I teleported away from Gildarts, who was still pumping out enough magic pressure to make the air feel like it was pushing back, and landed next to the two guys on the wall, immediately dropping to one knee. Even at a distance, just being near a mage like that was rough. Wakaba and Macao had it worse: they'd latched onto each other and gone completely still, like a pair of mice staring down a python.
"Oh, whoops..." The least self-aware mage in Fairy Tail finally noticed what he'd done. "My bad, guys. Wha-ha-ha!"
He laughed, awkwardly, really awkwardly, scanning the three of us on the wall, then glanced at the people beside him.
"I won't get in the way," Erza said flatly. She shot him an irritated look and vaulted up to join us. The pressure of his magic hit her too, but she shook it off fast, buried under concern for a certain someone else.
"Have fun," Makarov offered as a send-off, then left the two of them to the arena.
"You okay?" Erza asked, walking over to me, voice soft.
I winced and grabbed my shoulder. The wound, barely a hairline cut before, had torn open wider.
"It's nothing."
A specialized salve appeared from my Requip and I started working it into the gash I'd resealed with Soul Energy. The problem with this world was that proper Healing Magic, the kind that used Ethernano to actually knit flesh back together, was lost. And despite knowing Porlyusica, despite having spent time in the Magic Council's very impressive library, I hadn't been able to track it down. Lost magic is lost for a reason; you don't just stumble across it. Alchemical medicine, though, that worked just fine here. And I'd picked up a thing or two from that library as well.
Once I finished patching myself up and got to my feet with Erza's help, all five of us turned our attention to the arena below.
Laxus, same as my little sister, had stayed upright through Gildarts's pressure. Now he stood there with his arms crossed, doing his best impression of a bantam rooster absolutely certain the world owed him respect, broadcasting in every possible way that none of that had touched him, that he was above all of it, a proud bird with no fear. It looked a little pathetic from up here, honestly. But credit where it's due: the guy's hands were shaking slightly and he was still holding it together.
"You can start," Gildarts said, once he noticed his opponent had gone a solid ten seconds without breathing.
Laxus snapped back to reality, pulled in a breath, and nodded. Lightning erupted across his body, and when he swung his arm forward, a crack of thunder shook the arena.
"Not bad," Gildarts said. He'd taken the hit square in the chest, stepped back exactly once, and brushed at the singed fabric of his shirt. Laxus's eyes went dinner-plate wide. "My turn. Don't worry, I won't go full force."
Like a very large, very bald force of nature, Gildarts's silhouette darkened as he drew his arm back. Laxus, caught flat-footed, didn't even have time to react before the blow launched him across the arena like a tennis ball. The floor cracked. The kid flew in a wide arc and cratered into the stone, leaving a fresh set of fractures in his wake.
That's insane, I thought. And he didn't even use Crash Magic. What would full power actually look like?
Laxus coughed and got up. He dusted himself off, stood there a few seconds, and then, finally, pulled himself together. His face went sharp and focused. He converted to lightning and moved fast, possibly even a hair faster than Erza in her speed armor, circling wide and coming in hard from behind. Gildarts shot an arm out and stopped it cold.
Thunder kept rattling the arena as Laxus hit him again and again. For Gildarts, it might as well have been light rain.
Slowly, the strongest mage in Fairy Tail started hitting back harder. Laxus kept getting sent flying. And every single time, breathing heavier, he got back up and went in again.
The guy had spine. I didn't particularly like Laxus, and most people didn't either, but you had to give him that much.
"That's enough! Stop!" Makarov shouted. He'd been watching his grandson get absolutely demolished with an expression that somehow managed to be both viciously entertained and genuinely worried at the same time.
"I can still fight!" Laxus snapped back, and charged in again.
But this time, instead of a regular enhanced punch, Gildarts's fist lit up white with the unmistakable glow of his magic. Crash Magic thundered across the already wrecked arena, and the charging Laxus, to his own complete bewilderment, came apart into dozens of tiny little Laxuses.
That was one of Crash Magic's applications. Beyond breaking molecular bonds, a Crash mage could split another mage into multiple small, weakened copies, assuming the Crash mage was significantly more powerful, of course.
The miniature Laxuses turned toward Gildarts, looking absolutely furious. They had no idea if there was anything they could even do in this state. But the humiliation burning through all of them was very, very real.
"You're angry that you didn't win? Don't be ashamed of that, Laxus," Gildarts said, his tone measured. "Defeat is a teacher. It shows you exactly where you still have room to grow. Real strength isn't about being the strongest, it's about protecting the people next to you. Understanding that makes you both stronger and better. You're on the right path. And you're already stronger than I was at your age. Remember that."
By the time he finished, Makarov had walked over and given him a quiet, approving nod, confirming every word.
I, standing up on the wall, just huffed. Alright, Gildarts wasn't just a big friendly idiot. He was a big friendly idiot who was also genuinely cool.
A flash of the redhead's magic, and the blond pulled back together into one Laxus.
In response to the whole speech, Laxus snorted and looked away. Gratitude? Not a chance. Whether any of it had actually landed, well, time would tell.
After that, the trio climbed up to join us. We settled in comfortably and all looked at Makarov.
"Alright. Second round: Elian and Laxus both passed. Grandson, your objective wasn't to win, so consider what you showed to be enough. And now, the third phase, the verdict." The old man raised one finger with great ceremony. "Elian. I'm done complimenting you; your ego's already tall enough to block out the sun. S-rank. Laxus... same. S-rank."
The blond and I both gave a quiet snort. The old man turned to my little sister.
"Erza. You came through the first round better than anyone, and your strength is beyond question. But you lost your fight, and not because you're weaker, but because you were outplayed. Next time, you'll be ready for that. Don't be too hard on yourself."
She responded with a single, serious nod. The loss didn't make her cry, didn't make her bitter, that's just not who she is. She took what she earned, and she took it with dignity.
"You two," Makarov sighed, turning to the pair of stowaways. "You already know."
"Yeah, not the first time," Macao sighed right along with him, accepting that this wasn't his day.
"Same," Wakaba agreed, then perked up a little as he looked from me to Laxus, but, "Kha-kha!" He choked on it, catching Laxus's withering look, and redirected to my neutral expression. "We've got something worth celebrating!"
"We do!" the old man agreed cheerfully. "The whole guild's going on a week-long bender! Well, except for you kids. You're not old enough."
"We've all got something to be proud of. Especially you two," one giga-dad added, grinning ear to ear.
"You just need any excuse," Erza muttered, her shoulders dropping a little. She'd gotten less praise than she was hoping for. Okay, maybe the whole knight-of-honor complex wasn't quite as all-consuming as it sometimes seemed; sometimes she was just a regular girl who wanted to be told she did well.
"Don't let it get to you, sis," I said, steering toward something more useful. "An S-rank mage can bring other guild members along on S-rank jobs, anyway. And honestly, objectively, you deserve the rank too. It's just that this crafty old geezer," I nodded toward Makarov, who promptly choked on air, "sat on it. Guaranteed he wants more candidates for the next exam. You'll get it in a year, no question. Today you just got unlucky that our guild master is a lazy freeloader who couldn't be bothered to lift a finger for us. He didn't even come up with a third round, he just tallied up the score!"
That last shameless accusation was apparently too much. Makarov's jaw dropped.
"You little brat! Have you lost your mind?! Do you have any idea how much work went into organizing all of this?! And I didn't lift a finger?!" he started hollering, genuinely sputtering. But then he caught my smile, realized I was messing with him, choked on air a second time, and folded his arms exactly like his grandson had earlier. "You know what, Elian. I'm already regretting giving you that rank. Maybe I should take it back."
"Huh? No, no, please don't. I'm done, I'm done," I agreed to stop tormenting the old man's blood pressure. He might actually take it personally, and the rank was useful. Regular missions had gotten stale; S-rank was a different ballgame.
"That's more like it," Makarov huffed, satisfied, and most of the group cracked smiles. Only Laxus, pulling a small notebook from his pouch, the cover bearing the words HOW TO PISS OFF GRANDPA in large block letters, began writing something down with great dedication. "Oh, for the love of... Fine. Let's go home, kids."
The old man had nothing left to say to any of that. He just started walking, and we followed.
We hadn't left anyone behind in the monster labyrinth, and Gildarts dismantled the traps on the way out by walking a loop around the perimeter. Leaving nothing behind for any future poor souls who wandered in except a very confusing new maze, we headed toward the city and the train station.
"Hey, man, you're genuinely something else," I said on the way over to one spectacularly powerful redheaded mage. "Not trying to be a smartass, just curious. Is there some kind of secret to getting that strong? Do you eat special mushrooms? Drink virgin blood?"
Gildarts, who'd been puffing up from the first part of that sentence, nearly tripped over his own feet at the end.
"Wha? No, I don't drink blood. Though maybe the second Wizard Saint, Draculos... Actually no, he wouldn't bother with that either. Ahem! Anyway, nothing like that. It's experience, kid. Grow up, and you'll get there too."
Behind us, Laxus was doing his absolute best to be invisible while absorbing every word. Erza was interested too, just not quite as aggressively.
"So you're not some lab experiment? Don't answer if you don't want to."
"Nope, just a regular mage, same as you. Maybe a bit stronger, that's all." He shrugged, easy and relaxed.
"Hm. Okay. So really no secret?"
He shook his head. I let my shoulders fall. Damn. Watching this guy, I'd been hoping there was some kind of cheat code, some shortcut to turning into an actual superhero. No such luck. We kept the conversation going to pass the time.
"You seem strong to pretty much everyone around you. If you were a Wizard Saint, where would you land compared to Warrod Sequen?"
"Wha-ha! I'm stronger than that old man!" Gildarts declared with all the swagger of a seasoned adventurer. "Honestly, what I'd really like to find out is who's stronger, me or God Serena..."
That's how the walk to the station went. Then the train. Then we were back in Fairy Tail territory.
True to the announcement, a party was thrown in my and Laxus's honor. I didn't drink, and technically I wasn't supposed to either, and Laxus considered himself too good to get hammered with the general population, so the guildmates celebrated without the people they were supposedly celebrating. As for our actual rank, there wasn't much ceremony to it beyond the announcement that we were now S-class. Not surprising, really. No badges needed. The guild wasn't that big; the master or the barmaid handling mission stamps knew everyone by face. And for whoever handed out S-rank requests, the rule was simple: at least one S-rank mage on the team, or no flyer. Trust ran deep here. Nobody had actually put together a whitelist of who could pull from the S-rank board, because there was no whitelist; technically, anyone in the guild could reach for one. It just never happened, because it would've been suicide.
After grabbing a bite at the guild to mark my promotion, and peeling Mira off me after she spent a solid few minutes needling me about Erza not making it, the two of us slipped out to a pastry shop to celebrate properly. Without any thorns in our sides, as my sister put it, with a certain white-haired girl clearly in mind.
We talked about nothing important and enjoyed each other's company, and obviously the desserts.
Walking out, though, no, we didn't just head home. Something was off.
"You." I pointed at the strange man sitting on a bench. "Come over here and tell me why you've been watching us for the past twenty minutes."
Erza fixed her eyes on him too. I'd tipped her off right before we walked out the door.
"Me?" He looked startled, stood up, and dropped his newspaper. "Oh, uh, actually, I'm a journalist! But I can see you're busy, respected mages of Fairy Tail. I'll just be going."
He turned to leave. My hand landed on his shoulder and stopped him. His eyes went wide; I'd been across the street half a second ago. In my other hand, a lacrima.
"A long-range recording artifact? So, paparazzi?" I said. That wasn't what was happening, though, and I knew it. The lie in his words was obvious. This man hadn't come here to get a scoop.
Instead of answering, he revealed himself as a mage, which I'd already known, and sank into the ground, trying to disappear.
I gave Erza a calm nod. She reached into her Requip just as calmly, produced a baseball bat, and got ready. Two teleports later, the second one cost me some real effort, but the earth mage was weak enough to make it doable, and after Erza's swing connected, we had an unconscious, suspicious person on our hands.
"Well. So much for a relaxing evening," I sighed, slinging the mage over my shoulder.
"Interrogating him yourself?" Erza asked. She'd rather read a book than deal with some random nuisance. The guy clearly wasn't important enough or strong enough to need backup, and between the two of us, I was the better interrogator by a mile.
"No problem."
And that was that. While my sister settled in at home with her book, I made a stop on the outskirts of Magnolia, an abandoned school building. They'd built a new one, and with plenty of space to go around, this one had been shut down years ago.
Like it was a completely normal Monday, I tied the man to a chair, slapped a pair of anti-magic cuffs on him, ones I'd sourced by greasing the palm of a cooperative Rune Knight, and doused him with a bottle of water from my Requip.
"Rise and shine!" I announced as the prisoner came to.
"Wha? Where?!" He had no idea what was happening. But when his eyes landed on my perfectly pleasant expression and then swept the abandoned basement around him, a few old school desks, dusty light, the color drained from his face fast. I wasn't particularly interested in his name. He'd clearly figured out he was in a bad spot.
"Talk. Who are you? Who do you work for? What were you collecting information on?"
"I..." He hesitated. Then he swallowed, and his eyes filled with determination. "I will not betray my lord!"
"Sure. They all say that."
My hands started methodically unbuttoning his vest. He watched with a confused expression.
"So, you're already wet. And this thing here," I pulled a lacrima from my Requip, the kind that delivers a steady, low-level current, "ah, the memories."
Under his thoroughly baffled stare, I attached the artifact to his nipples with two glowing leads and switched it on. As the screaming started, I found myself drifting into nostalgia. The base version of me had done something very similar to someone once. Different times.
"Respected S-rank mage..." His earlier reverence for me came rushing back. Within five minutes the man was singing like a canary, spilling everything. He'd overheard my rank mentioned in the conversation Erza and I had at the pastry shop. "If Lord Varig had known how powerful you were, we wouldn't have dared look in your direction. That idiot, I forget his name, but it's long, and he's a baron, he paid for you like you were low A-rank mages. We were just supposed to capture you! If we'd killed mages from a legal guild, we'd have drawn too much attention. It's not worth it! Please don't think we meant to insult you! It's just business, you understand! You take contracts yourself..."
Smack. A clean slap across the face, and I cut off the rambling to think in peace.
"Varig, Varig," I turned the name over, reaching back into a past that felt more distant than it was. "Earth magic user? Blue hair? And he was working with the System R cultists."
"Oh, most powerful of mages, your perception is truly extraordinary," the man began pouring on the flattery, but a sharp look from me brought him back to the point. "Yes, all of that! Those damn cultists forced my lord into their service! But there was a reshuffling at the top, and Lord Varig managed to break free! As far as I can tell, they didn't even come looking for us..."
"Got it. I'm going to ask questions now. Your job is to answer them clearly. No speeches."
"And then you'll let me go?"
"Of course... Now. Where is your Lord Varig based?"
I lied. Once I had everything useful, the interrogee's body was buried in a small stretch of woods nearby.
No moral crisis. No hand-wringing. The man had worked for my enemy, and he'd been dealt with. The handful of people I actually care about are the only ones who get my honesty, my principles, my mercy. Period.
I got home to find Erza in a good mood, freshly out of the bath.
"So what happened with that journalist?" she asked, casual.
My shoulders dropped.
"I'd rather not ruin your evening. But I'll tell you straight. He was a spy for a criminal syndicate. That baron, La Gravier, put out a contract on us," I answered honestly, setting aside the prisoner's initial version of events. He'd tried to dress it up, of course, just a capture job, we're practically harmless, but piecing together the lies and pulling out the truth hadn't taken long. Erza's eyes went wide, her mouth dropped open. I kept going. "More importantly, the man running that syndicate is the same mage who commanded the slavers' raiding party the night they attacked the village of Rosemary. He's the one most directly responsible for what happened to us, for us ending up in the Tower."
If the first part had surprised her, this one hit like a brick wall. The memories came crashing back. I didn't let her sink into them; I shifted to a gentler tone, steadied her, and over the next few minutes laid out the full picture.
"This Baron Ten..." Sitting at the kitchen table, she closed her hand into a fist and let a deep crimson aura of Ethernano bleed out of her. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have let him walk away alive."
Crack.
Under the pressure of her magic, the plate she'd been eating cake off of before I got home split clean down the middle.
"Oh..." She blinked at it, the surge fading, and the tension broke.
"We'll call it good luck," I said with a small smile. Then my voice leveled out. "But we need to tie off these loose ends before they become a problem again. Some people don't get to keep breathing."
Erza was not the forgiving type, and she certainly wasn't some ideological pacifist. Yes, she preferred to spare someone when she wasn't sure of their guilt. But her time in that damned tower, where she'd put more than a few guards through walls and may well have accidentally killed some of them, combined with years of hunting monsters and grinding through fights, had forged her into someone capable of making hard calls. The rose-tinted glasses were long gone.
So all I got in return was a firm, quiet nod. These people were guilty, by her own reckoning beyond any reasonable doubt, and they had no claim on her mercy.
We both understood, without saying it out loud, that we'd be going out to kill someone soon.