Edward Serfence's Office:
Bam!
The dark mage turned to see his office doors slam open, his closest friend all but stomping into the room.
"Ed!" Workner shouted, somewhere between outrage and disbelief. The sound alone made Edward feel a migraine coming on.
Still, he stood tall, unfazed even as Workner grabbed him by the collar and nearly yanked him down.
"You call that a test?! How could you possibly ask them that?!"
Edward feigned confusion. "What do you mean?"
Workner's grip tightened, but Edward's patience—already thin—was vanishing fast. He decided to end the farce before it went further.
"They all hope to climb the tower. I merely questioned them on the most fundamental aspect of magic."
As he spoke, Edward's expression darkened, a hint of disgust crossing his face.
"Forty percent of them got it wrong. I truly weep for their futures."
The contempt in his voice and his refusal to address the obvious made Workner snap. He yanked Edward closer, teeth clenched.
"That's not what I'm talking about… You knew there was one student who couldn't possibly answer that question! You're a teacher! How could you set him up to fail?!"
Twitch.
If Edward had been wearing a mask of cold indifference before, now it was real.
Wham!
"Augh."
With a single shove, he knocked Workner off his feet. The man landed hard on the rug.
"You're the ones setting him up to fail!"
Silence.
Both men stared at each other, slightly sweating, equally stunned. Workner's look of disbelief—that Edward had actually pushed him—only made the pit in Edward's gut churn harder.
The dark mage gave a bitter snort, straightening his collar as he buried his guilt beneath layers of cold detachment.
"You want to send a boy who can't use magic to the tower? To the Wand Graveyard? What do you think that's going to accomplish?!"
Turning away, Edward walked behind his desk and sat. Workner remained on the floor, looking up at him.
Crossing his arms, Edward sneered.
"Or would you rather hand him over to those lunatics and let them make him their guinea pig? That idea's so ridiculous, I could laugh."
Workner Norgram's eyes widened. He went silent as Edward continued.
"This world runs on magic. A sword can never be a wand—much less a Magia Vander."
Edward closed his eyes, as if the conversation was already over.
"You're mad. You and the Headmistress both. I'm tearing that impossible dream out of his hands before he gets hurt… or worse, killed."
He opened his eyes again, voice low.
"That's the only mercy I can offer him."
His eyes shut once more.
Tick.
Tock.
Silence settled over the room again, broken only by the slow turning of the wall clock.
Edward sat at his desk, eyes closed.
And Workner sat beneath it—beneath him—on his knees.
He clenched his teeth, lowering his gaze to the floor as he parted his lips.
"I… looked over Will's exam."
Edward stiffened, but said nothing.
"There's no way that answer wasn't worth a passing grade…"
Without opening his eyes, Professor Edward replied with forced indifference.
"Don't even start, Workner. If you really went through the results, you know I didn't give part marks. Not to anyone. You either got all six credits, or none."
"Well then Will should have gotten full marks."
"The question clearly stated to explain in terms of your own magical attribute."
Something Will very conveniently doesn't possess.
Professor Workner let out a bitter laugh.
"Just another coincidence? Or a sign of impartiality, I presume?"
Edward's jaw tightened. He gave a stiff nod.
"Exactly."
"Heh." Workner chuckled again, lifting his head to look at the man above him—his best friend.
His best friend who just failed his protégé. Who just crushed a boy's dream, and didn't even have the decency to meet his eyes.
His best friend who used Will to bury his own insecurities.
And Workner had just about had it.
He'd known Edward Serfence for sixteen years now.
Like most dark mages, Edward had been feared—ostracized for his attribute. Maybe that's what first drew Workner's attention.
Back when they were just ten-year-old boys, he'd reached out to Edward, offering friendship.
Edward slapped it away.
He preferred solitude. Isolation. Wanted nothing to do with games, or rest, or people.
Or so he claimed.
But Workner had always known the truth.
Edward was afraid.
Afraid that, like everyone else, Workner would leave the moment he got bored or scared. Or that he only wanted Edward for his power, to use him as a stepping stone.
Still, Workner kept trying.
Eventually, Edward let him in—barely enough to tolerate his presence.
That cold exterior melted further when Clairie forced her way into their lives, turning their 'duo' into a strange little friend group. Eliza would show up now and then, though she and Clairie never quite got along.
Workner never understood why.
His only clue was the way Edward would sometimes stare at him—like he was the biggest idiot in the room.
It only left him more confused.
Anyway, that wasn't the point.
The point was—they were practically inseparable.
None of them were geniuses.
Eliza aside, none of them invented a spell during their time at the academy. The trio had to climb the tower the old-fashioned way: grinding credits.
They worked hard. Spent countless extra hours in the dungeon, secretly sneaking off to the lower floors. Built a reputation as problem children.
That reputation only grew ten years ago, during their sixth year, when they enlisted to fight in the Great War—the moment Paradise came closest to destruction.
They were just students, but they outperformed many seasoned high mages. All three graduated at the top of their class and ascended the tower shortly after.
Edward joined the Dark Faction.
Workner, the Wind Faction.
And Clairie—an uncommon multos with fire, water, and wind magic—became a special kind of Colorless called an Arbiter.
Life carried on in the Upper Institute as they climbed the tower.
Workner learned every wind spell.
Clairie did the same with fire and water.
But it was Edward—the least talented of them back in the day—who changed the most.
He mastered all dark magic, even the highest-level spells. And unlike Clairie or Workner, who eventually hit a ceiling, he reached the top of the tower.
An Ascendant.
And just like that, all hopes landed on him.
He was named chief of the Dark Faction. For the first time in generations, the faction had a real shot—their shot—at producing the next Vander.
Edward was practically a shoo-in.
But then he came.
Cariott, an underclassman of theirs.
Someone all of them—and surprisingly, Edward especially—got along with quite well.
For political reasons they never fully understood, Cariott was adopted into the noble House of Wiseman. He climbed the tower too.
And suddenly, there were two Ascendants from the same generation. Both fighting for the last open seat of Magia Vander.
So they fought.
But it couldn't even be called a fight.
It was a massacre.
Cariott—who had always seemed just mildly capable, as unassuming as they came—utterly wiped the floor with Edward in seconds.
That's when it became clear. To Workner. To Clairie. But especially, to Edward.
In this world, people aren't made equal.
You can work hard to match talent. But hard work alone will never beat a genius.
Because a genius isn't just more gifted—they work just as hard. Maybe even harder.
Edward's dreams went up in smoke, just like that.
He couldn't stand the looks—the pity, the ridicule—from his fellow dark mages. All their hopes had been crushed with his defeat.
So he ran. Fled the tower and returned to the academy as an educator.
Workner, already disillusioned with the tower and growing more passionate about teaching, ran with him.
And that should've been the end of it.
But unlike Workner, he knew Edward would never get over it.
Not the loss. Not the pride.
Not the crushing realization that everything he fought for... had been a fool's errand.
So when Edward vented his insecurities on every genius that crossed his path—or every untalented fool under his tutelage who dared to share his lost dream—Workner, though ashamed, looked the other way.
He didn't like it. But he tolerated it.
Because that was Edward.
Because he knew know that perhaps the most damaging thing they could do to these students was lie to them and tell them they were capable.
Capable of anything.
As long as they put their mind and body to it.
But this... this was different.
And it wasn't just his bias speaking. Or his love for Will.
This wasn't venting.
This wasn't about putting arrogant or disconnected students in their place.
It was sabotage.
Direct. Deliberate. Calculated.
A line Edward had never crossed. A new low he had sunk to.
And one Workner couldn't ignore.
He rose to his feet slowly, fists clenched.
"Ed…"
Edward Serfence finally opened his eyes, gaze flat, bored.
"What?"
Workner's jaw tightened.
"You have no right to sit here pretending to care about him—as if you're looking out for him—when in reality, you're using Will as a shield. A convenient excuse to hide from your insecurities."
Edward's face flushed. "What did you just say—"
"Don't." Workner cut him off with a shake of his head. "Just... don't."
He pointed across the desk, jabbing Edward hard in the chest, leaving him stunned.
"You're scared," Workner said, voice low and sharp. "Scared that you were wrong. That we were wrong. That Will—a No-Talent, the least gifted person we've ever met, anyone's met—might actually achieve what you couldn't. What none of us could."
Edward flinched.
"Through hard work alone," Workner continued. "Nothing more. And that terrifies you. So you cheated him. You undermined him. Because that possibility—the chance he might succeed—was too much for your pride to bear."
He adjusted his hoodie.
"Ed… you're despicable."
Edward's pupils contracted. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Workner stared at him—eyes filled with disappointment, and something close to contempt.
"You are utterly unqualified to be a teacher. Best friend or not... I'll be raising this matter to the Headmistress."
Edward blinked, stunned.
"W-what did you say?"
Workner shook his head slowly.
"Still playing stupid, even now."
His voice was heavy. Final.
"You heard me. I'm requesting a remark for Will—and your immediate termination from the academy."
Edward froze. His body went rigid.
"Now if you excuse me, I have a very devastated—and possibly suicidal—student to find before he does anything reckless," Workner said coldly.
A jolt of terror shot up Edward's spine.
Workner clicked his tongue in distaste. Then, without another word, the Magizoology professor turned on his heel and stormed out.
The doors slammed behind him—just as they had when he'd entered.
And as the silence returned, Edward slumped into his chair, buried his face in his hands, and let out a tired, broken sigh.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Rigarden Academy Courtyard:
The sky had long since turned dark. The sounds of cheers, laughter, and celebration from the Urbus Rigarden festivities echoed in every direction.
But for a certain group of students, none of it mattered.
Colette panted in the courtyard, hands on her knees as she struggled to catch her breath. She snapped her head up, eyes wide with worry.
"Lihanna! Wignall! Did you find Will?!"
The two shook their heads, answering one after the other.
"No… we haven't seen him anywhere…"
"He's not in the dorms, at least. I suspect he left campus," the elf added.
Sweat slid down Colette's cheek—some from exhaustion, the rest from rising panic.
"Oh… Will… where are you—"
Thud.
Footsteps on the grass cut her off.
"A student realizes they'll never make it to the tower, gets depressed, and runs off. Not exactly rare this time of year."
They whipped their heads to the side.
"Julius!"
The ice mage twirled a strand of hair between his fingers, eyes brimming with disdain, before spreading his arms.
"And now you expect me to help you look for him? Ugh. What a pain."
"If he's pathetic enough to run from his problems, let him."
Twitch.
Wignall's expression darkened. He turned, leveling his wand right at the Reinburg heir's face.
"Take that back. I won't let you insult an elf-friend," he said, soft but firm.
Julius stared in silence, his patience visibly wearing thin.
"Looks like you came out of that dungeon infatuated with him, O great Elfmage," he muttered sarcastically.
"Or should I say infected by him?" The venom in his voice stung.
Twitch.
Wignall's ears flicked, stunned by what he was hearing. "What?!"
Twack!
Julius flung his arm to the side, sending Wignall stumbling back. Lihanna and Colette stared, both wearing shocked, heavy frowns.
He didn't care.
Gripping his own collar, Julius raised his voice.
"Edward-sensei warned him! Everyone in this school warned him for six bloody years that this was the only way things would end!"
The trio stiffened as a pulse of Julius' magic flared in the air.
"You mean to tell me, after all this time, he never once prepared for failure?!"
"Did he truly believe he could ascend—become the symbol of the magical world—without a single spellwork credit? Without even being able to use magic?!"
"This is a world of magic, for god's sake! Just how arrogant and delusional is he?!"
He flung his arms wide, desperation leaking through the rage.
"It doesn't matter how good he is! Doesn't matter how well he does in the dungeon or praxis! The tower has no place for a sword, forget one that refuses to admit it is a sword!"
"If they let one sword become a wand—set that precedent—then all the dwarves and even the incompetent will start getting ideas! They'll aspire to things they shouldn't!"
"All it will bring is chaos! And for those of us already living one step from extermination, the last thing we need is society and norms breaking down!"
"He could be the strongest man alive and the tower would still hand him a gold star and nothing more, because his very existence threatens the supremacy of magic!"
"And it is magic—magic alone—that got us this far! Magic that repelled the heavenly invaders! Magic that formed the Great Barrier! Magic that holds up the damn sky! Not a sword!"
"This world started with magic, runs on magic, and will end with magic. A sword fits nowhere! It contributes nothing!"
"We all knew that. So why the hell did you put those stupid ideas in his head?!"
"Why did you fools treat him like an equal—give him hope?!"
"His pain, his suffering right now, is because none of you had the guts to tell him the cold, heartless truth! The truth he'd only ever accept from one of you…"
"…Because you're his friends."
"Tell me?!"
Wignall and Lihanna stood frozen.
Colette's knees gave out beneath her.
Because the last part of Julius' rant wasn't aimed at them.
It was aimed squarely at her—clear in the sharp, undisguised disgust burning in the ice mage's eyes.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
As Julius' heartbeat slowed and he caught his breath, he snorted and turned away, confused at why he'd gotten so worked up.
Then he froze.
Because only now did he notice—there was a fifth person in the courtyard.
Sion Ulster stood with his hands in his pockets, glaring at him with barely restrained fury.
Suppressing a sigh, Julius spread his arms again in a questioning gesture.
"Why're you looking at me like that, Sion? I thought you hated the No-Talent as much as I did?"
"...I do."
The fire mage's brow furrowed tighter as he grit his teeth.
"Hell, I'm furious. I was supposed to knock him off that high horse."
"Now I can't anymore… and I hate that more than anything."
Silence followed.
Tension wrapped the group—anger, disdain, and gloom written across every face.
Then came another set of footsteps.
"What are you kids doing?"
They turned together at the sound of the familiar voice.
Colette stepped forward first, desperation spilling out.
"Professor Workner… we're looking for Will. We can't find him anywhere!"
Workner Norgram paused, an unreadable expression briefly flashing across his face before he closed his eyes.
Will… you've got good friends. I hope you remember that.
When he opened his eyes, they gleamed—golden hazel shining behind the lenses of his glasses.
He placed a gentle hand on Wignall's and Colette's backs, urging them forward.
"Don't worry. I'll find him. You all run along."
"But…" Colette protested weakly.
He smiled softly.
"It's the end of the year. The Terminalia. Go let loose and enjoy yourselves."
With nothing left to say, all five ducked their heads politely and slowly made their way toward the noise and lights of the festivities.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Meanwhile:
Far from the town square, closer to Slumland than the inner city, Will sat alone on a bench in a circular park.
His sword leaned against the bench beside him. His gaze stayed low, downcast.
Footsteps crunched against the dirt. His ki told him who it was before the voice confirmed it.
"Will."
Will didn't respond to Rosti's voice.
The blonde artificer forced a smile and tried again.
"I finished repairing your goggles. They're back in our room."
He thought that would earn a smile. They were one of—if not the—most precious things Will owned.
Still, no reaction.
"Will…?" Rosti stepped closer, unsure.
This time, Will answered—without looking up.
"Edward-sensei is so unfair… He knew a no-talent like me couldn't possibly answer that question yet…"
His voice cracked as he clenched his fists.
"It's not right! Asking a question like that…"
Plip.
Rosti stared, stunned, as tears slid out from under Will's glasses—dripping onto his fists, pants, and lap.
Will's voice rose as his anger gave way to despair.
"What the heck?! I mean come on!"
The magicless swordsman trembled.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Elife!"
His cries broke through the park, raw and unfiltered. Rosti flinched before slowly sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
"I doubt anything I say right now will mean much… but I'll say it anyway. I'm here for you. Always."
That was it.
The last straw.
Will lost it completely, bawling like a child into his friend's arms.
"Waaaahhhh!"
Will Serfort was at his breaking point.
A boy only had so much to give.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
"I'm going to kill him."
"Not if I do first," Noelle replied coolly, standing beside her husband as they overlooked Will and Rosti unnoticed from a small circular tower in the center of the park.
Nigel blinked curiously, bundled in a blanket against her chest.
Asta sighed.
"That bastard's really too much… like, how can you do something like that and face no consequences?"
Once again, Paradise reminded him of his old world—his old home—in all the worst ways. The kind he'd gladly do without.
Noelle clicked her tongue and shook her head.
"This is a world based on worth… and right now, he's worth more than Will. Far more. So he could probably do anything short of killing him and still get away with it…"
Asta clenched his fist and ground his teeth, looking seconds away from storming the academy, hunting down Edward Serfence, and committing homicide.
Noelle moved quickly to talk him down.
"Relax—"
"How can I possibly relax—"
"I'll accept Aaron's offer."
Asta froze and turned to her. "Huh?"
Noelle sighed. "You heard me. I'll accept his offer. Start the Water Faction and scout Will immediately."
Asta blinked again.
"That easy?"
She shrugged.
"Probably not. But it shouldn't be too complicated."
Asta hesitantly pointed at Nigel—who promptly grabbed the finger and shoved it in his mouth.
"Who'll look after the baby?"
Noelle's expression darkened.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was under the impression Nigel here had two parents. You know, a mother and a father. One who can cover for me."
Asta raised his hands sheepishly. "Come on, Noelle. You know that's not what I meant."
Noelle tilted her head, gaze sharp. Voice challenging.
"Then what did you mean?"
Asta paused, trying to gather his words—preferably ones that wouldn't earn him a point-blank Sea Dragon's Roar… or Maridraco Silva, as it was now called.
Thankfully, today seemed to be one of his wittier days.
Well, Asta-witty.
"I meant… I thought you wanted to be there for Nigel at all times. If you do this, you'll miss out on his best years…"
Noelle frowned. "I—I know that. But look at Will. It looks like he's going to…"
She bit her lip. Even as she argued, her voice lacked heat.
She loved Will. She really did.
But if it ever came down to a choice between him and her baby… that wasn't even a contest.
She clicked her tongue, muttering mostly to herself.
"Maybe that old guy'll make an exception and let me bring my baby and my stupid husband with me…"
Asta ignored the jab—barely—before his eyes lit up.
"Maybe… or we could try asking Yuno."
Noelle turned slowly toward him, frowning hard.
"Don't even."
"Come on, why not?" Asta threw up his arms. "He's high up now! He could pull some strings, maybe get Will in."
Noelle reached out and pinched his nose without hesitation.
"That's not the point. Do that and all eyes will definitely fall on him. You could ruin everything he's worked toward for six years!"
Asta held up his free hand—his other still claimed by Nigel's mouth.
"Ah, ah… keyword: possibly. Even if it draws some attention, it won't be much more than he's already gotten over the years. Plus, those Tower people aren't that dumb. They've probably had him pegged as suspicious for ages!"
Noelle snorted. "Yeah, and he's been doing everything he can to change that. Don't blow it. You know most of the plan hinges on him."
Asta gently freed his nose from her grip and forced a grin.
"Shhh, babe. Quiet down, someone might hear us."
Noelle went red instantly.
"B-Babe?!" she squeaked, only for Asta to cover her mouth with a warm hand.
"I'll ask him when he gets back—from wherever he is, doing whatever he's doing. I won't force him."
He leaned in slightly.
"And if things don't work out… we'll do it your way. On the condition Aaron lets me and Nigel into the Tower with you."
Noelle blinked. Then nodded, slow and hesitant.
Asta smiled and lowered his hand.
Then the two turned back toward the bench in the park, doing their best to ignore the distant sound of Will's weeping. Their eyes drifted over the trees and toward the glowing lights of the inner city.
Both narrowed their eyes.
The Terminalia was starting very soon.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
People from all over Urbus Rigarden—well, save the dwarves of Slumland—laughed and bustled around the festival.
They tasted street vendor foods and played carnival games, all while awaiting the promised time.
Blasts of multicolored magic fired by the elves of the Fairy Faction lit up the sky like fireworks, drawing every eye.
A large magic circle hovered in the middle of the tower, shaped like a clock and ticking slowly but surely toward the grand moment.
And flying high above it all, sitting astride a broom like some old-world witch, was none other than the Arbiter of the Tower.
Clairie Serah, a high-mage Multos with long blonde hair cut into bangs that hid her eyes.
She smiled brightly, her voice amplified by some sort of communication magic.
"Woohooooo! It's festival tiiiiime!!!" Her voice stretched with flair—exaggerated, yes, but not fake.
She really did look as happy as she sounded.
"Welcome to our New Year's Eve bash! How's everyone doing tonight?!"
"Here we are again at Urbus Rigarden!"
"We're here for the grandest celebration and most important ritual of the year!"
"I'm your mistress of ceremonies, Clairie! Clairie Serah, an elite high-mage from the Tower—twenty-six and still single! Yep, that's me!"
That unnecessary add-on got a lot of blushes out of the male audience.
Most of them were already fantasizing things they probably shouldn't—especially the ones with a lady at their side.
But hey, their funeral.
"It may be the end of the year, but it's all work and no play for me!"
"Seeing all of you down there, laughing and smiling with your families and lovers… it's enough to make a girl cry!"
Everyone started blinking and frowning, but she pressed on.
"Ha ha ha, get this—I asked some work friends to join me, but they said 'Our students are more important!' Hilarious, right? Ha ha ha ha!"
The crowd gave no answer.
Clairie's smile faltered, and she very nearly cursed aloud.
"...You hear that, Workner?! Ed?! Back when we were schoolmates, the three of us were inseparable, and now look at us! I'll make you regret this!"
Workner plugged his ears as he continued searching.
Edward Serfence, in no mood for anything tonight, remained silent as he carried out his monitoring duties.
Caldron rubbed her forehead—bemused, exasperated, and maybe even a little embarrassed by her disciple's outburst.
As for Eliza Nosferat… she suddenly had a very strong urge to seek out Workner and make sure Clairie saw them together.
Suddenly remembering her place—thanks to all the wry stares—Clairie sweatdropped and rubbed her cheek.
"...Ahemn, forgive me. Got a little carried away there."
Like clockwork, her expression snapped back into place. She was all smiles once more.
"Before I broadcast any more of my shame to the entire world, let me bring this magnificent scene to life for you!"
She tilted her body, pointing toward the false sky—gesturing above all to the core of the great barrier.
The countless overlapping and linked silver-white magical arrays, shaped like a crescent moon.
"Today is the day of the Terminalia… which means it's once again time to reinforce the barrier protecting our sky!"
Her expression grew solemn. The smile vanished, and even the youngest children took on a pious, reverent look.
"The Lore is no secret. Long, long ago, our people were trapped in darkness, with no knowledge of the sky."
"Many lands, realms, and worlds were laid to waste by the Celestial Host and the Heavenly Invaders.
Bells tolled endlessly for the dead, in a time when mourning and loss weren't tragedies—they were the norm."
Some in the crowd began to cry, even before she smiled again.
"Then just when all seemed lost… our founder, Mercedes, called together five great mages to seal up the sky and repel the invaders!"
"That was five hundred years ago—five-oh-six to be precise!
And ever since, the Magia Vander's Great Barrier has stood as a boundary between us and the heavens, bridging peace to our world!"
Cheers erupted once more.
Few in the crowd noticed the high mages from every faction—and the Colorless—silently patrolling and monitoring for suspicious behavior.
When no such reports surfaced, Iris X. Stellamaris—fourth-year student and, in truth, a high mage and watcher from the Light Faction pretending to be a 14-year-old—adjusted her glasses and whispered to one of her masters.
"Everything's normal. We're clear to proceed, Sir Logwell."
Not long after her report, the magical projection screens flickered and shifted.
They changed to display the top of the tower, where five mages, each carrying a large staff, came into view.
Clairie grinned.
"Now, everyone! Please join me in a glorious welcome… for the Magia Vander!"
Men and women, children and seniors alike, fist-pumped and cheered.
"Woo, the Lord of Light!"
"Lord Aaron!"
"Lord Cariott, over here!"
"Yeah, Zeo, that's my guy!"
"Long live Lady Ellenor!"
"Lady Elfaria, you're the best!"
Clairie continued, though her next words were meant more for the tower hopefuls across the world.
Those who would forever remain hopeful.
"I know some of you out there may be feeling disappointed or defeated. Hopeless and lost. But I ask you now to lift your gaze!"
Far away in the park, Will's red, puffy eyes blinked behind his soaked glasses.
He looked up.
"...Elfie…" He choked on the name.
Because just yesterday, he still had hope to see her again.
And now, he didn't even have that.
Clairie carried on.
"Never forget that the Celestial Host is seeking to conquer our world as we speak!"
"Our paradise is under threat right now!"
"So no matter how discouraged we may feel, we must hold up the sky and ward off evil!"
"Now let us raise our lights on high… and do our part to support the sky!"
Everyone who could hold a wand pointed theirs skyward—a symbolic gesture to lend the Magia Vander their pillars, their strength.
And that made Will choke up again.
Because he should be doing the same.
But he had no magic.
No wand.
Any wand he raised would be worthless, not even fit to serve as symbolism.
Even a toddler could do more to hold up the sky than him.
And that broke him further.
Maybe Edward-sensei was right.
What am I even aiming for?
One of the Magia Vander's main responsibilities was operating and enforcing the barrier.
How could someone like me—who can't even perform basic magic—ever contribute to something like that?
If I joined them, I wouldn't be helping. I'd just be dead weight the others have to carry.
Will trembled, heart aching and cracking, tears spilling anew.
Rosti rubbed his back, tracing calming circles.
It didn't help at all.
This is a world of magic.
Heroes are mages.
The magicless will always be sinners—because they're good-for-nothings.
Parasites, forever relying on others. Forever taking advantage.
A sword cannot be a wand.
At the top of the tower, Aaron raised his staff toward the heavens.
The other four followed without hesitation.
"Begin," the King of the Magia Vander intoned.
No debate. No delay.
From five points, magical light erupted—pure, ethereal, blinding. Beams of power wove together like braided silk, feeding into the ancient mechanism above.
The Great Barrier shimmered to life.
Grand Spell Circle: Vandes Terminalia.
Clairie stood center stage, voice echoing across the plaza.
"Five!"
The crowd joined her, loud and eager.
"Four!"
"Three!"
"Two!"
"One!"
"Happy New Year!"
The sky exploded with color. Fireworks danced like spirits. The array above pulsed as the final seal clicked into place.
Clairie beamed, arms stretched wide.
"Out with the old year, and in with the new! May Mercedes shine her light upon us all!"
"Happy New Year, Rigarden! And welcome to a new chapter for our world!"
The cheering rose—only to freeze.
Every voice, every breath, fell silent.
Because something… hovered.
Dark, inky handwriting drifted across the Barrier's luminous clockface—messy, looping, and wrong.
Lihanna's party knew that handwriting. And every instinct in their bodies screamed.
"Happy New Year Ψ►ᗜ◄)ﾉ!"
Bzz.
Bzz.
Magic circles lit up in the sky. Familiar ones. Too familiar.
Team Lihanna's eyes widened.
Whispers turned to gasps. Gasps to panic.
"H-Hey, what are those?!"
No one answered. The air itself had turned heavy, sick.
And then—they fell.
Through the arrays, through the skies—they came.
Monsters.
Not beasts, not demons—abominations.
Twice the height of any husman, all jagged limbs and twisted geometry.
Their rib cages were exposed, sculpted from bone, stretched over crimson muscle.
Their faces hidden behind horned helms, with no eyes—only a gaping, tooth-ringed maw that split their faces in half.
One descended slower than the rest, sword in hand, with a cracked halo above its head.
Nothing about it was holy. Nothing even pretended to be.
Tattered wings dragged behind them like torn banners.
Their hands—too human. Their feet—too wrong.
And when they landed—the earth shattered.
Buildings collapsed under the shock. Dust clouds swallowed entire streets. Screams returned too late.
On a rooftop, unnoticed, Marze watched alongside Headless.
"The Magia Vander used most of their mana on the barrier," he said.
"They'll be useless for a while."
Headless raised his wand and scrawled another message into the air.
Time to start… the party from hell (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶).
Back in the park, Noelle and Asta locked eyes.
"Go," she whispered.
He vanished in a blur.
Neither of them missed it—Will was already gone, too.
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