Corniche Village, morning.
At dawn the following day, within a clearing embraced by the surrounding forest, Aristovelli knelt by a narrow stream, washing her hands in its clear running waters.
A short distance away stood Victoria, a sheathed sword resting in her right hand, while Elysia hovered unseen at her side, hidden from all but her mistress.
Beneath the shade of the bordering trees, four figures watched from afar—Aiden, Godric, Gron, and Eltrish.
They had not gathered there out of idle curiosity.
This morning marked the first of the fallen princess's three days of magical apprenticeship, and not one among them intended to miss what was to unfold.
"What exactly do you know about magic?" Aristovelli asked her new apprentice while tying her silver hair into a ponytail.
"From what I have read," Victoria replied calmly, "magic is a mysterious force that makes the impossible possible. Henry Clovette, a renowned writer and philosopher in my world, once wrote that the feats accomplished through magic are so vast that no mind, however wise, could ever hope to reach their outermost bounds."
"That is a beautiful way to put it without wasting words," Aristovelli said with a smile. "But today, we concern ourselves not only with the theory of magic… but with its practice."
"That is why I came."
"Good," Aristovelli replied, rising to her feet. "Then take your stance."
Victoria moved at once.
Steel whispered against steel as she drew her sword from its sheath and brought it forward in one smooth motion, the morning light catching along its edge.
"Looks like they're about to begin," Eltrish murmured from the shade.
"Yeah," Gron answered.
As for Aiden and Godric, neither spoke.
Their eyes remained fixed upon the clearing, silent and intent, unwilling to miss even the slightest movement.
"There was a time when magical duels and training were sacred rites, practised even beyond the walls of academies," the Legendary Witch said as she stretched her limbs. "But eras perish so that others may rise. And every age carries its own principles."
She lowered her arms and fixed Victoria with a cold stare.
"In this age of ours, the principle is simply… nothing."
The forest seemed to still around her words.
"It is a savage world veiled behind ancient laws. So let this be your first lesson—in a battle to the death, only survival matters. Anything is permitted. There is no honour in spilling blood… but neither is there glory in dying for futile ideals."
"Understood. Whenever you're ready."
Victoria's gaze sharpened as she lowered herself into a stance.
Beside her, Elysia slipped beneath the folds of her clothing out of caution. Victoria felt the movement and exhaled faintly, wondering why the fairy bothered hiding when death itself held no claim over her.
Aristovelli said nothing. For several moments, she simply observed.
Victoria's posture. Her footing. The angle of her blade.
"Swordsmanship," she thought, a faint smile touching her lips.
"Her stance bears countless openings… yet it remains dangerous. Crude, but instinctive. Steel guided by raw power. Sword and magic woven together without discipline… yet without hesitation. How interesting."
"Do not hold back," Aristovelli declared. "Come at me with everything you have. I need to see what lies within you before I can shape you for the true realm of power."
Victoria answered at once.
Dark mana erupted from her like a violent tide.
The forest recoiled.
Birds burst from the canopy in frantic flight, scattering across the pale morning sky, while creatures hidden among roots and brush withdrew deeper into the wild as if fleeing a predator.
"What is this…?"
From beneath the trees, both Gron and Eltrish felt the question rise within them at once, their bodies stiffening under its oppressive force.
Aiden and Godric did not move.
Their expressions hardened, but they held their ground.
"When it comes to magical power…" Aristovelli thought, excitement stirring behind her calm expression, "She can stand among monsters like us."
Then, without warning, Victoria moved.
With a violent burst of speed, she shot across the clearing toward the Legendary Witch, blade drawn and mana trailing in her wake like shadow given form.
"Here she comes!" Gron exclaimed, caught off guard by the princess's sudden burst of speed.
Aristovelli did not raise her guard.
Worse still, she did not move.
Victoria lunged with lethal precision, driving her blade straight toward the Legendary Witch's face.
Yet inches before steel met flesh, the sword struck an invisible barrier.
The impact rang through the clearing like iron against glass. Though slight in appearance, the force it unleashed tore through the trees on Victoria's sides, uprooting trunks and scattering splinters across the forest floor.
Aristovelli merely smiled, her gaze resting calmly upon the space before her.
Then she answered.
With a single motion of authority, the unseen barrier folded outward into a violent shockwave.
Victoria was hurled backwards.
She tore through the woodland like a projectile, branches snapping in her wake before crashing deep among the trees.
But moments later, she rose.
Unharmed.
Dust slid from her dress as she brushed herself off with calm indifference.
"She's as solid as a rock," Aristovelli thought, excitement flickering behind her eyes. "Let us see how she fares against the second phase."
At the lift of her index finger, the winds obeyed.
Currents spiralled into being around her, sharpening into dozens of translucent arrows suspended in the air.
"Globulus, Reich… and now Elementaris," Eltrish murmured in awe. "Miss Aristovelli cast all three in succession—without chanting… and with barely a gesture. She truly is extraordinary."
"What did you expect?" Aiden replied with folded arms. "She's the strongest for a reason."
At once, the arrows flew.
They shrieked through the clearing like hunting hawks, tearing through bark, branches, and earth as they descended upon Victoria.
Yet none touched her.
She moved between them with uncanny grace, weaving through the barrage as though guided by instinct alone. Her body bent and turned with impossible precision, her senses far sharper now than on the day her magic first awakened.
Then the pattern changed.
What had once been piercing wind became something far more violent.
The moment each arrow struck the earth—or passed near her—it detonated into compressed shockwaves.
Victoria's eyes widened.
The blasts caught her mid-step and hurled her through the woods. Her body crashed through trunks and shattered fallen timber, thrown again and again before she could regain her footing.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the storm ceased.
The arrows vanished. And with them, the explosions.
Silence settled over the clearing.
Across from the wreckage, Aristovelli stood with effortless composure, her expression absent-minded, wondering what she might eat that evening.
Yet beneath that languid demeanour, not a single detail escaped her notice.
She remained attentive to everything, even the beat of a fly's wings.
"Is that all?" Gron asked, peering through the settling dust. "Did she lose consciousness?"
"Don't embarrass our guild, Gron," Godric replied sharply. "You remember what it took us to restrain her the last time. How could you believe that would be enough to bring her down?"
"Forgive me, Master. I thought—"
"Stop thinking in assumptions," Godric cut in. "You may be leading the guild for months… perhaps years. You must remain sharp. Let nothing escape your sight. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master."
Gron bowed his head in apology.
Though the reprimand had not been directed at her, Eltrish felt its weight all the same.
She, too, would bear the burden of command in Aiden's absence. And that thought alone tightened something deep in her chest.
"Here she comes again," Aiden said, eyes fixed upon the clearing.
From within the debris and curtain of dust where Victoria had fallen, crescent arcs of force suddenly burst forth.
"They're slashes—!" Eltrish leaned forward instinctively.
Blades of compressed force tore through the air toward Aristovelli, sharp enough to split wind and bark alike. Each carried lethal intent.
Victoria's lack of restraint remained one of her greatest flaws. Her power surged faster than discipline could contain it, turning what should have been a lesson into something perilously close to a battle to the death.
But Aristovelli did not mind.
Measure had never interested the Legendary Witch.
To her, one either committed fully… or not at all.
Mana condensed around her outstretched hand, drawing the surrounding elements inward until they forged themselves into a long spear of shimmering force.
With effortless precision, she swept it through the air.
One after another, Victoria's slashes shattered against it.
Then Victoria emerged.
Not from the direction of the attack—But from behind.
"She's fast," Gron thought, eyes widening.
The fallen princess descended upon Aristovelli and swung.
Steel screamed through the air. But the Legendary Witch had not been deceived.
Without so much as turning her head, she snapped the shaft of her spear behind her back. Victoria's blade met the pole with a violent clash.
Sparks scattered between them. Then Aristovelli pivoted.
With a swift turn of her body, she forced Victoria backwards. Yet the fallen princess gave her no room to breathe. The instant her boots touched earth, she lunged again—
Closing the distance at once and dragging Aristovelli into close combat.
Blade and spear clashed in rapid succession, each impact echoing through the clearing as Aristovelli parried Victoria's relentless strikes.
Then, in an instant, she vanished.
Before Victoria could adjust, Aristovelli reappeared above her.
With effortless precision, she stepped down—placing one foot upon Victoria's right shoulder.
But that was not all.
Mana surged faintly from the Witch's body, and in that moment, it felt as though a mountain had been forced upon the fallen princess. The pressure drove her into the earth, carving a shallow crater beneath her feet.
Yet even pinned beneath such overwhelming force, Victoria did not yield.
Gritting her teeth until one nearly cracked, she gathered what strength she could and forced her body to move—attempting to sever Aristovelli's leg to break free.
But the Legendary Witch was no longer there. And the crushing pressure vanished with her.
Victoria staggered, sweat trailing down her face as she drew in ragged breaths. She lifted her gaze quickly, scanning for Aristovelli—but the Witch was nowhere in sight.
Then a voice came from beside her.
"Are you looking for me?"
Aristovelli stood at point-blank range on her right.
Victoria reacted instantly, swinging her blade without hesitation. But it cut only through an afterimage.
Her eyes widened.
She turned sharply, sensing Aristovelli's true position—but it was already too late.
A blunt strike from the spear's shaft slammed into her, sending her flying across the clearing. She crashed into a nearby knoll, stone and earth erupting around her impact.
"I've seen enough."
Aiden turned away and began walking toward the forest.
"Where are you going?" Godric asked.
"To train," Aiden replied without looking back. "I'll see you at the tavern tonight."
His gaze was steady—carrying a quiet but sharpened resolve.
Eltrish quickly ran after him, waving a hurried goodbye to Godric and Gron.
Godric watched them go in silence.
"I see…" he thought, realisation settling in.
"Their battle stirred something in you, didn't it? Perhaps you saw something I could not. Aiden… that promise of ours still stands. Even if our paths have shifted, we will see it through. Trust me."
He exhaled and turned away.
"Let's go, Gron. We can't afford to let their guild outshine ours."
"Yes, Master!"
And together, they left the forest.
Blood trickled from Victoria's nose as she sat where she had fallen, her sword planted firmly into the earth beside her.
Across from her, Aristovelli was also seated—but with far more ease. She rested atop a stone with one leg crossed over the other, her shield driven into the ground beside her like a marker of casual dominance.
From her pocket, she retrieved a roll of tobacco wrapped in thin leaves. With a flick of flame, she lit it and took a slow drag.
"Ah…" she exhaled softly, gaze drifting upward to a bevvy of doves crossing the sky. "This feels nice."
"You're bleeding! Don't die! Heal yourself!" Elysia panicked upon seeing Victoria's condition.
"Shut up," Victoria murmured. She steadied her breathing, stopping the nosebleed and wiping away the remaining blood from her lips and nose. "I won't die from something like this."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked toward Aristovelli.
"The mages of this world are different from what I read," she said. "Aren't you supposed to use wands… and cast spells with elegance and formality?"
"We do use wands," Aristovelli replied lazily, "but things are… complicated."
She took another drag before continuing.
"The mages of Utopia have evolved beyond needing them in most cases. After Yorwandorhla disappeared during the Doom of the Gods, the world began relying on relics instead."
"What is that… Yor… Yorwan—"
"Yorwandorhla," Aristovelli corrected calmly.
Victoria frowned, struggling with the pronunciation.
"As strange as it sounds," Aristovelli continued, "it was a tree that grew upside down—from the heavens themselves. No one has ever seen its roots. From it came countless powerful wands, all of which vanished when it disappeared during the Doom."
She paused for another drag from her tobacco roll.
"Some myths even claim it was not just a tree, but a civilisation."
"A civilisation?" Victoria's eyes widened.
"Yes," Aristovelli confirmed. "And when it vanished without a trace, it left behind only two wands; The True Wands—the most powerful wands ever known in Utopia: Drendora and Tirtroff."
"Everything else is artificially crafted replicas used by ordinary mages to channel their magic."
Victoria absorbed the information quietly before asking again, still confused:
"Ordinary mages? So, there are ranks among mages? … how does it work?"
"Of course. There are roughly ten levels to this. Explaining them all would be a nuisance. I'll leave that task to Godo," she said, exhaling a thin trail of smoke.
"What kind of teacher is this…?" Victoria sighed inwardly.
Aristovelli flicked the ashes of her rolled leaf into the wind.
"But I can tell you this much."
She raised two fingers.
"A mage's rank is determined by their aptitude in magic. There are two main categories of spells: Afforae and Expellis."
"Afforae are basic spells—those any mage can wield. These spells know no fixed number, and their power depends entirely on the caster. By mastering the essence of one's magic, a mage may even create new spells within this category. But such a feat requires rare skill. In your case, this path remains open." She paused briefly.
"But Expellis are different. They are rare—specialised spells that can only be manifested through a true affinity with magic. Only one mage in a hundred ever awakens them. When it happens, the mage gains a unique magic, along with a set of spells that belong solely to them. No other can replicate them."
"For those who have not yet developed such affinity, wands and magical instruments are used to amplify their magic—or they train relentlessly to reach higher levels."
"So… as I am now, I have no affinity to magic?" Victoria asked, glancing at her palms.
"Not yet," Aristovelli replied. "At least, not for the moment."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"And your case is unusual. Not only were you born without magic… but you now serve as a vessel for the goddess. We will proceed step by step. First, I will teach you a set of Afforae to help you stabilise and control your magic. After that, we will determine how to approach awakening an Expellis."
She rose to her feet.
"Stand. We have work to do."
Victoria tightened her grip on her sword and slowly pushed herself upright once more.
***
Somewhere within a wooden house near a lake.
It was a modest abandoned structure, long left to decay—yet recently given a second life after a group had taken shelter within its walls.
Four days had passed since then. This night marked the fifth.
Inside, a woman moved quietly through the corridors, checking each room to ensure all were asleep. It was Dolores.
She, along with Pritish, had found refuge here alongside Sigrid, Eliane, and Eliakim after the incident at the Tower of Affliction.
Since that day, sleep had become a distant luxury.
The memory clung to her mind like a curse. Every time she closed her eyes, only nightmares and fragments of trauma returned.
Sigrid and Pritish had managed to rest.
As for Eliane and Eliakim, though their bodies lay in sleep, it felt more like an eternal slumber. They had remained like this since that dark night, unable to awake.
Wearied from her attempts at rest, Dolores tried once more to force sleep upon her exhausted body. But even that fragile attempt was broken.
A voice—deep and absolute—cut through the silence.
"Straighten yourself, woman."
Instinct took over.
She rose at once, her body moving before thought could form. Something within her understood that any delay, even a heartbeat, would have meant death.
Her sudden movement startled Pritish awake.
And as she opened her eyes, she saw it.
A towering figure sat at the window, cloaked in darkness, bearing the unmistakable emblem of the Agape Cult. In his grasp rested a double-edged spear—its twin blades shaped like serpent heads poised to spit venom, jagged edges emerging from their open maws. The shaft itself was etched with coiling snake-like markings, as though the weapon had been carved from a living nest of serpents.
For a moment, no one spoke. Not even breath dared disturb the silence.
The aura that accompanied his presence was not merely intimidating or oppressive.
It was death—given form.
"Speak, run, or attempt to utter a word without my permission—and you will die," the Saint of Execution, Patriarch Isidro Golshifteh, said coldly, glaring with implacable bloodlust.
"If you understand, nod."
They nodded at once, trembling violently.
"You," he said, his gaze falling on Pritish. "Step forward."
She obeyed, moving shakily to stand beside Dolores.
"Now… undress."
The order struck them like a blade.
Both women froze, exchanging confused, terrified glances. The command tore open old memories—echoes of Lestrude's perversity in the desolate forest, of violation and helplessness resurfacing like a wound that had never healed.
Warm tears streamed down their faces as they tried to plead silently.
The Saint's expression darkened.
"Are you implying," he said icily, "that I would desire filth such as you? How degrading."
His irritation intensified as he stared them down with disdain.
"I will not repeat myself."
They obeyed immediately, exposing their nakedness.
"Turn around," he commanded.
They did.
The Saint studied them in silence for a moment, then a single gesture followed.
"Eil."
With a flick of his hand, a spell manifested. Ethereal light traced over their skin, revealing markings hidden beneath flesh—tattoos bearing the emblem of the Agape Cult etched into their elbow pit.
The women froze in shock. They had not even realised they were there.
"Put your clothes back on."
They obeyed hurriedly without hesitation.
"The seal of the Agape Cult etched on your body led me here," he said. "According to the records of the Resurrection Patriarchy, you two were Rannickvol's last servants."
"Do you know the details of his death?"
They nodded.
"Good."
His voice turned colder still.
"Then you have permission to speak. I'm all ears. Tell me everything. If you attempt to omit even a grain of truth, I will have you tortured—and boiled alive in hot oil."