The air inside Professor Glast’s office was heavy, almost suffocating.
It wasn’t a matter of poor ventilation within the imposing marble structure of the magic faculty, but the direct result of the oppressive, dense blue mana aura constantly radiating from Sylvania’s senior researcher.
The dust motes seemed to float slower in that room, as if afraid to disrupt the order of the massive piles of parchment, ancient grimoires, half-dismantled artifacts, and incident reports cluttering the heavy mahogany desk.
Standing in front of that desk, Assistant Professor Claire Elfin felt like she was running out of oxygen.
Drops of cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she held, with trembling hands, a thick stack of documents related to the recent and chaotic riot at Ophelius Hall.
She had spent the last four nights entirely sleepless, surviving on bitter coffee and stamina potions, analyzing the destruction patterns, the contradictory testimonies of the regular students, and above all, the mysterious and inexplicable downfall of the elite assassin squad hired by Elte Kehelland.
The magical math simply didn’t add up.
The amount of physical damage inflicted on veteran mercenaries, the precise contusions designed to incapacitate, and the clean cuts on the hall’s high-level protective barriers couldn’t have been the work of mere first and second-year students, no matter how talented they were.
Taylee was strong, yes, and Princess Penia had her knights, but this was different.
It was surgical.
Lethal.
Gathering whatever courage remained in her exhausted, trembling body, Claire pushed her round glasses up the bridge of her nose, gritted her teeth, and looked at her terrifying superior.
“So…
there is a hidden mastermind behind the ‘Ophelius Hall Takeover’…” Claire murmured, her voice trembling slightly as she placed her final report on the mahogany table.
Her theory was bold and dangerous: someone with an overwhelming combat level, perfect tactical knowledge, and absolute coldness had operated in the shadows, guiding the events from the dark and annihilating the true threats without leaving a single trace of their identity or mana signature.
Glast didn’t look up immediately.
His eyes, cold and unfathomable behind the rectangular lenses of his own glasses, scanned the lines of the report written by his assistant at an inhuman speed.
The blue aura around him fluctuated, casting ghostly, elongated shadows on the stone walls of the office.
The wooden floor creaked faintly under the pressure of his power.
The silence dragged on for what felt to Claire like an agonizing eternity.
Finally, Glast lowered the parchment, placing it carefully on the desk.
“I see…” Glast’s voice was raspy, deep, and completely devoid of any emotional inflection, as if he were reading a simple grocery list.
“If you think so, it’s probably true.
You have strangely good intuition, after all.”
Claire blinked, feeling a massive, heavy anvil vanish from her shoulders.
Glast had validated her theory!
The most demanding, strict, and brilliant mage in the academy agreed with her deductive instinct.
A small smile of triumph began to form at the corners of her lips.
However, before she could rejoice in her small intellectual victory, Glast’s eyes locked onto her with an icy intensity that froze the blood in her veins.
“But be careful not to miss the important things,” Glast added.
His tone became sharp as a freshly honed blade, raising the pressure in the room to the point where Claire’s ears rang painfully.
“Like the thesis on divine science that I asked you to find.
Where is it?”
Terror replaced triumph in a fraction of a second.
Glast’s priorities were absolute, dogmatic, and immovable.
He would investigate this “hidden mastermind,” yes, but he would not tolerate delays in his main research projects due to a simple student riot.
“I-I will find it first thing tomorrow morning!” Claire squeaked, bowing so fast and uncontrollably that she almost slammed her forehead against the edge of the desk.
Before Glast could add anything else, she spun on her heels and fled the office in terror, as if a dragon were chasing her.
Closing the heavy door behind her, Claire leaned against the cold hallway wall, breathing heavily, her heart pounding in her throat.
“Phew…
I thought I was going to suffocate in there.
I have to find that stupid thesis, but…
who on earth is this student in the shadows?
What are they looking for in Sylvania?”
The fuse had been lit.
Without anyone else knowing, the hourglass marking Ed Rothtaylor’s peaceful days had inexorably begun to empty.
Several kilometers away from the magic faculty, completely oblivious to the assistant professor’s brilliant deduction and the impending manhunt by Act 2’s final boss, Ed was fighting his own battle for survival in the Northern Forest.
Autumn had arrived in full force.
The copper, red, and yellow leaves crunched beneath his heavy leather boots, and the biting wind constantly reminded him that winter in Sylvania would show no mercy to the weak or unprepared.
With the official restart of academic classes, his valuable time for gathering, hunting, trap maintenance, and martial training had been drastically reduced to a mere five hours a day.
Every minute was worth its weight in gold.
Or it would be, if he didn’t have a small, immensely powerful obstacle clinging like a limpet to his left arm.
“Ed…
I tried a new recipe for honey and berry cookies today.
I woke up before dawn to bake them.
You have to eat them all, okay?
You can’t skip meals,” Yenika Faelover murmured, with a smile that was as dazzling as it was lethal.
The spirit tamer was sitting on the fallen log next to him, hugging his arm with a strength that completely belied her delicate and feminine appearance.
At first glance, to any casual observer, it was an idyllic and romantic early autumn scene.
However, Ed’s combat instincts, forged on the battlefields of his past life, warned him that he was walking blindfolded through a minefield.
Ever since her spirits mentioned Lortelle’s kiss, Yenika’s sweetness had mixed with a dark, clingy, and frankly terrifying possessiveness.
“Ed…
were you going to the commercial pavilion this afternoon?” she asked.
Her normally cheerful voice dropped a full octave, becoming dangerously soft, almost a sibilant whisper.
“I heard you needed iron tools and resin.
You don’t need to go.
You don’t need to talk to that merchant.
I can get you whatever you need.
I can even cook for you every day so you never have to go to the dining hall.
You don’t have to look at anyone else, Ed.
If anyone takes up your time, just tell me.
My spirits and I can…
Barely five meters away, hiding behind a centuries-old oak tree, the powerful Fire Spirit Lord, Tarkan (in his fox form), and the gigantic water panther were sweating cold.
Both high-ranking spirits were visibly trembling at the dark, yandere aura their sweet contractor was emitting.
If she gave the order, they would have to reduce the academy to ashes.
With a coldly calculated movement, knowing that one false step could trigger a magical catastrophe, Ed dropped the trap tools he was cleaning.
He raised his right hand and placed it firmly, yet gently, on Yenika’s head, petting her pink hair.
“I won’t go to the commercial pavilion today, Yenika.
The cookies you made are more than enough for my daily ration.
And I genuinely appreciate your help, more than anyone else’s in this academy,” Ed said.
His tone was serene, looking her straight in the eyes, injecting the exact amount of sincerity needed to disarm her.
It was a direct critical hit to the heart.
The dark, murderous aura vanished into thin air like smoke blown by the wind, replaced by a nuclear scarlet red face.
Yenika let go of Ed’s arm as if it burned, covered her face with both hands, and let out an inarticulate squeak of pure happiness.
She jumped to her feet and sprinted towards the campus at the speed of light, desperate not to die of embarrassment right then and there.
Ed let out a long, heavy sigh, watching the spirits give him a quick, martial bow of apology before chasing after their master.
«Keeping the spirit tamer’s jealousy at bay is going to shave years off my life.
Surviving assassins is easier than this,» Ed thought, massaging his temple.
He needed an absolute mental break.
Walking towards the deepest, densest, and most isolated part of the forest, he sat on a large flat rock.
To his left, on a huge pile of dry leaves Ed had gathered, Lucy Mayrill was fast asleep, hugging her giant hat and drooling slightly, lost in her world of infinite laziness.
Ed summoned his system’s holographic interface.
He swiped his finger in the air and opened the Multiversal Chat window.
Interacting with that group of anomalies from other dimensions had become his only escape valve; the only place where he didn’t have to pretend to be a simple, ruined student.
The chat instantly lit up with pending notifications.
[Ed Rothtaylor]: Greetings.
The regular student routine and winter survival preparations are consuming all my logistical time.
[Kurumi Tokisaki]: Ara, ara~.
Our mysterious administrator finally shows signs of life.
I was beginning to think the strict academic life had consumed you completely.
Tell me, Ed-san, what kind of real problems could someone with your lethal skills possibly have in a simple ‘magic school for rich kids’?
[Ed Rothtaylor]: Aristocratic factions conspiring in the shadows, political assassination threats, and dealing with a Spirit Tamer who has developed a level of attachment that borders on lethal.
One misstep in a conversation and I face an Elemental Lord incinerating the forest because they saw me talking to another girl.
In another dimension, sitting on the edge of a skyscraper’s rooftop while observing the bustling city below at night, Kurumi Tokisaki raised a perfect eyebrow.
Her usual sadistic smile faltered for a millisecond.
Her heterochromatic eyes—one burgundy and the other bearing a golden clock face—flashed with a spark of genuine, sharp interest.
[Kurumi Tokisaki]: ‘Spirit Tamer’?
Are you saying that in your world there are entities called spirits and that…
humans make contracts with them so casually?
How fascinating.
Kurumi didn’t write it out of mere courtesy.
In her world, Spirits were cataclysmic existences; girls who wielded overwhelming power, capable of wiping entire cities off the map by causing Spatial Quakes with their mere appearance.
Her absolute goal, the only reason she killed, stained her hands with blood, and devoured people’s time, was to accumulate enough energy to travel thirty years into the past and kill the First Spirit, erasing all the suffering from human history.
If in Ed’s world, spirits were something of an elemental and manipulable nature, her curiosity skyrocketed to the limit.
Perhaps, in the depths of the magic of that other world, there existed knowledge or an artifact that could help her reach her goal without having to sacrifice any more people.
Kurumi decided to adopt the stance of a silent, calculating observer, ready to memorize every detail.
[Ed Rothtaylor]: That’s right.
In Sylvania, spirits are entities made of pure elemental mana.
They are divided into lower, intermediate, upper, and Supreme Lord ranks.
Mages with high spiritual sensitivity can make pacts with them to use their power in combat, borrowing their strength.
It is a magic system based purely on the affinity and soul resonance of the summoner.
[Miyabi Hoshimi]: Magic based on spiritual affinity, empathy, and emotions…
Sounds like a variable far too unstable and volatile to ensure a tactical victory in real combat.
Emotions fail; steel does not.
Miyabi’s cold, disciplined, and analytical textual voice broke into the chat conversation.
[Ed Rothtaylor]: The tungsten alloy katana you sent me is empirical proof that your world has much more pragmatic solutions, Miyabi.
Its molecular-level edge remains indispensable to me.
But, judging by your tone, I assume your environment isn’t exactly peaceful or safe either.
[Miyabi Hoshimi]: It is not.
Not at all.
My world operates under the constant siege of the ‘Hollows’, spherical anomalies that appeared out of nowhere and devoured much of the planet.
Inside a Hollow, space-time is completely distorted and the laws of physics collapse.
The air inside is saturated with a corrupting energy called Ether.
Those who breathe that environment without proper protection for too long mutate horribly into monsters known as ‘Ethereals’.
Ed read the message, frowning at the grim description of that urban apocalyptic scenario.
[Miyabi Hoshimi]: Humanity was pushed to the brink of extinction, but we managed to survive in New Eridu, our last great metropolis.
We survived because we learned to extract that same cursed Ether as an energy source.
In combat against the Ethereals, my unit and I do not use mystical magic or pacts with spirits; we channel Ether into tactical Attributes through our equipment.
We apply Physical, Fire, Ice, Electric, or Ether damage to build up anomaly meters on enemies.
When the meter fills up, we trigger critical states like absolute Freeze, Burn, or Corruption.
It’s a war of attrition and pure discipline.
One mistake, and you become what you hunt.
A constant war of attrition.
Understood.
Ed nodded slowly in the solitude of the forest.
He perfectly understood that feeling of always walking on the edge of the abyss.
[Ed Rothtaylor]: It seems that, no matter which dimension we look at, survival always demands too high a price.
My world doesn’t face a global mutant extinction, but it is ruled by corrupt noble families who treat commoners as disposable livestock.
My own father, Duke Krepin Rothtaylor, is a dark fanatic willing to sacrifice his own blood, my little sister, in a ritual to summon an evil god.
All the big shots in this academy think they control the future, but they are just blind actors on a stage heading toward total disaster.
I am merely sharpening my weapons, preparing for when the inevitable war breaks out.
Kurumi, reading the bitter conversation in silence, brought a pale finger to her lips.
Her initial curiosity had transformed into a deep, intrigued respect for these two warriors.
[Kurumi Tokisaki]: My, my…
What a dark, tragic, and fascinating group we’ve formed in this little corner of the multiverse.
Ed-san, Miyabi-san…
it seems all of us, in our own way, are fighting to the death against the destiny imposed on us from above.
I will continue to watch your steps very closely, Ed.
Who knows…
maybe our worlds have much more to offer each other than just weapons and tactical knowledge.
If that war breaks out in your picturesque academy, my shadows and I might be very interested in paying you a little support visit.
Ed smiled slightly at the translucent screen.
[Ed Rothtaylor]: I appreciate the tactical support.
For now, I’m logging off the frequency.
My mental break is over, and I need to train my new mana reserves.
Over and out.
Ed closed the holographic window.
The exchange of realities, knowing he wasn’t alone in dealing with worlds on the verge of collapse and corrupt systems, had given him a strange sense of calm and perspective.
He stood up, stretching his neck and shoulder muscles until they popped, and looked at Lucy.
With the Ring of the Ice Matriarch glowing faintly with a bluish light on his index finger, Ed spread his feet shoulder-width apart, adopting the perfect starting stance of the King Grey’s Swordsmanship.
He was going to merge his absolute control over water and wind mana to train his new ice affinity.
He brought his gloved hand to the hilt of the tungsten katana.
He closed his eyes, feeling the constant, dynamic flow of mana in the autumn atmosphere.
He was about to draw in a swift slash.
But the strike never began.
In a single blink, the wind stopped blowing.
It wasn’t a gradual decrease in the breeze.
It was an absolute, violent, and unnatural cessation.
Ed’s eyes snapped open.
Right in front of his face, a dry oak leaf that had been falling toward the ground was completely stopped in mid-air, suspended as if pinned to an invisible painting.
The incessant chirping of the forest insects died instantly.
The silence became so thick and heavy that it was deafening, crushing Ed’s eardrums.
Ed’s survival instincts, those that had allowed him to rule as a King, screamed in maximum alarm.
He tried to draw his sword, tried to take a tactical step back, tried to summon the fire in his veins…
but he couldn’t.
His muscles were completely locked.
The blood in his veins seemed to have slowed to a halt.
The very flow of time had been erased from the universe of Sylvania.
In that exact instant, in an immaculate domain existing far beyond the borders of stars, galaxies, mortal universes, and the multiverse itself, an inscrutable entity observed the countless threads of destiny.
No one at Sylvania Academy, not even the gods of that world, knew her true name or face, but she acted as a secret sponsor in the deepest shadows of existence.
She had not intervened on a mere passing whim.
She had shifted her omniscient gaze toward a particular thread in the multiversal loom: one unusually dense, brilliant, and chaotic.
The soul inhabiting Ed Rothtaylor’s physical vessel was not that of a normal human, nor even just that of the fearsome King Grey; it was a perfect fusion of four distinct souls permanently intertwined into one.
A true anomaly that radiated a strength and density four times greater than any other soul in all of existence, vibrating with a latent power that defied the imposed logic of the worlds.
With a mere, silent thought, this hidden deity with golden eyes altered the laws of physics and the System.
The cosmic chessboard had to be prepared with the utmost care, and her most promising piece needed to be forged, battered, and tempered before reaching its final destination.
“I will forge you in the fire of a different world,” the entity thought, her unfathomable will resonating like an ethereal, absolute echo in the void.
“I will be waiting for you.”
In the frozen forest of Sylvania, Ed’s system interface went completely berserk.
A violent, blinking red beep flooded his vision.
[CRITICAL SYSTEM ALERT]
[Massive Spatiotemporal Anchor Failure.]
[ALERT: Intervention of existence: ????]
Beneath the soles of Ed’s boots, the dirt ground erupted in a blinding white brilliance that rivaled the sun.
A gigantic and complex runic circle of pure light began to trace itself into the grass, encompassing not only Ed, but also the small pile of leaves where Lucy Mayrill remained fast asleep, oblivious to the absolute collapse of reality around her.
Ed felt gravity vanish from beneath his feet, replaced by a dizzying sensation of freefall into an infinite, glowing abyss.
The white light devoured both students, violently tearing them from the very fabric of that dimension.
And as quickly as it had appeared, the pillar of light vanished.
The clearing in the Northern Forest was left deathly empty.
The dry oak leaf remained suspended in the inert air.
The world of Sylvania had been plunged into an absolute, eternal stasis, immersed in complete silence.