"Great."
Adèle watched the pure white light bloom along the rapier in Gauss's hand and nodded with open approval.
"I expected as much, but I'm still surprised you mastered this sword art so quickly."
Her feelings were a swirl. The past few days teaching Gauss had flown by, yet she never once felt annoyed. If anything, it was a clean, exhilarating sense of achievement.
Every time she passed on some knowledge or technique, Gauss soaked it up like a sponge at a startling pace. Any correction took a try or two—at most a few—and he'd have it down.
It felt like watching a "miracle" take shape. And while she told herself she'd only pointed the way, in White Falcon Sword Art she was, in a sense, half his teacher. The thought stirred a quiet pride she couldn't suppress.
This kid was taught by me.
Of course, that pride always came with a pinch: she couldn't help remembering how much effort it had taken her to learn the same art. Who could see talent and progress like this up close and not feel a little inferior?
This is a sword art even master-tier swordsmen can use—high difficulty—and he'd grasped it in mere days. And her… Every time she thought about the difference in time spent, she couldn't help sighing at fate's unfairness, with a faint powerlessness—like she existed just to set off heaven's true favorites.
"Adèle—Teacher, is there anything off with my White Falcon form?"
Gauss finished another run-through and saw Adèle's serious face and silence; the rush from his practice receded a little, and he asked.
White Falcon Sword Art lv1 (9/10)
According to the skill panel in his Adventurer's Manual, he'd indeed entered the art—and was about to hit lv2. Much of the credit, he knew, belonged to Adèle. Over these days she'd been patient end to end, even pushing back a fair bit of guild work to give him as complete a training block as she could.
For a swordsman, learning White Falcon is like a Level 5 caster learning a Level 3 spell—hard. All the more so since, beyond a basic swordsmanship skill, he hadn't studied any other sword arts.
Gauss knew his solid fundamentals, a nudge from the Manual, and "talent" that might be better than most had helped—but without her unreserved teaching, he'd never have progressed this fast. After each lesson she was the one proposing the next time slot; the "teacher" was more proactive than the "student."
"No. I don't have anything left to teach you. Your White Falcon is textbook. What's left is practice until it becomes your own style."
Adèle shook her head. "And… do me a favor and just call me Adèle. I'm really not worthy of 'teacher.' At this pace, you'll surpass me in White Falcon before long."
White Falcon wasn't even her main skills. At Gauss's speed, as long as he didn't abandon it, overtaking her was a sure thing. And at only level 4, he was already approaching her combat power. What happens when he hits level 5—or master? He'd crush her. In her heart, she'd already filed him under "peer."
"Adèle, thank you—truly."
This time she didn't deflect; she accepted his bow with a calm nod. She had, in fact, poured a lot of heart into these days.
"Let's grab a meal," Adèle offered. With the training block over, they might not see each other for a while. They'd gotten along well enough that even the usually unsocial Adèle felt like inviting him.
"Can I bring my team?" Gauss asked, thinking she wouldn't mind.
"Of course."
In a luxuriously appointed seafood restaurant, the Gauss party and Adèle met in a private room.
"So, Captain—did you actually master the sword art with Ms. Adèle?" Serandur asked. The team knew what Gauss had been up to, leaving early and getting back late.
"Yeah," Gauss nodded. With this art, his close-quarters options were much richer. And White Falcon wasn't limited to holding a sword; the breathing and power application translated to other melee methods too.
Deep in his consciousness, beside that gleaming, magic cup, a sharp, indistinct sword-shadow was slowly coalescing—sign that the second class he'd coveted was finally on track.
He and Adèle had already talked about it. There was no point pretending—no "just a hobby" excuse—for a caster to dig this deep into a swordsman's high art. Even if he said nothing, Adèle would have guessed; better to be forthright. Plenty of people dream of a second class. Thinking is one thing; doing it is much harder.
From their talks, Gauss came to understand the real bottleneck. Learning a skill from another class is hard; harder still is stepping into a new system. It strikes at the most basic conflict of power systems—some vast rule of this world pushing back.
That rule makes class cores repel each other. Even if you've set a main and a sub core—his "main" being the magic chalice that anchors his casting—the main should, in theory, suppress the birth of a sword core. You can't brute-force that as the host. Many who try to double-class give it up under this "selfish" repulsion.
Only a lucky few—through special bodily gifts or unique chances—walk the dual path. And that isn't automatically good: splitting focus means you must work harder than a single-classer. Slack off, and not only does the second class stall, the main one may suffer too. Either swim upstream to greater power—or slide into mediocrity. A double-edged sword.
So when Adèle first laid it all out, Gauss did hesitate. But once he hit White Falcon Lv1 and a sword-class core began forming in his inner sea, he realized: the usual rules… didn't seem to apply to him. His mage core welcomed the new neighbor—no clash, no violence. In other words, the rule failed on him.
He didn't tell Adèle. It touched his deepest secret—the Adventurer's Manual. A rule that binds the world but not him could only mean the Manual's power.
In his senses, it was a great force of "fixation": once a skill is learned, it doesn't regress; it holds at that level. Its offshoot, the Monster Index, is essentially the same: it "fixes" the act of fighting monsters into kill progress, stacks numbers step by step, accumulates effects, and pays them out as milestone rewards.
Honestly, even an ordinary person who could keep killing thousands of monsters without dying would grow by leaps and bounds—it just wouldn't compare to someone like Gauss, who runs a special lane blessed by "talent." But compared to their old selves, the improvement would be huge.
This discovery only hardened Gauss's resolve never to reveal the Manual. Anything that overrides the world's rules would cause serious trouble if exposed.
As for his exposed "talent," he wasn't worried. This world has plenty of prodigies—bloodlines, ancient inheritances, gods and demons, even powers from beyond. People would fill in a story for him as long as he didn't spell it out.
The dinner—part "thank-you," part friends' get-together—wrapped up in easy conversation.
The next day, after several days' rest, the four of them regrouped. They traveled light; all luggage sat in Gauss's medium storage pouch, and aside from mounts, Alia's animal companions waited in the Creature Pouch. Today they'd grab a few simple jobs nearby to warm up. They were all still training skills, but staying off commissions too long wasn't wise.
"Feels like it's been ages since our last job," said Alia—the team's logistics—who'd already checked gear and supplies before departure. She felt like she'd forgotten something, but triple-checking told her it was just nerves.
"It has been a bit," Gauss flexed his wrists. Their last goblin hunt had been a week ago—felt like forever. Thinking about it made his hands itch—and White Falcon needed live practice. His second class wanted eager volunteers to push it along.
On the guild's second floor, they drew eyes. For various reasons, the team's badge stars had been updated to match their current ranks.
Three-star, four-star, four-star, five-star—top-tier even for a floor reserved for professionals. Level 4s and 5s don't turn into nobodies just because they're in Sena. Most "elite" professionals are still level 1–2. Big cities just have more adventurers overall and a higher ratio of elites, so the absolute number of higher levels is greater.
Under many envious looks, they reached the front desk. "Hello, we'd like to take a commission."
"Of course, Mr. Gauss. Please proceed to the VIP room with your teammates," the staffer said, smile warmer and tone even a touch respectful—as if greeting a superior, not a customer. That respect came from "Adèle."
They'd seen Gauss and Adèle walking side by side and speaking as equals multiple times in recent days. And just yesterday, Adèle had told the second-floor manager to treat the Gauss party as special—offer as much convenience as the rules allowed.
Adèle was a very special presence in the East District branch of Sena's Adventurers' Guild: not just a senior councilor, but "Sword Falcon," close friend of Guildmaster Rachel, and—so rumor had it—a direct scion of Sena's true power, the Vives.
Even though she hadn't been posted there long, the branch cooperated with her completely. A Level 4 who frequently interacted with someone like that? There had to be a story—either a lofty family background, or… some special relationship.
Either way, not something a clerk would pry into. The second guess was riskier—Adèle was their boss. If she wanted to squeeze junior staff, she had a thousand ways.
With that in mind, the staffer warmly ushered them into the VIP room, then brought in four task crystals.
"One would be enough, no?"
"No problem—we have plenty. One each is easier," the clerk beamed.
Gauss scratched his head. Big cities really were more generous than places like Grayrock. The service made you feel at home. Before he could start picking, another staffer arrived with plates of pastries: sugared pancakes, honey-glazed nut brittle, and an array of Sena-style seafood bites, fragrant and tempting. Hot tea and coffee followed—portions generous enough to be a full meal for most people.
"Please enjoy."
Gauss's eyes narrowed slightly. Something felt off—like they knew him a little too well. Did Adèle give instructions? If so, did she need to be this specific? "Big appetite" is a detail you don't usually brief the staff on…
He shook it off and focused on the crystal. When he gripped it, a flood of commission details poured into his mind: purge mutated sewer creatures; escort a caravan inland; investigate anomalous coastal mana; ship out to hunt a sea-beast in a marked zone… Jobs ran the gamut from 1-star to 5-star. So many it made his head spin.
Then a familiar word caught his eye: a band of Shore-Walker Goblin pirates near the Tidal Caverns. Shore-Walkers were a goblin variant active on coastlines, reefs, islands, and caves—gray-green to pale blue skin, webbed feet, amphibious.
They were rafting around raiding coastal villages and grounded ships, harassing merchantmen, diving to hole hulls—making life hell for fisherfolk. Please eliminate them.
Goblins—of course. They get everywhere.