let out a quiet sigh.

“You seem to think pretty highly of these wolf and bear creatures.”

There was a flicker of something in her voice—maybe frustration. But I hadn’t meant it as an insult.

“I’m not saying you and Mio aren’t good enough,” I responded, meeting her gaze. “If I’m being honest, this is selfish. I want both of you outside the forest, acting as a safety net, just in case. But for the first step—I want to try talking to them myself.”

Tomoe tilted her head curiously.

“And while you’re at it, you’d like to test this new ‘preparation’ as well, I assume?”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“You’re really being selfish with this one, Young Master.”

“Can’t help it. Once I heard it was a wolf… I mean, for me, that’s something special. Kind of like dragons.”

“Dragons?” Tomoe tilted her head with a sly smile. “Well then, you’ve already got one standing right here. One, I daresay, could make a fine impression anywhere.”

“Ahaha! Yeah, you’re right.” I laughed, raising both hands. “No arguments there. You’re definitely special, Tomoe. Looking back, the fact that I met you so early after arriving here… that was lucky.”

She said nothing for a moment, but the look in her eyes softened.

“And after that, I kept running into powerful beings for some reason. Greater Dragons, and then Mio. I must be some kind of magnet for rare encounters. A beast-attracting constitution or something.”

Tomoe let out a chuckle, shaking her head.

“Young Master, if that were true, you’d be doomed to a short life. A trait like ‘phantom beast magnetism’ would be thrown away by nearly every sane person—save for the most reckless of adventurers.”

“Fair enough.” I grinned. “Anyway, that’s how it is. I think I’ll have something interesting to show you soon, so let me handle this my way for a little while.”

Tomoe closed her eyes briefly, then gave a resigned nod.

“Very well. If it’s a request from you, Young Master, I have no choice but to agree.”

“Thanks.”

I was glad she understood; it was more than I could expect. Tomoe was, without a doubt, a dragon. A real one.

Forming this strange relationship with her, almost the moment I’d arrived in another world had been way outside anything I could’ve predicted. But somewhere along the way—between the swords, the samurai obsession, the retro video games and period dramas—I’d gotten so used to her quirks that I’d forgotten what she really was.

A dragon. A literal dragon.

Wait. Doesn’t that mean this is kind of her fault?

“Something on your mind?” Tomoe asked, watching me with a raised brow.

“No, it’s nothing,” I said quickly. “Anyway, I’ve got the afternoon free, so I’m heading out again. I’ll be somewhere far enough not to bother anyone. If anything wanders up, feel free to come find me. As for meals… don’t worry about it.”

“Overexerting your body is never wise. And skipping meals? That’s unacceptable.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. Could you tell Mio for me? Just say it’s a cute little request from her master. That should soften the blow, right? Thanks—later!”

“Wait, don’t you— Young Master! That’s not something I can just—ah, you’re already gone…

I could hear her muttering in defeat as I slipped out of earshot, walking quickly down the path.

A wolf… It was really a wolf…

That thought alone lit something inside me.

Then, I need to finish this. Whatever’s taking shape inside me—I need to turn it into something real.

If wolves were truly that powerful, then I’d need to prepare before I met them again. And since pushing myself all night hadn’t even made me tired, there was no reason to hold back.

If I can train hard enough to drop from exhaustion, I’ll welcome it.

This time, though, I’d be careful. I wouldn’t let myself drift into that strange, dreamlike haze—the one where my sense of self blurred and reality slipped away.

I’d test the limits. Refine my control. Master how to use externalized mana as a proper source.

If I could nail that down, this summer’s biggest challenge might finally take shape.

Even now, the sense I’d had—that faint feeling—was settling into something firmer than just a guess.

※※※

Seven days later, I’d finally reached the point where I could recognize the mana outside my body the same way I sensed the mana within. The energy I expelled wasn’t separate anymore—it felt like an extension of myself, something I could use as part of a spell.

Not just that, I’d also learned how to control the location of a spell’s activation point. Instead of always casting from my hand or directly in front of me, I could now shift it around with a degree of freedom.

That trancelike state, where I lost track of myself? It hadn’t happened again.

Of course, that didn’t mean I had complete mastery over this “external mana.” Not even close. There was still a ton of work to do.

Today, I was back out in the open fields, far from the settlement, continuing my training alone. Finding something new every day—it was a good feeling.

This technique was technically still part of my original summer goal: increasing my mana output. But in truth, the one who’d nudged me onto this path had been the author of that research paper.

I did feel a little bad about veering so far from his original subject of mana materialization. Even so, I owed him a lot.

Near the end of the paper, the author had even included a special incantation, apparently written just for experimental use. The entire purpose of the chant was to burn through massive amounts of mana—no practical application, no real form, just pure consumption.

By forcing enough mana into the air, the idea was to trigger the phenomenon where colored mana became visible and started forming faint barrier-like layers.

Naturally, draining that much energy could seriously mess up your body.

According to the notes, once you burned through around half your total mana, you’d start to feel heavy fatigue—like your mind was wrapped in a thick fog. Drop to 20 percent, and you’d become sluggish, almost like you were moving through water. If you actually used everything… you’d lose consciousness.

For most mages, hitting “zero” actually meant reaching that last 20 percent. It was common practice to stop well before that line. Being able to keep moving at that point took a hell of a lot of training—or just a lot of experience under pressure.

No amateur would push that far.

That’s why the paper was filled with warnings.

Don’t attempt this alone.

Have as many mana-recovery items on hand as possible.

Bring other mages to assist you.

You can cancel the chant at any time with no penalty—so if you feel even slightly off, STOP.

Stuff like that. Line after line of caution.

The author was seriously—understandably—worried that someone might try the chant out of curiosity and get themselves hurt.

Nevertheless, he’d chosen to include the chant because he was a researcher, and to him, chasing the truth was everything.

At the very end of the paper, it said the author had personally attempted mana materialization.

He had prepared as best they could. Gathered all the mana available. Readied the necessary tools. Brought in others to help.

In the end, what he achieved was… just a single fragment. No larger than a grain of sand. Most likely, it had taken the combined effort of multiple spellcasters, all focusing on a single incantation.

The author wrote that a result so small couldn’t be called a success—it was a failure.

He expressed regret, saying he no longer believed his research could contribute anything meaningful to the world.

After that, no more papers came from him.

Maybe he had given up on his path. Or maybe… he reached an ending too grim to think about. I didn’t want to dwell on that.

Back when I finished reading the paper, I’d tried using the chant exactly as written—just to see what would happen. What came out was a cloud of sparkling, sand-like particles that poured from my palm like some cheap stage magic trick.

Yeah… it really did look useless.

If he only got one grain out of that process, I can’t blame him for losing hope.

Even when you give something everything you’ve got… even if you face it with total commitment… things don’t always work out. That kind of miracle is reserved for a rare few. The truly gifted.

Still, the way he structured that chant—it was clear he’d put tremendous thought into it. I couldn’t help but think he might’ve had real talent, even if he never saw the payoff.

The chant wasn’t just thrown together. It was built from the ground up using one of the highest levels of incantation structure.

Most commonly used spell chants in the world today were based on a language called Common Chant. That’s what students and instructors at magic academies typically learn. Most magic books use it too.

Above that, there are specialized magical languages developed by dedicated casters: Graph Chant and Noble Chant.

Those are the languages you pursue when you go beyond the basics—ones you start mastering once you get serious about magic. Even at Rotsgard Academy, only a handful of people could use them at all.

Among adventurers, if a mage could handle Graph or Noble Chant, they were considered top-tier.

Noble Chant was more focused, more geared toward offensive magic.

Graph Chant was broader, more general-purpose uses. Like an advanced version of Common Chant.

The chant from this paper… it went even further. It was built in Weird Chant—an archaic language used in ancient spellcasting.

In the Demiplane, the misty lizardfolk actually use Weird Chant in some of their spellcraft. Even so, it was incredibly rare. The kind of language you can’t even touch without serious obsession.

Half of it was already lost. Just to write out one chant in that language, this guy would’ve had to dig through countless old texts, travel to remote regions where fragments of tradition remained… The sheer effort it must have taken is hard to imagine.

He must’ve poured years of his life into this.

On top of all that… he actually completed the chant at least once—and succeeded in materializing mana.

That’s insane.

I’d shown the chant from the paper to a few of the instructors at the academy, just to see what they thought. Not a single one of them could understand it. Some laughed out loud, saying it was just another worthless fantasy scribbled out by some delusional amateur.

Those were Rotsgard instructors—the very people who were supposed to be experts, with reputations that reached across the world.

The fact that they couldn’t recognize the value of that chant just made it even clearer to me. This author—whoever he was—had been someone truly extraordinary. And more than that, he’d been someone who never crossed the line.

As a follower of the Goddess, he’d stayed on the right path. People like Shiki were exceptions, but there were plenty of stories about obsessed researchers who ended up diving into forbidden magic in their desperation for results.

Taboos. Things you’re simply not allowed to do.

Even when it came to chants, there were forbidden ones.

The most infamous among them was Folca Chant.

Technically, anyone who could use Common Chant could invoke a spell using Folca. But its efficiency surpassed the higher-tier Graph and Noble Chants. In terms of performance, it was slightly above even Weird Chant.

Unfortunately, Folca Chant was said to be prohibited by the Goddess herself. Anyone who used it—even once—would immediately and permanently lose all of her blessings.

That included divine protections, miracles, and even the smallest flicker of spiritual connection.

This author never touched it.

He had the drive, the obsession, and the discipline to avoid crossing that line. That took real strength.

Honestly… I think I’m starting to admire him.

By the way, the highland orcs didn’t use any of the known chants I’d mentioned—Common, Graph, Noble, or even Weird.

Their magic was cast using something else entirely: a degraded version of a chant known as Lost Chant.

Just like the name implied, it was even older than Weird Chant. A forgotten language of spell craft that had already vanished from the world.

The reason it was lost? Too few users and an absurdly high mana consumption rate.

The highland orcs had adapted it for their own use, scaling down its power and reducing the drain on their mana so it could be used more practically. In other words, they’d intentionally weakened it—refined it through decline.

Because of that, the essence of Lost Chant still survived. Ema and the others continued to use it as a cherished, ancient tradition passed down from generation to generation.

You couldn’t really compare Lost Chant to the typical chant hierarchy—from Common to Weird. It didn’t fit into that scale.

Its firepower was higher than any other chant. The lines were shorter too. But the sheer mana cost made those strengths meaningless. In terms of practical use, it was worse than Common Chant.

That’s why it wasn’t a simple matter of ranking them by “higher” or “lower.” It didn’t work like that.

The chant I used—the one I’d customized for myself—was a version of Lost Chant with the decay removed, meaning it was closer to the original form. A purer variant.

Lately, even Ema had started transitioning to it.

Which meant that, strangely enough, she’d gone from being my teacher to being the one learning chants from me.

Kind of funny when I think about it.

Then again, it was still technically the same language, and she was exceptionally talented—so it didn’t take more than a brief explanation to get her on board.

“Wait… I muttered. “When I used the original Weird Chant spell, it left behind that pile of glittering sand. And I remember spotting that weird barrier effect too. But…

What if I rebuilt that same spell using Lost Chant instead? And not just that—what if I fueled it using both internal and external mana at the same time?

The first time I’d cast it, the sand had formed from the mana I’d released from inside. But if I used external mana as well… would it do the same?

Only one way to find out.

Worst case, I’d just end up buried in a pile of sparkly sand again. Not exactly dangerous.

All right then… if I was going to substitute the Weird Chant with Lost Chant, I needed to restructure the whole thing…

I picked up a stick and began working out the conversion in the dirt. I needed to make sure every part of the chant aligned properly with the new structure.

When it came to complicated things like this, I always found myself falling back on old-school methods. Just thinking it through in my head wasn’t enough—I needed to see it.

Looks good.

First things first—don’t want Tomoe or Mio flying in out of nowhere, so I used a Realm to mask the area’s mana signature.

Then, I began filling the space around me with mana.

While keeping the external mana stable and within perception, I drew the internal mana closer to the surface of my body, ready to synchronize both flows.

All right. Ready.

I began the chant. It was the same one from the paper, now reconstructed with Lost Chant.

The chant pulled a massive surge of mana from within me. Even the energy I’d previously expelled was drawn in and reabsorbed into the flow—followed by more and more still.

It’s fine. I’ve got more than enough mana.

Now, show me the result!

I could feel more and more mana being drawn from both inside me and the space around me. I didn’t resist; I just let it happen.

Finally, a faint glow began to radiate from my body. The peak of the release was near.

And then—

The spell finished. The pull of mana stopped, and my vision remained clear. Unlike before, I wasn’t buried in glittering sand.

Well—not exactly. Strictly speaking, my vision hadn’t stayed exactly the same. At the edge of the space where I had projected my mana… I could see it. A faint membrane, like a delicate film, wavering in the air.

Hold on…

I can see it—but that doesn’t mean it’s real.

Not yet.

I took one step forward.

The membrane shifted with me, as if following my movement—one full step, matching mine exactly. It was centered around me. No doubt about that. But it wasn’t the Realm.

It was… my mana?

From the outside, it looked like a misshapen, jellylike sphere—sagging and shifting like mochi under gravity. It shimmered and pulsed faintly, just like a slime. And it was exactly the same size as the space I’d projected my external mana into.

This… is definitely the mana I cast out. But it’s changed.

Somehow, I knew it instantly. The membrane was a transformed state of my own magic.

Can I touch it?

I reached out, but my hand didn’t quite reach the surface.

Then… maybe I can shape it.

I focused my will, commanding the external mana to shift—to reshape itself to bring the boundary closer to my hand. The slime-like membrane dented inward, folding slightly in the direction I mentally indicated.

It came right up to me. I swallowed. Slowly, I reached out my hand and touched it.

It wasn’t a vague, magical “impression” or the kind of intangible feedback you get from spells. It was a real, tactile sensation. I was touching something solid.

It felt strange, like a balloon filled with water. Soft and cool but sturdy enough to resist pressure.

What I’d created might’ve been slightly different from the kind of mana materialization the paper aimed for. But even so, this had all sorts of potential.

Let’s see…

I cast Bridt, targeting a nearby tree. The moment the spell activated, it drew only from the mana I’d stored outside my body. Not a single drop of my internal mana was consumed.

Yes. Yes! This is it!!!

I’d done it. I’d successfully cast a spell using only my external mana.

Up until now, the best I could manage was casting spells by combining internal and external sources. This was a massive breakthrough.

This slime-like membrane… it was like I’d deposited my mana into a flexible container—an always-accessible mana bank. Ready to be withdrawn, anytime, anywhere.

If that’s the case… then maybe… I could cast two spells at once. One from me, and one from the mana I’ve stored outside!

I was fascinated by the new possibilities unfolding before me. Following the same process, I used the external mana to cast Bridt—and at the same time, activated another Bridt directly from my body.

“Ah.”

A chill ran down my spine, but by then, it was too late.

The moment the spell fired from my palm, my little slime friend—working name Slime-kun—burst apart.

Ah… crap.

It was like the spell had detonated inside the space of the slime itself.

I was still fine. I could move, breathe—nothing was amiss. But the outer shell, that slime-like mana field, had vanished without a trace.

So, it’s more physical than I thought. Less like visualized mana and more like an actual object.

That would explain why it shattered under the shock.

Still… that thing popped clean. Didn’t even leave a shimmer behind.

So maybe the outer surface wasn’t that durable. That could be a problem. If it burst just from the pressure of a spell firing from inside, it meant all that stored mana could be wasted in an instant.

That’d be a major loss. Way too inefficient.

I’d need to test its resistance from the outside too. If the structure was strong enough, maybe I could even use it as a kind of barrier or to reinforce my defenses.

That would be a seriously useful bonus.

I repeated the process, recreating Slime-kun.

Good. It’s consistent. That means it wasn’t just a one-time fluke—that’s definitely a good sign.

All right, then…

Let’s keep it simple. Time to body check a tree.

I gathered strength in my legs, charged toward the edge of the forest, and right as the outer slime shell collided with the bark, I pushed harder.

Contact.

Winner: Slime.

The unlucky tree I’d picked as my opponent cracked and tipped over with a satisfying crash.

Wow, that was stronger than I expected.

If I could refine this thing, it might be a solid step forward for defensive applications. Let’s try it on something a bit sturdier.

If I went deeper into the forest, I was sure to find a thicker, older tree in no time. But when I tried to move forward, I felt resistance—like something pushing me back. Looking down, I saw that the outer edge of Slime-kun was bumping into the trunks of multiple trees. It was too wide to pass through.

Ah… that explains it. Looks like I’ll need to cancel it before I can get any further.

Just like that, a deeply unfortunate realization hit me.

Oh no. This thing would be a massive pain for everyday use.

Even if I could hide it with a Realm, once deployed, the slime would prevent me from doing simple things—like shaking someone’s hand. Or hugging someone.

Not that there’s anyone to hug.

Trying to walk into a building would mean taking out the doorframe—or the whole wall. In a city, I’d probably knock over pedestrians left and right. People would see me as nothing but a mobile hazard.

Even on a battlefield… sure, it’d be fine if I were fighting solo. But team tactics? Forget it. No coordinated moves, no smooth formations—I’d be an obstacle to my allies.

Wait… when have I ever actually done coordinated team tactics? Guess I haven’t… so technically, no problem?

No, no, that’s not the point!

Ugh.

This was a serious flaw. A major issue, in fact. If I could somehow balance this slime with normal daily life, though… I was pretty sure even Tomoe and Mio would be impressed.

The good news was that I could probably boost its durability even further with some work. And honestly, improving my defense was a huge bonus all on its own.

This was definitely drifting away from my original goal of increasing mana output… But it was worth pursuing.

Even when I finally met the wolf, if I wanted to keep seeking dialogue instead of conflict, I’d need a solid way to defend myself—something reliable enough to withstand whatever came my way.

I had too many troublesome enemies already: the Goddess and the Dragon Slayer. If one of them managed to seriously injure me—or worse, kill me—

What would happen to the Demiplane? Could I guarantee everyone’s safety?

We didn’t have those answers yet. But if my death somehow triggered the Demiplane’s collapse, the entire population could be wiped out with me. That kind of ending… I could never accept.

If I die, fine. But I refuse to take anyone else down with me.

That’s why I always wore the armor the eldwar had crafted for me. I never stepped outside in light gear. Not anymore.

If I hadn’t been wearing this equipment during that fight with the Dragon Slayer, I would’ve been in serious trouble.

I’d already asked the eldwar’s master craftsman to make seasonal variations—jackets and other types I could wear all year round.

Wearing an extra layer in the summer wasn’t ideal, but it was a necessary sacrifice. The outfit was comfortable enough, and it regulated body temperature well. Who cared if it looked a little heavy for the season? That wasn’t a real problem.

Now, about this slime…

If I could keep it deployed at all times, it’d add another layer of safety. A barrier you could touch, but others couldn’t touch through. I’d still be able to shake hands. Even kiss someone, theoretically… But no blade could pierce me from the outside.

It might become an invisible suit of armor. Something subtle, passive, and constant.

Making that a reality is gonna take work.

I had to try. There was still plenty of summer break left.

From here on out, though, I couldn’t rely on the paper or Luto’s training methods anymore. I’d stepped into uncharted territory. No more guidance. I wished I could squeeze more ideas or hints from them, but I knew better than to get my hopes up.

So… the archives, maybe. The place where Tomoe stored a compiled version of my memories, my knowledge from Japan.

I’d just have to believe there was something useful tucked away in all that clutter.

In any case, I’d made solid progress today. I decided to wrap up my training and call it for now.

Now then… what was on my schedule today—

Wait.

No. No no no no…

It was lecture day at the academy. I’d promised one of the super-eager students that I’d show up.

There’s no way I can walk in drenched in sweat like this. I’d have to head home, bathe, get changed—

“Aaah, come on!!! There’s not nearly enough time!”

Chapter 3

Throughout summer break, we’d been holding mock battles under the banner of “fun lectures,” pitting the students against the misty lizardfolk.

At first, the students hadn’t stood a chance. They were overwhelmed and outclassed every time. But after a few rounds, Jin and his group finally managed to defeat the misty lizardfolk.

There’d been a minor incident along the way involving Zweit and some unfortunate confusion about her gender… but that was a whole separate mess.

Anyway, it seemed like my students were steadily improving, making solid progress toward the academy festival.

The misty lizardfolk, for their part, had also taken things up a notch. Maybe they’d been inspired by the way those greenhorns kept coming at them, fighting and learning and growing with every match. Lately, they’d been pushing themselves harder in training and polishing their technique.

Their combat style had always focused on weapons, but apparently, some of them had started to show interest in unarmed fighting. Actual hand-to-hand combat.

If it started taking shape, I might ask them to be sparring partners for Jin’s group.

Unarmed fighting was rare in this world. It had a reputation for being brutal, even underhanded—the kind of thing you’d expect from a thug pulling a sucker punch, not a trained warrior.

Jin and the others probably wouldn’t see it coming if a lizardfolk suddenly went bare-handed. That shock alone could end up being a valuable experience. Still, it would be a while yet before they would be ready.

According to a report from Eris, a forest ogre, Jin’s team had headed to a monster-hunting zone after their win over the misty lizardfolk. It was apparently Shiki’s recommendation—a good place to level up.

Sadly, they’d met with bad fortune. They’d run into a Lesser Dragon, and the moment things went sideways, the whole formation collapsed.

They’d made it back to town alive, but apparently their morale had taken a serious hit.

Shiki assured me that they “weren’t facing an impossible opponent.” If they’d handled things properly, they might’ve won. But because of their own mistakes, they had nearly gotten themselves killed—and that’s what had left a mark.

They lived through it. Shouldn’t they be thankful there’s even a next time?

That was how I saw it, but I also understood. They had that dangerous mix of high expectations and real talent. It was no surprise they were hard on themselves. And to be fair, I was probably the one who lit that fire in the first place. Through the very lectures I’d been giving them.

Between highland orc Agarest and Jin’s group from Rotsgard—why was it that people kept running into outrageous threats in the most unexpected places? It’s starting to feel like my bad luck is contagious or something.

I mean, I tell myself it’s just a coincidence. Just a weird overlap in timing. Nothing more.

…

(Yeah, I’m definitely bothered by it. And yes, I’m carrying around an unnecessary amount of guilt.)

With that in mind, I decided to postpone the hand-to-hand combat session with the lizardfolk until after break. We’d wait until the academy festival was over.

Today, though, something different was happening. Out in a clearing far from the settlement, nearly all the races living in the Demiplane had gathered for what was essentially a large-scale exhibition. Just like my students had been training nonstop, the residents of the Demiplane had also been honing their skills day after day. Over time, as they mingled and exchanged techniques between races, their combat styles began to evolve—something that sparked quite a bit of excitement among the more enthusiastic types.

Eventually, one of the muscle-brained optimists—I wasn’t sure who, but I had my suspicions—proposed the idea of tossing rankings aside and just showing off whatever new stuff people had come up with.

It was meant to be a fun way to see how everyone had grown. Surprisingly, Tomoe got talked into it and agreed to host the event.

There was one exception, though: the gorgons. They had only just finished settling into the Demiplane and barely completed their introductions. Because of that, they didn’t have any new combat techniques to show off. Instead, their contribution would be a demonstration of their original petrification ability. Their chieftain sisters were visibly frustrated about the change of plans; they clearly wanted to participate more fully, but there just hadn’t been enough time for them to prepare anything new.

To make the exhibition more dynamic—and quantifiable—we’d even prepared a way to measure how powerful everyone’s techniques were. That involved a massive stone sphere, taller than most buildings. Tomoe had carved it out of a mountainside, and then she and Shiki spent several days reinforcing it with specialized magic. I’d estimate it was twenty meters in diameter, give or take. Just standing in front of it made you feel tense, like the thing was watching you.

The idea was simple: Everyone would hurl their signature techniques at the sphere, and the impact would be measured and displayed as a numeric value. Clean, visual, and in all likelihood a little ego-crushing.

When I offered to go first and test the setup myself—as a sort of opening act for the event—the reaction was immediate:

“Please don’t destroy the event.”

“This would end up being both the first and last performance of the event. Please, we’re begging you—don’t.”

That was Tomoe and Shiki, pleading in perfect unison. So, I backed off.

Not that I’d told anyone yet, but my “new technique” was the Slime Punch (working title), and to be honest, it didn’t have that much firepower. I wasn’t aiming for offense, anyway. My real focus with that technique was defense. If I needed to attack something, well… a bow worked just fine.

Anyway, the structure of the exhibition was pretty straightforward. For direct offense types: hit the giant stone sphere with your best shot. Support or utility techniques would be demonstrated and then scored by me and my followers. Techniques that blended offense and support would be judged as hybrid entries under a total score system.

Scoring was done using a point-based system, and while rankings would be given for each category, there would be no overall winner or grand prize.

Would’ve been nice if they’d told me all this before the day of the event…

Apparently, Shiki would also be showing off a new technique—and he seemed pretty fired up about it; the same guy who told me to hold back.

Right. Like you going all out isn’t going to scare everyone off the stage.

I wanted to say something, but… eh. Let him enjoy himself.

Meanwhile, Tomoe had declared herself a full-time judge. No performances, no flashy moves.

Mio, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in combat demonstrations at all. She was just upset there wasn’t a cooking contest. So, I gave her full authority over all food-related matters for the event. That mostly seemed to satisfy her.

The exhibition had started at high noon, but since we’d canceled all regular work for the day, for most people it was basically a holiday. Add in delicious food and plenty of good booze, and of course, the venue was packed. For the denizens of the Demiplane, watching strong techniques while enjoying a feast was a day made in heaven.

“Then let’s begin—with the highland orcs, Agarest and Ema! Step up!” Tomoe’s voice rang out clearly, her tone sharp and commanding.

Agarest and Ema took the stage first, standing side by side at a slight distance from the stone sphere.

Ema too? Didn’t see that coming.

Ever since that run-in with the wolf, I’d heard Agarest had been pushing himself harder than ever in training. If he’d managed to develop a technique strong enough to show off in such a short time, that was seriously impressive.

Or maybe it wasn’t a solo effort. Maybe it was a combo with Ema. After all, Ema was the most powerful mage among the highland orcs. Offense, support, healing—she was the full-package, an all-rounder type. It honestly felt like a bit of a waste having her act as my and Tomoe’s secretary most of the time.

Then again, she assured me the job gave her a strong sense of purpose.

“Rrrrrraaahhh!!!” went Agarest. He assumed a wide stance with zero concern for defense—basically, a posture full of openings—as he raised a heavy blunt weapon over his shoulder and began charging power.

Not the halberd this time; he’d swapped to a war mace. Well, he was always good with both.

Meanwhile, Ema had started casting what could only be described as an extremely temperamental support spell—one that looked like it might explode if even a single syllable went sideways.

It was the kind of enchantment that required precision from both the caster and the target.

But…

“Heh. Agarest always had a solid reputation when it came to personal combat,” Tomoe noted from beside me, a sharp grin forming at the corners of her mouth. “But to acknowledge Ema’s skill and entrust himself to her magic like that… And then there’s that stance…

So, she noticed it too.

“Right? That posture’s a statement,” I replied. “He’s saying, ‘I trust my partner, I trust her to cover my defense so I can give this everything I’ve got.’ It looks like that encounter with the wolf and the bear really changed something in him.”

“Indeed. A man who built his strength alone is now choosing to do what he can’t alone—with others. That shift in mindset, especially from someone who’s already developed such a high level of personal skill… That’s rare and commendable. He deserves credit.”

Agarest had always been an incredibly well-rounded warrior. He could handle team tactics, lead from the front, and adapt to the situation.

But there’d always been one thing about him that bugged me a little.

It wasn’t exactly a flaw or something that held him back. If anything, his quiet caution might’ve even helped his team mature faster.

Still, deep down…

Agarest didn’t trust others to protect him. Not completely. He still carried that belief—the idea that, in the end, he had to guard himself.

He cooperated with his team. He helped his allies. But when it came to himself, his stance had always been “Don’t worry about me, I’ll take care of it.”

That’s why, until now, he’d never stood there wide open while charging an attack. He never accepted support magic that could endanger him as much as his enemies. He just didn’t fight that way.

Now, here he was, exposing that shift—not just to his fellow highland orcs, but to every race gathered here.

It was a huge change.

Sure, there were plenty of people in the crowd cheering like it was just a big flashy move. But the top fighters—those who’d regularly gone toe-to-toe with Agarest in the Demiplane’s rankings—they weren’t clapping. They were watching him closely, their expressions serious.

The number that showed up after this attack might not even matter to Agarest. Because in a way, he’d already achieved his goal.

The moment he finally moved, the crowd surged with anticipation. Cheers erupted across the clearing as he launched into a full charge.

It really did look like a cannonball being fired; his whole body became one unstoppable projectile. Then came the impact, a full-force slam from his war mace.

While the stone sphere didn’t budge, several streaks of pale white light shimmered and rippled across its surface… and after a few seconds, a number flickered into view.

78 points.

“Huh. That’s, like… just barely shy of the kind of test score that feels good but also kinda stings,” I commented.

“Hoho,” Tomoe laughed beside me, nodding with approval. “Young Master, that’s actually quite high. We calibrated the device so a score around seventy-five would be enough to deal direct damage to Shiki.”

Wait, what?!

That’s crazy! That’s not just barely passing—it’s already overshooting the bar!

“So, what, a perfect score would hurt me too?” I asked.

“If someone were to hit one hundred, they would be capable of harming me,” Tomoe said casually. “I thought it might be rude to base the max value on you, Young Master.”

Huh.

A hundred points. Like a school exam.

“Well, while we’re at it, how much would it take for Mio?”

“Hmm… perhaps around fifty?”

“Really? That’s kind of low.”

“She regenerates fast,” Tomoe replied with a shrug. “And she’s not built for raw defense to begin with.”

Right…

Wait… Something about that fifty…

“Hold on. So, you’re saying fifty is, like, the amount of force I used when I went after her legs with full force that time?”

“Exactly. That’s the benchmark.”

“Huh. So that’s a 50 percent increase…

Yeah… that’s strong.

Strong enough to hurt Shiki, even.

Tomoe let out a light sigh as she looked toward the others still waiting for their turn. “With that as the baseline, the next few might be in for a bit of a rough time.”

“Nothing to be done about it,” I said, offering a shrug of my own. “They’ll just have to train harder.”

“Indeed, Young Master. Quite right.”

Just as Tomoe predicted, several participants followed Agarest’s lead, but none managed to surpass the score he’d set in that very first demonstration.

In fact, few even broke the fifty-point mark. Agarest’s strike was in a league of its own—sheer, overwhelming power. However, despite the lack of new record-breakers, the other races weren’t ready to throw in the towel. Not by a long shot.

One misty lizardfolk unit put on an impressive display of their own. Instead of attacking the stone sphere, they turned their sights upward and fired a breath attack into the sky.

It wasn’t a wide-area blast, but a highly focused beam, like a laser. The moment it tore through the clouds above, the crowd erupted in cheers, the loudest we’d heard so far.

Then, just when the applause started to settle, the misty lizardfolk followed up their attack with something even more unexpected: a condensed roar, focused not into a wave, but a narrow, vertical column of sonic pressure.

That powerful force slammed into the sky, scattering clouds again with invisible shock waves.

That’s some serious range.

It was obviously meant as a countermeasure against wingedfolk—some of whom were staring at the display in wide-eyed shock—but even fired horizontally, the technique would make an excellent opener in ground combat as well.

Yeah… I don’t think they expected the lizardfolk to respond this fast.

Next came Beren of the elder dwarves, walking up to the stage with what looked—for all the world—like a small, unimpressive hand axe. The weapon was so underwhelming that it was comical.

Without a word, he got close to the stone sphere, started climbing it like it was part of his daily routine, and launched himself into the air.

At the peak of his ascent, Beren raised the axe overhead with two hands, though it could’ve easily been wielded with one.

The crowd stayed quiet, but more out of boredom than anticipation.

But then, all at once, the axe began to grow.

And grow.

And it kept growing.

By the time he brought it down, the weapon had reached a size that belonged on a giant robot. A full-on fantasy war machine’s battle axe. The moment it crashed into the stone sphere, the audience gasped. Now he had their attention.

Despite the impact, the blade didn’t cleave through the stone. It didn’t even crack it. It stopped dead right at the surface.

I mean… wow. That thing looked like it should’ve split the whole mountain. What kind of terrifying mods did Tomoe and Shiki put on this stone?

Still, it was amazing. A weapon that expands like that mid-strike was classic fantasy logic, and I loved it.

The score that popped up? Seventy points. Second only to Agarest.

He called the weapon Mountain Cleaver.

Strangely, Beren wasn’t nearly as pleased as his audience.

“There’s still room for improvement,” he muttered in frustration. “That swing wasn’t worthy of the weapon’s name.”

Next, from among Mio’s kin, the arach, one of the larger, male-type members, stepped forward. He demonstrated a technique that used thread with almost ridiculous precision, unleashing a series of razor-sharp slashes.

The range was impressive, and thanks to the nature of the thread itself, the technique wasn’t limited to just slicing. It could morph into various forms of offense—or even restraining maneuvers—depending on how it was deployed.

The crowd was clearly impressed. Thread warfare, maybe? That’s probably the best way to describe it.

Mio’s “Iron-Cleaving Fan” technique was likely an advanced offshoot of the same principle.

Then the wingedfolk took the stage. Sailing high above the clouds, they fired down on pre-marked targets on the ground.

Under normal circumstances, no matter how good their eyesight was, it should’ve been impossible to pinpoint targets on the ground from that kind of altitude. High-angle attacks almost always suffered from accuracy issues, which was one of the few advantages ground races like the orcs and lizardfolk normally had when fighting back against the wingedfolk.

In this case, one of the wingedfolk up there was nailing the targets again and again, like a stage magician pulling off shots while blindfolded.

Apparently, the trick was that the dark-winged units on the ground had successfully synced with the airborne attackers, sharing real-time positional data. Basically, the ones below would send constant updates up to the ones above, who’d then use that intel to fire with full force.

So, they didn’t increase their defense. They focused on bombing accuracy.

The whole thing really did resemble a fighter jet squadron working in tandem. When they had their offensive power measured, the highest result they got was twenty points.

So yeah, they still hadn’t cracked the raw firepower issue—still, though, being able to shoot from a safe zone with that level of precision gave their attack strategy more than enough merit.

I’d thought they were at a disadvantage in mock battles because they lacked a proper finisher. But now? They might be a more serious threat than I gave them credit for.

If they ever started deploying a functional ground unit to back up their aerial forces? Their combat range would explode overnight. Air strikes would become even more effective.

That’s the only thing that’s still a little lacking, really.

At this point, they were still focused on “air-to-ground” attacks, so they obsessed over ultra-long ranges. But they already used wind magic better than most. If they shifted their mindset a little and started adapting that for ground-level engagements as well, they’d become a force to be reckoned with.

Not every unit went airborne either. Some of their troops were already staying on the ground in support roles.

Wrapping things up for the day… were the forest ogres.

Whether or not you could call them the “ace” team was debatable, but in terms of sheer unpredictability, no one could top Aqua and Eris.

“Tomoe,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes. “What’s with those outfits?”

The two of them had climbed up onto the stone platform dressed in what I could only describe as full-on magical girl cosplay—short skirts, sparkly accessories, ribbons. They looked like they’d stepped straight out of a kids’ anime.

Tomoe furrowed her brow, clearly just as lost as I was.

“Unclear,” she said at last. “This was not part of the rehearsal. While I do understand this is meant to be a fun event… I don’t recall ever approving that level of absurdity. Still, if they submitted a formal request, I would assume there’s some meaning behind it…

Yeah, even you don’t believe that.

Your eyes are saying, “What the hell is this?” louder than your mouth ever will.

Just then, Shiki jogged over, handed me a small slip of paper, gave a short bow, and headed back toward the waiting area.

“Thanks… Let’s see here.” I scanned the note. “Ah. Tomoe—apparently, they submitted a last-minute request. Says here the outfits are ‘ceremonial attire required for the technique we are about to demonstrate’… Something about the spell still being unstable without the full getup.”

“Ceremonial attire?” Tomoe echoed drily. “If that’s really all it is, they wouldn’t need to file an emergency request.”

Right?

We were both thinking the same thing. These aren’t ritual outfits. This is full-on cosplay.

I mean, sure, Eris looked like she was having the time of her life—spinning for the crowd, striking poses with a short staff like she was ready to deliver a friendship-powered justice beam.

Aqua?

Tall, statuesque, elegant Aqua was standing completely still, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast as if praying for death. She wasn’t even trying to rein Eris in. Just… enduring.

If I didn’t know them, I might’ve mistaken this for some form of emotional abuse.

Then Eris raised her voice, somehow taking over the entire field without permission.

“Everyone, your attention please!”

Since when is she the emcee?

“Today, we will be demonstrating a technique forged by the two of us—our ultimate barrier spell, constructed with our whole hearts and souls!”

A barrier spell? Huh. Some kind of flashy wide-area annihilation spell would have been much more in character for Eris.

Still, Aqua hadn’t said a word.

“Indeed!” Eris continued, arms thrown wide in a dramatic flourish. “A spell so supreme, so unbreakable, that not even Young Master would be able to breach it in a single night!”

She turned and looked straight at me, a challenge in her eyes.

You little hellion, I thought, hiding a grin. You’re picking a fight with me in front of everyone like it’s no big deal… To be honest, I kind of admire that about you.

Next to me, Tomoe was twitching at the corners of her mouth like she was holding back every comment under the sun.

Meanwhile, the audience had started murmuring excitedly.

“Now then, everyone!” Eris shouted. “Bear witness to our masterpiece! Let’s go, Aqua!”

I barely heard Aqua whisper, “I want to die.”

Come on, I thought. Don’t be so over the top.

Then… the two forest ogres started dancing as they chanted their spell.

No, seriously. Full-on synchronized choreography. This had officially crossed over into Sunday-morning magical girl anime territory.

The only real difference was the ridiculous height gap between them—Eris being tiny, and Aqua looking like she belonged on a runway. Even though their timing was perfect, the visual imbalance made the whole thing feel awkward and downright cringey.

Eris spun around, light and full of energy, and reached out to Aqua. Forced to match her partner’s moves, Aqua bent her knees to align their heights, and the two twirled hand in hand across the top of the stone sphere like… a preschooler and her teacher at a school festival.

This is… This is hell.

Tomoe groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose with her left hand.

“Those idiots… What in the world are they thinking? I’ll be summoning Mondo for a full debrief—and a lecture—once this is over.”

Her mouth twitched upward slightly, and for a second, I thought she was holding back a smile. But no, she was definitely pissed. This wasn’t amusement; it was restrained wrath.

Poor Aqua. Embarrassing herself and earning Tomoe’s ire? That’s got to feel like the end of the world right now.

Anyway, I still couldn’t tell exactly what their technique was supposed to do. Maybe the dance was actually necessary? I really doubted it, but… knowing Eris, she’d probably insisted it was crucial and had steamrolled Aqua into going along with it.

From where I was standing, it just looked like Eris’s personal passion project in disguise.

Okay, Aqua, I get it now. That “I want to die” wasn’t just theatrics.

The spell chant reached its climax. The two of them struck a final pose on the very apex of the stone sphere.

Aqua’s face, twisted into a teary, exhausted grin, had the same holy glow as an office worker who’d pulled an all-nighter and just submitted the final draft.

“Secret technique!”

Wait, it’s a barrier, isn’t it? What’s with the dramatic name?

“Floral Tribute!!!” The two of them shouted in perfect unison, their voices sounding almost defiant.

Then, in an instant, the stone beneath them disappeared under a gleaming structure—a conical dome of ice, elegant and intricate like the spire of a crystal temple.

Whoa. Okay… that’s actually impressive.

“Hmph. Idiots, both of them… but they do get results. Infuriating.” Tomoe muttered, clicking her tongue softly.

Yeah… for all the ridiculous buildup and questionable showmanship, the result was nothing short of extraordinary. That was a real barrier.

Right on cue—clearly mimicking how I use written notes at the academy—unmistakably Eris-style words appeared outside the barrier.

“Break it if you think you can!”

The handwriting was rough, practically scrawled in fury, and left no room for misunderstanding. It was pure provocation. All eyes immediately went to her.

Sure enough, the forest ogres—led by Mondo—started making the rounds, bowing their heads in apology to anyone who happened to be watching.

Right… Didn’t that one time end with Mondo headbutting Eris and Aqua equal to the number of times he’d had to apologize?

If that rule were still active, Eris might actually get planted face-first in the ground today.

Still, for all that ridiculous posturing… this barrier was not just for show. It absolutely deserved the confidence they were throwing around. Seeing how solid the result was, I couldn’t even fault Eris for her arrogant attitude—or Aqua for going along with it despite openly wishing for death.

Of course, this was the Demiplane. No one here was content to just watch something impressive.

A hot-blooded young orc was the first to charge forward, his blade glowing faintly from every enhancement he’d managed to pile onto it. He raised it high and brought it crashing down against the icy wall of the barrier.

The moment the weapon made contact, a chilling frost surged up from the blade, leaping instantly to his arm. In seconds, his limb was encased in white ice all the way up to the elbow.

Panicking, one of his comrades rushed to pull him back. As the young orc stumbled away, his frozen arm—still gripping the weapon—snapped clean off, crumbling into icy dust before it even hit the ground.

This is a barrier? That thing’s more aggressive than half the weapons I’ve seen.

“Secret technique, she called it,” I muttered. “Might not have been a bluff after all.”

“I’ll send someone to treat the wounded right away,” Tomoe said, already moving. “But I must admit, they talked big, but they delivered. Even Mio or I would need time to dismantle a thing like that. We’d have to convince them to release it from the inside. But given the messaging method… I doubt they’re hearing us at all.”

“Yeah… probably not,” I sighed, squinting at the icy construct.

I activated Realm and reached out, probing the barrier’s structure.

Just like before, it was absurdly aggressive, like a wall with fangs. And the durability was no joke either.

I vaguely remembered them chanting something like “Cocytus” during the incantation. That was the name of an icy hell, right? From Greek mythology… Not sure why I even remember that.

Then again, it’s Eris. Of course, she would know about that.

She knows kanji, too. Seriously, who—or what—is she in contact with?

The more I thought about it, the more my head hurt.

All right then… let’s see if that flawless barrier of theirs has any holes in it. I swept my Realm around the perimeter of the structure to check for gaps.

…

No way. Seriously? Is this some kind of joke?

There it was. A literal hole. And not even a subtle one.

The barrier had clearly emerged from the ground, but it didn’t actually extend all the way down. It only started a little above the subsurface, which meant…

You’ve gotta be kidding me. Dig a hole and crawl under it? What kind of cartoon logic is that?!

I glanced over at Tomoe and Shiki. Both of them were deep in thought, frowning seriously as they tried to work out a solution. Our brilliant tacticians, everyone. Peak intellectuals—completely missing the obvious.

The invincible barrier can be bypassed by basic landscaping. Unbelievable.

Should I tell Tomoe?

Nah. If I do, Aqua and Eris will definitely get torn apart later. Literally, if Tomoe’s the one delivering the punishment.

“Haaah.”

Fine. I’ll handle this myself.

If I sneaked inside and talked Eris into dispelling it from within, things should wrap up peacefully. Then she could lose sleep later trying to figure out how I got through her “invincible” barrier.

I teleported outside the barrier to a spot out of the audience’s line of sight. Then, silently, I started digging.

Three meters or so in, right where my Realm told me the gap was… Bingo. The barrier’s effect was completely cut off.

I carved out a U-shaped tunnel and slipped inside, erasing my tracks behind me. After a quick climb up the stone sphere, I was right in front of the barrier’s proud creators.

“Hey, Eris. I broke through.”

“Y-Y-Y-Y-Young Master?!”

“#%$&?!”

Aqua collapsed in shock, her legs giving out as she slumped back. Eris, on the other hand, pointed at me with both hands and started hopping up and down like a malfunctioning rabbit.

“Seriously, you two,” I said, letting out a sigh. “You put together something impressive in the most ridiculous way possible… and still manage to leave a huge hole in the middle of it.”

“No matter how ridiculously overpowered Young Master is—like, shaved-head-level unclassifiable creature—this was supposed to take hours! At the very least!” Eris shouted.

Um… I’m not bald. And I’m not some kind of cryptid either.

“Calm down,” I told her firmly. “Anyway, drop the barrier. Telling you exactly what’s wrong won’t help you improve, so figure out the flaw yourselves. Got it?”

“Eris, you fraud!” Aqua snapped, lunging forward. “What do you mean, ‘ultimate barrier’?!”

She grabbed her friend by the collar and started shaking her furiously, her voice rising in frustration.

“But Aqua, the barrier’s still up!” Eris protested, flailing in Aqua’s grip. “This has to be some dirty trick by Young Master! Look—it’s still frozen solid!”

“Ugh, damn it, I know that!” Aqua growled, her face contorting with fury. “But I danced… through that whole humiliating mess… with everything I had!”

I watched silently as Aqua rattled Eris back and forth like a sack of potatoes.

Not like I could blame her; I was with Aqua this time. One hundred percent.

Get a little shaken up, Eris. You earned it.

“Grrr… maybe we should’ve gone with the backup plan instead!” Eris wailed. “‘Running on Ice in High Heels’ or something?!”

That’s not a technique, I thought with an inward groan. That’s a circus act. Running across ice is just skating. If you wanted drama, running across water would’ve been better. Someone like Tomoe would probably do it without even blinking.

I shook my head and stepped in.

“All right, that’s enough,” I said firmly. “We’ve got more people waiting. Take the barrier down, now.”

A few moments later, the icy barrier dissipated. I stepped out with the two of them, and to my surprise, the crowd erupted into applause—probably thinking the whole thing was some planned magical performance.

Okay, I’ll admit that felt kinda good.

“I’m back,” I announced.

“Young Master, don’t tell me you were in on this?” Tomoe asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” I replied with a half-smile. “I just knew Shiki needed the sphere gone, so I moved things along.”

She let out a long, exasperated sigh. “You’re becoming more and more of an unidentified life form, Young Master.”

I gave her a glance and let the comment roll off me.

Life form? Seriously?

The exhibition matches had begun—and now, it was finally Shiki’s turn. After him, I was planning to show off one of my own magical applications as a surprise. It was still incomplete, but I wanted to hear everyone’s thoughts.

As Shiki turned his focus inward, he began chanting quietly. Tomoe folded her arms beside me, watching him with an amused gleam in her eye.

“It would seem he, too, has gone and found himself some new power,” she said, her tone light but curious. “Let’s see what he’s got.”

I nodded. I was just as interested. Shiki raised one hand and began deploying the spell he’d constructed.

“Come forth, Thirteenth Stair—Risritza.”

Tomoe’s eyes sharpened as the name echoed across the clearing. Her lips curved into a subtle grin, but the glint in her eyes was unmistakably predatory.

“Well now… Then she added under her breath, “So that’s what he’s been working on.”

Shiki’s next words rang out like a declaration rather than a chant.

“First to Fourth Step, release—Wand, Sword, Cup, Coin.”

In an instant, four rings manifested on his extended hand, slipping into place like they’d been waiting. His magical power surged—no, it exploded. Even his maximum mana capacity, something that wasn’t supposed to change with reinforcement spells, had begun rising. That made one thing crystal clear: This wasn’t some run-of-the-mill enhancement magic.

Then Shiki shifted his attention to the black staff in his other hand, speaking to it like it was a trusted partner.

“Unseal the sheath… reveal your true form, one worthy of my sixth self…

In response, the staff transformed. It twisted and stretched until it became an enormous great sword—a full-blown claymore, easily as tall as he was.

I frowned. So that’s the weapon he had the eldwar make for him. Did he use that black staff as a base and rework it into this form?

Tomoe let out a low, soft chuckle.

“So. He even had it imbued with anti-dragon properties. You’ve gone all-out, haven’t you, Shiki?”

“Anti-dragon, huh,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

“Without a doubt. That thing is a dragon slayer through and through. But rather than call it a holy sword or divine blade, I’d say it leans more toward a cursed weapon. Or a demon sword. Still… whether he can handle that thing is another matter.”

Yeah, no kidding.

If this was really anti-dragon, then maybe it was meant to counter someone like Luto or even Lancer. So, Shiki hasn’t given up after all…

Before I could think about it further, Shiki gave another command and slipped a fifth ring onto his finger.

The strike from his black great sword cleaved the massive stone sphere clean in half. A perfect score—no, beyond perfect.

If it had anti-dragon properties, that meant Shiki posed a real threat even to Tomoe… as long as he could land a hit.

Still, that attack… What the hell was that? How had someone like Shiki, a dyed-in-the-wool mage, managed to unleash a strike like that? That wasn’t a spell—it was a blow fit for a swordsman. A real one. And that sword technique… I felt like I’d seen it somewhere before.

Regardless of where it came from, it was one hell of a leap in growth. A roar of applause erupted around us, easily the most enthusiastic of the day, all for Shiki.

“Not bad, Shiki,” I called out.

“Hmph,” Tomoe muttered, narrowing her eyes. “Still can’t even touch my shadow. But… I’ll admit he’s improved.”

“Heh, so you noticed too.”

“Tch. It’s nothing. That sort of thing doesn’t matter. As long as it doesn’t hit, there’s no problem. Right? It’s that kind of move.”

“I know, I know,” I replied with a shrug. “I’m not saying he could actually land it on you. I just thought it was nice… the way you were looking at him. Like a big sister watching her little brother catch up.”

“Hmph.”

“Whether he’ll catch up or not doesn’t really matter. He’s chasing after you and Mio. And he’s closing in fast. That’s something to be proud of, isn’t it? You’re his goal.”

“Fine. If you insist.”

“All right then,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “Guess I’ll wrap this up.”

Tomoe blinked. “Wait, you’re going up? But the target’s already destroyed! And you didn’t mention anything about this!”

“I just did,” I called over my shoulder as I jogged toward the stage. “Call it a surprise.”

The stone sphere—the half that hadn’t been obliterated—still sat there, split clean through by Shiki’s strike.

I gave him a nod as I stepped up.

“Hey, Shiki. Nicely done. You’ll have to show me how you pulled off that sword move later.”

“Of course, that was my intention from the start,” Shiki replied calmly. “But what brings you here, Young Master?”

“After watching everyone show off their new techniques, I figured I’d try something myself.” I stepped closer to the remains of the stone sphere.

“You’re going to demonstrate something?”

“Yeah. It’s not dangerous, and it’s not really about raw firepower either, so don’t worry. If you want, you can watch from right here in the front row.”

“All right, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Everyone!” Tomoe’s voice rang out over the field. “Young Master is about to unveil a new technique! This will be the last act of the day. Savor it!”

With all eyes now on me—why not?

Let’s use the lower half of the rock sphere.

“This will be my first time doing this without a concealment field,” I said, raising my voice so everyone could hear. “But don’t worry. This isn’t some dangerous attack. I just found an interesting new way to apply magic.”

I deliberately downplayed it to lower their expectations before starting. Then I reached inward… and released my magic outward.

Instantly, I noticed the gorgons and the wingedfolk staring at me in stunned silence, expressions frozen in disbelief. Ah, right. They’ve never seen my magic, have they? I guess I’ve always kept it sealed away behind containment fields.

Shiki also noticed their reaction and gave a dry chuckle. Well, guess this counts as a double reveal.

Now… time for the main event.

I began the incantation aloud.

The moment the words left my mouth, I felt it—both the mana inside me and the magic I’d released outside responded as one. They surged with hunger, pulling at me, demanding more. Like they were trying to consume me to draw out even greater power.

To anyone watching, especially anyone unfamiliar with what I was doing, it probably looked like a wild, out-of-control mana overload. But I knew exactly what was happening. I was used to this by now. I calmly continued the chant, feeding the magic exactly what it asked for. It was going to take a few minutes to fully activate, but that was fine.

As the incantation reached its climax, I noticed Shiki’s face gradually turning pale.

Wait a second.

Why are you the one turning pale? I’m the one doing the chanting.

The magic gathering outside and the power surging from within had reached a level I rarely revealed. Deep, rich indigo-colored mana spread outward in waves, scattering wind around me. The air grew dense, thick with energy.

We were approaching the finale.

My body began to emit a faint glow—and then, with a heavy, muted thud, something materialized around me. It was subtle, but it carried undeniable weight.

Slime-kun was no more. I’d fixed its form into something vaguely human from the torso up—more like a torso buddy than a blob.

My own body was nestled in its core, somewhere around where the stomach would be. The head reached maybe two and a half meters high. The materialized part had shifted to a soft orange hue, radiating warmth more than intensity.

“Mana… materialized?” Shiki muttered, eyes wide. “No, before that—the sheer amount of mana spent to create it… and the density of that mana construct…

Mana construct… Good term, Shiki. I’ll take that.

“So yeah,” I said, addressing the crowd. “This thing’s called a mana construct. It’s an application of magic itself—it works like armor and boosts the power of my spells. The construct adds its own mana to whatever spell I cast.”

Silence.

Everyone was staring at me.

Dead silence.

The kind of awkward stillness that sinks into your chest like cold water.

Ow. That hit harder than I expected.

Sure, maybe it didn’t have the same impact as Shiki’s giant sword slicing through a boulder. I mean, I didn’t break anything. But still. Not even a polite clap?

Aren’t I supposed to be your king or something? The person you look up to? A little scattered applause wouldn’t kill anyone, right?

Even Mio, who had been predictably preoccupied with cooking, had stopped dead. Her eyes were locked on me, hands frozen with a knife hovering above an onion.

Shiki hadn’t said a word since naming the technique.

Tomoe’s mouth was hanging slightly open as she stared blankly at me and the construct. And the rest of the crowd? Some of them had… passed out?

What…?

Okay, I know the mana winds were a bit intense, but come on—this is me we’re talking about. You’re all used to seeing some weird stuff by now, right?

The gorgon matriarchs looked like they’d had a bit too much to drink and just collapsed at the knees. Several others were flat out on the ground.

Chief Kakun was the only one of the wingedfolk still standing, albeit barely. His entire body was trembling like a tuning fork, but he was managing to stay upright. The rest? Down for the count.

The orcs, lizardfolk, and dwarves weren’t doing much better—either unconscious or frozen in stunned silence.

Yeah… okay. I probably overdid it.

Guess the sheer amount of mana I released partway through was just too much. Then again, that’s kind of the point of this spell, so it can’t be helped.

Seeing this, I realized something—using the mana construct without concealing its effects with a Realm? Bad idea. Definitely don’t want to deploy this in a populated area again. The fallout would be even worse.

Great. Another issue to fix. Just what I needed. It never ends, does it?

“Ahem… So, uh, any thoughts?” I asked the crowd.

Tomoe croaked, “Wha—”

“Hm?” I turned toward her.

“Wha-Wha-What—”

“…

Then, in unison, both she and Shiki screamed, “What the hell was that?!!!”

Their sudden outburst cut through the silence like a blade.

Everyone else still conscious started nodding violently, like broken toys with busted neck joints, all of them agreeing without a single word.

Hey! That’s my line! What the hell was that?! I should be the one shouting it!

So, that was it. We started cleaning up while helping the poor folks who’d passed out. The various tribes slowly cleared out of the area.

On their way out, a few people paused beside me, curiosity overcoming caution as they tentatively reached out to poke at the mana construct’s surface, testing its strength.

It was… kind of heartbreaking.

※※※

The exhibition was over.

Dinner had come and gone, and now all I had left was a bit of archery practice and the drills Luto had taught me before heading to bed. And yet, I was still sulking.

Aqua and Eris—who had gone all in on their ridiculous performance—had been completely freaked out by my magic body demonstration. Their faces had gone pale. If either of them had brought up something like “running on ice” again, I was ready with a smart-ass Kansai-style retort: “If you’re gonna do it, do it on water!”

Yeah. No good. Sitting alone in my room at night was just making me feel worse. Damn it, I thought. Maybe I’ll ask Tomoe to run across some water to cheer me up. Actually… I kinda want to see that now.

Water. Running on water…

The moment the words crossed my mind, an image surfaced in my head—faint, foggy, but familiar. A tank of cloudy, milky-white water… a person in a lab coat running across the top…

“Oh crap. That white stuff!”

I shouted before I could stop myself, even though it was the middle of the night. But I’d finally figured it out—the quality I’d been trying to replicate in my magic body. The inspiration had just struck.

“Eris… you genius!” If she actually followed through next time and sprinted full speed across a sheet of ice—no matter how hard she wiped out—I’d give her a standing ovation.

I bolted out of my room and rushed to the academy library. That was it—it had been one of those science segments on TV. A weird experiment they did for fun. Digging through my own memories by flipping through books and recorded video was bizarre, yeah—but I didn’t care.

Come on, come on… When was it? I’ve seen this before…

It took me a while, but eventually, I found what I was looking for.

“There it is!”

A weird water-like substance that people could actually run across. It had made the rounds on variety shows. The ingredients were listed clearly: water… and cornstarch? About a one-to-one, apparently.

Seriously? That simple? It can’t… This has to be fake, right?

Fortunately, the materials were easy enough to get. Might as well try it out myself, I thought. Yeah, I know how it sounds. But if I don’t actually experience it firsthand, I won’t be able to picture it clearly enough for real use.

I wasted no time in heading to Rotsgard.

Despite the late hour, one of the merchants who supplied the academy still had his store open. I remembered him complaining once about how his cornstarch wasn’t selling. I bought out his entire stock.

Of course, the moment I told him how much I needed, the guy suddenly decided the price was up for negotiation.

Typical. It had been sitting there gathering dust because the price and quality didn’t match, but as soon as it looked profitable, he started playing hardball. Honestly, merchants can be a real pain… Not that I’m any better, technically speaking.

Still, I wasn’t there as a merchant. I was a spellcaster chasing a critical breakthrough. I didn’t care about the money.

Eventually, I got sick of haggling and dropped a figure that was twice the original price. That shut him up.

The streets of Rotsgard were relatively quiet, with most of the students gone for summer break. Still, the nightlife in the restaurant district was as lively as ever—this month, it was mostly tourists and students from other cities, visiting early for the upcoming academy festival. Every shop was packed.

So, there I was, hauling a handcart stacked with heavy bags of cornstarch through the crowd. Yeah… I stood out a bit.

When I finally made it back to the Kuzunoha Company store, I headed straight for the underground chamber. It was more of a covert ops room than anything business-related, but it was perfect for what I needed now.

Tucked into a corner of the room was a large tank; I filled it with water, then used magic to mix in the cornstarch at a perfect one-to-one ratio.

I didn’t even have to measure anything—just gave a vague command and magic did the work for me, precisely and instantly. Moments like this reminded me how incredible magic really was.

I wasn’t even questioning why there was a giant water tank in the secret basement of a trading company anymore. I’d seen weirder.

Nope. Not questioning it.

I stared into the milky white mixture now filling the tank. The surface looked thick, almost gelatinous.

“That’s pure white,” I muttered.

The ends of the tank stretched out in front of me, glowing faintly under the light. It was massive. Big enough to take up my entire field of vision.

This should work.

I stepped up onto the platform and slowly dipped my hand into the surface of the water. It felt exactly like liquid—no surprise there. I swirled it gently, and, yeah, it was still liquid. But there was definitely some resistance. Interesting.

All right, time to go for it.

Actually, I could just smack the surface hard with my palm and see what happens.

No, no, no!

I hadn’t bought this much cornstarch just to poke it with a stick. If I aimed to understand this properly, I needed to feel it. To experience it.

“All right, Makoto Misumi, let’s do this!”

With a deep breath, I stepped forward and sprinted straight onto the surface of the tank.

“Oh-Oh-Oh-Ohhh?!”

It worked! I felt it. Solid impact beneath the soles of my feet.

I ran straight across the entire tank from one end to the other, without falling in.

This stuff actually exists in the real world…

When struck hard, it became solid. When touched gently, it was fluid.

This is it. This is exactly what my mana construct needs to be.

I hadn’t hit my original goal of doubling my output yet, but this unexpected side benefit was a game-changer. A defensive shield I could deploy at will—durable, adaptable, and even usable in everyday life.

Outside of battle, it would stay soft and intangible, letting me shake hands or move freely. But once combat started, it would become an unbreakable wall.

When I wanted to launch attacks from inside, I could manipulate the shape of the mana construct to open up and release them—basically punching a hole through and firing from there. Granted, I would probably just be using my bow for that, so it wasn’t like I needed a wide opening.

Of course, that created a temporary weak point. But the whole point of this construct was to stay hidden. What they can’t see, they can’t exploit.

Even if someone did manage to figure it out mid-battle, I could always switch to pure spellcasting. I wouldn’t have to channel magic through my hands anymore—I could cast directly from the surface of the construct. No more exploding slimes.

It’s perfect. It's almost like this power was made for me.

Well, I did make it, so I guess that’s fair.

Now I just needed to condition the construct to adopt the properties of this white liquid—set it as a kind of “attribute.”

“If the base chant is structured like this, and I’m already manipulating its form like this… then to add the properties of this fluid, I’ll need to perceive them clearly and apply them like this…

By the time I looked up, morning had come.

No sunlight graced the underground chamber, of course, but the nighttime stillness of the shop above had been replaced with hurried footsteps and movement.

I hadn’t slept for a moment. But it didn’t matter. I felt completely energized.

I’d finally done it. A defense that could protect my life. A shield strong enough to guard all of the Demiplane.

Something I’d been quietly anxious about for so long had finally been resolved—in the most unexpected way possible. Now all that was left was to refine it, to increase its density and strength.

Yeah… with this, I can do it.

Maybe it was time to meet the wolf.

A being that, under normal circumstances, I should never have been able to encounter again. But now, I could.

With the mana construct shielding me, there was no need to restrain them just to keep myself safe. They could attack me as much as they wanted. All I wanted was to talk.

All right. Let’s head back to the Demiplane.

“Ah, Young Master,” came a familiar voice from the entrance to the underground chamber. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”

I turned and saw Eris—her eyes already locked on the white liquid in the large tank behind me, curiosity practically radiating from her.

“Morning, Eris,” I greeted.

Man, sometimes she’s all formal with me, and sometimes she talks like we’re best friends—she really does whatever she wants.

“Good morning to you. I must say, thank you ever so much for stealing the spotlight yesterday and then going ahead with your freakshow performance! We’re so grateful,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

“That was just a prototype, Eris,” I replied with a smile. “And thanks to you, I managed to finish it… more or less.”

She probably had no idea what she’d inspired, but I meant it. I really did owe my success to her.

“That was a prototype?! Are you kidding me?! No throwing bombs with that sweet smile of yours, okay?! And what the hell did you finish in just one night?!”

“Haha. I’ll send a big shipment of bananas to the forest ogres later as a thank-you in your name. Enjoy.”

“B-Bananas? A whole shipment?!”

“Don’t eat them all at once.”

“This… this must be what it feels like to win the lottery… What a miraculous windfall…

“Right? Anyway, I’m off.”

“By the way, Young Master. That white water filling the torture tank—what is it, exactly?”

Tch. I was trying not to think about what that tank was originally for, and she just casually outs it like it’s nothing…

“That’s magic water. Try hitting it hard. It’s fun. You can even run on top of it.”

“What is that, dilatancy?”

“Huh? No idea what that means. Anyway, take it easy.”

“Ah, Young Master! I’ve actually got a report about the students!”

Now wasn’t the time. I was ready. I needed to see the wolf. I raised a hand as I walked past her.

“Tell me later, okay?”

Still in high spirits, I left Rotsgard behind and returned once again to the Demiplane.

Chapter 4

Bringing Tomoe and Mio with me, I headed toward the forest where Agarest had reported the sighting.

Tomoe had sighed in disbelief—“You’re seriously just going to walk right in?”—but neither of them objected. They both came along with little protest.

On the way, I activated my mana construct. No one noticed. Even better, I could walk beside the two of them as if nothing had changed.

Yesterday’s modifications had worked as expected. It took everything I had not to throw my hands in the air and cheer. Just as we’d planned, I had them wait at the forest’s edge while I went in alone.

Honestly, I thought they’d argue more and try to tag along despite my insistence. But after seeing the construct yesterday, neither of them seemed especially worried. It was reassuring in a way, but… I couldn’t help feeling a little lonely.

I moved deeper into the forest, heading north as Agarest had described. According to his report, they hadn’t even made it that far in before something—a presence—had made itself known.

A wolf.

For now, I couldn’t sense anything.

If I stopped hiding the mana construct and redirected my Realm to search instead of conceal, I might be able to pick something up. But if the wolf was watching and sensed the change, it could vanish before I even knew it was there.

Agarest had written that he hadn’t been so much noticing the presence as being made to notice it.

I didn’t have his experience—not in battle, not in the forest. The warning signs might already be there, and I just wasn’t picking them up. That meant… that there was a real chance of getting jumped.

Just show yourself, I thought. Or come at me, if you have to. Once I see you, I can drop the concealment and shift the construct into full detection mode.

Until then, I kept moving one careful step at a time.

Then—

“Whoa.”

I stopped. Something had emerged, but it wasn’t a wolf. A thick, powerful shape stepped out from the shadows of the trees.

“A bear,” I muttered. “It’s really a bear. Hah…

In any normal forest, meeting one face-to-face was almost a death sentence. If it was hungry or protecting cubs, you were done for. Here in the Demiplane, they were even more dangerous—strong enough to knock a highland orc unconscious in a single blow.

For some reason, I didn’t feel scared. Not at all. The bear stepped forward, calm and slow. Not cautious. Not aggressive. Just… unbothered. Confident.

I held my ground and watched as it approached.

It came close—real close—and rose up on its hind legs, towering over me, its thick black fur soaking in the sunlight. Its breath hit my face, hot and humid. Staring at me was a pair of round, almost gentle eyes that didn’t match the beast’s reputation at all.

Then, I moved. Before it could even begin to react, I reached out and pressed my palm to its fur. And my breath caught in my chest.

This… this is incredible.

I’d never touched the fur of a living bear before. I mean, you don’t exactly get the chance to pet one at a zoo.

Could a bear’s fur really be this smooth? This soft? Or was this just how things were in the Demiplane? The sensation sent a chill of pleasure racing down my spine. It wasn’t just pleasant—it was addictive.

I remembered what Agarest had written in his report: “An exquisite coat like nothing I’ve ever felt. Almost entrancing.” No exaggeration there. In fact, I couldn’t even think of better words to describe it.

Suddenly, the bear let out a roar and reared up, raising one massive paw and baring its teeth. It took a huge step forward, clearly intending to knock me down and rip into my guts once I hit the ground.

I didn’t flinch.

“Pointless,” I said quietly.

With a thought, I expanded my magic armor—my mana body—until it enveloped the bear completely. Now the creature was trapped inside my spell. Every movement made with hostile intent, every attempt to attack, would be smothered by my mana before it even began.

What had been open air just moments ago now clung to the bear like a mire of invisible chains. It was submerged in something like a bottomless swamp, and it wasn’t getting out.

The best part? The level of restraint was completely under my control.

To be honest, I’d only hoped to slow it down a little. This was better than I’d expected. Mana body really is incredible.

The moment the bear stepped into my range, the fight was over. Caught in something it couldn’t understand, the beast thrashed wildly, trying to break free—but to anyone watching, it would’ve just looked like a bear trembling and convulsing in place.

Even so, the creature never tried to run.

Its eyes were locked on mine, still burning with the will to kill.

Then, the air shifted. Tension prickled at the edge of my senses. Everything fell silent—so silent that even the wind moving through the trees sounded distant.

“I know you’re there,” I called out softly. “Wolf.”

No response.

Only the sound of the wind through leaves and the labored breathing of the restrained bear.

“I’m guessing this bear is your companion. That’s why you’re nearby, right?” I kept my voice calm and level. “I’m not here to fight. I know I’ve broken the condition you gave Agarest. But I swear, I have no intention of harming you—or this forest.”

Still no answer.

Then, without warning, my mana body intercepted a strike aimed right at my neck. Left side. Fast.

Too fast.

By the time I turned to face it, there was no sign of anything at all—not even a blur. Just empty air.

So, this is the wolf…

It was exactly what I imagined. The speed. The precision. The silence. This was the creature I’d been hoping to meet. The one that felt less like a beast and more like a living mystery—the Nihon Okami, the Japanese wolf.

Then came a second strike. A third. Blow after blow landed against the mana body, none powerful enough to break through, but each filled with lethal intent.

For the first time, a thought forced its way to the front of my mind—

What if the mana body isn’t enough? What if it fails?

If the mana body broke, the bear would be free—and I’d be completely exposed in an instant.

So, I prepared for that possibility.

Making the mana body more durable would take time. Repetition. Training. It wasn’t at a level I could count on yet. But what I could do was queue up the incantation for a new one. That way, even if things went south, I could rebuild it almost immediately. Not ideal—but better than nothing.

The wolf’s relentless strikes continued like gusts of wind made of steel. I didn’t fight back.

Because soon—very soon—I would see a living, breathing wolf with my own eyes. And that thought alone made this worth it.

The bear had long since exhausted itself. It sat slumped onto its haunches, panting and looking for all the world like a worn-out plushie.

The wolf… the wolf’s attacks were still brutal. Every strike sent a shudder through my mana body. I could feel the structure starting to groan under the pressure. One or two more hits, and I might have to recast it.

“So, it’s pointless, huh…”

I’d just started preparing the chant again when a voice rang out—deep and commanding, heavy with presence and authority but directly in my mind. At the same moment, the assault stopped.

This wasn’t some disembodied thought. It was him. The wolf who’d been silently tearing through my defenses.

Now, finally, I saw them.

The underbrush rustled as several wolves emerged into the clearing, forming a loose semicircle in front of me.

I exhaled, stunned. So, there were multiple attackers.

The wolves stopped at equal distances from me, watching me silently. All but one—the one at the center. That one stepped forward, alone, and calmly approached me.

He’s the leader.

The creature was easily the size of a big guard dog, maybe larger. Its body looked lean at a glance, but it was honed, every muscle forged for survival. Its wide shoulders radiated raw strength, far beyond anything I could match.

Its face was sharp, severe—stripped of anything soft or gentle. Its eyes locked onto mine with a focus that made it clear: This was no pet, no trained animal. There was something ancient in its presence. Something untamed.

It’s just like I imagined…

Whether it was a true wolf or not didn’t matter anymore. The creature before me looked exactly like the wolf I’d dreamed of meeting.

The voice echoed in my mind again, deep and calm but edged with steel. “The powerful surge of mana yesterday—was that you as well?”

“If you’re talking about the one in the afternoon, yeah. That was us,” I replied.

“I see… I chose to overlook it, thinking you kept to your lands. But you… you appear to be one of the rulers of this world. If that’s the case, we can no longer ignore your presence.”

“Wait, no. That’s not right,” I said quickly. “We live here, sure—but we don’t want to rule anything. I promise, on behalf of everyone in the Demiplane, we’re not here to dominate or conquer.”

The wolf paused. “Yet you cut the forest, take its gifts. That is no different from plunder. Actions taken by the strong—by those who understand they are kings, whether they admit it or not.”

“I get where you’re coming from. And you’re right. We did that without asking. I’m sorry. I came here to say that face-to-face. No excuses.” I took a breath, then added, “From now on, no one from my side will enter the forest without permission. I give you my word. If something ever threatens your home—something we cause, or even something you just can’t handle alone—then come to us. We’ll help.”

“This place… if you call it the ‘Demiplane,’ then I’ll use your name. But do you understand what it means for the one standing at the top of the Demiplane’s hierarchy to make such an offer? You possess overwhelming power, and yet you choose to divide your territory with those weaker than you—and even offer to protect them?”

“It’s not protection,” I explained, shaking my head. “It’s coexistence. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—I don’t want to interfere with you more than necessary. I don’t want to make you pets or rule over you. I just want you to live in this forest, like you always have, guarding it like you’ve always done. I’ll never get in the way of that.”

“I still don’t understand. What do you gain from this? Tell me—what is your true purpose?”

“Gain?” I repeated, then gave a faint, bitter laugh. “More like the opposite. For me—no, for all of us—this is… atonement. A pathetic attempt at making amends for something we’ll never be able to make right. Just ego and hypocrisy dressed up as virtue.”

“…?”

“Ah—sorry. I don’t know how to explain it properly. But if you’re asking about my real reason—what I, Makoto Misumi, truly want—I can tell you.”

“Then tell me.”

“I want to be friends. With you, with this forest… and of course, with that bear too.”

That was it. No politics. No power plays. Just that.

I didn’t need a bond of blood or loyalty. Even if they only saw me as a distant acquaintance, if I could be accepted in that way, that would be enough.

The wolf’s stern eyes blinked. His expression faltered for a brief moment, his voice low with disbelief. “Your strength shook me. I was afraid. I was in awe. And now, you’ve left me even more stunned. Friendship? A king like you, with creatures like us? And yet, your words carry no falsehood. Not even a trace. Heh… hehehehe.”

He let out a stunned, breathless chuckle.

Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter.

“Gahahahaha! I suppose I have no choice but to laugh! Such is the way of wolves!”

Before I could respond, a second voice crashed into the conversation—loud, brash, and utterly uninvited.

My head snapped toward the source, and I froze. Standing there was a bear even bigger than the one I’d just subdued—twice the size, easily. Its presence radiated dominance, its bulk towering over everything else in the clearing.

What the hell is that? I blinked hard. A grizzly? No, even that doesn’t feel big enough. That thing must be over two meters tall, on all fours. And it must weigh, what… at least a ton?

“Uh… I muttered, not sure whether to prepare for battle or bow in reverence.

It let out a hearty, booming voice that echoed in my mind.

“Sorry for barging in like that! I was hoping to watch the head of this forest show off in a good fight for the first time in ages—but then I saw something way crazier.” He chuckled. “You treat our young like helpless cubs, then say you wanna be friends? You’re nuts. I like that. Seriously, you’re something else, pal. Call me Hii-chan—yeah, just Hii-chan’s fine. We’re friends now, right?”

“Hii-chan…” I echoed, staring in disbelief.

Don’t tell me it’s short for “Higuma.” There’s no way something with that cute of a nickname could be this monstrous. That thing wasn’t just some cuddly beast—it was pure, overwhelming power. If Agarest had taken a hit from this one, he might not have walked away.

“Very well,” the wolf said quietly. “Makoto Misumi, King of the Demiplane. I accept your goodwill and will call you a friend. However, I will take advantage of this arrangement, as you yourself proposed. This forest belongs to us. We will not submit to your rule. But for matters beyond the forest, we will acknowledge your kingship and hear your counsel. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes—yeah! Of course!” I answered, nodding vigorously.

“Strange. We just declared, quite selfishly, that we would accept your terms only on our own conditions… and yet you respond with a smile that nearly stretches off your face. Truly, the heart of a king is something a creature like me cannot hope to understand.”

“Aw, lighten up, Wolf,” the bear said with a hearty laugh. “He’s got a good vibe, this guy. A real interesting one. Ahem—now then.”

“Indeed,” the wolf replied.

The two great beasts turned to face me together, their presence just as overwhelming yet no longer threatening.

“Huh?” I blinked.

“We look forward to this, King,” they said in unison.

“And so do I!” I answered without hesitation.

Wolves and bears—two forces of nature—living just beyond the northern edge of the city I now called home. From this day forward, we were no longer strangers.

When I got back from the forest, I immediately gathered everyone and announced a new policy: Any exploration or activity in the wolves’ territory was strictly forbidden.

From now on, unless a specific reason and express permission were given, no one was allowed to enter that forest.

I also made sure the wolves understood—they had full authority to judge and punish any intruder who violated the rule under their law.

My first contact with the wolves ended in something awkward but real: a friendship.

From that moment on, the forest north of the Demiplane’s capital came to be known as the Forest of the Wolves, and for generations to come, it would be treated as a sanctuary.

※※※

“You gave in pretty easily, didn’t you? Calling him king like that, despite being the guardian of this forest.”

“…

“Even I’ve never seen speed or force like that. And your attacks—accurate, relentless. You could’ve kept fighting for much longer. So, why’d you stop?”

After Makoto left the forest, the wolf and the bear had moved deeper in, far beyond the clearing where their first meeting had taken place. In a secluded grove surrounded by towering trees, massive boulders were stacked naturally into a kind of throne. The wolf rested atop the highest rock. The bear sat comfortably halfway up.

They were talking about the human who wielded overwhelming strength yet spoke of coexistence. Makoto Misumi—the man who had thrown their expectations into chaos.

The wolf finally replied, “It’s true. I unleashed strength like never before against him.”

The bear nodded. “Yeah. Scared the hell outta me, to be honest. After seeing that, I’ve got no intention of challenging you again. I surrender. You’re the protector of this forest. No question.”

“That’s exactly why I stopped the fight,” the wolf said quietly. “And why I acknowledged him as king.”

“Huh?” The bear raised a brow. “Sure, I’ll admit he’s strong… but what do you mean?”

“I went at him with everything I had.”

“Right.”

“And during that fight, I felt it. My strength—rising. Not gradually, not naturally, but spiking, like it was being given to me.”

The bear narrowed his eyes. “Given…?”

“Every time I slashed at him with my claws. Every time I lunged toward him, baring my teeth. And every time that man met my attacks with that fearless smile of his… it felt like someone—something—was pouring strength into me. Feeding it to me.”

The bear fell silent, his expression shifting into something unusually serious. The wolf glanced down at him, mildly surprised.

“That power is still within me,” the wolf said, his voice low and steady. “As if it had always belonged to me. That’s why I accepted him. It sounds impossible, but I’m certain—when he acknowledged me, when he desired that I be strong… his power flowed into me. That means I am one of his people. A part of his world. And in that moment, the will to resist simply vanished.”

“You’re saying that… that power came from the king himself? That he gave it to you, right in the middle of battle?” The bear scoffed—but his voice lacked conviction. “That’s… absurd. Ridiculous, really. And yet…

He trailed off, staring up toward the sky as if trying to shake off the doubt creeping into his mind.

The wolf narrowed his eyes. “He may not even realize it himself. And perhaps he never will. But to me, that man was a king—one who rules not just this forest, but the plains, the mountains, the rivers. Everything. That’s what I saw.”

His words were quiet now. Almost self-mocking, as he compared his own existence as the forest’s guardian to the incomparable presence of Makoto Misumi—a true ruler.

“King of the entire world, huh?” the bear echoed, exhaling heavily. “Sounds more like… heaven, or a god, if you ask me.”

“Perhaps,” the wolf replied. “But for now, we’ve been allowed to live as we always have. That’s enough. If we’re meant to cross paths again, he’ll be the one to seek us out.”

“So that’s how it is. In that case… you think she’s going to start moving too?”

The wolf’s expression didn’t change, but there was a slight pause before he spoke. “The one in the sky?”

“Yeah. Ugh, I hate dealing with her,” the bear said, with a groan. “All that talk about law and order… She’s the worst. So uptight.”

“There are rules in the forest, and there are rules in the sky,” the wolf responded, glancing downward. “Our territories are separate. Let’s not risk what we can’t afford to lose. And don’t drag me into your squabbles again—especially not over something as pointless as persimmons.”

“Yeah, yeah. She gets the skies; we keep to the ground. I know the deal.” The bear leaned back against the rocks, sighing from exhaustion—and something older—resignation, maybe. After a brief silence, his expression darkened, as if remembering some old argument, a bitter taste that hadn’t left his mouth.

The wolf tilted his head up toward the sky. After a moment, the bear followed suit.

The sky was unchanged. No different than the day before.

The breeze brushing past their fur felt just the same.

Even after meeting someone they’d come to recognize as a true king… nothing in their world had changed. And somehow, that was comforting.

※※※

There’s a word in Japanese, kimamori.

It can be read a few different ways—kimamori, kimori, or kimaburi—but the meaning is the same. It refers to the tradition of leaving one or two pieces of fruit on a tree after harvest, hoping it will bear good fruit again the following year.

One of the most well-known examples is the kimamori kaki—the “guardian persimmon.” Since persimmons ripen in the fall, the custom is also tied to the idea of leaving some behind for the birds that struggle to find food in winter.

I’ve always liked the idea: Don’t take everything; leave a little behind.

In Japan, when foraging for wild vegetables, you’re taught not to harvest down to the root—if you do, the patch won’t grow back the next year. Matsutake mushrooms are the same. If you damage the base, they won’t return to that spot.

Back when I still lived in Japan, someone took me up into the mountains to gather wild food. Not knowing any better, I went ahead and picked everything I could find. I got scolded for it and taught about kimamori. I’ll always remember that day.

“Look,” I said, my voice firm but calm. “I get it—you really like them. That’s fine. But! If you find a persimmon tree, you shouldn’t strip it bare. That’s not right.”

“…

We were standing in a grove near the village, on a casual persimmon-picking trip. In front of me stood Tomoe and her tiny clone, Komoe.

Tomoe looked like she’d just been caught red-handed. Komoe bore the expression of a scolded puppy.

Ugh. This is the worst part—I hate getting angry.

Still, I had to say it. Otherwise, how could I expect the other residents—like the forest ogres and orcs—to follow our example?

“In Japan, there’s actually a phrase: kimamori kaki.”

“Kimamori kaki?” Komoe repeated, tilting her head curiously.

“Yeah. It means when autumn comes and a persimmon tree is heavy with fruit, you don’t pick it clean. You leave a few behind and pray for a good harvest next year. At the same time, it’s a way of sharing the blessing with the birds and animals.”

Tomoe folded her arms and nodded, her voice unusually reverent. “A most admirable tradition, indeed. The wisdom of Edo never ceases to impress.”

“No, not Edo,” I muttered, exasperated. “Just Japan. Why are you getting that specific?”

Seriously, Tomoe.

It hadn’t even been that long since we spoke with the wolves, and now I was bringing people out here to strip the trees bare? I’d look like an idiot.

“Just wait until the cultivation effort is properly up and running,” I told Tomoe and Komoe.

From what I’ve heard, the persimmon cultivation is going just fine so far.

Tomoe nodded with all the gravity of someone making a vow. “Very well. I am deeply moved by this teaching. Then, for this tree, we shall leave behind kimamori kaki! Komoe, do you understand?”

“Yes!!! I’m sorry, mas—Young Master!!!” Komoe shouted, head bowed in apology.

“Hold it! Were you two even listening to a word I said?!”

How had this become about saving just this tree? I was trying to tell them they’d already picked more than enough.

Tomoe pointed dramatically at the tree in question. “Young Master, just look at this tree. It’s clearly seen many seasons. The bounty it bears is rich and plentiful. And more than that—it’s an incredibly sweet persimmon!”

Komoe beamed, raising her hand like she was in school. “Yes, Tomoe-sama! I think this one’s the Fuyu variety!”

Fuyu persimmon, huh? That would make sense.

The persimmons back in Japan usually came from orchard rows or grew next to people’s homes. But this tree in front of us—thick trunk, sturdy branches, broad leaves, and oversized fruit—looked much more robust… like something you’d see on the grounds of a shrine.

Maybe persimmon trees just get like this when they’re old enough.

Anyway. We’re leaving this one alone. Even if you like something, there’s got to be a limit.

“Look, we’ve already picked more than enough. We’re not touching this tree, got it?”

Tomoe let out a low groan. “Ugh… You would say that.”

Komoe pouted, tugging at her sleeves. “But half of what we picked today turned out to be shibugaki, Young Master…

Right. The problem with persimmons—just because one was shaped like a tomato didn’t guarantee it was sweet. Pencil-shaped ones tended to be astringent, but it wasn’t a hard rule. In the end, you basically had to taste them to know.

I’d never heard of any persimmons being poisonous, so the quickest test was to just bite into one and hope for the best.

I remembered hearing that a persimmon’s ripeness affected how astringent it tasted. It was a deceptively complex fruit.

That made sense, though. Persimmons had been part of Japanese life for centuries, and with that came a deep well of knowledge about how to eat them. Back in the day, most people treated persimmons as something you had to make less astringent before eating. It was a bit of work, sure, but they were considered one of the best natural sweets of autumn.

There’s history in this fruit, I thought.

Personally, I preferred them when they still had a crisp bite. Tomoe preferred them when the flesh around the seeds started to soften and the whole fruit would melt in your mouth. Komoe, meanwhile, always carried a personal spoon and said it was best when the skin could be peeled back and the inside scooped out like jelly.

That’s… oddly refined of her.

As for dried persimmons, I found them too sweet. Tomoe and Komoe, on the other hand, loved them.

“But you picked them, right?” I said, turning to both of them. “So, you’re helping with the astringency removal. That includes you, Komoe-chan… and you too, Tomoe!”

“I love astringency removal!” Komoe chirped. “I’ll do it!”

“Fine,” Tomoe muttered, clearly reluctant.

She had clearly planned to leave all the work to someone else. Learn from Komoe-chan, seriously.

Still, the tree in front of us was impressive. Given its size and strength, it had to be important to the local wildlife, too.

Suddenly, Tomoe looked up. “Hm.”

“What’s up?” I asked, following her gaze.

The sunlight filtering down through the persimmon leaves had vanished all at once, leaving only darkness.

Something had blocked out the sky. As my eyes adjusted, I realized it wasn’t just a shadow. It was alive. A bird?

No. No way. It was too big.

I stared straight up. Only then did I grasp the full scale of what I was seeing. Something massive, with wings stretched wide enough to blot out the sun, hovered silently above us.

How the hell are we only now seeing something this huge?!

Tomoe’s voice broke the silence. “So, this kind of creature still lives here… A body like a dragon’s, vast and terrible. And not even a single wingbeat to stay in place. Such a being truly commands the sky.”

Her words carried awe, but her tone revealed something far darker…

Anger.

Komoe looked up as well, her face twisted in frustration.

“But,” Tomoe continued, “no matter who or what it is… to block Young Master’s sky like this, in the Demiplane no less, is a grave insult. This offense cannot be—”

Before she could finish, a voice rang out inside our heads.

“Wait, please. This form is meant to shield the king from rain—an expression of respect. The story of the kimamori kaki was fascinating. I’m glad I got to hear the thoughts of such a revered one. The wolves may have reached you first, but allow me to offer my greetings to the ruler of this world, albeit belatedly.”

“So, you call this an introduction?” Tomoe’s voice was sharp.

The fact that the giant bird had spoken didn’t surprise me—thanks to the power of Comprehension, I could grasp the meaning of many non-hyuman languages. But apparently, Tomoe could understand this one too.

At least she took her hand off her sword—that was a relief.

We’d been talking about the wolves, too… Maybe this bird was connected to them?

Still, unlike the wolves, who I would barely consider members of the animal kingdom, this bird clearly surpassed that threshold. Its sheer size put it far beyond any normal wild creature.

“That is correct,” the bird continued. “I shall come to you now.”

“You’re seriously coming down here?!” I blurted out.

“Worry not. I shall not trouble the king. But I thought it disrespectful to make my first appearance in a false form. That body was mine, yes, but I can also do this.”

Suddenly, light poured through the canopy.

The sky overhead was blue and cloudless, as if the massive shadow had been nothing but a dream.

“A shape-shifter,” Tomoe muttered. “So, it’s a phantasmal beast after all. Those wolves weren’t ordinary animals either… The Demiplane still hides so many mysteries. As expected of Young Master’s world.”

“My world?” I glanced at her, exasperated. “It’s your world too, isn’t it?”

“Then surely the Demiplane is our child, born of you and me,” she replied smugly. “That makes it Komoe’s older sister. Hah!”

Great. Just great, I sighed to myself. If Mio hears that, she’s going to flip her damn eyebrows again. “So now the world is our kid? What are you, the creator goddess?”

“My big sister is the Demiplane?” Komoe asked, tilting her head.

I quickly cut in. “Don’t take her seriously, Komoe-chan.”

“I will now speak in this form,” came the voice.

A small Java sparrow fluttered down and landed gently on the decaying trunk of a fallen tree. That tiny bird… that was the same being as the massive creature from before?

Instinctively, I could tell that the voice was coming from the sparrow. And once again, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the Comprehension ability that pest goddess had given me. It really was something else.

Lately, I’d even started picking up on the thoughts of non-magical beasts. Give it a few more months, and I’ll probably be having full conversations with trees. This is starting to feel less like translation and more like enlightenment.

“Ah—right. Nice to meet you,” I said aloud. “I’m Makoto Misumi. I live here in the Demiplane with everyone.”

“I am Iwatari,” the bird replied. “The one who governs the mountain ranges and the skies. I hope we’ll get along.”

“Iwatari, huh…

The name didn’t ring a bell. Maybe it was something from a myth? A lot of the native creatures in the Demiplane seemed to come from Japanese wildlife or ancient legend, but this one… I wasn’t sure.

Iwa, as in stone or rock. A rock bird?

Wait… wasn’t there something like that in a myth? A giant bird—Roc, I think it was called?

“I had considered waiting to be discovered naturally and offering my greetings then,” the bird continued calmly. “But since winged ones have recently visited this land, I deemed this a good opportunity and came forth.”

“You mean the wingedfolk?” I asked. “Is their presence a problem for you somehow, Iwatari—or should I say, Rock Bird-san?”

“No, there is no issue,” Iwatari replied. “However, as one who shares the skies, I would like to meet with them through your mediation sometime soon. Would that be acceptable?”

“Of course,” I replied with a nod. “I’m not very familiar with how things work up in the sky, so if there are any rules or customs they should know about, I’d appreciate it if you could teach them.”

“Understood,” he said. “Now then, I intend to serve as a subordinate under your kingship and monitor the skies based on the order you establish. Do you have any guidance to offer?”

Iwatari behaved genuinely like I’d been his king from the start. However, I was positive this was our first meeting. So why?

“There’s no need to change anything,” I replied cautiously. “Please continue living as you have. Although…

“Although?” the sparrow asked, tilting his tiny head. The contrast between his adorable appearance and the depth of his voice was kind of surreal.

“I’m pretty sure this is our first time meeting. So… why are you treating me as a king?”

Tomoe stayed silent, probably because Iwatari had shown no hostility. If things had taken a dangerous turn, I trusted she’d have stepped in. But her silence suggested this was going well.

“I see,” said Iwatari. “So, you have not yet realized it.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“In that case, there is nothing I can say. Some answers lose all meaning if they are given too easily. They are only worth something to you when grasped by your own hand. But if I were to say one thing… The bird’s tone grew heavy. “The wolves would never have withdrawn their fangs from you otherwise.”

“The wolves…

So, he knew about that incident too. This bird—he’s more connected than he lets on.

Tomoe brought a hand to her mouth thoughtfully. She didn’t speak but seemed deep in contemplation over Iwatari’s cryptic words.

There was one part I did understand. I’d learned something similar through kyudo—archery. Sometimes, being handed an answer meant nothing. What really mattered was the process: the trial, the effort, the missteps, and the moment you finally grasp the truth yourself.

Yeah… this probably isn’t something I need to chase down right now. At least, Iwatari didn’t seem to think it was.

“Anyway,” the bird continued, “you have permitted me to continue living as I have. I am grateful for that. However, there is one request I’d like to make of you. Will you hear it?”

“Huh? You have a request for me?” I asked, blinking. “I hope it’s something I can actually do…

“I do. Earlier, you mentioned the name ‘Rock Bird.’ May I have it for myself? I found it appealing.”

I let out a breath of relief. That’s it?

“Of course. If you like it, feel free to use it.”

“Much appreciated.” His voice carried a tone of satisfaction. “From now on, I shall go by the name Rock Bird. And for what it’s worth, I was deeply moved by the philosophy behind the kimamori kaki. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh—sure,” I replied with a nod.

The little Java sparrow launched into the air and disappeared beyond the treetops. As soon as it cleared the forest canopy, his body shifted, growing rapidly back into the massive, deep-blue form I’d seen before. He then soared off toward the distant mountains.

So, he heard that persimmon story too, huh?

I’d only meant it as a little lecture for Tomoe and Komoe, but if it resonated with someone like him, then… Well, that’s fine. I’ll take it.

“Feels like I’ve gained another follower, maybe?” I mused aloud.

Tomoe snorted, clearly not amused.

“A follower?” she echoed, her tone uncharacteristically sharp. “Surely you jest, Young Master. One who has not formed a proper contract cannot be called a follower. At best, he’s a vassal!”

“Whoa, what’s gotten into you?” I exclaimed.

“I am not angry. I merely believe the title of ‘follower’ should be reserved for those of us who have entered into formal contracts with you. Like me!”

I stared at her for a moment. “Ah. You’re jealous.”

“What?!”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” I said with a small smile. “That was careless of me. You, Mio, and Shiki—you’re the only ones I’ve ever entered into a Contract with. You’re my real followers. That hasn’t changed.”

Tomoe, Mio, and Shiki were already special to me—people I deeply trusted, cared for, and respected. Even if I’d started forming connections with the wolves, the bear, and now Rock Bird, none of them were followers. That was something entirely different.

“As long as you understand that,” Tomoe replied softly, looking away.

“I do. Very clearly,” I assured her. “All right, let’s head back. Komoe-chan, I’ll carry one of those baskets for you.”

“No, thank you!” Komoe replied immediately, straightening up. “I can carry them! I’ll do it!”

Before I could object, she had already loaded two baskets on her back and picked up the other two. With her whole body hidden behind the massive bundles, it looked like a walking pile of baskets was moving through the woods.

Well… if she says she’s fine, I won’t stop her. It wasn’t like we had to walk all the way home; we would be teleporting soon.

Once we got back, I planned to tell Shiki about Rock Bird and arrange an introduction with the wingedfolk. Rock Bird struck me as composed and thoughtful. If I could get a proper meeting set up in advance, I could probably avoid anyone freaking out the next time he decided to take his full form in the sky.

Still…

This world—the Demiplane—was full of mysteries.

Chapter 5

“A rematch?”

When I returned to Rotsgard, Eris was waiting for me—and she came with a report. Apparently, the students had cooked up a secret plan, and she’d been consulted about it beforehand.

“Yeah,” Eris said with a shrug. “Jin and his merry little crew want a rematch with that Lesser Dragon I took down. And they wanted to do it without telling you, Young Master.”

Right, Jin’s group had run into that thing while grinding for levels. If I remembered correctly, they got hit with a classic dragon roar—basically a standard stun skill—and the entire party ended up frozen in place, unable to recover.

In the end, Eris had to step in. She’d restrained the dragon by manipulating trees, then used the lake terrain to impale it with ice spears. A clean kill, from what I’d heard.

“So that’s why they’ve been sneaking around lately,” I muttered. “They think I’d get mad if I found out?”

“More like… they’re embarrassed to ask. It’s that awkward age—trying to act tough,” she replied with a smirk.

“I get wanting to grow, but that party includes the Rembrandt sisters, doesn’t it? If we’re sending them back out, I’d want you tagging along again…

“Young Master, about that—there’s something I should add,” Shiki interjected. He’d been listening quietly until now, but clearly couldn’t stay silent once it involved the students.

“Shiki? You too?”

“According to Lime,” he began, “since arranging training for the Rembrandt sisters in Tsige, he’s been keeping an eye on how they’re doing.”

Lime… you’re one step away from stalking them.

Still, even though the idea made me cringe, I knew his intentions weren’t romantic. It was guilt—he was trying to make amends. And that made it easier to overlook.

Still kind of creepy, though.

“So?” I asked.

Shiki nodded. “It seems both Shifu and Yuno have been working on a plan to take down that Lesser Dragon. Just the two of them.”

I groaned. “Oh no…

If their father heard about this, he’d probably pass out.

“It seems as if they’re trying to drag Jin and the others into it as well,” he continued. “According to Lime, they might go through with it even if no one else joins. Judging by what Eris said, though, it sounds like the whole group’s going.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” I muttered.

“Fledglings are such a handful,” Eris added with an exasperated sigh. “Still, they’re a lot easier on the heart than you, Young Master.”

She was really laying on the older-sister act now.

“Eris.” I shot her a sideways look. “You were the one who agreed to find that dragon for them without even blinking. You really think you can say that?”

She may have broken her promise to keep the plan secret from Shiki and me, but she’d still gone and found the Lesser Dragon’s location for them.

To be fair, Jin’s team had grown stronger since the last encounter. They’d taken the humiliation of their first defeat and turned it into fuel. I couldn’t deny their progress.

As for Yuno and Shifu Rembrandt… they probably hadn’t spent all their time training like the others, but they hadn’t exactly been slacking either.

I flipped open the report Shiki had given me.

“Wait, really?”

Shiki nodded again. “It’s true, Young Master.”

Lime’s reports had gotten a lot easier to read lately, too. He used to be all over the place, but now his writing was clean and concise enough that even I could get through it quickly.

According to him, Shifu, the older of the two sisters, had been training in the Wasteland under a female demon. She’d confirmed the woman had no connection to the Demon King’s army. With her guidance, Shifu had apparently learned how to simultaneously cast both spirit and elemental magic—and even fuse them into hybrid spells.

Her younger sister, Yuno, had taken a completely different path. She’d started learning unarmed combat from none other than Morris, the butler who worked for the Rembrandt household.

Morris knows martial arts? That’s news to me.

Now that I thought about it, that kind of fighting style really did suit Yuno’s approach—using her body like a weapon, while still being nimble enough to handle gear and tools. Having a trusted teacher right by her side… Yeah, that was ideal.

Shifu had apparently boosted her firepower even further. According to the report, she’d already learned several spells that went far beyond the level of a normal student. Honestly, she might already be way stronger than the other students.

Lime, man… you’re too talented. Now you’re finding people the perfect mentors too?

I rubbed my chin, processing everything. “Judging by Jin’s condition and Shifu and Yuno joining the group… if it’s the same kind of Lesser Dragon as last time, this’ll be a walk in the park.”

Based on the data, there wasn’t a single red flag. That Lesser Dragon didn’t have any more tricks up its sleeve. The breath attack was something Abelia had already studied in advance, and as for the roar? Well, they’d already experienced that one the hard way.

In other words, even if they just fought smart and didn’t let their guard down, this time would be different.

Shiki agreed. “Indeed. I don’t think they’ll lose. They might take some hits if they get sloppy, but nothing fatal.”

It all made sense. With the school festival coming up, they probably wanted to get even with the monster that had embarrassed them before. Classic youth. Jin had better make it count.

“All right,” I decided, “Let’s let them handle it. No need to assign Eris as backup this time.”

“Not so fast, Young Master,” Eris interjected, as if she’d been waiting for her cue. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Huh?” I frowned.

“Well,” she began, with a casual shrug, “the fledglings asked me to find the Lesser Dragon, so I did a quick search. Didn’t really try, just figured I’d dump the job on Shiki later, anyway. I mean, tracking lizards isn’t exactly my specialty.”

I gave her a long look. “Mm-hmm.”

“But then,” she continued, leaning forward, “I found them. Instantly. I nearly screamed. I hate reptiles, okay?”

Shiki raised an eyebrow. “That close? Again? Strange… Neither location is anywhere near their usual habitat. For it to happen twice, that can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

He was right to suspect that something was off. The dragons showing up in odd places wasn’t the only strange part, though. One other thing bothered me.

“Wait a sec, Eris. You said ‘them.’ Multiple?”

Eris nodded vigorously. “Yep. There were a bunch of them. Crammed together around the water like some gross lizard soup. It was disgusting.”

“Shiki,” I said, beckoning for a response.

“Not a coincidence,” he replied at once, his tone turning serious. “Two separate encounters, both far from their usual territory. And now, behavior inconsistent with their biology—they’re forming a group. Something is at play. With your permission, I’d like to begin an investigation.”

As always, he offered before I needed to ask. Still as dependable as ever. I couldn’t help but smile.

“All right, I’m counting on you for that, Shiki… And Eris,” I said, narrowing my eyes, “you didn’t go and tell Jin’s group the actual location of that watering hole, did you?”

If the target was a group, then this wouldn’t just be some easy rematch. It wouldn’t even be a fight—Jin’s group would be walking straight into a massacre.

Rembrandt would be devastated. And I really don’t want to see that.

“Of course not,” Eris said with a smug grin. “I handled it. They’re headed here.” She unfurled a map and pointed to a location.

I raised an eyebrow. “Here? There were Lesser Dragons in this area too?”

“Quite the opposite,” she replied, tapping the map. “There’s barely any life at all in this region. That’s why I figured it’d be a good spot to place one.”

“Eris,” I remarked, staring hard at her.

“Yes, Young Master?” she replied sweetly.

“Well done.”

“Right? I knew you’d say that.”

I had to admit—she was clever. Even if her expression was kind of infuriating.

It was a solid plan. Just separate a single Lesser Dragon from the group and teleport it over to the area she’d marked. That way, Jin’s party would never run into the main group. Shiki would investigate the reason for the horde’s appearance, and, as for separating one from the group…

“I’ll take care of it,” I said quietly.

“Whoa,” Eris breathed, raising an eyebrow.

“If you’d prefer to remain here, Young Master, I could handle the relocation during my investigation,” Shiki offered calmly.

Unlike Eris, who didn’t make any move to protest or offer help, Shiki actually volunteered to take over. That’s the difference between you two. Try taking some notes, Eris.

“No, it’s fine,” I replied. “I’ve been wanting to test the magic body again anyway.”

“No mercy for lizards,” Eris muttered.

I nodded. “Exactly.”

They both understood my intentions. I didn’t want this Lesser Dragon getting away, and I wasn’t planning to go easy on it.

“When are Jin and the others leaving?” I asked.

“Most likely tomorrow,” Eris said. “I offered to help them with the teleport, but I told them I didn’t want to do it at night because it’s bad for my skin.”

“Right,” I sighed.

Your skin… Unbelievable.

“Then, Young Master, I’ll begin my investigation now,” Shiki said, already standing.

“Got it. I’ll go check out the watering hole too. All right, dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Shiki replied firmly.

“I’ll be turning in early,” Eris added, already stretching as she headed off. “I’ve gotta be up early tomorrow—and, y’know, skincare.”

Yeah, yeah. I waved her off. Always with the skin.

※※※

“These traces… Don’t tell me this is the artifact I’ve heard about?”

In the forest beyond the lake where Jin and his party had once ventured, Shiki began his investigation, starting from the lake’s edge and expanding outward. A few kilometers from the lake, he sensed a strange, magical presence—along with a large amount of dried blood.

“To summon dragons. To offer blood. There’s only one thing in the world that fits both conditions.”

He knew exactly what it was—an infamous artifact spoken of in countless legends: the Dragon Horde Scepter. It was a relic passed down through the now-ruined kingdom of Elysion, a sacred national treasure said to have once safeguarded the land.

“But that scepter… should’ve been lost with Elysion’s fall. According to my research, the demons may have retrieved it… No, don’t tell me—”

One name came to mind immediately: Rona.

A demon who had only recently contacted Makoto. She was one of those utterly loyal to the Demon King—not to any kingdom or army, only to the man himself. Ruthless and shrewd, Rona lived by the principle that the end justified any means.

Every image of her that surfaced in Shiki’s mind was soaked in suspicion.

If Rona had the Dragon Horde Scepter, she would absolutely use it. And she’d secure the necessary sacrifices without so much as blinking. Shiki was certain of that.

Still… this didn’t feel like her.

Her actions had always been calculated. But this—summoning dragons in such a careless, erratic manner—lacked her usual logic. Her intent was unreadable.

“Young Master, if I may?” Shiki reached out through his telepathic link.

“You found something, Shiki?”

“Yes. There’s one thing I’d like to check with you. Near the watering hole you’re currently investigating, is there—”

He didn’t even need to finish. Makoto confirmed it: The same kind of magical trace was present on his end. That was all Shiki needed to know.

The situation had become clear. Dragons had been summoned using the Dragon Horde Scepter, and to activate it, hyuman—or humanoid—sacrifices had been obtained. Twice. That level of sacrifice couldn’t be gathered easily. Someone had gone to great lengths to obtain them.

“Only someone as reckless as Rona would dare such a thing… but this is too inefficient, even for her. Perhaps it’s time to consider another suspect.”

Despite the late hour, Shiki pressed on. He wouldn’t rest now, not when there was a trail to follow. Even the most well-hidden activation of magic left behind traces. And with something like the Dragon Horde Scepter, it wasn’t just traces—it left everything. The time of use, the number of people present, the specific spells cast, and even details about the sacrifices.

For someone with Shiki’s investigative prowess, those clues might as well be glaring neon signs. Magic couldn’t hide from him.

Following the trail and cross-referencing notes with Makoto, Shiki homed in on his target.

By the time Jin and his group reached the Wasteland where their prey supposedly awaited, Shiki was already breathing down the necks of the real culprits.

Let’s see what kind of fools I’m about to meet… Young Master should be getting started around now too, he thought.

He was halfway up a dangerous mountain range now, trekking along a narrow pass. A small, unassuming cave opened ahead of him. Without the slightest hesitation, Shiki stepped forward into the unknown.

※※※

“Morning, Young Master. ’Sup?”

The casual voice echoing through my mind marked the start of the operation. The night had passed as I kept watch at the watering hole, monitoring the Lesser Dragons’ movements and looking for anything suspicious.

“Good morning, Eris,” I greeted her. “Are we on schedule?”

“Bingo! Jin and the others will be teleporting in any minute now. I’m going back to sleep after this—tonight I’ve got a meeting with the Merchant Guild bigwigs.”

“That Merchant Guild thing? Don’t you have the option to skip those? They barely apply to us. Or are they serving good food or something?”

“Well, I figured I should show my face, just in case. Aqua convinced me to go if you weren’t attending. Anyway, nightcap equipped. Sleep mode activated. Over and out.”

I had already let the guild know I probably wouldn’t be at their meetings, what with the whole part-time instructor job eating my time. Even so, Aqua and Eris were generally overprotective. As for the merchant meetings themselves? A glorified roundtable of gossiping vendors—nothing useful for the Kuzunoha Company.

Let’s be real. There’s probably a dessert buffet or something drawing her in.

Still, that was beside the point. If I didn’t do something about these Lesser Dragons before they started attacking nearby villages, things would spiral fast. Judging by their erratic behavior, they didn’t seem to be acting of their own free will. Their instincts should’ve had them operating solo. But here they were—clustered, agitated, seemingly bound by some unseen magical force.

Just what was being restricted? What was left to their will? Even after a night of observation, I couldn’t tell.

No point in waiting any longer.

I scanned the group and picked one of the more aggressive-looking Lesser Dragons. Then, without delay, I summoned a mist gate beneath its feet. The beast barely had time to flinch before it vanished, shoved through a portal that connected directly to the plains where Jin and his group were scouting. They’d been methodical in their search, so it wouldn’t take long for them to spot it and engage.

While that Lesser Dragon was mid-teleportation, I launched myself into the air. My foot struck the ground hard, channeling magic into the space beneath it. That burst of energy materialized into a foothold in the air. Another jump. Higher this time. It was crude, but it worked—no wind spells required.

Well, I guess if you don’t want to call it flight, you can call it innovation. Both Tomoe and the wingedfolk had told me—very seriously, in fact—that this wasn’t flight. “That is merely repeated leaping, Young Master. Please stop calling it flying.”

It’s the same thing! I’d protested. I’m in the air; I’m moving. What more do you want?

Did it sting a little? Yeah, just a bit. But, hey, moments like that were just part of my summer.

Smiling to myself at the memory, I fixed my eyes forward and dove headfirst into the nest of Lesser Dragons still clustered around the watering hole.

I kept my mana construct concealed with Realm, just in case Jin and the others noticed something—and more importantly, to avoid spooking the Lesser Dragons. The last thing I needed was a full-blown stampede.

“Nothing personal,” I muttered quietly. “You just had the bad luck of being the first ones we found. Sorry.”

As I spoke, I formed the upper half of a humanoid torso with the mana construct and cloaked myself in it. Then, with a punch from the invisible arm, I struck. My fist sank straight through the Lesser Dragon’s scales and through its hide with ease. The beast collapsed instantly, killed in one blow.

Looks like the construct’s strength has really come a long way. As its defensive properties improved, its offensive power scaled up too. That synergy was making things a lot easier.

Right now, I’m hard as hell. Literally.

There were still around fifty Lesser Dragons left.

At this pace, it’d take me maybe two minutes to finish off the rest. Unless they started scattering, I’d avoid using spells and focus solely on mastering control over the mana construct.

Spell testing had its place, sure—but this was a better opportunity to practice close-quarters combat, manipulation, and reactive shaping. If I could wield it smoothly and naturally under real combat pressure, then I’d have taken another step forward in mastering it.

I dodged, blocked, reshaped the form mid-motion—maintaining a humanoid upper body but experimenting with flexibility. The Lesser Dragons roared constantly, but the noise was just that—noise. No physical side effects; nothing to worry about.

A few of them unleashed breath attacks in unison, but the flames dispersed against the surface of the construct. Not even heat made it through.

In return, I shattered claws with invisible fists. I crushed fangs, broke limbs, and rammed strikes into vitals. Blow by blow, I worked through the crowd, pouring all my focus into moving exactly how I wanted. No waste. No lag. Pure precision.

Their massive frames took longer to deal with than I’d hoped, so progress was a little slow. Bit by bit, though, the swarm thinned.

Eventually, I spotted one Lesser Dragon that had been more cautious than the rest, slipping back, observing, trying to avoid my attacks while reading my movements. Its behavior marked it as the likely leader. I hunted it down and took it out.

Not long after, the last Lesser Dragon fell.

Since they had “dragon” in their name, they were still valuable. Their entire bodies were essentially walking stockpiles of useful materials.

I made an effort to avoid smashing their bodies outright, focusing instead on lethal strikes to the vitals. That meant I’d be able to salvage some of them. Probably not good enough for use in the Demiplane. But in places like Tsige? There’d be demand.

As for the organs, they were too close to the vital zones I’d been targeting, and the damage was too significant. I’d have to pass on those. So, I focused on collecting the more durable parts: claws, fangs, horns, scales, and even the eyes.

Time for the cleanup phase. Disassembly mode engaged.

Jin’s team?

I used magic to check in on them, and sure enough, they were laying into the Lesser Dragon with a coordinated barrage. Looked like Jin had really gotten the hang of dual-wielding. Daena, too—his body was handling stacked enhancement spells a lot better now. And Shifu… Wow. She was prepping one hell of a spell. Everyone had leveled up, no question about it. They’d each broken through a wall.

Not bad at all, you guys. Looks like I don’t need to worry about you anymore.

With the material collection just about wrapped up, all that remained was Mio’s little request.

She’d told me she wanted to study how dragon meat matured over time—something about aging stages. I knew from experience that reptiles could taste pretty decent if processed properly, so maybe dragons weren’t an exception.

Is Mio thinking about dry aging or something like that?

I remembered hearing, to my surprise, that fresh-killed meat isn’t actually ideal for cooking. Being Japanese, I’d always had it in my head that fresh equals best. Same logic as sashimi, you know?

But apparently, even fish improve if left to rest for a couple of days. The umami deepens or something.

So, per Mio’s instructions, I gathered the corpses of the Lesser Dragons, surrounded them in mist, and opened a mist gate to the Demiplane to send them through. The blood draining and further processing would be handled over there. She just wanted them delivered intact.

Dragon steak, I thought, smiling a little. What a mouth-watering name.

Though… with Tomoe around, maybe I should call it Lesser Dragon steak to avoid any offense.

The other materials I collected—there were a lot of them, actually—I considered sending to Rotsgard but… No, better to ship them off to Tsige.

Dumping a huge supply in Rotsgard would oversaturate the market, lowering the price of the materials from the dragon Jin’s group hunted. And that would just be unfair to them.

This was their reward; I figured I’d let them get paid for it properly.

I stretched out, working the stiffness out of my limbs. One more job done.

“Man… putting the mana construct to use in actual combat helped a lot. I’m starting to get a real feel for it. At this rate, I’ll probably have full control by the time the academy festival rolls around.”

I paused, letting the breeze wash over me.

“Not that I have anyone to show off to.”

I figured their battle had probably wrapped up by now, so I used another detection spell to check on them. Just in time—they’d brought the Lesser Dragon down. Everyone was putting away their weapons and congratulating each other.

Yeah, that thing’s not even close to intact.

I’m guessing Shifu’s big spell landed the finishing blow.

At least they’d managed to salvage a few usable materials. I knew they would win, but seeing them all safe and in high spirits brought a genuine wave of relief.

Yuno, still clearly riding the high from battle, was the first to speak.

“Ah, right! Izumo-kun, that spell you used earlier gave me an idea!”

“That spell? You mean Aerial?” Izumo asked, blinking.

“Yes, that! So, listen, listen—”

“H-Hey, Yuno, personal space—uh, huh… Oh. Huh, that’s actually… yeah, that sounds pretty cool,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Right? When you have time, let’s practice together! You’ll help me, won’t you?”

Izumo nodded. “Sure. I’m in.”

“Yay! He said yes! Oh, Daena-senpai! About that move you used mid-fight to circle the Lesser Dragon—”

“Oh, that? Yeah, okay, so what I did was…

Yuno still had energy to burn. She was practically bouncing between her teammates as they headed back, forcing conversation out of everyone. Even Shifu and Abelia were caught up in the afterglow, exchanging praise over their combat techniques.

“Shifu, what the hell was that firepower at the end?!” Abelia exclaimed. “How much did you power up in Tsige? That wasn’t magic anymore—that was a damn war crime!”

“Actually, my firepower can go even higher now,” Shifu declared with a bright smile. “I’ve awakened, you see. And I have a new motto: Strike first. Strike hard. Never get hit.”

Abelia groaned. “Ugh… I’m starting to feel like I can’t win with spells anymore. Maybe I should just switch careers and become a proper archer.”

“Well, you’re a great shot; I think you could totally pull it off. You’d be training under Raidou-sensei then, right?” Shifu replied, her tone playful.

Huh? Did she just say my name?

Sure, I had trained with a bow, but my style and Abelia’s were totally different. I wasn’t sure she’d actually benefit from it.

“Y-Yeah, no thanks,” Abelia replied quickly, crossing her arms. “There’s no way I’m cutting down my lessons with Shiki-san. I’ll stay a mage, thank you very much.”

Wow, I winced. That… stings.

Forget the Lesser Dragon. That was a direct hit. Pierced clean through the mana construct. Critical emotional damage.

The whole group was clearly elated—they’d crushed the dragon and come out stronger. Well… everyone except Mithra. He was trailing behind the others, looking subdued.

“All right, all right! Wrap it up—Mithra looks like he’s about to cry,” Jin called out over his shoulder, waving the group onward. “Save the feedback for the full review tonight!”

That seemed like a good time to stop eavesdropping. I released the detection spell and let the connection fade.

So that’s the end of summer break, huh.

The students would return satisfied, just in time for the festival. And me? I’d gained a brand-new ability—my mana construct.

Here’s hoping the rest of the semester is peaceful. The first half was chaos enough.

With that, I turned and headed for home.

※※※

“Resistance… huh,” Shiki muttered to himself, crouching beside the lifeless bodies scattered across the cave floor. He’d just confirmed the affiliation of the dead—and with that, half of his earlier prediction had come true. It might not have been Rona herself holed up in this cave, but it was definitely demons. More importantly, demons who rejected the authority of the Demon King.

The Dragon Horde Scepter, the key object of concern, was no longer there. It had already been taken into demon territory.

“The current Demon King is said to be a capable ruler… but there are still enough dissenters to form factions against him.”

Shiki’s voice was low, barely above the volume of thought. He stood in the silence that followed, the only living presence in that cold, dark cave. Based on what he had gathered, this entire incident was likely the result of internal conflict within demon territory. He had managed to extract as much intel as possible before finishing off the last of the resisters, but they had only been bottom-tier grunts. Aside from admitting they were testing a divine artifact, they knew nothing of real substance.

That meant… the trail ended here.

“An anti-Demon King faction, huh… What should I even report to Young Master?”

That was what gave him the biggest headache.

Makoto held no real hostility toward the demons. If Shiki were to report this as a reckless scheme by radicals who opposed the Demon King, there was a very real chance Makoto’s opinion of the Demon King would actually improve. And if that led him to initiate contact with the Demon King directly…

That kind of influence… is too dangerous right now. Shiki frowned, fingers pressing against his temple.

“More than anything, this is exactly what Rona would want.”

Makoto already leaned toward favoring the demons over the hyumans. If he were told about this now, he might shift even further. Rona was trying to connect Makoto to the Demon King.

Now isn’t the time. Young Master isn’t ready for that kind of charisma yet. He’d be influenced too easily…

It would happen eventually; Shiki knew that. As a follower, he was prepared to accept whatever side his master chose. But even so…

Before that day comes, I want him to grow. To know himself. To face the world, gather experiences, and reach his decisions on his own—not because someone nudged him toward them.

It was a lot to ask for.

Shiki wasn’t the only one who thought that way. Tomoe and Mio were also serious about Makoto, each in their own way.

Silence pressed in on the cave. The lifeless stillness felt absolute, as though it had swallowed up even time itself. The conclusion Shiki came to that day—he made it alone, without hesitation.

The following day, Shiki submitted his report to Makoto. It was brief and deliberately vague: The caster of the spell had died, making pursuit impossible. The Lesser Dragon anomaly must have been due to someone testing a summoning-type item.

That was it. No mention of internal demon politics. No names. No factions. Shiki would leave all of that in the cave. Summer ended, and autumn crept into the halls of the Academy.

It would be a season of change—for the Kuzunoha Company, for Makoto, and for the world around them.

THE ACADEMY CITY

THE ACADEMY CITY

Rotsgard—the city where top students from around the world gathered.

Known as the Academy City or the City of Learning, Rotsgard was filled with energy in every season. According to a recently arrived merchant named Raidou, the city’s vibrancy was fundamentally different from the raw ambition and greed swirling through places like the frontier city of Tsige. This was more like the buzz of a modern metropolis.

It wasn’t just students and teachers—researchers and scholars, too, filled the streets. And, naturally, merchants who saw them all as customers followed. Many of the students came from wealthy families, and the city’s layout reflected that. Here, there was no sign of conflict, no lingering fear of invasion or war with the demon races.

With ample resources and strict public order, Rotsgard enjoyed a very real peace. The people lived without fear.

Still, even Rotsgard had its quieter seasons. For example, now, during summer vacation.

Most of the students lived in dorms, with only a handful choosing to rent housing. Very few were locals, and during break, the majority returned home. As a result, some shops closed for the season, and the city became just a little less convenient, a little quieter.

At the same time, some unfamiliar faces began to appear.

In fact, the meaning of “Rotsgard” shifted slightly depending on whether it was used by locals or outsiders.

Among outsiders, Rotsgard referred not only to the central Academy City but also to the surrounding satellite towns. Each of those towns housed branch campuses, specialized schools that were part of the larger Rotsgard system, though their students were separate from those who attended the main campus.

Locals, however, used the name Rotsgard to mean only one thing—the Central Rotsgard Academy itself.

The branch campuses in the satellite cities, while still prestigious and attended by capable students from across the world, were nonetheless considered a tier below the central academy. Naturally, the towns built around these branch campuses were also much smaller in scale, nowhere near what the main campus had grown into.

Students who achieved exceptional results at their branch campuses were periodically selected for evaluation and considered for “promotion” to the main campus. Conversely, students at the main campus who underperformed were often “demoted” to a branch school more aligned with whatever subjects they showed competence in.

Thanks to that system, a rift had formed. Main campus students tended to look down on those from the branches, while branch students viewed the main campus with a mix of envy and resentment.

“Learn well. Understand your strengths. Refine them to their fullest.”

That had been the founding vision of the individual who first proposed the Rotsgard Academy City system and served as its original headmaster. But over time, the actual dynamic had strayed far from that ideal.

Even so, during long breaks like summer or winter, when the number of main campus students dwindled, students from the branches would begin to appear.

Their reason was simple: lectures.

Many of these lectures were hosted by temporary instructors who rented space at the academy to conduct special classes. Sometimes the content matched what would be taught to main campus students; other times it varied. Regardless, it gave branch students a rare chance to participate in main campus-style lectures, even if they weren’t enrolled there.

Regular instructors’ salaries were guaranteed, including during breaks. Temporary instructors, however, were more like freelancers; they only got paid if they taught, and the more students that attended, the more they earned.

There was nothing wrong with taking time off during the break, but choosing not to hold lectures meant earning nothing. Some instructors even paid out of pocket to run sessions, betting they’d attract enough students to at least break even or hopefully turn a profit. Whenever word spread that a main campus lecture aligned with their interests or field of study, branch students would eagerly flock to it. They were desperate to stand out, to get even a little closer to being promoted.

Again, considering the academy’s structure, it made perfect sense.

“All right, feeling a little sluggish, but otherwise good to go! How’s everyone else doing?”

Near the northern gate of Rotsgard’s main campus, a group of seven students was gathered off to the side of a neatly paved stone road, checking their equipment. From the uniform peeking out beneath their armor, it was clear they were main campus students. In fact, they didn’t resemble students so much as adventurers heading out on a monster hunt, fully equipped as they were with weapons, armor, and even large backpacks suited for camping.

Such a sight was extremely rare for this time of year.

“The teleportation permit’s here, overnight stay permit’s here, and then… map of the lake area, and the checklist for personal gear…

Next to the young man who was talking, a girl flipped quickly through a stack of papers, confirming them one by one.

No one responded to his earlier question about how they were holding up.

“Uh, hey, Abelia-san?” the young man called again, impatience creeping into his voice.

The girl beside him was clearly too busy with her checklist to acknowledge him.

“Don’t ask me again, Jin. Just give me a minute,” she muttered, not looking up.

A short distance away stood two sisters. Unlike the others, they didn’t seem tense about the mission ahead. Instead, they were casually checking the contents of their pouches, chatting as if prepping for a day trip.

“Hey, sis, which one’s the sunscreen, and which is the makeup?”

“Yuno, seriously? You’re planning to just borrow mine again, aren’t you?”

“Busted! I mean… it’s hot, we’ll be sweating… I just don’t wanna deal with it.”

“Would you say that in front of mom?”

“Absolutely not. No way.”

“Then take this seriously. You know how strict she is to make up for how soft dad is.”

“Yeees.”

The two sisters stood out starkly from their five companions. Their gear was on an entirely different level. Weapons and armor—each piece looked like something you’d see on a mid-level professional adventurer, not a student.

Adventurers didn’t skimp on equipment. Or, at least, those who did usually didn’t last long. Each piece of the sort of equipment that was favored by seasoned adventurers could easily cost enough to buy a house.

With that in mind, the sisters were walking fortunes. Even by a conservative estimate, their combined gear was worth several homes. The fact that one of them was a magic-user—known for needing especially costly equipment—only drove the value up further. This pair clearly came from considerable wealth.

Across from them, a sturdy, broad-shouldered young man turned to the slender youth beside him.

“Hey, Daena. Your wife and kid okay while you’re gone?”

“I-I teleported them home. It cost a bit, but it’s fine. No problem,” Daena replied, forcing a confident tone.

Another student—smaller, boyish in appearance—slipped into the conversation with a knowing look.

“Are you sure it isn’t your wallet that’s not okay?”

“Don’t say it, Izumo… Daena groaned, his smile twitching with pain.

Despite his body’s leaner build, Daena was anything but weak—well-trained muscle showed through the gaps in his gear. But it wasn’t his body that was hurting. It was his financial situation; that strained smile said it all.

If he really had used a teleportation circle to send his family back home, that wasn’t surprising. That kind of travel costs a small fortune.

Daena’s equipment was much more modest than the sisters’. And if his financial situation matched his appearance… then yeah, he’d definitely gone all-in to make it happen.

“The night I got caught talking to Yuno… that was when I accidentally brought up the whole leveling trip without thinking,” Daena said.

“We’re in the same party, you know. You could’ve just explained it properly to your wife,” said the younger sister, looking exasperated.

“Yeah, why would something that small end with her teleporting home? That’s extreme.”

“You don’t get it, Mithra… Daena muttered, gazing off into the distance. “With affairs, it doesn’t matter if you’re guilty or not. The moment she thinks you are, you’re already dead.”

Daena, the only married man in the group, also happened to be the only one in a relationship. Unfortunately, his advice rarely held weight with the others—in fact, most of his experiences served better as cautionary tales than examples to follow.

“Well… to be fair, you do have a record,” Mithra added dryly.

“Seriously,” Izumo chimed in with a smirk. “Maybe hold off on having a second or third kid while we’re still in school? You keep this up, and one of your wives is going to start running your life for you.”

Polygamy existed in this world, but cheating was still very much taboo. Taking on a second wife through formal channels was one thing—messing around without commitment was something else entirely.

“I’m not like Mithra, chasing girls until they get bored and dump him—or like you, Izumo, playing the cold, manipulative type just to have fun,” Daena shot back with a glare.

“Look, I actually do admire how loyal you are,” Mithra said with a shrug. “Hey, Izumo. I’ve got room left in my pack. Hand yours over for now.”

“We’re students, Daena. What’s wrong with having a little fun now and then?” Izumo replied, waving him off. “And don’t worry—I can handle my own bag. It weighs half of yours anyway.”

“Hey! You idiots!” Jin’s voice rang out again, sharper this time. He scanned the group with mild irritation. “I asked how everyone was doing! Health check, gear check! Are we good to go or what?”

“All good!” came six voices in perfect unison.

“O-Oh. Okay.” Jin blinked, slightly thrown by how quickly they’d answered this time. “Then let’s move. This is our first time heading out with a full party. We’re going to follow the route Shiki-san suggested. He mapped it out during dinner last night, and if he says it’s a challenge, you’d better believe it’s gonna be rough. So, stay sharp.”

Everyone nodded. No objections. No jokes.

They were here for one reason: to level up.

At Rotsgard Academy, it wasn’t unusual for students to obtain permission for overnight trips and then leave the city for combat training. After all, developing battle skills was part of the curriculum there.

That said, such excursions were typically supervised by instructors. A student-organized outing, complete with heavy equipment for camping and combat, was relatively rare.

Abelia looked up from the paperwork she’d been double-checking, addressing the group with the calm, reasonable air of a responsible class rep. “We’ll follow the schedule Shiki-san laid out for us,” she said. “Our main goal might be leveling, but this is also a chance to get proper camping experience. Let’s treat it like any other lecture from Raidou-sensei and stay sharp.”

Her team nodded in agreement.

“When we were caught up in his lectures, everyone else was out grinding,” someone said. “We’ve definitely fallen behind. Most of us are still in the forties, level-wise.”

“Sure, level isn’t everything—but still, yeah. It’s a problem.”

“At the very least, we should catch up. Don’t want anyone picking fights with us just because we look weak.”

Their banter stayed light as the seven of them made their way toward the academy’s teleportation platform.

Students and faculty could submit requests to use the teleporters, which connected various points across the vast campus and surrounding region. The group planned to teleport as close as possible to their training route, then travel on foot from there, camping as necessary along the way.

The destination assigned to the teleport point nearest the north gate matched perfectly with their first stop.

Just as Jin reached out to open the door to the teleportation building, it burst open from the inside. Someone came barreling out, crashing straight into him. Jin barely flinched, adjusting his stance with practiced ease.

“Whoa.”

“Ah—watch where you’re going!”

The newcomer stumbled backward and nearly lost their footing, recovering with an annoyed grunt. The fact that they’d barked at Jin to watch it, even though the situation was clearly their fault, immediately marked them as trouble.

That wasn’t all. More people followed from within the teleportation facility, filtering out in a loose line. Unlike their careless companion, they had the sense not to charge forward.

Branch campus students, Jin sighed to himself, noting their uniforms. It’s summer vacation; of course, they’d be around. What a pain.

Rather than picking a fight or demanding an apology, Jin opted to ignore the offense and focus on the task ahead. No need to waste time. He and his team had real work to do.

“Ah, sorry. I’ll be more careful.” Jin stepped aside, calmly yielding the path to the group. His party followed suit without complaint. The branch students, caught off guard by their unexpected humility, passed by with suspicious glances.

Lopa, Mazul, Brito. All combat-specialized branches, Jin noted when he saw the embroidered crests on their uniforms. Makes sense. There were a few group combat lectures scheduled today. Guess they’re here for that. Good luck, I guess.

Lopa was the branch focused on warrior training. Mazul specialized in elemental mages. Brito was for summoners and spiritualists.

“Hey, you guys are main school students, right?” one of the branch students called out, turning back toward them. He addressed Shifu, who was standing at the edge of the group.

“Yeah. Shouldn’t you be heading to your lecture? If it’s party combat training, they’re all in the west wing.” Shifu’s reply was polite but cold.

In fact, the same edge was visible in the eyes of the rest of the group. It was the unmistakable look that main campus students reserved for those beneath them. Despite being more open-minded than most thanks to Raidou’s classes, even they couldn’t completely shake the ingrained hierarchy of this academic society. The branch schools were lesser. Everyone knew it.

Sensing the mood, the branch students slowed and exchanged glances. One of them, wearing the Lopa insignia, turned back with a smirk.

“So, judging by that gear, you’re heading out for a level grind, right? Kind of unusual for students like you to be doing that during break. Make-up work or something? Just curious—mind telling us what your levels are?”

The implication was clear. He thought Jin’s group was a bunch of underperformers—stragglers stuck at low levels, forced to play catch-up. His tone dripped with smug condescension.

“You’re probably right—we won’t see each other again,” Mithra replied coolly.

It was an unusually cold response from someone normally so laid back. But it was a clear rejection, calmly delivered.

“Huh?”

“You came all this way from the sticks, right? Be a shame if you missed your lecture. Wouldn’t want to waste your big summer trip. We won’t get in your way—so how about you move along?” Daena added with a dismissive flick of his hand. His expression said it all: Don’t waste our time.

The branch students flinched, their bravado faltering.

“All right, that’s enough!” Izumo stepped between them. “Jin’s been nice enough to let it go, so don’t make it worse. Shifu, Mithra, Daena—dial it back.”

He turned to the branch students with a sigh.

“Look, guys. Our levels? We’re all in the forties. Honestly, some of you might even be higher than us. That’s why we’re going out to grind. Satisfied?”

Without waiting for a reply, he waved to his group.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

Izumo clapped his hands sharply, trying to scatter the growing tension. Unfortunately, that only made things worse.

The truth was, ever since they’d started taking Raidou’s lectures, Jin’s group had become somewhat desensitized to the concept of levels. They no longer treated numerical strength as an absolute. So, when they revealed their own relatively modest level range—as far as Rotsgard’s main campus was concerned—they didn’t really expect a reaction.

They should have.

“You know, it kinda pisses me off being looked down on by people weaker than us, just because we’re branch students,” one of the Lopa boys muttered, his voice sharp with resentment.

“Ahaha, I think you’re misunderstanding something,” Yuno said, her expression innocent and almost childlike. “It’s not that you’re from a branch campus. It’s just… you’re weak.”

She beamed at them like she’d just told a harmless joke.

“The hell did you just say, brat? You not hearing me? We’re all in the high fifties! We’re stronger than you—got it?!”

Yuno tilted her head and nodded sweetly. “Uh-huh. That means we’re stronger.”

She burst out laughing, holding her stomach like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. That reaction alone was enough to make any comeback feel pathetic.

The tension snapped.

“Screw the lecture. These jerks need to be put in their place,” muttered one of the Brito mages, already drawing his staff. Without waiting for a reply, he began chanting a spell—right there, in the middle of the street.

His fellow branch students responded immediately, moving into formation with practiced coordination. They weren’t total amateurs. Their teamwork and readiness were above average for students, and clearly, they’d been trained to handle group combat.

Unfortunately, that confidence—that smug self-assurance—would prove to be their fatal flaw.

Yes, Jin’s group all had levels below fifty. But they were also veterans of Raidou’s uniquely brutal training. Their experience was real. Recently, they hadn’t lost a single mock battle, even against opponents with much higher levels.

“Me or sis would probably break them if we stepped in,” Yuno said with a grin. “So, I think this one should go to Jin-senpai!”

“Me?!!!” Jin blinked, pointing at himself in disbelief.

“Agreed,” Mithra said, nodding sagely.

“I’ll tag in if you want. No point wasting time,” Daena offered, sounding only half-interested.

Jin waved him off. “Nah. I’ll take care of it. Won’t take long.”

“Ooh, better hurry,” Abelia said with a teasing lilt. “Mage-boy’s almost done chanting. And hey, Jin-kuuun, show us what you’re made of, won’t you?”

“You too, Abelia? Seriously…

Prompted by the rhythmic clapping and a stream of mocking remarks, Jin stepped forward with an expression of complete disinterest.

“Remember, you made the first move. Don’t come crying to me later,” he muttered dryly.

“Think you can take us on alone, swordsman? Don’t get cocky!” one of the Lopa students snapped, stepping out with his partner as they both noticed the blade at Jin’s hip.

Jin exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “You’ve got the wrong idea. I said I’d take all of you.”

Both students began chanting sword skills—High Slash and Double Scraper—well-known techniques among sword users for their versatility and destructive power.

Jin didn’t chant anything. He didn’t even draw his blade. Instead, he casually walked forward. One of the swordsmen panicked and reached for his weapon.

“Too late.”

Jin grabbed the boy’s hand before he could unsheathe the blade and pushed it down, trapping the sword in its scabbard. Then, with his free hand, he reversed his grip and unsheathed his own blade—slamming the hilt into the boy’s chin hard enough to shatter it.

“Gotta be faster than that,” he quipped lazily, brushing past the stunned student as he collapsed on the ground.

“You’ll bite your tongue if you keep chanting like that,” he added, almost kindly.

The second swordsman flinched. Jin didn’t stop. A swift kick to the wrist knocked the kid’s hand off his hilt. In a blink, Jin closed the distance, grabbed the student by the face, and slammed him backward into the stone street with a sickening thud.

“You guys practice with scarecrows or something?” Jin asked flatly, already turning to the next threat.

From behind, arrows flew. Without looking or even slowing down, Jin knocked each one out of the air with casual flicks of his blade.

The backliners panicked, drawing short swords and maces, but they never got a chance to recover.

“You idiots shouldn’t be swinging axes and hammers. Not yet,” Jin muttered.

With every move, he tore through their formation. One swipe disarmed them, the next crushed their limbs. His strikes were controlled—he wasn’t killing them—but they would be walking away with an assortment of bruises and broken bones.

It was absurd—one person dominating an entire squad.

“Slow. Predictable. Weak,” came Jin’s cold judgment.

A barrage of spells came next—an ice spear from one mage, a blinding orb of light from another channeling a spirit. Jin sliced through both, and the spells fizzled out in midair, reduced to harmless sparks.

“No way.”

“This has to be a dream.”

A swordsman cutting through magic? This was outside the realm of common sense at the academy. Maybe, maybe, if it were one of the top-tier students wielding an enchanted artifact of immense power. But not this. Not some average-looking student in standard-issue gear, with a bored look on his face and no fanfare to speak of.

“Last one. Sleep tight,” Jin muttered.

Using his hand like a blade, he drove its edge sharply into the neck of the last standing caster, dropping him with surgical precision. His breathing had never even changed.

Only the quiet groans of the defeated filled the air now—students from the satellite schools curled up on the stone path, writhing like worms, incapable of standing, let alone continuing the fight.

“Nice work. You earned a break,” said Daena, clapping Jin lightly on the back.

Jin just shook his head, brushing off the compliment.

“Didn’t break a sweat. Let’s go. Leave these clowns.”

“Agreed,” Daena nodded.

“Okay, now can we please go already?” said Izumo, adjusting his pack.

“We’ll need to move quickly to make up for the time we lost here,” Abelia added, already shifting into leader mode again.

“Not a problem,” said Shifu, falling in step.

The seven of them—Jin, Daena, Izumo, Abelia, Shifu, Yuno, and Mithra—finally turned their backs on the scene and departed, heading out toward the wilderness and the lake where they planned to grind their levels. Their formation was relaxed, their pace sure. For now, spirits were high.

To them, it was merely one more memory in what was shaping up to be a summer filled with milestones.

What they didn’t know yet—couldn’t possibly know—was that the ease of their leveling would soon lull them into overconfidence. And that overconfidence would be shattered at the lake, where the same Lesser Dragon they’d once fled would be waiting to repay the favor.

More importantly, none of them realized they were being followed.

A shadow moved quietly behind them, keeping its distance.

A silent guardian. Watching. Waiting.

When the time came, that very shadow would save their lives.

A quiet warning on a hot summer day.

Jin

Summer break was almost over. It had gone by in a flash.

Students who had gone home were starting to return to the academy, and some were already getting ready for Rotsgard’s biggest event after the break—the academy festival.

Some were busy working on event management. Others were putting together research presentations or preparing to demonstrate the results of their etiquette and academic studies. Everyone was moving forward in their own way.

Of course, I wasn’t wasting time either. I was already getting ready for the tournament where we would compete in overall combat proficiency.

Out of all the days of that summer, there was one I would never forget—the day we lost to the Lesser Dragon. That single moment of hesitation had almost gotten us all killed.

If Sensei and Shiki hadn’t arranged for Eris to be there as backup… we wouldn’t have made it out alive. We would have ended up as food for some second-rate dragon.

There’s no way I could forget.

After Eris saved us, we finished the rest of our training trip without any more close calls and went back to Rotsgard.

Not long after, we saw Shifu and Yuno off as they returned to Tsige, and then we threw ourselves back into lectures and training.

Raidou-sensei’s classes were as brutal as ever. You couldn’t let your guard down for even a second during mock battles.

Still, we kept pushing ourselves, desperate not to fall behind.

The memory of fleeing from that Lesser Dragon had dug deep into me, like a thorn I couldn’t pull out. And honestly, I already knew the only way to get rid of it.

The answer’s been clear from the start.

Still, I hadn’t been able to move forward. Not because I was hesitating for myself—but because this wasn’t just about me anymore.

“Jin-kun, you’re done for today, right? If you’re free, how about hanging out for once?” Abelia called out. Her timing was perfect; I’d just stepped out of the locker room after training.

I turned toward her. “Abelia, huh?”

She’d caught me off guard; it wasn’t like her to invite me out.

And yet, maybe this was the right timing.

The truth was, what I wanted to do next would drag everyone else into it too. That was the biggest thing holding me back. I couldn’t decide something like that on my own.

Starting the conversation with Abelia, someone I usually talked to more easily than the others, didn’t seem like a bad idea.

I checked the time. It was still a little early for dinner. Not that it mattered—the summer sun was still high in the sky.

Whatever. I’m hungry anyway.

“I’m in,” I said, nodding. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“All right. I’m gonna go back to the dorm and change.”

“I’ll rinse off and cool down too. How about we meet up in the lobby?”

“Sounds good.”

“You want me to invite anyone else? I can ask around if you want.”

Abelia hesitated for a second before shaking her head. “I think tonight should just be the two of us.”

“Got it. I’ll be quick,” I said, already turning toward the showers.

“No need to rush,” she said, waving her hand lightly. “Even if you go ahead, I’ll still take longer to get ready. Perks of being a girl, you know.”

“Still, it’s not right to make a girl wait. Besides, I’m starving. That’ll make me move faster anyway.”

“Thanks.”

Since I hadn’t had any real plans that night, I hadn’t bothered showering properly in the locker room—just wiped down with a towel to get rid of the worst of the sweat.

Even if it was just the two of us, it didn’t feel like a date. Not when it was Abelia—who was obviously stuck in a hopeless crush on Shiki. Still, if we were grabbing food and drinks together, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to at least not smell like a gym bag.

As we walked together from the school back to the dorm, I started thinking about where we should eat.

“Got a place in mind?” I asked casually.

The first place that popped into my head was Ironclad Inn, the hot pot restaurant we’d been frequenting lately.

Raidou-sensei and Shiki took us there all the time. It wasn’t fancy—you just tossed a bunch of ingredients into a pot—but somehow, it was addictive. No matter how many times I tried to copy it, I could never get it quite right. Maybe there was more skill to it than met the eye.

It was cheap, easy, and perfect for big groups where you didn’t have to stand on ceremony.

I was pretty sure Sensei and Shiki picked Ironclad because they knew it was the kind of place we students could relax without worrying about money.

The Kuzunoha Company—the business Raidou-sensei ran—had been booming ever since it opened. Even in a lively town like Rotsgard, it stood out, with shelves empty by evening almost every day.

Someone like him, the head of such a successful company, probably had access to all kinds of high-end places for business meals, negotiations, and personal dining. But he still chose places that matched our wallets. And despite that… we’d never once had to pay out of our own pockets.

He looked about the same age as us, but the truth was, he was an adult, and we were still kids. That gap was real—both in how we lived and how we carried ourselves.

Anyway, that’s not important right now.

If it were just the two of us, Ironclad wasn’t the right call. We needed a place where we could eat, maybe have a drink, and actually talk without getting rushed out. Ideally, somewhere calm enough that we wouldn’t need to bar-hop later.

As I mulled it over, Abelia spoke up: “I’ll leave it to you.”

“So, it falls to me,” I replied with a dramatic sigh.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Sure, I invited you, but it’s not like I had a particular place in mind. You can pick.”

“No preferences at all, huh…

“I’m only going to put up with your weird jokes once, okay? As long as it’s not somewhere too noisy, I’m good with whatever.”

While tossing out some light banter to buy time, I had tried mimicking Eris’s unique way of speaking. Apparently, Abelia wasn’t in the mood to go along with it a second time.

Man, she’s way too serious sometimes. No sense of rhythm at all. If she just played along a little more before hitting me with a comeback, it’d be way more fun. Shiki would probably enjoy it too.

He has an unexpected fondness for playful banter when he’s not acting seriously…

Thinking about Shiki triggered a memory—and with it, an idea for the perfect place. A spot he’d taken me to once or twice. A relaxed counter, quiet enough to talk without shouting, and the food wasn’t bad either—even if the portions weren’t huge.

“If you’re leaving it up to me, how about Lavidor?” I suggested.

“Um, sorry… I’ve never been there. Lavidor?”

“It’s near Kuzunoha. Shiki-san took me there once. It’s quiet, has good food, and you can get a drink too. I mean… I figure you probably have something you wanna talk ab—”

I didn’t get to finish.

Suddenly, Abelia leaned in, her face way too close. I instinctively shut my mouth.

“You went drinking with Shiki-san?! Just the two of you?!” she demanded, practically throwing the words in my face.

Seriously… that’s the part you’re focusing on?

I took a step backward. “Uh, well, once it was just us, but the other time, Mithra and Izumo were there too. So, there were four of us. Only twice, really.”

Wait. Has Abelia… never been out drinking with him? I’d just assumed she had. I figured if she tagged along with the Rembrandt sisters often enough, grabbing a meal with Sensei and Shiki would be easy.

Maybe being stuck in a one-sided crush makes you hesitant.

Abelia? Hesitant?

No way. Doesn’t suit her at all.

She was supposed to be the straightforward, no-nonsense type.

“I’ve never gone… Not even once,” Abelia muttered, looking genuinely downcast, completely unlike her usual self.

“Why not just tag along with Yuno and Shifu?” I asked, shrugging. “It’s just a meal.”

“Both of them said they’ve only had meals with Sensei and Shiki-san when it was official business, like as part of Rembrandt family affairs.”

Seriously?

Now that she mentioned it… Yeah, thinking back, that actually made sense.

It was true that both Sensei and Shiki seemed to have pretty strong walls up when it came to women.

With Shiki’s looks and abilities, you’d think he’d be drowning in offers—not just for dating, but even for marriage or lover contracts.

Sure, even at Rotsgard’s main campus, not every girl was a knockout, but there were plenty who were easy on the eyes. Part of that was because the academy offered classes on things like grooming, behavior, and fashion. Even the average girls carried themselves well enough to look more attractive.

Daena, for example, had ended up marrying an older student he met here. His wife was actually pretty stunning.

She was staying home now because they had a young kid, but last I heard, she planned to return to school around the time Daena graduated.

From the way she talked, I got the feeling there was more to it—that Daena’s plans probably involved joining the knights of one of the four great nations. If that were the case, the Limia Kingdom would be the top choice. They had the best prestige and pay.

Yeah… that’s probably where he’s aiming.

“I mean, now that you mention it,” I said, thinking aloud, “you never hear any rumors about Sensei or Shiki-san being involved with women. Sure, some people say Shiki-san already has a wife, but there’s never been any actual sign of it.”

“Exactly,” Abelia said, crossing her arms. “There’s this rumor that he’s already committed to someone, which is why he’s not dating. But when I asked Sensei, he said Shiki-san has always been completely focused on his research. Not even a hint of romance.”

“Why is it that whenever a guy doesn’t chase after women, everyone assumes he’s secretly taken?”

“Because men are animals, obviously. Think about it. Look at yourself—and the guys around you. You’re students at the main campus, and you’re on scholarships! Girls are practically throwing themselves at you—whether it’s because they’re genuinely interested or because they’re investing in their own futures, who cares. And you expect me to believe not a single one of you is hooking up with anyone? Are you telling me you’re only going to date someone you’re seriously in love with?”

She leaned in a little, her voice edged with something close to exasperation. Technically, she wasn’t wrong.

But it’s not like we’re hooking up without any regard for feelings!

Okay, sure, sometimes things happened after just one night. But at least we still treated the girl like a proper girlfriend.

“Calling us animals is a little harsh,” I said, shrugging. “But, well… not to brag, I guess I do get a decent amount of attention. If I wanted, I could find a girl pretty much anytime.”

“Exactly,” Abelia said, crossing her arms tighter. “That’s what I mean about you guys being animals. You’re calm on the surface, but you’re surrounded by girls with hearts practically in their eyes, and you act like it’s nothing. It’s only natural that people start thinking maybe you’re not interested in women at all. That’s just how girls our age see it.”

“Feels a little biased to me. I mean, maybe Shiki-san’s just already had his fill, you know? Like Lime-san from Kuzunoha. He’s calm too, but I’m pretty sure it’s just because he’s gotten all the fooling around out of his system.”

“Lime, yeah, that’s probably true. You can still catch him looking at girls with that kind of… guy look sometimes. No one suspects he’s not into women.”

Seriously? Women really notice that kind of thing?

“So, what, you think Sensei and Shiki-san just aren’t into the girls here?” I asked.

If they were more into older women, for example, then it would make sense why the students didn’t catch their attention at all.

“Lately, I’ve been able to look at things a little more objectively. Most of the girls who come to the Academy have good family backgrounds. They’re at that age where they’re full of themselves. So, it’s pretty common for them to just… assume they’re plenty attractive, even without any real reason.” Abelia gave a short, almost bitter laugh. “And when none of those so-called attractive girls can even catch their eye… it stings. That’s where those rumors start—because deep down, they’re frustrated.”

Brutally honest… but probably true.

If they were a little more humble about it, guys like me and even the more aloof instructors probably wouldn’t have to deal with weird rumors about being secretly into men or whatever.

“It’s kind of cute in a way, though,” Abelia added with a slight smirk. “In Sensei and Shiki-san’s case, it’s not just students. Even grad students and other teachers have tried and failed. That only makes the rumors worse.”

Yeah, no. That’s not cute at all. It’s basically just petty revenge. Girls can be seriously scary sometimes.

Not that it mattered much to me these days; I hadn’t been fooling around at all.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I assured Abelia.

I knew better than to argue too much about stuff like this. Even if you had a point, it never ended well. Unless you made them feel it emotionally, not logically, things would just get tense.

Even thinking back on my own experiences, I couldn’t remember a single time reasoning my way through had actually solved anything.

“You guys are fine, though,” Abelia said, giving a light wave. “Daena’s already married, and Mithra and Izumo know how to have fun without making a mess of things. Honestly, I wish Sensei could be a little more like you lot—and maybe loosen up a bit.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Managing to have fun without leaving a trail of disasters wasn’t being half-assed. It was called being smart. If you just bottled everything up and then went to some sketchy brothel to let off steam, it could blow up in your face fast.

Keeping it inside the bounds of at least some kind of relationship was way safer in the long run.

And why the hell are we having a full-blown conversation about relationships anyway?

“Well, good to know,” I said, shaking my head. “See you in a bit.”

“Yeah. I’ll hurry too,” Abelia said with a grin.

“Take your time.”

Even if she said she’d hurry, I knew I’d end up waiting anyway. There wasn’t much a guy like me needed to do to get ready, after all.

I returned to my familiar room and stripped off my uniform. Pulling my sweat-soaked training jersey from my bag, I tossed everything into the laundry basket, then threw the nameplate—marked with my room number and name—on top of the pile.

After that, I stepped into the shower, letting the water activate with a small pulse of magic. As the cold stream washed over me, I scrubbed the sweat from my skin and shampooed my hair. I’d gotten used to this life, but thinking back, the very first thing that had surprised me about the academy was this shower system.

Back home, the idea of turning on water with a touch of magic would have sounded like something out of a fairy tale. Bathing—whether with cold or hot water—had become so easy here that it killed off any excuse to avoid it. No more days spent half-washing or just wiping myself down because it was too much of a hassle.

Once I was dry, I changed into casual clothes—nothing too relaxed, though. Tonight called for something a little sharper, so I pulled together a slightly dressed-down traditional-style outfit and even dug out a pair of leather shoes I hadn’t worn in a while.

The restaurant’s atmosphere didn’t demand full formality, but turning up too casual felt wrong. Last time they’d told me a tie wasn’t necessary, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to wear a jacket. Satisfied after a final check in the mirror, I picked a light cologne, sprayed it on, grabbed the laundry basket, and stepped out.

I dropped the basket outside the room, knowing that by the time I came back tomorrow after training, the laundry would be washed, folded, and returned to me.

The nameplate didn’t just identify the owner—it also featured built-in theft-prevention magic. This had left me feeling a little suspicious at first, but so far, not a single thing had gone missing. If anything, I was now more worried I’d forget how to do my own laundry after graduation.

No, that’s not it. The real goal is to reach a level of life where you don’t have to do chores like that yourself.

That’s why I’m working so hard now.

Still… if my priority is strength, not status, maybe it’s better to keep those basic skills sharp too. Especially if I end up traveling for training after I leave the academy. Better safe than sorry.

I made it down to the lobby before Abelia—as expected.

My thoughts drifted far while I waited for her.

Lately, I hadn’t felt the same draw toward joining the knight orders of the four major nations or the temple’s holy knights. They were prestigious jobs, full of honor and responsibility, but something about them no longer sat right with me. If I had to choose, maybe fighting on the front lines for Limia or Gritonia would still be acceptable. But graduating wasn’t the finish line. It was just the starting point.

From there, I’d have to figure out how to keep forging myself into something stronger.

It wasn’t a decision I could afford to rush—or ignore. That was why I was grateful to still have time before graduation, time to think carefully about what came next.

Lately, I’d been so consumed with immediate failures and setbacks that I hadn’t been able to think ahead at all. Always feeling cornered, always restless… It had been a miserable way to live.

The only thing keeping me going these days was the sense of progress I felt during Raidou-sensei’s lectures.

From those, I’d realized something.

It was about Raidou-sensei himself.

Even if I kept going to his lectures until I graduated, I still couldn’t clearly picture how strong I could eventually become. But one thing was obvious—this was the best option available to me right now.

So… what about after that?

What if…

After graduation, could I keep learning under him? Not just attending lectures, but actually becoming his student?

If that were possible, it would be a far better way to train than getting hired somewhere else. Of course, once it stopped being an official academy lecture, there was a real chance I could get myself killed. That was the risk.

Even now, Raidou-sensei’s lectures were easily the toughest out of everything I was taking. More than once, I’d been so drained afterward I could barely stand.

And yet, it was still just a lecture. It was obvious he was holding back.

How far he decided to push us—and how strong he let us become—was completely in his hands. If he judged that we were “good enough,” he could end the training whenever he wanted.

Normally, you could forget something like that. Most temporary instructors wouldn’t dream of tossing out students who were willing to keep coming. But technically, instructors did have that authority. If a student’s abilities were judged sufficient, they could issue a certificate of completion and end the lectures. If the student’s behavior or skills were deemed inadequate, they could be rejected entirely.

The way things usually worked in Rotsgard, students were treated like customers, and instructors needed to attract as many as possible to keep up their income. But someone like Raidou-sensei? He didn’t have to care about that at all.

His main business wasn’t teaching, and he clearly wasn’t hurting for money. In fact, right now, no new students were being accepted into his lectures at all. Any application filed was immediately rejected.

That meant his only students now were the seven of us.

Among the student body, it was becoming pretty well known that anyone attending Raidou-sensei’s lectures was getting seriously strong.

People had been writing us off, claiming it was all some kind of trick because our levels hadn’t shown much improvement. But after our last leveling trip, when we left the others in the dust, the rumors changed. Now, I could imagine, they were panicking.

Once summer break ended, there’d be even more students trying to get into his class.

Even now, you could tell exactly where Raidou-sensei’s desk was in the faculty lounge just by looking at the mountain of rejected applications. If it kept piling up, it was probably going to become a serious headache for him.

As for our own levels… honestly, the only reason we stopped was because we were preparing for the tournament of the Academy Festival. If we’d kept going, I was sure we could’ve pushed to Level 150 without much trouble.

Once our basic abilities improved, we’d have been able to hunt even stronger monsters, accelerating our leveling even further.

We hadn’t been doing anything complicated. Just fighting desperately, over and over.

Because of that, we had blown past several invisible walls that normally slowed down growth toward the higher levels.

We’d skipped right over the phases where monsters became disproportionately strong compared to us, where grinding became painful and slow.

Instead, we fought groups of monsters that usually required coordinated teamwork—and we handled them with ease.

Every advantage we had was thanks to Raidou-sensei’s lectures.

Yeah… maybe that’s the answer.

After graduation… or maybe even before, if the opportunity came sooner. I would join the Kuzunoha Company.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Abelia said as she approached.

When I turned around, I found her dressed up far more than I had expected.

She was wearing a breezy summer dress, the kind that left her shoulders exposed and had a shorter hemline. If I remembered right, this style was pretty popular at the moment.

The impression was completely different from her usual look in a uniform or battle gear.

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t waiting long,” I said, giving her a quick once-over. “Still… I’ve never seen you dressed like that before. You really clean up well.”

“Unlike you, I actually took the etiquette classes seriously,” she replied with a smirk. “If I couldn’t pull this off, it’d be a problem. Besides, you’re looking better than I expected too. I’ll admit, I’m a little impressed.”

“Thanks. Let’s go.”

“Yep.”

Maybe it was because I’d been lost in my own thoughts, but the wait hadn’t felt long at all. Only when I checked the time did I realize how much had passed. The sky was finally starting to darken. It was perfect timing.

Both Abelia and I were familiar with the route to the Kuzunoha store, so there was no risk of getting lost. From there, I led us down a quieter side street toward Lavidor.

It was a calm corner of town, just off the main road—a collection of old brick buildings, a clear step above the cheap student eateries that usually filled the area. Lavidor was tucked away on the second floor of one of those buildings, blending in like it had been there forever.

I guided Abelia up the stairs, keeping a careful pace so she could follow easily.

“Welcome,” the bartender greeted us as we stepped inside.

“Do you have a table for two?” I asked.

He gave us a quick once-over. “Students, huh? Sorry, but—wait. You’ve been here before, haven’t you? You came with Shiki-san from Kuzunoha, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Name’s Jin.”

“Right, Jin-kun. If you don’t mind sitting at the far end of the counter, feel free.”

“Thanks.”

So, this must be a pretty exclusive restaurant, huh…

When I came with Shiki, nobody said a word about it. Being stopped at the door this time had made me break into a bit of a cold sweat.

I gave the bartender a nod of thanks and led Abelia toward the counter seats he’d indicated.

“This place has a nice vibe,” Abelia said as she looked around. “Wouldn’t be a bad spot for a date.”

The lighting inside was soft and understated, casting a warm glow over the tables and counter. The tables were separated by partitions that could turn them into private booths, designed so that customers wouldn’t have to make eye contact with each other unless they wanted to.

The bar, meanwhile, was shaped into a wide half-circle, giving the bartender clear sightlines while letting customers casually spot each other if they cared to.

It wasn’t the kind of place you’d bring little kids or where you’d show up rowdy and drunk, waving a bottle around. It was refined—calm. A place built for quiet conversations and quiet drinks.

“This is my first time coming here with my own money,” I said, leaning back casually in my seat. “But tonight, let me cover it. Honestly, from the outside, this probably looks a lot like a date.”

“If you start running low, just let me know,” Abelia replied smoothly. “And for the record, it only looks like a date. It’s not.”

“You really know how to cut a guy down,” I muttered, handing her the menu. “Sorry that I’m not Shiki-san.”

“Hmm,” she mused, flipping open the menu. “There are a lot of drinks here I’ve never heard of. A whole menu just for alcohol… That’s impressive.”

“I mean, it is a bar. If you’re picky about music, you can even make a request to the pianist.”

At the back of the shop, a woman in a flowing dress played the piano softly, filling the room with a calm, rich atmosphere.

“This is perfect,” Abelia admitted, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I actually like this kind of music. Anyway… what kind of drinks does Shiki-san usually go for?”

Seriously, starting there?

“Shiki-san? He’s the type to drink pretty much anything. Depends on his mood more than anything.”

I’d never paid much attention to what Shiki drank—or what kind of women he might like seeing with certain drinks. Shiki wasn’t the type to force a drink on you or comment on your choice. He just let you do your thing.

“That’s not what I meant,” Abelia pressed, leaning in a little. “I’m asking what kind of drink he’d like a girl to order.”

“I’m telling you, he probably doesn’t care,” I replied, keeping my tone even. “Just order whatever you like. That’s what he always says. You saw it at Ironclad too, right?”

“Hmph. Next time, pay more attention. I’m starving for any Shiki-san intel I can get.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’m getting food first… and for drinks, I’ll start with something strong.”

I made my decision after just a quick skim through the menu: a hearty meat stew, some beans and cheese as sides, and a strong aperitif. This place had way too many good drinks to pick from without getting distracted.

Tonight, I wasn’t going to hold back. A little alcohol would make the hard conversations easier.

From what I’d seen when Shiki paid—and even as much as he drank—the prices weren’t outrageous. With just me and Abelia, it shouldn’t be a problem. Still, the fact that the menu didn’t list prices… that made me a little uneasy. I’d have to be careful not to accidentally order some ancient vintage and blow up my wallet.

“I guess I’ll play it safe for the food… and for drinks, maybe something sweet from this section,” Abelia murmured, scanning the menu thoughtfully.

“Oh, right.” I pointed to a drink on her menu as a memory clicked. “Shiki-san drank a few glasses of that one. It’s pretty sweet.”

“See? You do have useful information. I guess I’ll try it. Though… with this many options, it’s hard to choose.”

“If you’re not sure, just ask the bartender. Shiki-san used to do that a lot too—he’d always ask about the drink’s flavor first.”

“I see. You know, at a place like this… I can’t help feeling a little embarrassed not knowing what I’m doing.”

Huh. That’s unexpectedly cute.

If she weren’t tangled up in a one-sided crush, she’d honestly have the whole package as a potential girlfriend. I caught myself smiling a little and glanced sideways at her. To think, before we both started attending Raidou-sensei’s lectures, we’d barely even talked.

“Please, don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions,” a smooth voice interrupted from across the bar. The bartender had appeared without us even noticing, timing it perfectly as we both finished deciding on our orders. “If you have a vague idea of what you’re looking for, we’ll do our best to find the perfect drink for you.”

“Ah, thank you,” Abelia replied quickly, straightening up.

Come to think of it, when I’d come with Shiki, I didn’t remember ever having to wait long for service either. The staff here were seriously skilled, and they kept a sharp eye on the whole place.

After we gave our orders, the drinks arrived almost immediately.

“Cheers,” I said, lifting my glass.

“Cheers,” Abelia echoed back.

The soft clink of glass on glass rang between us, delicate but clear. I took a sip. The crisp fruit acidity hit first, followed by the clean burn of strong alcohol sliding down my throat.

“Damn, that’s good,” I exhaled, setting the glass down with satisfaction.

“It is,” Abelia agreed, her voice relaxed. “Nothing like settling down after a hard day’s work.”

“Yeah. Good work today.”

As we waited for our food, we talked about nothing in particular; school gossip, the upcoming Academy Festival, stupid little things—and tilted our glasses back. It was… surprisingly easy.

“You know,” Abelia remarked, swirling her drink lazily, “it’s kind of funny. We never really had a normal conversation like this before, did we?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, leaning against the bar. “We all hung out a lot, but even then, it wasn’t like we sat around talking about random stuff.”

“We were too desperate. Trying to get stronger for our own goals.”

“Scholarship students get kicked to the curb if our grades drop. Everyone’s more a rival than a friend.”

That’s why even after we became classmates, our conversations stayed strictly about lectures—strategy meetings, test prep, that sort of thing. There wasn’t much private talk. And honestly, I hadn’t thought there needed to be. But after everything that happened on that leveling trip… something had shifted. Maybe that’s why it felt natural to sit down with Abelia like this tonight, just the two of us.

The conversation picked up again, touching on our training and the others from our group—five familiar names coming up again and again as we shared stories and frustrations. When the food finally arrived, it felt like perfect timing, sliding into a natural pause between topics.

As expected, the taste was solid—just as good as last time. Sure, the portions were a little small, but we hadn’t come here to stuff ourselves. Places like this weren’t about filling your stomach anyway; they were meant for second or third stops on a night out—or, like Abelia said earlier, perfect for a date.

By the time I’d emptied my second glass and finished off the food, I felt ready. The third drink came just as the conversation had mellowed. Again, I couldn’t have asked for better timing.

All right.

“Actually—” I began.

“Actually—” Abelia said at the exact same moment.

We both froze, our eyes meeting in surprise. She gave me a sheepish smile, half amused, half uncertain.

“You go first,” she said gently.

Normally, I’d say ladies first—but if we kept passing it back and forth, we’d just keep hesitating. I needed to speak. This wasn’t something I could afford to let slip again.

“I’ve got something I don’t want to leave unfinished before summer break ends,” I said plainly.

“Oh?” she murmured with a raise of her eyebrows. Her expression was serious now, eyes fixed on mine.

“I want to beat that thing.”

Not exactly the kind of thing you say during a date. But Abelia didn’t scoff. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t say a word, but her expression told me she knew exactly what I was talking about—and that she wanted to hear more.

“If it had been a hopeless fight, maybe I could’ve accepted it,” I continued, staring down at the rim of my glass. “But I’ve been stuck on that loss ever since…

“… because it felt like a fight we could’ve won,” she finished quietly.

I looked up, stunned. She had stolen the words from my lips.

“…!”

“Heh… so you’re the same, huh?” she said with a small, knowing smile.

“And you too,” I murmured.

“Obviously.”

The Lesser Dragon. We had to go back. And this time, we would win.

Sure, we’d lost to Raidou-sensei, to Shiki, and even gotten thrashed by Blue Lizards more than once. But those were different. That Lesser Dragon defeat wasn’t on that level.

It was a disgrace—a failure born of carelessness and hesitation.

It wasn’t something we could just let go.

“Will you help me convince the others?” I asked, looking her straight in the eyes.

“I will, if anyone needs convincing,” she replied. “I think everyone’s regretting it, in some way. Logically, yeah, we were outmatched. Between our level, our numbers, and what we were fighting, it made sense to lose. It’s not the kind of thing we should be getting hung up on… She paused, then gave me a faint smile. “But we are anyway, aren’t we?”

She was right. No matter how low a tier it was, trying to take down a dragon as a bunch of students was insane. We should’ve been grateful we survived at all.

Neither Abelia nor I saw it that way.

Maybe that in itself was something worth recognizing—proof that our mindset had already moved beyond what was expected of students.

“I’ve had this feeling stuck in my throat ever since that day,” I said, staring into my glass. “Like a bone I couldn’t swallow.”

“I get it,” Abelia replied quietly. “I’ve felt the same.”

“Then I guess our last big event of summer break is already decided.”

“Yeah. But Jin, the real issue isn’t convincing everyone—it’s finding the same type of Lesser Dragon again. If Sensei doesn’t have a problem with it, asking him is probably our best bet. But… do you think he’ll be okay with it?”

“Shit, I forgot about that. It’s not like heading back to that same spot will guarantee we run into it again. It looks like we’ll have to rely on Sensei and Shiki-san. Can’t help it…

“We’re students, remember?” Abelia said, tilting her glass with a smirk. “This is exactly when we’re supposed to rely on our teachers. No point pretending otherwise.”

“Fair point. All right, let’s talk to the others first, then all of us can go to Sensei together and ask.”

“Agreed! Ahh, I feel so much better now. I think I want another drink. You’re in for another, right?”

“Of course!”

The brightness in Abelia’s expression, the way she spoke—everything felt in sync. I agreed with her completely.

There’s no way I’m losing to that thing again.

Not a chance.

The more I drank, the stronger that conviction became.

Next time… we’ll win.

As the alcohol started to hit me harder, leaving a pleasant lightness in my limbs, our conversation shifted. The talk about fighting and revenge gave way to something more personal.

“So, Jin,” Abelia asked, tilting her head curiously, “how did you end up at the academy? You get scouted?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

“Figured. I mean, you’re a scholarship student, after all. Same for me. I turned down the Imperial Officer’s Academy. Rotsgard seemed like a better deal—less political baggage. It was good timing, honestly… Back in my village, they used to call me a prodigy, you know?” she added, her voice soft with nostalgia.

I nodded slowly. “Makes sense. Everyone here’s probably got a similar story. That’s why the scouts came calling in the first place.”

“Yeah, but then you show up and realize there are a dozen people just like you,” she went on. “Before I got into Raidou-sensei’s lectures, I was totally stuck. Honestly, I probably would’ve ended up the same even if I’d gone to the imperial school. I kept telling myself being away from the war made this place better… like I was justifying my decision.”

I laughed. “That’s way too pessimistic. Hey, you didn’t go home over break, right? Your family didn’t want you back?”

“I don’t have one. It was just me and my mom. She died from an illness right before I came here. So, there’s really nothing left for me back in my village. It’s just a place I happened to be born in. I don’t miss it… and honestly, I’ve got no plans to ever go back.”

Then she looked at me, sharp-eyed. “You didn’t go back either. Something holding you here?”

Wait, you just casually drop that you’re an orphan and then immediately turn the question on me? That’s cheating! Now, if I stay quiet, I’ll look like a coward.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. There’s a story. I’ve got baggage.” My tone probably came out somewhere between joking and serious, with just a touch of bitterness.

“I was born in a dead-end farming village with nothing going for it. Youngest kid in a big family of farmers. The place was completely closed off from the world, and a lot about it just rubbed me the wrong way. So, I decided to make a name for myself. I sold my own genius to a scout and came here.”

“That’s your big dark past?” Abelia scoffed, narrowing her eyes at me. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and she gave me an unimpressed look. “That’s about as normal as it gets.”

She wasn’t wrong—at least not yet.

What I hadn’t told her was that I’d gotten the academy scout to front the money I needed—basically a severance fee to buy my way out. My parents accepted it without a second thought and sent me off.

They took the money. That was it.

No promises. No letters. No tears. They just sold me off to the academy.

I didn’t end up treated like a slave or anything. As long as I kept my grades up, I was properly recognized as a scholarship student. And that was exactly what I’d asked for. I made it clear from the beginning—I was cutting all ties. No going back. No family.

After graduation, I’d repay the amount they took for me—the price on my head.

Compared to the other scout picks, I figured that probably made me… unusual.

“Just listen, all right?” I said, setting my glass down. “Villages like that are a dime a dozen. But I was the so-called prodigy, right? I could hunt, farm, whatever. I was better than most adults. They didn’t treat me badly, really.”

“Huh. That’s… not what I expected,” Abelia said, her tone softening.

“But there was someone in that village—someone way stronger than me.”

“Wait, so you weren’t even the local hotshot?”

“I mean, I was the top dog, technically. But in the end, I was just a kid. It’s not like I could change how the adults made decisions or influenced the village. I didn’t even realize how powerless I was back then.”

“So what—this strong person, they were your mentor or something? Did they train you?”

“No.” My voice dropped lower. “She wasn’t my teacher. She was my first love. And she was the one who showed me how weak I really was…

Abelia froze. “What?”

What the hell am I doing?

Even if we’d opened up a bit tonight—even if she’d understood what I was feeling—this wasn’t something I’d ever planned to talk about. Not with Sensei, not with Shiki, not with anyone.

Oddly, right now, I couldn’t hold it in. Something about tonight made me need to get it out.

“Miranda Bulga,” I began quietly. “She was an orphan, apparently. The village let her stay, but that was about the extent of it. She was about my age, maybe a little older, but the adults dumped all the dirty work on her—every chore, every risk. We didn’t have proper village walls, just wooden fences, and we’d get attacked constantly. Goblins, kobolds, beasts, even hostile demi-humans. They’d come raiding our food stores, whatever they could get their hands on.”

I paused; the memories came flooding back faster than I could control.

“She had this natural physical strength—way beyond normal. The adults noticed it, and by the time she was five, maybe six, they were sending her out to fight. Like a disposable pawn. Just tossing her at whatever came too close. Eventually, I started helping her out, but…

Abelia didn’t say a word, just sat there listening.

“At first, the villagers pretended to support her. They’d stay back, use ranged weapons, and give some cover. But the moment she got strong enough, they stopped even doing that. Just stood by while she handled it all. One kid—fighting off monsters all by herself.”

My grip tightened around my now-empty glass.

“They relied on her completely but treated her like property. Whispered about her behind her back, called her a half-breed, said she wasn’t really human. That she was mixed with something else. No one knew if it was true, but it didn’t matter—they treated her like she didn’t belong.”

Just thinking about it made my stomach turn.

I remembered the way she never showed emotion. Her hollow eyes, as if she’d already given up on everything. The way she followed orders like a machine, never questioning, never resisting.

“To me, it was all wrong. I didn’t understand how she could be so calm. It didn’t make sense. And it hurt to watch.”

Once I realized I had power of my own—once I knew I could fight—I ignored my family’s warnings and the village’s orders. I threw myself into helping her.

Fighting beside her, I learned quickly just how different she was. Her strength wasn’t normal—not for a child, not even for an adult. Her reflexes, her instincts… they went beyond anything hyuman.

Not just talent. It was something other.

Ah. That’s what it was.

The way I fight now—my entire style as a swordsman—might’ve been shaped by watching her as a kid.

“Miranda could take serious injuries and bounce back after just a few days of rest,” I said quietly. “Because of that, they pushed her harder than anyone.”

“That’s awful,” Abelia muttered, her expression darkening. “The way they treated her… But are you sure she was even hyuman? It sounds hard to believe.”

“I don’t know. Maybe she was a half-breed, maybe she was just a freakishly gifted hyuman with some kind of talent or unique skill. She always kept her hair over one eye. I never really thought about it back then, but now… Maybe there was something she didn’t want anyone to see.”

“Sounds like she was kind of mysterious.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “She fought for that village like she was trying to crush injustice with sheer force. Thanks to her, the area around our village became safer than ever. Monsters stopped coming. We expanded our fields. Life got easier, you know, more comfortable.”

Abelia let out a quiet breath. “Correction: That’s not just mysterious—that’s Raidou-sensei tier. Miranda-san belongs in his category.”

“She wasn’t that ridiculous,” I said, shaking my head.

“From what I’m hearing, I’m not convinced.”

“Well, it didn’t last forever,” I said, my voice lowering. “I think I was ten. That was when the village decided to clear a forest nearby. It was dense and creepy, and no one had touched it for years. But things had gotten better, and I guess their greed got the better of them. Miranda and I both warned them. We told them not to. Something felt off.”

Now, I know exactly what that feeling was. It was bloodlust—pure, murderous intent.

“There was something in that forest,” Abelia said slowly. “And you sensed it. You always had good instincts.”

“Miranda trained that into me,” I replied. “And yeah, something was in there. Not quite on the same level as that Lesser Dragon, but it was bad. Real bad. Some chimera, probably something a rogue mage cooked up and dumped. One of those stitched-together nightmares.”

“That’s not something a farming village can deal with… Even if it was a weak one, a creature like that could wipe out a village—two, easily.”

“Yeah. I’ll never forget what it looked like. Reddish-brown fur. A lion’s body with a human face. Two tails—both snakes. And out of its back, it had these… arms. Hyuman arms. Just growing out of its spine, flailing around.”

“Ugh. That’s disgusting,” Abelia groaned.

“Yeah. It was disgusting,” I said quietly. “I was on patrol in the forest when I ran into it. The second I saw it… I froze. It hadn’t even touched me yet, but my whole body locked up.”

“No wonder. Any kid who saw something like that would be scarred for life. That’s not weak—it’s just hyuman.”

“It was pathetic. The only reason I survived is because, by pure luck, my sword got wedged between its claws and my body. That stopped the blow just enough to keep me alive… then it slammed me into a tree. I blacked out on the spot.”

“You’re lucky you survived at all. And… that’s when Miranda showed up?” She asked it carefully, already guessing the answer but not wanting to say it outright.

“No,” I said. “When I woke up… the first thing I heard was laughter.”

“Laughter?”

“Yeah. Miranda’s voice—but I’d never heard her laugh before. And I’d never seen her smile like that. It wasn’t fake, or forced… It was full of emotion. Genuine. Wild.”

Abelia said nothing.

“She was soaked in blood, holding her sword—what was left of it, anyway. Still smiling, laughing at the sky. The smell was overwhelming. It was night, but I could still see how dark the ground was—completely stained in blood, thicker than I’d ever seen.”

My throat tightened.

“What was left of the chimera was at her feet—just pieces, scattered across the floor of the forest. And even though the entire clearing reeked of blood and flesh… not a single other beast came around.”

“Do you think… they were afraid of her?” Abelia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I do,” I said. “That monster was strong enough to wipe out a village full of adults, and she tore it to pieces. I think the whole forest could feel it—how dangerous she was. And that night… I saw something I’d never seen before.”

I clenched my fist as the memory resurfaced, sharp and unbearable.

“Her hair had finally fallen away from her face. I saw her right eye for the first time. It was glowing—it looked… bright, and sharp, and definitely not hyuman. Like a snake’s eye or a lizard’s. A predator.”

“That’s—” Abelia began.

“And I…” I swallowed and pressed on. “I was scared. Of the girl who had just saved my life. The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. I called her a monster.”

“Jin…

Every time I remember it, I want to punch that version of myself in the face. Even now, I can’t describe it right. What it felt like. It still hurt just to think about it.

Whatever kind of fight had happened after I passed out, I survived—not because I was lucky but because Miranda had stayed and protected me the entire time. I came out of it almost completely unscathed.

After all that… I threw that word at her.

“I couldn’t really read Miranda’s expression back then,” I said, staring into the empty glass. “She just stopped laughing. Went quiet for a few seconds. Then she helped me up and pointed toward the village.”

Whether she’d been crying, smiling, or angry—to this day, I couldn’t remember her face from that moment. No matter how hard I tried, that one image stayed blank.

“You know,” Abelia said gently, her voice careful, “I think you already understand this, but—”

I felt her gaze trying to comfort me. I didn’t want it.

“She said one thing—just whispered it. ‘You can have it.’ Then she stabbed her sword into the ground right in front of me. After that, she just walked off into the night. No direction but no hesitation either. She was laughing under her breath, bitterly; muttering all these curses about her parents, herself, everything… I kept calling for her to come back, kept apologizing, but she never looked back.”

I exhaled slowly.

“That was the last time I saw her.”

“Jin… you were ten,” Abelia murmured, pain threading through her voice. “Blaming yourself for something like that won’t change anything. There are things we just can’t control—where we’re born, what blood runs through us. Some things… you just can’t fix.”

“I walked back to the village alone, crying the whole way,” I said, the words burning as they came out. “And when I got there, no one was even worried that Miranda was gone. A few days had passed, and the mood had flipped—like everyone was lighter, like some burden had finally disappeared. That’s when I started to hate it all. My village. My family. And myself, most of all.”

I leaned back and stared up at the dim ceiling. “I waited. Watched for any chance. And the moment a scout from the academy showed up, I threw myself at them. Begged them to take me. Told them I’d pay it back—whatever price they wanted. I didn’t care if I looked pathetic. I just wanted to be strong. I wanted out.”

The words spilled out in a single breath, heavy and raw. I grabbed my glass and downed the last of my drink like it could wash the bitterness out of me.

Abelia waited until I set it down, then spoke softly, like she was speaking to something fragile.

“You wanted to be strong… not for fame or recognition. Just strong,” she said slowly. “So that’s why you’re here. Not for advancement. Not for position.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Someday, I want to find her—Miranda. I want to be strong enough to stand beside her. Like a monster, if I have to. I want to say ‘I’m sorry’… and mean it. If I can do that, then I don’t care what job I end up with.”

“Yeah… that’s definitely what I’d call baggage,” Abelia said softly. “But you know, it’s a really pure reason—to want to be strong. I used to think you were just another one of those guys chasing rank and status. You know, cold and calculated. But after being in Raidou-sensei’s lectures with you… I started to feel like you were different.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever told anyone about it. I mean, not even Sensei or Shiki-san. No one’s ever heard my pathetic little backstory.”

“It’s not pathetic! It’s honest. And strong. It made me feel closer to you. I mean, we both don’t plan on ever going back to where we came from. And now, with that Lesser Dragon… It’s like you’ve hit your first wall. Something you have to overcome.”

“Yeah. That’s exactly what it is. I can’t let that thing stay in my way.”

“I get it. We all have those lines we refuse to retreat from. No matter what it is, we all have something we won’t back down from. So, count me in, Jin. I’ll help you. Not just with the Lesser Dragon either. Whatever goal you’ve got beyond that… I want to support you through it.”

“Thanks, Abelia,” I murmured, and I meant it.

She smiled then glanced toward the clock. “We should get going. We’ve been here a while.”

She was right. As I stood up, the room tilted slightly beneath me. I reached for her shoulder instinctively, and she offered it without hesitation. We made our way to the counter, paid the bill, and stepped out.

The summer night air hit me like a wall—warm and sticky, clinging to my skin in that suffocating way only late summer could manage.

We made our way side by side toward the dorms.

“Well, looks like you can still walk,” Abelia remarked, giving me a quick side glance.

“I’m not that drunk!” I shot back. “Barely feeling it.”

“Oh, please. You were drinking fast. Don’t play tough now.”

She wasn’t wrong. She’d kept pace with me the whole night, but somehow her face looked the same as it had when we stepped into Lavidor, hardly even flushed. Her eyes were a little hazy, maybe, but her speech and her steps were solid. Tch. Kinda humiliating.

“Fine, fine,” I grumbled. “I drank more than usual, I’ll admit that… Wait, okay, now I think I might be in trouble.”

Something wasn’t right. My tolerance really was higher than this. I shouldn’t be seeing—

“Get a grip, will you?” she said with a worried look.

“I might be hallucinating,” I muttered. “I swear I see Daena and the others over there.”

Just ahead, three figures came out from one of the side streets. Laughing, arms slung around each other’s shoulders like old drinking buddies. Daena, Mithra, and Izumo.

They were grinning like idiots.

“No way,” I mumbled. “Those three would never go drinking together… not without dragging me along. So, this has to be a dream. I must be the one they left out. Damn it, maybe they hate me.”

“You’re overthinking it,” Abelia said, peering into the distance. But then she paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Jin, that is them.”

“You’re kidding me. They seriously went out without telling me? Am I the odd one out? Do they secretly hate me or something?”

“You’re being ridiculous. You and I are drinking together for the first time tonight too, remember?”

“Right. Yeah.”

And yet…

My thoughts were starting to unravel.

Maybe walking was making the alcohol hit harder.

“Seriously, men are just animals,” Abelia muttered with a sharp edge. “Coming from that direction? Those three were definitely drinking at one of those places.”

“Cut them some slack,” I said, trying to play it cool. “Everyone needs to blow off steam once in a while.”

“Mithra and Izumo, sure. But Daena? Come on. His wife’s back already, isn’t she? I’d love to know what kind of excuse he gave for sneaking off to drink tonight.”

Oh? Oh no. Why am I being dragged forward?

Abelia had suddenly picked up the pace, her stride steady and aggressive as she marched straight after the three of them. I had no choice but to stumble along beside her, half walking, half being hauled forward. Naturally, they hadn’t noticed us, and they definitely weren’t trying to flee—so catching up to them took all of five seconds.

Abelia clapped a sharp hand down on Daena’s shoulder from behind.

“Good evening!” she announced, smiling sweetly. “Interesting direction to be coming from, don’t you think?”

I wasn’t one to judge… but all three of them reeked of booze.

“Ugh—Abelia?!” Daena flinched, staring at her for a beat before bursting into laughter. “No way, right? Man, I must’ve drunk more than I thought!”

Izumo pointed at him, laughing like an idiot. “If you’re hallucinating, then I am too. Not only did I strike out tonight, but I’m arm-in-arm with two other dudes. What the hell is this?”

Mithra, as usual, was just standing there smiling. Then he looked at us, tilted his head, and grinned wider.

“I think I see Jin. Jin and Abelia. The Shiki-san simp and the Raidou-sensei simp. Never thought I’d see those two together.”

Okay, yeah. Us drinking together is rare.

But you three going out drinking together? At a hostess bar? That’s just as weird!

And excuse me, but a hostess bar?! Where were my damn invitation papers?!

Also, don’t go spreading crap like “Raidou-sensei simp”! That’ll give people the wrong idea!

“Relax,” Abelia said, crossing her arms. “We’re all real. Not drunken visions. Jin and I are very much here.”

“You serious?” Daena blinked.

“No way,” Izumo mumbled.

“Jin, you absolute legend,” Mithra grinned. “Stealing Abelia from Shiki-san? Bold move.”

“Like hell I did!!!” I shouted, indignant. “Don’t say creepy stuff like that!”

For the record, I don’t mess with girls who are already taken. I have standards.

“You three keep babbling nonsense,” Abelia said, her voice low, her eyes sharp, “and I’ll go pay Daena’s wife a visit. Maybe slip her a few colorful details about where her loving husband’s been tonight.”

Her voice was smooth as silk. Her stare could cut steel.

“Wait, wait, wait, why am I the only one going to hell?!” Daena panicked.

“How long were you watching?!!!” Izumo yelped. “We were just drinking and having a little fun with some girls! Only seven… or eight of them!”

“Exactly!” Mithra nodded eagerly. “It’s not like we rented out the whole place or anything! Just chatted them up, got a little handsy, totally normal! Wait, where’s Ellie-chan?”

“Izumo! Mithra!” Daena snapped. “Shut up. Just shut your damn mouths. Don’t say anything about how I was the one who picked the place! I told you I was invited! Stick to the story!”

What a disaster. These idiots were digging their graves in all directions, and they were doing it fast.

So… each of them had at least two girls at their table?

Must’ve been one hell of a night for them.

Good. Abelia, go ahead—tear them apart.

“You guys… she started, hands on her hips. “Summer break’s practically over. How long are you planning to keep fooling around like this? Shifu and Yuno are gonna be back soon, stronger than ever. I’m not saying don’t have fun, but could you at least pick your venues a little more carefully? Show some restraint.”

She sighed with a tired shake of her head. “Not that I’m your mother or anything.” And yet, somehow, it really did feel like she was worrying about us.

She’s a good person. Totally mom-tier. I think I want to keep being friends with her for a long time.

“Hey, come on, don’t give us that ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look,” Daena implored us, trying to recover some dignity. “This was our first time going out as just the three of us. We figured it was time we talked things out. That’s all.”

His face had sobered up—at least a little. He was trying to show he meant it.

“Then, tell me something,” I said, stepping in. “Why the hell didn’t you invite me? Did I do something?”

I hadn’t planned to ask. But now that we were all standing here—buzzed, loose-tongued—there wouldn’t be a better time. Some things shouldn’t be left to fester.

“Nah, man,” Daena replied quickly. “We looked for you. Seriously. But you were already gone by the time we checked.”

“Yeah,” added Izumo, nodding. “We went to a few places, came up empty, and figured, screw it—first time out, we’d keep it just us three.”

What terrible timing. Now that I thought about it, it was kind of hilarious that we’d both gone out drinking separately on the same night. They weren’t lying. It didn’t feel like it.

“All right. I got it. But next time, you'd better invite me,” I said, pointing at them.

“Absolutely!” Daena grinned, slapping my hand in a loud high five.

For some reason, we all just started laughing. Me, Daena, Izumo, Mithra—laughter erupting like an avalanche, crashing through whatever awkwardness had been hanging between us.

“Okay, okay, enough already,” Abelia said, walking back over. “We might as well all head back together. So, Daena—what exactly did you three need to talk about so badly? If it’s a real reason, I might even help cover for you with your wife. Just say, ‘Abelia was with us all night and can vouch I only had innocent drinks with my dear friends.’”

She sighed again and once more, gently pulled on my arm to guide me along. Still looking out for everyone—even while lecturing them.

“It’s not like that!” Daena groaned. “We don’t need alibis. We were literally just drinking. Look—I’m not even home late!”

Okay, fair.

It was late, but not quite “sunrise and shame” late. Still, if his wife was the type who kept tight tabs, he was definitely on thin ice.

“You did say something about ‘taking someone home’ earlier, right, Izumo?” Abelia asked, her voice honeyed and dangerously casual.

She doesn’t miss a thing. Seriously… that’s a woman for you.

“Don’t recall,” Izumo replied quickly, pulling the classic “who, me?” routine.

“Mmm-hmm. Well, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it if you give me something worthwhile. So, what exactly were you boys really talking about? While those ‘cute girls’ were pouring your drinks?”

“I think I can feel her glaring straight into my soul,” Mithra muttered with a wry smile. “But honestly… it was kind of serious.”

Apparently, that smile of his had fans. Some girls actually liked the soft, peacekeeper type.

“Mithra’s right,” Daena said, finally growing more serious. “What we talked about was… whether it’s okay to just let summer break end like this.”

“What do you mean?” Abelia asked with a frown.

Daena looked up at the night sky, then exhaled and spoke slowly. “You guys feel it too, right? What happened back by that lake. The way we got wrecked.”

My heart skipped.

You bastard…

That’s exactly what I’ve been struggling to say. Exactly what Abelia and I have been carrying this whole time.

“After all that time Sensei spent drilling it into us—Never let your guard down. Always give your best,” Daena muttered, voice heavy with regret.

Izumo picked up the thread. “Even with that, we got sloppy. The hunt was going too well, and we let our guard down. When we ran into that Lesser Dragon, we panicked. Threw away every bit of judgment we had.”

“If Eris-san hadn’t been there… Mithra continued, his voice low, “we’d be dead. All of us.”

Daena, Izumo, and Mithra had just said what every single one of us had been holding inside.

“If we win at the festival, sure, people will cheer,” Daena said. “But can we really say we’ve bounced back? Or are we just covering up that defeat with noise?”

“We can’t let it sit like this,” Izumo added, more quietly now.

“Even if we don’t know for sure whether we could’ve won had we stayed calm,” Mithra said, his smile now completely gone, “as students of Raidou-sensei, the way we lost that day… was the worst way possible.”

Yeah. Yeah! That’s it. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say.

Here I was, worried we’d have to talk them into it. Turns out we didn’t need to. Everyone had been feeling the same thing all along.

“So,” Abelia asked, her eyes narrowing as she gazed at the three of them, “you want a rematch with that Lesser Dragon?”

They didn’t hesitate. They nodded hard—like there was no other answer.

“Yeah!” Daena declared. “Jin, Abelia—you two feel the same way, right? Let’s do it. Let’s end the summer right. We kill that thing.”

It wasn’t just about lectures anymore. We weren’t just classmates sharing a few secrets and swapping training tips.

We were a team.

I finally realized that.

“Daena,” I started, my voice tightening. “Actually, Abelia and I were just—”

“Hunting it is fine,” she interrupted sharply. “But do you know where to find it?”

I blinked. She was right; that was the whole problem. We had the drive, the anger, and the resolve. But none of it mattered if we didn’t know where to go. They’d talked about this—maybe Izumo had figured something out?

“Ah.”

All three of them froze, struck dumb at the same moment.

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

These guys were exactly where I was not long ago. So focused on beating the Lesser Dragon, they’d completely forgotten the most basic piece: Where the hell was it?

If that thing only appears far from town, there’s no way we could even reach it in time.

No chance we could track it down, fight it, and get back before summer ends. That realization hit like a punch to the gut.

“So, we can’t even try, is that what you’re saying?” Abelia asked. She sighed, but there was no real bite to it.

Deep down, she was glad too. These three might’ve been reckless, but they still wanted the same thing we did.

Sure, it wasn’t exactly a well-formed plan. But we had the intent and the will. That counted for something. And anyway, we were still students—leaning on our teachers was part of the deal. It wasn’t wrong.

Still… if we could keep this under Shiki’s radar and get Eris to handle it, that would be ideal.

“What now?” Daena muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “We seriously don’t know where that thing even is.”

“Exactly,” Abelia confirmed. “But we happen to have an incredibly reliable ally when things like this happen. You do know who I mean, right?”

“Raidou-sensei!” Izumo said, the name snapping out of him like a reflex.

“That’s right,” Abelia nodded. “But we start with Eris-san. Then we go to Sensei. And then, if we absolutely have to, we go to Shiki-san. In that order. Got it?”

“…

“Huh?” she blinked, confused.

At that moment, the four of us—Daena, Izumo, Mithra, and I—exchanged a glance. Silent but completely synchronized. We were all thinking the same thing.

That order’s totally backward.

If we had to talk to someone first, it’d be Shiki. He was much easier to approach than Sensei. Hell, we’d rather deal with anyone but Sensei first.

Unfortunately, judging by the fire in Abelia’s eyes, this wasn’t up for negotiation. She was going to make it happen her way, no matter what.

“Once Shifu and Yuno get back,” she said, already stepping into command mode, “everyone needs to be ready to move out. Tomorrow, we start by asking Eris-san. Got it?”

No one said, What about Shifu’s and Yuno’s opinions?

We didn’t need to ask.

We all knew exactly what those two would say.

With Abelia leading the charge, we all nodded—firm, in sync, and without a single word of protest.

※※※

I’d been so sure this would end up going to Raidou-sensei that I was already bracing myself for the lecture. So, when Eris said yes without even blinking, that it would be no trouble, I was caught completely off guard. Not that I was about to complain.

Abelia looked just as surprised—and relieved that we wouldn’t need to bother Shiki.

Eris wasn’t kidding about “no trouble.” By lunchtime the next day, she’d already located the Lesser Dragon. Which she announced to us as casually as if she’d just picked something up at the market.

Naturally, we were all stunned. But she didn’t stop there.

“I’ll send you there once Shifu and Yuno are back,” she added. “Might as well finish the ride.”

She said it with a crooked, almost mischievous smile. I’m not gonna lie—I nearly fell for her right then. Aqua, who practically never left her side, overheard the conversation. But when she found out what we were planning, she just gave us a look and let it go. Maybe she understood what this meant to us.

Everyone at Kuzunoha—Sensei as well as the rest of the staff—really is damn cool. Strong, sharp, composed. It’s no wonder we look up to them.

The day after that, the Rembrandt sisters returned to Rotsgard. Everything was falling into place faster than we’d hoped.

The moment she stepped through the gate, Shifu announced, “We’re back. Now, when are we hunting that lizard?”

Yuno stood beside her, practically vibrating with anticipation. Yeah. No doubt about it now—they were part of this too.

Even during their break in Tsige, they hadn’t been slacking off. Both had kept up their training and even ventured into the Wasteland for a bit. That wasn’t something you did lightly. They were probably even stronger than I thought.

Good. We’ll need that strength.

Chapter 7

We made our final checks. Gear, bodies, minds—everything ready for the fight. The real fight.

Our rendezvous with Eris was at the western gate. When she spotted us, she exchanged a few words with the teleportation technician, then strolled over at her usual unhurried pace.

“This time, I’m not watching over you,” she said, tapping us lightly around the waist as she passed. “Wipe your own asses, chicks.”

Just like that, she walked off.

Cool as hell.

“This is where it is, then?” Abelia asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, this is the place.”

The location we’d been transported to wasn’t the same lakeside clearing as last time. It was a barren plain—harsh wind sweeping over dull brown earth, not a hint of green or a sign of life.

Izumo was the first to locate the Lesser Dragon. “Jin,” he said, his voice calm but focused. “One klick northeast. Just a few small monsters on the way.”

This time, we’re the ones who get the drop.

I nodded silently, adjusting our angle to approach not along the shortest path, but the one with the best cover, taking wind direction into account.

“No sign it’s noticed us yet. Everyone, start getting into formation,” Shifu said. She had picked up on the target, too, and began leading the team alongside Izumo.

Izumo wasn’t just moving us forward—he was manipulating the air, using subtle currents to mask our approach. Every step was calculated and controlled.

They’ve all gotten stronger. And so have I.

A clean ambush would’ve been ideal, but in an open area like this—with barely any terrain to hide behind—that wasn’t happening. Still, we’d do everything we could because this time, we weren’t arrogant.

“I’ll counter the roar,” Abelia said. “Yuno, you’re focused on spear work this time, right?”

“Yep,” Yuno nodded. “I’ve finally figured out my style. Bow’s benched for now.”

Abelia had clearly been preparing for this. She’d worked out multiple strategies against status effects—something essential if we were going to deal with that paralyzing roar.

We frontliners could reinforce ourselves, sure, but that roar wasn’t something we could shrug off with a buff and a battle cry. Even with all our defensive magic and resistance spells, some of it came down to luck. And luck wasn’t a strategy.

That’s where a good caster came in. If Abelia said she’d stop it, we’d trust her to do just that.

“Got it,” I said. “For ranged fire, we’ll rely on you, Shifu, and Izumo.”

The mid- and long-range fighters nodded, falling into their roles naturally.

“Mithra and I take point. Daena’s support and flanking. No surprises there,” I added, eyes sweeping our front line. “We hold it down. Control the field. If we can overwhelm it and finish it right there, even better.”

That was our job as the vanguard: Hit it. Hold it. Drag it down.

The rest of it—timing, position, strategy—only mattered if we could stay cool in the face of its pressure. Daena and Mithra both caught my meaning immediately, answering with brief, confident nods.

“Right. All in—but stay sharp,” Daena said, voice steady.

“Same here. No panic. We stay focused until it’s over,” Mithra added.

The distance between us and the Lesser Dragon was steadily shrinking, and with it, our adrenaline surged. Focus locked and movements tight. Every breath deliberate.

Then—

“It’s seen us!” Izumo warned.

Of course it had. No way we could close that last stretch without being noticed. We’d expected that much. We just didn’t care anymore.

“Let’s go!” I shouted.

The words had barely left my mouth before the team surged forward. At the same moment, Abelia’s chant triggered—barriers of shimmering light snapped into place around each of us, her antiroar spell activating in full. A second later, Shifu fired her opening salvo. A searing line of fire streaked across the plain, racing toward the beast.

Izumo unleashed a spell to boost all our movement speeds, cutting the time to engagement down to seconds.

“This time, it’s war, you overgrown lizard!” Daena roared, his voice burning with anticipation as he stacked enhancement spells on himself.

He feinted an opening strike, only to dash past the Lesser Dragon’s flank in a blur. The sudden move drew its attention—its gray-scaled head turned sharply in his direction.

“Mithra, Yuno—hit it now!” I shouted.

“Got it!!!”

“Leave it to me!”

They moved in unison, blades flashing, and drove their strikes toward the beast at the same time. The timing was perfect. We closed in together, charging the monster’s towering four-meter frame with clean, coordinated force.

Izumo and Shifu were already chanting offensive spells behind us, building fire and lightning between their hands. Abelia, ever the multitasker, was layering defense magic while also preparing a healing spell in parallel—an advanced dual-casting technique.

Simultaneous chanting and spell queuing—two of the hardest magical skills to master while still in school. You get those down, and people say your future’s basically guaranteed.

Nicely done, Abelia.

Daena, who had drawn the Lesser Dragon’s gaze with that first taunt, didn’t stop there. While the rest of us committed to the front, he launched straight into a follow-up attack from behind.

At times, Daena used the Lesser Dragon’s own body as a springboard, chaining strike after strike—not enough to do major damage on their own but landing so many that the force stacked. Even with light attacks, his insane level of enhancement was starting to tear into the beast. Its thick gray scales began to split open under the repeated blows.

Of course, the Lesser Dragon didn’t just stand there and take it.

Claws, limbs, tail, and fangs lashed out in vicious combinations. Attacks we couldn’t afford to take head-on. Yuno and I kept our dodging tight, cutting just outside attack range. Mithra braced against the front, deflecting the worst of it with raw force, pushing back against the monster’s advance.

From the rear, Shifu’s spells began launching—pillars of flame, whirlwinds laced with heat and pressure. The fire poured in with impressive force.

It hadn’t been that long since I’d last seen her fight, but her magic had grown visibly stronger.

The Lesser Dragon seemed to have decent fire resistance, but that didn’t matter. Shifu’s affinity with it—her precision, her control—ensured that her attacks cut through anyway.

She and Izumo had stopped spreading their elements across the board. They were focused now—fire and wind, woven into a layered barrage. It was working.

We’re doing it.

We were fighting a Lesser Dragon. And holding our ground.

“Roar? No—it’s a breath attack!” Abelia’s warning rang out from the rear. “Everyone back!!!”

She had eyes on the whole field. Thanks to that, we could all stay locked into our roles without fear of being blindsided.

We pulled back fast, laying down suppressive fire to buy time as we repositioned.

A second later, the Lesser Dragon reared back and unleashed a massive cluster of fire, as if it was hurling a flaming boulder straight into the earth. It smashed into the ground just ahead, erupting in a wave of molten heat that rolled toward us like a tidal wave of flame.

Shit!

The barrier might not hold. We were going to get torched.

The pressure in the air warped as Shifu desperately pushed more mana into the barrier. She stepped up beside it, forcing it back against the blaze.

“No, Shifu! Don’t stop attacking—we need your firepower!!!” Mithra shouted, voice sharp.

“Mithra?!”

He stepped forward, just short of the flames, eyes blazing with conviction. He was going to do something.

“Keep the pressure on! Don’t let up—we’re taking it down here!” Mithra shouted, raising his great sword overhead.

He brought it down in a full arc—straight through the barrier and into the oncoming fire.

“This moment is mine—Di Valier!!!”

His skill triggered with a surge of power. A technique I’d never even heard of.

The moment it activated, the torrent of flame bent unnaturally, sucked toward Mithra’s blade. The fire vanished into the metal like it had been consumed.

No, it had absorbed it. And that blade—it was glowing now, burning red-hot, powered by the very breath that should’ve annihilated us.

Are you kidding me?!

He just ate a dragon’s breath and turned it into a weapon?

“What the hell, Mithra-senpai?! When did you unlock something that badass?!” Yuno cried, her eyes wide.

“That’s nuts! Then I’m up next!” Daena grinned, already chanting something under his breath.

“I’m restarting my cast!” Shifu called out, already back to work.

“I’ve got the barrier covered—go wild!” Abelia added, her voice calm but fast.

“I’m locking down its movement!” shouted Izumo.

The moment they confirmed the breath was gone, everyone snapped back into action.

Daena’s spell completed a breath later, and a soft green aura wrapped around him—first faint, then deepening into a vivid verdant glow. His presence intensified. Pressure radiated off him in waves. He’d layered an additional enhancement on top of his already-overclocked state?! The sheer force of will and physical toughness it took to handle that was unreal.

“This is my true special move! I call it—Stage Two!”

Okay, that name sucks. But the effect is insane.

“That’s so dumb—but it looks so cool! Ughhh, I still can’t pull off anything like that!” Yuno whined as she chased after him, not quite managing to keep up with his burst of speed.

To be fair, there’s no way we can match that kind of speed. Not without burning everything.

Daena, you'd better know what you’re doing, I thought. That move of his screamed “short-term burst.” If he didn’t wrap it up fast, he’d burn out hard.

I pushed forward, catching up to Yuno just in time to see Mithra and Daena break ahead. Their figures blurred, already pressing the assault. I glanced at Yuno.

She’s changed too.

It wasn’t just her spear technique. Something about the way she moved—the way she used her entire body—was different. More fluid and integrated. She wasn’t locked into the weapon anymore. Arms, legs, full-body coordination—she was using everything. One more person to look forward to facing in the next spar.

Boom-boom!

Two sharp detonations split the air near the Lesser Dragon. Wind crackled and burst like thunder.

Izumo.

His suppression spells weren’t just noise. They had bite now—real stopping power. He wasn’t the same guy who used to rely on wind blades and basic pressure tricks. His arsenal had leveled up, and it showed.

If it could hit a Lesser Dragon, it could hit any of us just as easily.

“Dan Ousa Liberuno… Aerial!!! I did it!” Izumo shouted. “Everyone—this is your chance!”

He’d conjured a full spell circle beneath the Lesser Dragon’s legs—a complex one, woven with wind magic laced in a green shimmer. The moment it activated, wind roared upward from the earth, wrapping the Lesser Dragon in a twisting, crushing spiral.

Its limbs flailed uselessly, reduced to sluggish, desperate movements. No meaningful counterattacks. No evasive shifts. It was wide open.

This is it.

“Raaaaaaah!!!” Mithra roared, swinging his flame-infused great sword in a sweeping arc straight into the beast’s leg. The red-hot blade carved deep—cleaving into muscle, burning through hide and sinew. The air filled with the acrid stench of scorched flesh.

“Gyeeiiiie!!!” the Lesser Dragon shrieked—no longer defiant, no longer composed. It was a scream of pure pain. But it was still frozen, trapped by Izumo’s spell. And then—just as suddenly as it began—the shriek cut off.

“Enough with your irritating screeching.” Abelia’s voice was cold and resolute. “No more roars or breath attacks.” Her arrow had already struck home, piercing clean through the Lesser Dragon’s open mouth. It hung there—half-gasping, half-frozen—its vocal cords pinned from within.

No normal arrow—enchanted or not—should’ve pierced a dragon’s hide.

That had to be her new technique.

With that final strike, I knew the fight was over. As I hacked into the Lesser Dragon again and again, part of me was already smiling.

Shifu’s voice rang out—quiet, but cutting clean through the battlefield. “Everyone… I’m casting the big one. Fall back, okay?”

Behind me, I could feel the air distort with massive mana flow. I didn’t need to turn around. Just nodded, then moved. Mithra and I pulled away immediately. Daena jogged past us with a grin, whistling cheerfully like he was out for a stroll. Yuno sprinted up behind him, muttering something about “not dying to friendly fire.”

Everyone’s eyes naturally turned upward—mine included. Above us hovered a massive boulder, easily the size of the Lesser Dragon itself. It was impressive just seeing it float.

She was channeling enormous earth-elemental power. But I could also feel intense fire mana bleeding through.

Wait—is she casting both at once?! The spell had already been cast, the activation underway. I had no idea what she’d even called.

“Spirit magic and elemental fusion,” Shifu announced. “My strongest fire, as of now. Take this!!!”

Fire? Where— Then I saw it. The massive boulder rose even higher, until we had to crane our necks to keep it in view. And then, from its core outward, it began to glow red.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Her fire magic was heating the boulder from the inside, while the earth spirit held it together. Even from the ground, we could feel the heat radiating down. The thing wasn’t burning. It was melting.

“Yo—Izumo! Barrier, now!!!”

“Y-Yep! On it!”

“I don’t care what she is to you, sis—don’t get me caught in that!” Yuno cried, sprinting faster.

The molten boulder fell, roaring toward the pinned Lesser Dragon like a star being dropped from orbit. A deep, violent crash, the shock wave slamming into us even through the freshly raised barrier. Heat rolled over our skin in waves. Even with the shield in place, it scorched the air around us.

When I opened my eyes, the Lesser Dragon was dead. I didn’t even need to ask; you could just feel it. Technically speaking, parts of it still looked like a dragon, sure—but only barely. You’d have to squint.

We stood there in stunned silence for a few seconds.

“Shifu. Don’t ever point that at a person,” Abelia said dryly.

“You promised we’d talk before using stuff like that,” Yuno added with a weary sigh.

That was enough to break the stillness. All at once, everyone exhaled—and with it, the tension left our bodies. And in its place, a wave of satisfaction. A weight lifted from our chests.

I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt my own growth so clearly, so unmistakably, as this moment.

We won.

More than that, we got something back. All that frustration, all that shame from being humiliated by this thing… was gone. We could move forward again. Face the school festival with our heads up. Stand tall as Raidou-sensei’s students.

“Still feels like Shifu stole the whole ending, though,” Daena muttered with a crooked grin, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m nowhere near there yet,” Shifu replied softly. “I was chanting the whole time, and I still messed up the casting more than once. Barely got it off. Honestly, using it mid-fight like that was way too reckless.”

If that’s what she called not ready, I didn’t even want to think about her final form. For what it’s worth, I felt the same. I hadn’t been leading this team—I’d been trying to keep up with it.

“Hey, Jin. Looks like the head’s still intact. Let’s grab a horn and some fangs while we’re at it. Maybe some scales, if they’re salvageable.”

“Good idea!”

Following Daena’s lead, I jogged over to claim our trophies.

“Ugh, not the eyes—those are shot. Looks like they boiled from the inside. Horns are mostly intact. But the fangs? Yeah, not looking great. As for the scales… Might be able to salvage a few,” I muttered, crouching beside the still-steaming corpse.

“Let’s not bring this straight to a shop in Rotsgard,” Mithra suggested dryly. “If word gets out, it’ll be a mess. Better to head back to the academy first, then quietly offload it in some other city. The transfer gate fees are worth it—and no way I’m walking anywhere right now.”

Hard to argue with that. None of us had the energy to hoof it all the way to the nearest guild town, not after this fight. Our best call was to use a return item, teleport back to campus, then immediately hop to a random city to sell the goods. We could even send one of us alone—less attention, lower cost.

“Also, Mithra-senpai, that move of yours? When you just shoowm, sucked up that breath attack? That was insane!”

“Oh, that. Di Valier. Turns out I picked it up the other day as a Unique Skill,” Mithra replied, scratching his cheek like it was no big deal.

“Wait, what?! A Unique Skill?! That’s amazing!” Yuno’s eyes widened in pure awe.

Well, no wonder. Unique Skills were rare as hell—something only top-tier adventurers or knight veterans picked up after years of effort. And Mithra had just casually unlocked one while still a student.

Damn him.

I knew he was defense-oriented, but still. That was just unfair.

“It lets me absorb non-lethal damage and convert it into a boost for offense or defense,” he explained calmly.

“That’s not just useful, that’s basically a counter on steroids,” Abelia said, eyes narrowing.

“There’s a catch, though… Mithra’s voice trailed off.

That pause was suspicious.

“A catch?” I asked.

“It doesn’t negate the damage. It just… delays it,” he admitted.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not even injured, though,” Yuno pointed out.

“Yeah, but give it thirty minutes or so. Then it hits. I’m probably gonna be dealing with major burns later. Haha…

“You idiot!” Abelia exploded. “You just casually drop that on us now?! That’s not absorbing—it’s just procrastinating the pain!”

“Heh. My apologies in advance for the inconvenience,” Mithra replied, smiling like this was all normal.

So even crazy-rare Unique Skills come with their price tags. There really is no such thing as a perfect ability. Figures.

“Jin, Daena—hurry up with the collection! Mithra’s gonna be a wreck soon, and we need to move!” Abelia barked, already taking control of the situation.

As I jogged over, Daena gave me a half-exasperated, half-relieved look and muttered just loud enough for me to hear, “For a second there, I thought Mithra had totally left me in the dust, but turns out I wasn’t too far behind. And if his fancy new skill doesn’t block instant-kill damage, then he’s not that different from the rest of us. I mean, if Shifu’s last spell had hit him directly, he’d be toast either way.”

“You were amazing, Daena. Honestly… I let out a dry laugh and shrugged. “Kind of seriously bummed it feels like I didn’t contribute much.”

The words slipped out easier than expected. Maybe because it was Daena. Maybe because I trusted him to get it.

Gotta work harder. Push further.

If I keep chasing after Raidou-sensei with everything I’ve got, there’s no way I’ve hit my limit yet.

“You seriously think that?” he asked, incredulous. “You’re swinging two longswords like it’s nothing, and you’re telling me you didn’t do much? That kind of stunt, without any kind of unique skill or fancy trick—that’s what we call a monster, Jin.”

A monster, huh.

Under different circumstances, I might’ve gotten mad hearing that. But just then, and there—it felt like the highest praise anyone could’ve given me.

“I mean, compared to everyone else… I just added one more sword and fought a little flashier. Still feels pretty tame.”

“You’re using magic support, self-enhancement, and dual-wielding like it’s your normal turn-based rhythm, and you call that tame? Seriously, everyone’s got this freakish drive to improve—it’s actually kind of inspiring. Ugh. I’m fired up all over again.”

I’d only picked up the second blade because it felt natural—double the strikes, balance between offense and defense. No deep logic behind it. Just instinct.

If that still made me look strong enough to be called a monster… then maybe I’d come further than I thought.

“Heh. Here’s to the second term then, Daena.”

“Back at you. And yeah, we gotta push those Blue Lizards into getting serious too.”

No doubt about that.

Right now, we were standing on a straight, open path.

The more we walked it, the farther we went.

The more we ran, the faster we moved forward.

Way, way up ahead—there were two shadows. Raidou-sensei and Shiki. Always out of reach, never letting us catch up, but guiding us forward all the same.

Stronger. I want to get stronger.

I want to keep walking this road for as long as I can. That desire—the thing I’d been chasing without fully understanding it—was finally crystal clear in my mind. I wonder just how far we’ll be able to show Sensei our growth during the academy festival coming up.

With the Lesser Dragon’s horns, fangs, and scales packed up, we returned to the academy. We carried home more than just unexpected income—we brought back something that couldn’t be bought.

Shared regrets, hard-earned redemption, and the kind of bond that only comes from nearly dying together.

It was the end of our first summer since meeting Raidou-sensei.

※※※

A narrow strip of land lay between the territories of the humans and the demonkind—a fragile seam between two great powers. Along a lonely dirt road in this no-man’s-land, a woman and a child walked side by side.

“Heroes, demons, war… The world just never slows down, does it?” the woman murmured, her tone light but laced with something sharper beneath.

The boy turned his head toward her, his voice low and dry. “What’s this? Don’t tell me you’re suddenly overcome with pity for the lives lost in war. That’s not like you.”

She gave a small shrug, her blue hair catching the sunlight as it swung behind her. “Hardly. I was just thinking how all this chaos has worked out rather conveniently for us.”

“Heh. True enough. Aside from that run-in with Raidou, everything’s been going according to plan.”

“Raidou…

The woman, with striking blue hair and who wore a massive sword strapped to her back, had the bearing of a seasoned adventurer. By contrast, the boy appeared completely unarmed and armor-free. But the way they moved, the cadence of their conversation—it was clear they weren’t family. Not guardian and child. They were comrades. Equals in purpose, if not in appearance.

“With your strength now, even Raidou wouldn’t pose much of a challenge, would he, Sofia?”

“He’d better not,” she replied coldly. “For his sake—and yours, Mitsurugi.”

Sofia, the Dragon Slayer. And Mitsurugi, the Greater Dragon she was once said to have slain.

“Still,” she said, giving a slight frown, “why are we heading into such a dead zone, anyway?”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she glanced at Mitsurugi, who walked with his hands behind his back, calm as ever.

“Hard to say for sure,” he replied. “But not long ago, I caught a faint trace of Luto’s presence in this area. It was gone in an instant… but I thought it worth investigating.”

“Luto? All right. That’s reason enough. I was just hoping we weren’t wasting time on some pointless errand. If we’ve got the time to spare, we should be gathering intel on Shin—or getting ready to deal with Sazanami.”

“To track Shin, we’d have to head out into the wilderness from Tsige. That terrain’s not easy. Sazanami comes next. I’ve got a lead on how we can get into the White Desert.”

Mitsurugi’s tone was even, matter-of-fact.

Shin. Sazanami.

Both were Greater Dragons like himself. And yet Sofia had openly spoken of killing them—and Mitsurugi hadn’t refuted her. In fact, he’d calmly continued the discussion.

A Greater Dragon plotting to kill his own kind.

“That ‘ally’ you mentioned within the Empire… It’s thanks to them, huh? Not bad,” Sofia said, a hint of approval in her voice.

“My old home was within imperial borders, after all. I’ve still got a few connections. A hyuman I spared once, for example.”

“You? Spared someone?”

“If they weren’t worth hunting, sometimes. Depended on my mood.”

He smiled faintly, as if it were nothing. “Anyway. Once we’re done here, let’s make our final preparations. Then we’ll hunt the crone of Gront, the Sand Wave.”

Sofia smirked, eyes flashing. “Sounds perfect. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Mitsurugi glanced ahead, then tilted his chin toward the horizon.

“There should be a village nearby. What do you say, Sofia? Want to stop in?”

“A village, huh…

“It’s a fairly sizable one for this region. A bit unusual, actually. There’s even a branch of the Adventurer’s Guild. Name’s Bilroan.”

At the mention of the name, Sofia paused mid-step. It was only for a heartbeat, but unmistakable. Then, as if nothing had happened, she resumed walking.

“We don’t need to stop,” she declared. “I’ve got a hunch where the place we’re looking for is. Let’s just get going.”

“Huh? Uh, right… Mitsurugi’s brow furrowed. “But hold on—why do you know this area so well? You’ve been here before?”

It was unlike Sofia to pass up a chance to grab a drink, especially when a guild branch was nearby. Her sudden insistence on skipping the village and the way she spoke of their destination—it was strange.

“I once hunted a chimera in the forest up ahead,” she said offhandedly. “The grotesque kind, with human arms sprouting all over its back.”

Mitsurugi blinked, his eyes sharpening with recognition, “Arms on its back… That must’ve been a Spellhand Chimera. Top-tier guardian beast, usually stationed to protect a mage’s workshop.”

“Sounds about right. It nearly killed me. So then… that was Luto’s workshop after all.”

“Wait—workshop? You went there? More importantly, what do you mean by ‘it nearly killed you’? Sure, the Spellhand’s a formidable beast, but you shouldn’t have had any trouble with it.”

“I was alone,” she said, her voice turning soft, distant. “And a kid. Twelve… or maybe thirteen at the time? Can’t really remember anymore.”

“Honestly, it’s a miracle you survived,” he muttered, exhaling. “You’ve always had a reckless streak, haven’t you?”

A small, lopsided smile touched her lips.

“Yeah. I guess I have. I went wild back then. With the way I tore through the place, there might not be anything left.”

“We’ll just have to hope for the best.”

“I’ll take the lead. Follow me.”

With that, they dropped the subject.

Just as Sofia had declared, they didn’t spare the village a glance. Skirting past the farmland, the pair made for the forest clinging to the mountain’s base.

“So, your little chimera hunt actually paved the way for all this farmland, huh?” Mitsurugi remarked, glancing over the cultivated fields.

“Used to be all woods around here. Makes sense,” she replied with a shrug.

“But it looks like they couldn’t clear everything. From here on, it’s forest again. I can already sense monsters nearby.”

Sofia stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the looming tree line.

“The workshop I found is this way.”

She entered the forest without the slightest hesitation, even though the canopy cast a heavy gloom, thick enough to blot out the daylight.

It wasn’t because the path was familiar. It was because no matter what came out of that forest, she was certain she could kill it. That confidence was her only guide.

“This is it?”

“More or less,” Sofia replied, gazing across the small clearing. “If my memory’s right, the workshop used to be right here.”

There was nothing left but a few stumps where trees had once stood. The clearing felt forgotten, erased. And yet—

“Hmph. That memory of yours isn’t bad at all. There’s still a barrier here—active, even now. It’s cloaked.” Mitsurugi said.

“I thought so. Can you go in alone?” Sofia asked.

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll wait here. If you find anything interesting, let me know.”

“Fine. I won’t be long.”

After murmuring a brief incantation, Mitsurugi wandered around the clearing in slow, deliberate steps. He paused suddenly, then slipped soundlessly through what appeared to be empty air—disappearing through an invisible entryway like ink sinking into water.

The workshop… The place where it all began for me, Sofia whispered once she was alone. She sat down on one of the tree stumps, letting out a quiet breath.

I wonder… That boy—what’s he doing now? Probably running the village watch or something…

The forest around her was still thick and dark, the kind that swallowed sunlight. But here, in the clearing, thin shafts of light filtered through the trees, casting the space in a muted, uneasy calm. It wasn’t exactly bright—but it was clear enough to watch the surroundings. And quiet enough to remember.

Sofia allowed herself a rare moment of retrospection.

She’d never known her parents. Raised in a small village that had taken her in, her childhood had been a blur of blood and battle. From the moment she could walk, she was made to fight the monsters that lurked in the woods. She’d always been strong. Too strong. And that strength had twisted her fate from the very beginning.

She was still just a toddler when it first happened—when she accidentally crushed the wrist of the woman who was caring for her. After that, the villagers kept their distance. But they couldn’t ignore her power. They saw an asset, not a child. And so, they made her the village’s shield.

Any demi-humans, beasts, or monsters that dared attack—they all fell before her. The wounds she suffered were often severe. But no matter how deep the cuts, all she ever got was a bandage and a stern command to fight again once she could stand. She recovered fast. Unnaturally fast. No normal hyuman healed like that.

None of the other villagers ever fought beside her. No one tried. She fought alone. But that never seemed to bother her. When she couldn’t finish something off, the others would swarm it in numbers. She noticed the difference in strength, sure. But she never thought much of it.

Eventually, she came to believe her power wasn’t hyuman at all. Something alien. Cursed. And if she couldn’t belong, then at the very least she would protect. That would be her place.

Then, one day, a boy started fighting beside her.

“What was his name again?” she murmured, eyes narrowed as she tried to drag the memory out of the fog. “Hmm…

He was the youngest son of one of the village’s wealthiest families. A landowning clan. He was different from the others. Like her, he had a strange affinity for combat. A knack, you might say. By the time he turned ten, there was no one left in the village who could stop the two of them—especially in the monster-hunting zones around the outskirts.

He never feared her. Quite the opposite—he admired her. And for the first time in her life, Sofia—back then still called Miranda—felt a flicker of something warm. A quiet kind of happiness she hadn’t known before.

But…

“I can’t remember. Any of it,” she muttered, exhaling in frustration. “Oh well. Doesn’t matter now. I’m not Miranda Bulga anymore.”

Back then, she’d been sent to scout a section of the forest for possible expansion. The elders believed it could be cleared for farmland, but Sofia’s instincts told her something dangerous lurked there. The boy, as usual, tried to follow her. She shook him off, intentionally losing him in the trees.

She wanted to go alone.

Unfortunately, he’d been cleverer than she thought. Instead of following, he circled ahead—waiting for her to walk straight into his ambush. Even when she told him to go back, he wouldn’t listen. And so, the two of them explored the forest together that day.

Up until then, her investigations had only brought vague, distant unease. But that night… she made the mistake of letting her guard down—just for a moment.

She had let herself relax—just a little—wrapped in that unfamiliar warmth she only felt when the boy was beside her.

That was when it happened. They met it.

The chimera she had spoken of to Mitsurugi—the grotesque beast with human arms writhing from its back.

The boy fell instantly, struck down by the creature’s opening blow. Unconscious and helpless. And facing something that was far beyond the level of anything she’d fought before, Sofia stood her ground. She fought with everything she had, shielding the boy with her body, each strike fueled by desperation.

Then… she heard the voice.

It came from deep within the forest. A voice only she could hear—whispering, commanding. And without knowing why, she obeyed. She released the power hidden within her flesh, unlocking something ancient and violent. And as her mind began to understand what she truly was, her blade tore into the chimera with impossible speed and precision.

In that moment, Sofia felt it.

The creature before her—this monster that had nearly killed her—it wasn’t strong. It was weak.

The very same chimera that had outclassed her just seconds before now felt like nothing more than a nuisance. She didn’t know if the shift had come from the voice, the power, or the truth she was only just beginning to grasp—but the result was clear.

Strength flooded her. It burst forth from somewhere deep, raw and limitless. And before long, the chimera was nothing but a twitching heap of butchered flesh.

The battle ended in silence. And in that silence, Miranda Bulga understood.

If she had simply been another orphan left behind in some forgotten border village, how much easier—how much happier—might her life have been? But the truth of her existence offered no such comfort. It was bizarre, unnatural, wrong.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

She remembered the fantasies she used to entertain, back when she was younger. Dreams that maybe—just maybe—the power inside her marked her as a chosen one, a hero with a glorious destiny.

What a joke.

“I wasn’t chosen for anything,” she murmured to the trees. “I wasn’t some hero gifted by the gods. I was special, sure. But not in the way that matters.”

After the battle, she followed the memories now etched into her brain—memories that didn’t feel like hers, yet led her unerringly through the forest.

There, just as the voice had promised, she found the ruins of a workshop. And inside… she found her name.

Or rather, what she thought had been her name.

Sofia—it wasn’t hers. It was the name of the facility’s director. The real identifier they had left for her was just a string of characters. A code.

A product.

Miranda Bulga, the girl who had once fought to protect a village that had never welcomed her, stood before the remnants of her origin with a broken smile frozen on her face. Laughter and sorrow blurred together as she stared at the letters carved into the cold wall.

She wasn’t Miranda anymore. Not after that.

So, she took the name that was never hers to begin with and carved it into herself.

Sofia.

At the very least, she could no longer be that girl.

“Luto, the Myriad Colors,” Sofia whispered, her voice barely audible beneath the rustle of leaves. “The one who was tied to this workshop… the one who became the source of my power. The Greater Dragon, whose name alone was etched into history.”

Her gaze lingered on the trees, not truly seeing them.

“From the moment I met you, my purpose became clear: I would devour you. And now… even that goal is just another step along the way. Just wait—Gront, Shin, I’ll consume you both, and then I’ll finally reach her…

Back then, she had torn through the workshop like a storm. Whatever documents or records had been preserved, she’d likely destroyed most of them in her rampage. The odds of finding anything intact now were slim. Mitsurugi had said it was worth a try, even if it was just a long shot. If he came back irritated, Sofia had already decided she’d offer a casual apology and move on.

After all, the two of them weren’t friends. Not really.

They had spent enough time together to be called partners, and their goals were perfectly aligned—but nothing more. No trust, no affection. Just shared purpose.

That was the only bond between them. Which is why, even now, Sofia remained alone. She had never let anyone into her heart. Not even once.

“Huh… come to think of it,” she muttered to herself, brow furrowing, “how did that boy and I part ways? He didn’t die fighting the chimera, I’m sure of that… so then…?”

The memory—once vivid—had faded so much that she couldn’t even grasp its outline anymore. The only one who had ever shown her anything close to real hyuman warmth had vanished from her thoughts like mist.

Sofia the Dragon Slayer had long since ceased trying to understand others or trying to be understood. She sharpened her overwhelming power in solitude, chasing after a desire born from the depths of something dark. Every obstacle she encountered was cut down without mercy, and few of her enemies were even remembered.

All except one.

The only person she had been truly defeated by—Raidou, the enigmatic man who they called the Wicked One.

She exhaled, brushing the thought aside. “Well, no use brooding. For now, hunting the Greater Dragons and cleaning up Raidou are the priorities.”

She stood, stretching slightly, as her senses prickled.

“Right about now… Mitsurugi should be coming out with whatever scraps he could find—oh?”

Right on cue, Mitsurugi emerged from the concealed entryway, brushing dust from his cloak with an exaggerated sigh.

“Sofia! You really made a mess of that place, didn’t you?! I had to wade through rubble for hours just to find anything usable!”

She offered him an unapologetic grin. “Sorry, sorry. I was a kid, remember?”

“Hmph… well, I did manage to dig up a few leads. Could’ve been worse.”

“As expected of you, Mitsurugi. In that case, shall we go prep for the Gront hunt?”

“Not yet. There’s a summons. One we can’t ignore.”

“I see. We do owe them, after all,” she said with a sigh. “Might as well pay back that debt.”

“Exactly. A final obligation, nothing more. Besides, if we get tangled up with hyumans again, we might just bump into Raidou.”

She chuckled under her breath. “That would be lovely. And hey, even if we don’t, we might get to play with one of the so-called heroes. Sounds like good warm-up material.”

“Spoken like the menace you are. Let’s be off.”

“Right.”

Sofia gave the forest one last glance—this forest, the place that had seen her beginning, the place that should have held nostalgia, regret, or at least some flicker of emotion.

There was none.

Feeling nothing, she turned her back on it, following Mitsurugi as the two vanished into the trees, leaving only their enigmatic conversation hanging in the air like fog.

Far to the east, as the academy city approached autumn and the festival season loomed, the one who had once clashed with Raidou—the Dragon Slayer herself—continued to grow stronger.

Author: Azumi Kei

Was born in Aichi Prefecture. In 2012, Kei began serializing Tsuki ga Michibiku Isekai Dochu (Tsukimichi: Moonlit Fantasy) on the web. It quickly became a popular series and won the Readers’ Choice Award at the 5th Alphapolis Fantasy Novel Awards. In May 2013, following revisions, Kei made their publishing debut with Tsuki ga Michibiku Isekai Dochu.

Illustrations by Mitsuaki Matsumoto

http://transparnaut.web.fc2.com/

This book is a revised and published version of the work originally posted on the website “Shōsetsuka ni Narō” (http://syosetu.com/)

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OEDO (お江戸): A stylized reference to Edo, the historical name of Tokyo during the samurai era. Writing it in all caps gives it a quirky, gamelike, or futuristic vibe, while the furigana ties it back to classic Japan.

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