The walk should've been quiet. Routine. Predictable. Just another pass through familiar streets. The guild was already in sight.
Then something shifted.
Not sound. Not movement.
Intent.
It hit before anything else—pure, unfiltered bloodlust.
From behind.
And it wasn't subtle.
It crashed into him. Cold. Heavy. Crushing. Not just directed—locked.
On him.
I felt it.
Not as an echo. Not as something filtered through him. It reached straight through, like whatever stood behind us had no regard for boundaries. For a brief second, the separation blurred—
—and I wasn't just inside him.
I was there.
Standing. Exposed.
Kill.
That was the intent. Clear. Absolute. No hesitation. No doubt.
Just raw bloodlust and it's approaching.
Viole registered it first. Of course he did.
And the moment he did, everything in him snapped into alignment.
Block.
His thoughts compressed instantly. No excess. No hesitation. Every unnecessary piece stripped away. What remained was simple, direct, and immediate.
Milliseconds.
That's all he had.
If he was late—He dies.
Time didn't actually slow. But it stretched just enough to feel like it did. The moment between awareness and impact elongated, every motion sharpened into clarity.
The turn. The draw. The shift in weight.
One second.
That's all it was.
And in that second—something surfaced.
Death.
It wasn't new. Not really.
When I first arrived, he was already at the edge of it. I didn't think about it then. Couldn't. There wasn't room. Too much happening. Too much unknown.
Then he lived.
And I moved on.
Ignored it.
But now—it's here again.
Closer. Clearer. Real.
If he dies—What happens to me?
The question didn't flicker this time. It settled. Fully formed. With nowhere to go.
And then—impact.
Steel met steel.
He turned into it, blade only half-drawn. It barely cleared the scabbard, catching the very tip of the incoming strike at an angle that shouldn't have been possible.
That alone said enough.
If he had been slower—even slightly—it would've gone through him clean.
But the force behind it didn't stop.
It drove through.
His body was thrown back, hard, the guild wall meeting him with a crack that carried through bone.
Pain followed immediately.
Sharp. Focused.
Ribs.
Urgh—It hit me at the same time. Not dulled. Not distant. The impact somewhere around the chest. The fracture—raw and immediate, like something had caved in from the inside.
—
He didn't black out. Didn't even come close.
He pushed himself up.
Unsteady—but standing.
His breathing was wrong. Shallow. Tight. Every inhale controlled, measured, held just below the point where it would make things worse.
Still—he raised his sword.
Took his stance.
No hesitation.
And then—a name surfaced.
Cascading Rend.
I caught it clearly. Not just a thought. A memory.
His father's technique.
Twelve slashes. Perfect rhythm. Movement and strike woven together so tightly it collapsed into a single continuous flow. No gaps. No openings.
Impossible to block—unless you could match the speed.
I held onto that, and something didn't line up.
Wait.
Why didn't he use it before?
Against the undead monster.
The thought lingered—right up until his own answered it.
Five.
That's his limit.
Not twelve. Not even close.
Five slashes. That's all he can force out right now.
And the cost—worse than flash step.
Much worse.
I didn't need explanation. I felt it as the thought settled.
Muscles tear.
Bones break.
After that—nothing. No movement. No recovery.
Against the undead, he needed to live after the fight. Move. Adjust. Escape if needed.
Five slashes with no guarantee—and no body left to act afterward?
That's not a technique.
That's suicide.
But here—the equation changed.
If he doesn't use it, he dies.
If he uses it—he might die.
No difference.
So he chose the one that gave him a chance.
Even now—with broken ribs.
He steadied himself. Or forced something close enough to it.
The pain wasn't distant. It wasn't something he could push to the side. It was sharp. Immediate. Constant. Every breath dragged against something fractured, threatening to shift if he lost control even slightly.
—
…How are you even standing…?
Each inhale scraped through me too. Tight. Wrong. Like something inside would snap if he breathed any deeper.
—
He didn't let it.
Inhale.
Slow.
Measured.
Ignore it.
His stance settled. Imperfect—but enough.
No words. No questions.
There was no need.
The intent had already been made clear.
Kill.
So he moved.
And everything snapped.
Cascading Rend.
The shift was immediate. Not just speed—something deeper. My perspective tightened, sharpened, pulled directly into the motion.
The first step didn't exist.
One moment we were there—the next, we were already in front of the target.
The blade rose.
A clean upward slash, precise, cutting through the centerline.
Then—gone.
Behind.
The second strike fell from above, heavy, direct, meant to break through.
No pause. No space.
Right.
The third slash came across, angled and sharp, designed to catch movement, punish any attempt to respond.
Then—Left.
The fourth mirrored it instantly. No reset. No recovery. Just continuation.
And then—front.
The final position.
The fifth slash came down with everything behind it. No restraint. No reserve. Every bit of force, speed, and intent poured into a single decisive cut.
Five strikes.
One second.
No breaks. No hesitation.
Just flow.
And I felt all of it.
The speed. The force.
The strain—
Cracks.
It didn't build up. It didn't wait.
It happened mid-motion.
Muscle fibers tearing—sharp, immediate.
It tore through me without warning. Not strain. Not fatigue. This was different—violent, like something ripping apart under pressure.
—
Ghh—!
—
Bone—breaking.
More than one.
The sensation spiked—deep, heavy, wrong in a way that made it hard to even think. Not surface pain. Structural.
—
His own force turning against him.
By the time the final slash landed—his body was already giving out.
The sequence ended.
And so did he.
His limbs failed. No strength left to hold him upright.
He fell hard, the impact dull compared to everything else.
The sword stayed in his hand.
Then the pain came.
Not sharp. Not clean.
Overwhelming.
—Agh—!
It hit all at once. Everything. No spacing. No control. Like every injury he ignored decided to exist at the same time.
—
It flooded everything at once. Arms. Legs. Torso. Every movement he forced through that technique returned in full.
Every fracture. Every tear.
Every limit he broke—collected.
—
Stop—stop—
There was no stopping it. No pulling away. No separating from it. I was in it. Fully.
—
Breathing worsened.
He couldn't control it anymore.
Still—he looked up.
And finally—saw.
The enemy.
A woman.
Standing.
Still standing, staring at him.
Every strike. Every angle.
Every variation—blocked.
All of it.
Except—one.
A single, thin line across her face. A scratch.
That's all.
I tried to process it. To see her clearly. To understand what we were facing.
But the pressure hadn't gone anywhere.
That bloodlust was still there. Heavy. Suffocating. Crushing down on everything.
Details didn't stick. Face. Form. Presence—
all of it blurred under one thing.
Danger.
Viole didn't think beyond that.
Didn't analyze. Didn't adjust.
His thoughts settled into something else entirely.
Resignation.
This is it.
I felt it. Clear. Calm.
And just like that—my earlier question came back.
If he dies—What happens to me?
This time—there was nothing to pull me away from it.
Viole's consciousness was fading.
Not abruptly. Not all at once.
It slipped.
Piece by piece.
The edges of his awareness blurred, the weight of his body no longer something he could hold onto. Sensation dulled—not because the pain was gone, but because he no longer had the strength to process it.
He had already decided.
This was it.
No movement. No recovery. No next step.
Just—end.
I felt it too.
Not just the physical collapse, but the quiet acceptance behind it. No resistance. No struggle left.
And for the first time since I got here—I didn't push against it.
…
So this is how it ends.
The thought came out calmer than I expected. No panic. No desperate grasping. Just… acknowledgment.
Short.
That's what it was.
Short.
Heh…
Wasn't even that long.
I let the thought settle, watching everything dim alongside him.
Still…
It wasn't bad.
Living through him. Seeing this world. Even now—
Yeah… I didn't hate it.
There was something almost ironic about it. Getting thrown into another world, stuck inside someone else's body—and ending like this.
No grand resolution. No dramatic turnaround.
Just—cut short.
…Thanks, I guess.
The thought wasn't directed at anyone in particular.
Just… there.
And then—a voice.
"Seriously, Mina—what was that supposed to be?"
It cut through the fading silence.
Not loud. Not sharp.
But firm.
Controlled.
There was irritation in it. Clear. Unhidden. And yet the tone stayed soft, almost restrained, like the speaker was holding back something heavier beneath it.
"You said you were just going to check him. That wasn't a 'test.' That was an execution waiting to happen."
Even with everything slipping—Viole heard it.
So did I.
Faint. Distant.
But there.
And then—something else.
Warmth.
It started small.
A point of light somewhere deep in his body.
Then it spread.
Slowly at first.
Then all at once.
Light. Soft. Warm.
It moved through him—not over the surface, but inside. Through muscle. Through bone. Through everything that had been broken.
And I felt it.
Every part of it.
—
…What…?
The first shift came from his ribs.
—
—wait—
Something moved.
Not externally.
Inside.
The fractures—those jagged, wrong edges—aligned.
—
No—no, no—
They didn't just settle.
They snapped back.
—
—gh—!
Not painful.
That was the strange part.
It didn't hurt.
But the sensation—
—
That's not right.
—
It was wrong in a different way.
Muscle followed.
Torn fibers—shredded, stretched past limit—
pulled themselves together.
Reconnected.
Like threads being rewoven in real time.
—
…This is creepy.
There was no better word for it.
I felt everything reform. Every break undone. Every tear erased—not gradually, not naturally—
forced.
—
It doesn't feel like healing…
—
It felt like something was overriding reality and telling his body—
"No. You're fine."
And his body obeyed.
The warmth lingered for a moment longer.
Then faded.
Just like that—the damage was gone.
Viole's consciousness returned.
Not rushed. Not jolted.
It simply… came back.
Breath filled his lungs—full this time. No restriction. No pain. His body responded normally, as if nothing had happened.
As if he hadn't just been broken moments ago.
I stayed quiet for a second.
Processing.
…Yeah. I'm not getting used to that.
His vision cleared.
And then—he saw them.
Two figures.
One standing.
One kneeling beside him.
The one beside him spoke first.
"Can you hear me?"
His voice was calm. Even. Carrying a quiet weight behind it.
Viole didn't answer immediately. His body moved first—testing. Fingers. Arms. Breathing.
Everything worked.
No pain. Nothing.
The man seemed to take that as enough.
"…Good."
He straightened slightly, offering a faint, tired smile.
"My name is Aris."
Up close, his appearance was clear enough. Pale. Long black hair falling past his shoulders, slightly unkempt. Green eyes—deep, but carrying something heavy behind them. His robes were layered, white and muted gray, clean but worn in a way that suggested constant use.
He shifted slightly, enough for the insignia on his robe to catch the light.
Adamantite—S-Rank—Mage—Healer.
A brief pause.
He exhaled softly.
"…I apologize. For what just happened."
Viole's gaze shifted.
To the one standing.
She hadn't moved.
Still watching him.
Crystalline violet eyes—sharp, focused. Crimson hair cut short and jagged, framing her face in uneven layers. In her hand, a thin blade rested loosely, as if it weighed nothing.
The line was still there.
Across her face.
A shallow cut. A trace of red slipping down from it.
No bloodlust now.
None of that crushing pressure from before.
But the intensity—that remained.
Then—it changed.
Subtly.
Her posture eased. Just a fraction.
She stepped forward and bent slightly, lowering herself just enough to get a better look at him.
Like she was confirming something.
Then she spoke.
"…Yeah. You're fine."
Her tone was different.
Lighter. Casual.
Completely disconnected from what she was just moments ago.
"Mina Lyraenis. Just call me Mina."
She tilted her head slightly, studying him.
"And—sorry about that."
No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just straightforward.
"I was just going to test you a bit. See what kind of guy Liora's been talking up."
A small pause.
Then a faint exhale, almost amused.
"Didn't think you'd actually block it."
Her gaze sharpened slightly—not hostile, just… interested.
"And then you pushed back."
She straightened.
"Even managed to hit me."
A finger lifted briefly, brushing near the cut on her face.
"…Wasn't expecting that either."
There was no irritation in her voice. No ego. If anything—she sounded impressed.
Like the entire thing had been nothing more than a quick check.
Around them, noise had started to gather.
Voices. Movement. People stopping. Watching.
The impact hadn't gone unnoticed.
From a distance—a familiar voice.
"Wait—what happened?!"
Liora.
Her footsteps came quick, cutting through the small crowd forming around them.
"Why is there—"
She stopped.
Then—
"—Mina? Aris?!"
Recognition hit immediately.
And in that moment—something clicked.
Viole sat up.
The name.
The conversation from earlier.
Liora's "friend."
Adamantite rank.
S-class blade proficiency.
Duelist.
His gaze shifted back to the woman in front of him.
Mina.
Mina Lyraenis.
…That "friend"…was her?!
Liora didn't slow down as she approached.
Her gaze locked onto Viole first—still on the ground, beside Aris—then snapped to the two standing nearby.
"What happened?!"
There was no restraint in it. No attempt to stay composed. Her voice carried sharp, immediate concern, bordering on anger.
Then her eyes shifted past them.
To the wall. Cracked.
Partially caved in.
The point of impact still visible.
"…What did you do?"
That one wasn't a question.
It was directed.
Mina lifted a hand slightly, almost casual despite the situation.
"Yeah, that's on me."
No hesitation.
"I'll cover it."
Liora turned back to her, eyes narrowing.
"That's not the point!"
Mina exhaled lightly, scratching the side of her head.
"I mean, I did say I wanted to check him out, didn't I?" she said, tone easy. "You were the one who kept talking about him."
A small glance toward Viole.
"I just asked what he looked like so I'd know who to look for."
She shrugged.
"Didn't think he'd actually be worth hitting that hard."
Liora looked like she wanted to say something.
Then stopped.
Then tried again.
"…That's not—!"
She cut herself off, clearly trying to process which part to be mad at first.
Behind it all—Viole stayed quiet.
But his body didn't.
His blood was still moving fast. Too fast. The aftereffect hadn't faded. That lingering rush from earlier—still there, sitting just beneath the surface.
Adrenaline.
It hadn't caught up to reality yet.
He exhaled slowly. Controlled.
Then inhaled again. Measured.
Trying to bring it down.
—
…Yeah. That's still there.
I felt it with him. That uneven edge in his system. Not panic—but not calm either. Like his body hadn't accepted that it was over.
—
As he breathed, his thoughts drifted.
Back to her.
Mina.
She looked young. Too young.
Mid-twenties at most—and yet, adamantite rank. S-tier blade proficiency. That wasn't normal.
—
…That's kind of ridiculous.
Even I could tell that much.
—
But Viole didn't linger on it.
Not for long.
Because it wasn't unfamiliar.
His father.
That standard. That level.
Talent like that existed.
Natural. Unavoidable.
So Mina—wasn't surprising.
Not really.
He exhaled again.
Slow. Steady.
Then shifted.
No point staying on the ground.
He moved to stand.
His body responded cleanly—no hesitation, no weakness. If anything, that contrast made it feel even stranger.
—
Right… you were just broken a minute ago.
And now—nothing.
—
He rose fully just as Liora continued, still visibly frustrated, her voice carrying over Mina's attempts to brush things off.
Viole didn't interrupt her.
At least—not immediately.
As he stood there, something else surfaced.
A thought.
Quiet. Unforced.
…Unfair.
It wasn't directed at anyone.
Just… there.
The world.
How it worked.
Talent. Gifts.
People like Mina.
People like his father.
He understood it.
Had seen it his whole life.
How easily some things came to others.
How naturally they moved through things that others had to claw their way through.
…Must be nice.
The thought came, simple.
But it didn't linger as bitterness.
It never did.
Because he knew better.
Talent didn't mean easy.
Didn't mean light.
If anything—it came with weight.
Expectations.
His father.
That memory surfaced quietly.
The way he looked at him.
The way he trained him.
Not harsh.
But heavy.
Because there was something behind it.
An expectation that he would follow.
That he would inherit. That he would match.
—
…Yeah.
I felt that one settle differently.
—
If not for his mother—
That weight would've crushed him.
He didn't need to finish that thought.
He already knew.
The past stayed where it was.
He let it go.
No point digging into it now.
The present was enough.
Viole stepped forward slightly, closing the distance.
"I'm fine."
Liora didn't buy it.
Her eyes narrowed immediately, scanning him from head to toe.
"…No, you're not."
There was no hesitation in it. No doubt.
"You look like crap."
That one landed.
And yeah—she wasn't wrong.
Even without the pain, even with his body fully restored, the aftermath was still written all over him. His clothes were wrinkled and dusted from the impact. Small tears along the fabric. His ponytail had loosened, strands falling out of place, uneven.
Not something you'd expect from someone who just stepped out of their house.
More like—someone who just got dragged through a fight.
—
She's got a point.
—
Viole stopped.
Not physically, just… internally.
Because the words lingered.
Of course I'm not fine.
The thought came quietly.
No denial. No resistance.
A few minutes ago, he was on the ground, body broken, waiting for the end.
That didn't just disappear because the damage was gone.
Everything happened too fast.
Too sudden. Too absolute.
And somewhere in that—something else stirred.
Frustration.
Faint, but there.
He could feel it.
The thought crossed his mind, brief but clear—
I could hit her.
Not seriously. Not with intent to harm.
Just—something.
A punch. A slap. Anything to respond to what just happened.
Mina probably wouldn't even stop him.
Might even let him.
—
…And then what?
—
The thought didn't last.
Because the answer came just as fast.
It proves nothing. Changes nothing.
It doesn't make him stronger.
Doesn't close the gap.
Doesn't undo what just happened.
Pointless.
For Viole—that was enough to discard it entirely.
He didn't need to prove anything.
Not to her. Not to anyone.
He worked hard.
That much he knew.
Every day. Every session. No shortcuts. No skipped effort.
Consistent. Steady.
Even if—it wasn't enough to match people like her.
—
…Still.
—
He knew something they didn't.
Progress. Small.
Sometimes barely noticeable.
But real.
He wasn't the same as yesterday.
Or the day before.Or the year before that.
Even if others couldn't see it—he could.
And that was enough.
Because effort—didn't betray him.
Not completely.
Maybe it wouldn't make him exceptional.
Maybe it wouldn't close the distance to people born ahead.
But it moved him forward.
Even if only a little.
—
…Yeah.
That settled it.
The thought faded.
He let out a slow breath.
Deep. Grounding.
Then stopped thinking about it entirely.
He looked back at Liora.
"I'm fine."
Same words. Same tone.
But steadier this time.
No extra weight behind it.
Just fact.
She didn't look convinced.
But she didn't argue immediately either.
Viole didn't wait for her to.
He turned slightly, one hand adjusting his grip as the sword settled back into place at his side.
Then his gaze shifted.
Scanning.
—
…There.
The basket.
A few steps away.
It had landed cleanly, slightly tilted but intact. The weight inside probably helped—it didn't roll, didn't spill.
Nothing broken.
—
Huh. Lucky.
Out of everything that didn't go right—at least that did.
He stepped toward it, reaching down to pick it up, checking it briefly.
Still good.
Just like that—something normal remained.
I didn't say anything.
Couldn't.
Because I understood.
Everything he just thought through—it wasn't something I could easily push against. The logic was there. Clean. Simple.
He could've asked for compensation.
Could've demanded something.
Hell, he could've just walked up to Mina and hit her. She wouldn't have stopped him. Probably wouldn't even complain.
But—what does that change?
It is as he had told himself. Nothing.
Not even the fact that, for that brief moment—he was going to die.
Because he was weaker.
That part stayed.
Unchanged.
And Viole knew that.
Accepted it.
That's why he let it go so easily.
That's why—he didn't care.
…Or at least, not in the way most people would.
Because for him—death wasn't something distant.
Not abstract. Not something to fear later.
It was already part of the equation.
It always had been.
His parents. Gone.
Earlier than they should've been.
Not by choice. Not by timing.
Just—gone.
So his own death?
At this age?
In a moment like that?
…it didn't shake him.
Not enough to resist it. Not enough to cling.
That's why he stopped. That's why he accepted it.
—
…That's messed up.
The thought came out quietly.
Not judgmental.
Just… honest.
—
And then something else followed.
A realization.
Slow. Uncomfortable.
Maybe that's why…
Why he doesn't chase anything.
No dream. No long-term goal.
No obsession with rank. No desire for recognition.
Because if he builds toward something—
and dies before reaching it—
then what?
Regret.
That's what.
And that—might be worse.
—
That's…
I tried to push back against it.
To find something wrong with that way of thinking.
Something to call it out.
That's not—
I stopped.
Because the words didn't come out clean.
They stumbled.
—
You can't live like that.
That part I believed.
But—
…can I really say he's wrong?
The answer didn't come.
Because even I knew—there was something worse than dying.
Dying without reaching anything.
Without doing anything.
Without becoming anything.
That kind of ending—
…yeah.
That's bitter.
I couldn't deny that.
And because of that—I couldn't fully reject him either.
So I stayed quiet.
Watched.
From inside.
As he walked toward the basket.
Picked it up. Checked it.
Normal.
Unbothered.
Like nothing important had just happened.
—
…I don't like that.
Not his logic.
Not the way he accepts things.
Living only in the present.
No weight toward the future. No attachment to what comes next.
It felt… empty.
But—I couldn't call it wrong.
Not completely.
That was the worst part.
—
Behind us, Liora let out a long sigh.
The kind that carried everything she didn't say.
Her gaze shifted.
Toward Mina.
A sharp glare.
Clear.
Unfiltered.
Mina met it—and immediately smiled.
Bright. Almost expectant.
Like she was waiting for forgiveness to just… happen.
It didn't.
Liora sighed again.
Then turned away from her entirely and walked toward Viole.
"Come on."
Her voice was calmer now.
Still edged—but controlled.
"Get inside."
Viole glanced at her briefly.
She continued.
"The device arrived this morning. We can go ahead with your class proficiency assessment."
A small pause.
"And your promotion."
That settled things.
Routine again.
Something normal to move into.
Liora added, almost as an afterthought,
"Kiran, Eira, Luna, Rath—they're already inside. I told them to stay put after the noise."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the damaged wall.
Then back to Viole.
"…Let's not keep them waiting."
Viole didn't respond immediately.
He just adjusted his grip on the basket slightly.
Then stepped toward the guild.
Like everything that just happened—was already behind him.
—
Mina didn't leave.
Liora's words caught her attention—the mention of promotion, of assessment.
She glanced at Aris.
No words needed.
He gave a small, knowing look in return.
And just like that, both of them followed.
—
The guild doors opened.
Noise returned.
Voices layered over each other. Movement. Footsteps. Conversations. The usual rhythm of the place—unchanged.
As if nothing had just happened outside.
To everyone else—it was just another day.
—
…That's weirdly normal.
—
Viole stepped inside without pause.
No hesitation. No lingering glance back.
Just forward.
Mina closed the distance quickly, slipping up beside Liora.
"…You didn't mention your guy was getting promoted today."
Her tone was casual. Curious, more than anything.
Liora didn't even look at her.
"You didn't ask."
Flat. Immediate.
Mina blinked once.
"…That's not—"
Liora stopped walking.
Turned. Slowly.
"What was it you said yesterday…?"
She paused mid-thought, brows knitting slightly as she recalled it.
Then—her voice shifted.
Subtle.
But enough.
"I'm not accepting students unless they're interesting."
The tone. The cadence.
A near-perfect imitation.
Mina froze.
—
Liora didn't stop.
"And when I told you about him—"
Her voice shifted again.
Lighter. Casual. Almost careless.
"What's he look like?"
Then—back to normal.
Her glare sharpened.
"You didn't ask about his skill. Not his record. Not his work."
A step closer.
"You asked how he looks."
Mina opened her mouth—Closed it.
Liora didn't let her recover.
"What? Still haven't found yourself a husband?"
That landed.
Harder than anything earlier.
"Not even a boyfriend?"
Mina's expression cracked.
Just slightly.
"Seriously, Mina—at this rate, you're going to—"
She didn't finish.
Because Mina moved.
Fast.
A hand clamped over Liora's mouth.
Firm.
"Okay—yep—nope, we're done here."
Her voice was still casual.
But there was a faint edge to it now.
"Conversation's over."
Liora struggled slightly under her grip.
Muffled protest.
I couldn't hear the words.
But the intent? Clear.
—
That hit a nerve.
—
Aris stood a short distance away, watching.
Silent.
Uninterested in stepping in.
Or maybe just used to it.
—
Viole?
Didn't care. Not really.
He walked past all of it.
Didn't slow down. Didn't turn.
The conversation registered—but only enough to recognize it as noise.
Nothing more.
—
…You're really just ignoring that, huh.
I wasn't. I caught all of it.
Every word. Every shift.
But him? Already moved on.
—
Liora pulled Mina's hand off after a second, exhaling sharply.
Then—she straightened.
Cleared her throat.
Back to work.
Her hand lifted.
A device rested in her palm.
A crystal at the center—clear, faintly glowing. Around it, five metallic rings hovered, rotating slowly, each inscribed with thin lines of glowing blue script.
The air around it felt… structured. Measured.
"Viole."
She called him forward.
He stepped up without hesitation.
Behind him, the others moved too.
Kiran. Eira. Luna. Rath.
They followed, stopping a short distance away. Watching.
—
Viole wasn't tense.
Not even slightly.
This wasn't new.
Just another step.
He extended his hand.
Palm open.
The moment he did—the crystal reacted.
Light pulsed.
The rings began to rotate faster, each layer shifting independently, inscriptions glowing brighter as they aligned, separated, then aligned again.
—
That's… actually kind of cool.
—
The light intensified briefly.
Then stabilized.
A few seconds passed.
Quiet. Focused.
Then—a soft mechanical click.
A small slip of paper emerged from the base.
Liora took it.
Her eyes scanned it.
For a moment—they widened.
Just slightly.
Then—relaxed.
Like she had expected it.
She handed it to Viole.
He took it. Looked.
D Tier.
A black bar beneath it.
He didn't react.
—
…Yeah. You saw that coming.
—
Liora spoke.
"That black bar means you've hit your current ceiling."
Her tone was neutral. Informative.
"No further growth at this tier without external input."
A brief pause.
"You'll need mentorship to break through."
"Only then can you move to C Tier."
Simple. Direct.
No sugarcoating.
Viole looked at the paper a moment longer.
Then lowered it.
No surprise. No frustration.
Nothing.
Because he already knew.
He had felt it.
That plateau. That slowing. That limit.
—
…And you're fine with that.
—
To him—this wasn't everything.
Being an adventurer wasn't a dream.
Wasn't a goal.
Just—work.
A way to live. A way to get by.
So hitting a wall?
It didn't shake him.
Not really.
—
…I don't like how okay you are with that.
Liora didn't say anything at first.
She just looked.
A glance—sharp, deliberate—toward Mina.
Clear enough.
Your turn.
Mina caught it immediately.
And instead of responding—she smirked.
Not wide. Not exaggerated.
Just enough.
—
…Seriously?
I blinked.
Because—
Is this really the same person?
The same Mina from earlier?
The one who flooded everything with that suffocating, crushing bloodlust?
That intent—
that kill—
And now?
She stood there, relaxed. Casual. Almost playful.
Like that version of her never existed.
—
That's… actually terrifying.
Not the attack. Not the strength.
But that shift.
That control.
—
I exhaled slowly.
The tension from earlier had mostly faded now. My thoughts weren't as tight, not as heavy. The edge from before had dulled.
And just like that—I slipped back into myself.
—
Still though…
—
She was scary as hell earlier.
No exaggeration.
Even if it was "just a test," that pressure wasn't normal. That wasn't something you casually throw at someone.
That wasn't just skill.
That was—something else.
—
Then, without really meaning to—my attention shifted.
Properly this time.
To her.
Mina.
Now that the pressure was gone… I could actually look.
Crimson hair. Messy, layered. Sharp edges that somehow still worked. That violet gaze—clear, bright.
And yeah—she looked good.
No—scratch that.
Really good.
—
…What's up with this world's girls anyway?
The thought came out flat.
Genuine.
Because this wasn't just her.
Ai.
Mira.
Liora.
Mina.
Rath.
One after another.
Different styles. Different vibes.
But all of them—on a different level.
—
Earth wasn't bad or anything…
—
But this? This felt unfair.
Like the baseline was just—higher.
—
Seriously, what is this standard?
I didn't even know how to process that anymore.
—
And then—my thoughts shifted again.
Not outward.
Inward.
…It's been five days.
Five days since I woke up here.
Inside him.
Five days of watching. Feeling. Experiencing everything he does.
And what do I actually know?
Not much.
I feel what he feels. I see what he sees.
His thoughts come through—clean, unfiltered.
Memories only show when he touches them.
Other than that—nothing.
No explanation. No system.
No voice telling me what I'm supposed to do.
No "purpose."
—
So what am I, exactly?
—
A passenger?
A witness?
Something else?
I didn't have an answer.
Still didn't.
And that—was starting to bother me.
—
"Viole."
Liora's voice cut through.
Clean.
Grounding.
My thoughts stopped.
Just like that.
She stepped forward slightly, gesturing toward Mina.
"Let me formally introduce you."
Her tone shifted—professional now.
"Both of them are adamantite-ranked adventurers."
A slight motion toward Aris.
"They're part of the Solari Clan. Based in Sunridge City."
Mina stood a bit straighter—not stiff, just… attentive enough.
"Their party is called Arkhon."
A small pause.
"Solari is one of the four S-ranked clans in the Thaloria Kingdom."
Her gaze flicked briefly between them.
"And Arkhon is one of the four adamantite parties recognized by the kingdom."
The weight of that settled in.
Not exaggerated. Not dramatic.
Just— fact.
"The other kingdoms—north, south, east, and west—each have their own equivalents."
Balanced. Structured. Expected.
—
…So they're basically top-tier.
No fluff. No doubt about it.
—
I glanced back at Mina.
She didn't look any different.
Still casual. Still relaxed.
Still that same faint smirk lingering like she knew exactly what was going on—and was just waiting for it to play out.
Mina stepped forward.
Not abruptly. Not aggressively.
Just enough to close the distance properly this time.
She straightened slightly, posture shifting—less casual, more deliberate.
"Crimson Edge, Mina Lyraenis."
A pause. Brief.
"My current job is Duelist."
Simple. Direct. No embellishment.
—
Beside him, the man gave a small exhale, almost like he'd accepted there was no stopping this anymore.
He adjusted his posture slightly, still kneeling.
"Silent Anchor, Aris Vale."
His tone remained calm, steady as before.
"Healer."
—
The titles settled in. Not just names.
Weight. Recognition.
—
Before anything else could follow—Liora stepped in.
"Wait—hold on, I should explain that part."
She moved closer, glancing between Viole and the two of them, then back again.
"You already know commoners don't have last names, right?"
—
Viole didn't respond.
Didn't need to.
—
She continued anyway.
"Well—titles like theirs… those are granted with the cooperation of the kingdom, the guild, and the church. It's a recognition thing. Achievements, contributions, stuff like that."
A small pause, then—
"They basically become your last name."
—
I caught that.
—
"So even if they're not nobles…"
She gestured lightly toward Mina and Aris.
"They're treated the same way. Status, authority, everything."
—
That explained the weight behind it.
Not just skill. Position.
—
Mina didn't interrupt. Didn't correct.
She just waited until Liora finished.
Then—she looked back at Viole.
—
"About earlier."
Her tone shifted again. Not softer. Just… more grounded.
"I went too far."
No hesitation. No excuse layered over it.
—
"I didn't expect anything."
A small exhale through her nose.
"Not from someone at your level."
—
Her gaze sharpened slightly—not hostile. Focused.
—
"I wasn't planning to let it land."
—
That tracked.
—
"I was going to stop right before impact."
A beat.
"Then you moved."
—
Her eyes narrowed just slightly, like she was replaying it again.
"You blocked it."
—
She tilted her head a fraction.
"Not cleanly. Not perfectly."
A pause.
"But that's not the point."
—
Her gaze locked onto him.
"The reaction."
—
There it was.
—
"You saw it. Processed it. Moved in time."
Another pause.
"At that speed."
—
I felt that settle.
"That's what's impressive."
—
Then—her eyes shifted briefly to the sword still in his hand.
"And then you pushed back."
A faint movement of her fingers—almost absentminded—as they brushed near the thin line on her face.
"You even landed something."
I felt it again.
That mismatch.
—
That entire exchange—for that?
She looked back at him.
"What was that?"
Viole answered.
Calm. Steady.
"A sword skill. Cascading Rend"
A small pause.
"My father showed it to me."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"I've been trying to learn it."
—
Another pause.
"The one I used…"
He glanced down slightly.
"…is incomplete."
That was putting it lightly.
—
"It's a weaker version of what he could do."
Silence followed. Brief.
Mina didn't respond immediately.
Her expression didn't change much—but something in her focus shifted.
"…Your father."
She repeated it, quieter this time.
Like she was placing something.
—
"I haven't seen that sword skill before."
A small tilt of her head.
"Or heard of it."
—
Then—direct.
"Where did he learn it?"
—
Viole answered just as simply.
"He didn't."
A short pause.
"He made it."
That—I felt that land.
—
Mina's eyes held on him for a second longer.
Then—she exhaled lightly.
"…Huh."
—
Not disbelief. Not dismissal.
Just—acknowledgment.
"Is that so."
—
Another pause.
Slightly longer this time.
—
Then—she shifted her weight.
Not away. Closer.
"Then I'll ask you directly."
Her tone didn't rise.
Didn't sharpen. But it changed.
Focused.
"Do you want me as your mentor?"
She continued before anything could interrupt.
"We just got back from a dungeon raid."
A small gesture over her shoulder.
"The group I'm with—we're on break."
—
"Two weeks."
Her gaze stayed locked on him.
—
"After that, we're back to work."
—
Simple. Clear.
"So if you're going to learn something—"
A slight pause.
"Now's the window."
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Just—waiting.