Julian felt a strange, steady pulse humming beneath his skin.
“System, can I test my abilities in this void space first?
I want to get a feel for the technique.”
“Testing is permitted, but time will not reset within the sanctuary,” the mechanical voice echoed smoothly.
“Any physical strain or damage incurred here will persist.
It is recommended to experiment during deployment.”
Julian relaxed his posture, letting the gathered energy recede into his core.
“Good point.
No sense in wasting a clean slate.”
“Shall we initiate a new challenge?”
“Fire it up,” Julian said, rolling his shoulders.
“Send me in.”
“Initiating attempt twelve.
Stand by.”
White light flared and vanished.
The familiar roar of rushing wind filled his ears as the ground materialized a hundred meters below.
Before, dropping from this height meant a bone-shattering collision with the pavement.
But the person plunging through the air right now wasn’t a fragile civilian anymore.
Julian grinned, tapping into his core.
With a single thought, electrical currents flared across his skin, crackling like blue wire.
A dense, heavy layer of reinforced cursed energy wrapped around his frame, boosting his physical density to a absurd level.
He didn’t bother curling into a defensive roll.
He kept his posture straight, dropping like an anvil straight toward the center of an empty concrete plaza.
Boom!
The impact sounded like a artillery shell hitting asphalt.
A shockwave rippled outward, kicking up a cloud of gray dust and cracking the pavement into a wide, shallow crater beneath his boots.
Julian stepped out of the dust, shaking a few grains of grit from his jacket as he admired his knees.
“Now that is how you enter a battlefield.”
A veteran sorcerer observing the drop would have cringed at the sheer wastefulness of the display.
Reinforcing a body to absorb terminal velocity head-on consumed an enormous amount of energy—a trained combatant would have used lightweight structural control to land without leaving a mark.
Julian didn’t care.
Conserve energy?
Why bother conserving what felt like a bottomless well?
He stepped out of the crater and looked around, taking in his new drop location.
He was standing in the middle of a deserted amusement park.
Julian stretched his arms wide, calling out to the silent rides.
“Hey!
Anyone camping this spot?
Step right up!”
His voice echoed off the fiberglass booths and metal railings, fading into quiet air.
He scratched the back of his neck, frowning.
“Nobody?
Is the spawn point completely wide open?”
His logic wasn’t wrong—spawn camping was common in the colonies—but the Culling Game had only just begun.
Most sorcerers were still scouting their immediate perimeters rather than setting up permanent traps.
Just as Julian was about to head toward the main walkway, a voice called out from behind a concession stand.
“Keep your voice down.
There’s nobody else here.”
Julian turned sharply.
A tall young man in a dark tailored suit was leaning against a ticket booth, holding a heavy metal pen-like staff in his right hand.
Julian scanned his features—distinct western eyes, structured jawline, professional suit.
“A foreigner?”
The man straightened up, adjusting his lapels with practiced elegance.
“Let me introduce myself.
Charles Bernard.”
The name rang an immediate bell.
“Charles Bernard?” Julian muttered, his eyes widening slightly.
“Wait…
the manga artist?”
Charles flinched, his hand pausing on his lapel.
“You…
you know my work?”
He knew his own standing all too well.
Though he dedicated every waking hour to his craft, editors constantly rejected his drafts.
He hadn’t even published a single serialized chapter.
To the professional world, he was just an overly ambitious amateur.
Julian caught himself before he could mention reading about him in a manga panel.
He took three fast steps forward, closing the distance.
The word mangaka is practically written across your face!”
Charles touched his cheek, a flicker of genuine hope crossing his face.
“Really?
Do I look like an artist?”
“You don’t just look like one.
You are one!”
A bright, self-satisfied smile broke across Charles’s face.
It was the first time anyone had addressed him with that level of unearned recognition.
Julian didn’t give him time to overthink it.
“Since we’re both sorcerers stranded in a barrier, how about a quick sparring match?”
The smile on Charles’s face vanished instantly.
He scratched his head, looking troubled.
“A match?
I don’t really want to fight.”
Unlike the battle-hungry ancient sorcerers roaming the colonies, Charles had entered the barrier solely because the awakened state left him no alternative.
He had zero interest in a bloodbath unless cornered.
And he certainly didn’t want to strike down one of the few people who respected his artistic identity.
Julian paused.
He wasn’t Kashimo; he didn’t enjoy jumping people who didn’t want to cross arms.
If Charles refused, forcing the issue felt pointless.
“You awakened your technique today, right?” Julian asked, trying a different angle.
“Don’t you want to test how it works in a real setting?”
Charles looked down at his heavy staff, hesitation written across his features.
“I suppose I do…
but I need a valid reason to draw blood.”
Julian grinned, stepping into his guard stance.
“Consider it a favor for a future fan.
Let me see what you’ve got.”
The word fan shattered Charles’s remaining reluctance.
He raised his staff, the metal nib glinting in the twilight air as a confident smirk returned to his face.
“A future fan?
Fine then!
Don’t hold it against me!”