The World of Otome Game
is a Second Chance for Broken Swords
Story Starts
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Chapter 5.1 -
Cosmic Dungeon
Leon Fou Bartfort peered out from his father's airship, the very same vessel that had brought them all to the capital, what felt like an eternity ago. From the bridge, he could see a cluster of floating islands looming as the ship drew closer—his territory, the islands he had painstakingly appropriated and, with considerable assistance from the Adventurers' Guild, physically relocated to their new position at the edge of his father's domain. The sight filled him with a peculiar mixture of satisfaction and the weight of responsibility.
He studied the configuration of the islands, his mind already cataloguing possibilities and constraints. The main island showed promise for production facilities—mills, workshops, perhaps a modest manufacturing district—but it wouldn't be sufficient. Not if he wanted the barony to flourish truly.
'I should probably find two more islands for both a commercial city and a residential district,' Leon mused, mentally calculating logistics and profit margins. The challenge lay in proper placement and resource allocation. 'Maybe I could ask Luxion to scout the troposphere for suitable candidates? At least the AI won't complain about the assignment—probably.'
His thoughts were interrupted by voices rising from behind him—familiar voices engaged in what sounded distinctly like conflict. He recognised the sharp, commanding tone immediately.
"Angelica, enough," Prince Julius said, his voice carrying that particular edge of royal authority that demanded obedience.
Angelica turned sharply towards him, her eyes flashing with indignation. "Your Highness, are you truly going to indulge her? This is utterly ridiculous!"
Marie, whom the prince had apparently invited aboard, remained positioned behind His Highness. Her eyes were cast downward at her feet in studied modesty, and she delicately pinched the fabric of his sleeve between her fingers—a gesture that conveyed both vulnerability and devotion. The action was flawless, Leon noted with grim recognition. 'Exactly like the game.'
"Your Highness, I…" Marie's voice emerged soft, hesitant, trembling with apparent uncertainty. "I just wanted to be with you. You can refuse me if it inconveniences you. I don't mind, truly. I wouldn't want to cause any trouble between you and… She trailed off meaningfully, her implication clear."
"You're testing my patience—don't push your luck!" Angelica snarled, her composure finally fracturing. "His status far overshadows yours. I have, so far, forgiven your behaviour until now, but if you're going to have that attitude…"
"Of course she's furious," Leon thought, observing the scene with weary understanding. Just like in the game, Angelica was quick to anger, prone to explosive reactions at the slightest provocation. She flew off the handle at the drop of a hat.
Though after he'd talked with Olivia about the blonde daughter of a duke, she'd turned out to have quite a decent character beneath the temper. Of course, Leon had to acknowledge that Illya's—or rather, Olivia's—assessment wasn't particularly reliable. She'd only spent about an hour and a half with Angelica over tea, hardly a sufficient basis for any meaningful character evaluation.
Yet regardless of what Olivia believed, Leon understood the broader situation with uncomfortable clarity. From what he could gather, Angelica had been thoroughly trained and groomed to become the future queen of this kingdom. Someone was deliberately waltzing into that prepared position and systematically making Angelica appear to be the antagonist in front of everyone, whilst the prince—her fiancé—and his entire retinue loudly publicised their indiscretion without a care in the world.
This outing had principally started because Olivia had offered Angelica the opportunity to experience adventure in a dungeon that was largely unexplored—well, both he and Illya had been forced to farm some solar stones to attract the Lunar Guardian spirits they'd contracted—but it remained substantially uncharted territory nonetheless.
Then, some days later, with Olivia still in tow, Angelica had requested a private meeting with Leon, asking if she could invite her fiancé as well. He'd begrudgingly acquiesced, though the decision had filled him with a creeping sense of foreboding. Since His Highness was involved, the school had to be involved—whilst rules about equality existed in theory, they couldn't simply allow the crown prince to venture into an unexplored dungeon unsupervised, could they? The liability alone would've been a nightmare.
So for the past few days, Leon had been arranging everything meticulously between the guild branch on his territory—via Luxion and his two Guardian Spirits—and the academy itself.
'Another bureaucratic headache to add to the mounting pile,' he'd thought wearily at the time. Remembering those hectic few days, Leon involuntarily rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, attempting to release some of the tension that had accumulated there. The entire negotiation process had been exhausting, filled with tedious back-and-forth and endless complications he could've done without.
Still, he couldn't entirely begrudge the arrangement he'd managed to secure. In exchange for early access—with select members of the guild included—he and his vassal retained lead and first crack at the dungeon's deepest levels. He'd also negotiated the venture to officially count as a school activity, which meant they'd be systematically clearing the remaining unopened dungeons one by one, moving each closer to the academy itself, making each subsequent expedition far more convenient.
'Pragmatic compromise,' he'd decided, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his thoughts. Everyone emerged victorious, after all. The adventurers' guild gained quick access to the resources the new dungeon produced—of course, a percentage of that flowed directly into his territory's coffers—and it was legitimised as a school activity to boot. Everybody won.
"Enough!" Prince Julius bellowed, his voice cutting through the heated exchange like a blade.
Everyone stopped talking at once, the sudden silence almost deafening in its abruptness.
Angelica's eyes widened in shock. "Y-Your Highness?"
'Maybe not everyone wins,' Leon mentally corrected as he inwardly winced, watching the situation deteriorate before his eyes. He'd anticipated conflict—had, in fact, expected it—but the prince's intervention felt precipitous, unnecessarily cruel in its timing and delivery.
Jilk, who usually cultivated an appearance of gentleness and kindness—at least that's how he'd been portrayed during the game's early sequences—suddenly stepped forwards with determined purposefulness. He positioned himself squarely between Angelica and the prince, extending his right arm as if to create a physical barrier, shielding His Highness and Marie from her accusations. "Please don't trouble the prince any further," he said, his voice dripping with false concern that made Leon's skin crawl.
'Trouble him?" Angelica echoed in disbelief, her voice cracking slightly. "You're accusing me of troubling him? I'm doing this for him! Everything I do is for his sake!"
Greg stood nearby with his spear cocked casually on his shoulder—that same distinctive pose that had graced the cover of the original game. His eyes narrowed in annoyance, his jaw tightening as he snapped, "That attitude right there—that's precisely the problem. Don't drag your outside relationship with him into the academy. Seeing you flaunt it, seeing you act like you have some special claim on him, it just pisses me off. We don't need that kind of disruption here."
Ironically, as they were the heirs of powerful noble houses, no one else present possessed sufficient standing to voice even a whisper of protest. The hierarchy was immutable, unquestionable. Everyone else simply had to accept it.
After a beat of heavy silence stretched between them, the prince turned deliberately towards the professor overseeing the expedition. His expression had settled into something deliberately neutral, almost dismissive. "I apologise for the disturbance. We'll be teaming up with Marie instead. I don't care how you pair up everyone else."
The professor, visibly frazzled by the entire ordeal, simply nodded several times in rapid succession, their hands clasped before them in a gesture of supplication. "Y-yes, of course! Whatever you think best, Your Highness!"
Angelica simply gawked at the exchange, her expression frozen in shock and disbelief. The public rejection hung in the air like a physical blow.
Olivia and Leon exchanged looks as they watched Marie sport a dumbfounded expression, as though she were witnessing the fulfilment of all her fantasies simultaneously. She perked up noticeably, practically glowing as she began chatting animatedly with the prince and his retinue, her eyes bright and excited, a katana-like sword positioned at her side.
After Angelica was publicly snubbed with such deliberate cruelty, a noticeable shift rippled through the gathered nobles who'd joined the expedition. They began to keep their distance from her, clustering together in small groups as they whispered amongst themselves, their voices low and conspiratorial.
Olivia hesitantly approached Angelica, the two of them engaging in a conversation that remained carefully out of earshot. Leon deliberately refrained from activating his reinforcement, knowing instinctively that he really didn't want to intrude on whatever was transpiring between them.
"From what I've observed, Marie has been really getting close with the Prince and his group," a voice entered his ear through an earpiece, crackling softly against the ambient noise of the ship. It was Luxion, as he couldn't just float idly where everyone could see him—the AI's presence confined to the wireless channel, disembodied and precise.
"Oh, any other details on that?" Leon whispered, keeping his voice low enough that only the earpiece would catch it.
"From what you described about the events of the supposed game you played from your supposed past life, she's pretty much done everything the protagonist has done. She's also been ostracised by many students on campus. Still, she isn't really passive when receiving insults directed at her, even going so far as to punch one nasty bully square in the stomach—lately they've just been keeping their distance from her entirely." Luxion's tone was clinical, precise, laying out the facts with mechanical efficiency.
Leon could only sigh, the sound escaping him unbidden as he contemplated the inexorable weight of narrative inevitability. The events of the story would still unfold, even when the original protagonist had ignored the main storyline. He gave his thanks to the AI as he surveyed the room, his amber eyes tracking the subtle social shifts rippling through the gathered nobles—the way they'd begun to cluster defensively around Angelica's excluded form, their whispered conversations creating a low susurrus of gossip.
He was just glad that none had noticed or kept quiet about the fact that a visible crew was not manning this ship. They probably assumed the crew kept away from the public spaces because the guests were all nobility—a convenient misunderstanding that suited Leon perfectly.
As the ship drew closer to the wharf, Leon could spy two very familiar silhouettes against the dock's relatively new planking, the varnish still gleaming under the sun's light. One was slender and lithe, the other womanly and curvy, both unmistakable in their stance.
"Hey Leon!" Olivia approached with characteristic exuberance, a quiet Angelica trailing in her wake—interrupting his thoughts with the sudden warmth of her presence. "Would it be fine if Angelica joined us?"
Leon looked down at Olivia, who'd entered his personal space as she pleaded with glassy eyes, her hands clasped before her in supplication. Leon then looked towards Angelica, who seemed particularly vulnerable despite her efforts to appear nonchalant, her shoulders slightly hunched as though bracing for rejection. He allowed himself a small smile, feeling the familiar weight of familial responsibility settle across his shoulders like an old coat. "It's not a problem, but you'll have the primary responsibility for her safety, okay? That falls on you."
And like clockwork, her previous mask of pleading desperation was dropped as she perked up visibly, her entire demeanour brightening. "See, it's easy enough to convince him," Olivia exclaimed, bubbly and triumphant towards Angelica, who couldn't help but break out a small, genuine smile—the first Leon had truly seen from her. "Thank you, Baron Bartfort. Truly."
She didn't bow, but her thanks carried sincere weight as Olivia pulled them towards the gangway with eager determination. Their discussion shifted to magic as they walked, and Olivia asked Angelica which types she mainly used in combat, her tone animated and inclusive. Olivia's two guardian spirits joined them as they exited the bridge, their footsteps echoing slightly on the polished wooden deck.
This was, of course, picked up immediately by the other nobles as they sneered at what they perceived as an upstart cosying up with the daughter of the Redgrave house—the whispers sharp and cutting through the salt-touched air.
Leon just shook his head as he mentally prepared himself; he'd just have to deal with it if something escalated. Besides, Olivia wasn't some helpless little girl. He'd actually feel genuinely bad for anyone subject to her wrath—her capacity for retribution was formidable when provoked. Which is why the phrase 'he'll just have to deal with it' would probably translate more accurately to managing the aftermath of whatever Olivia decides to do.
As he walked down the gangplank, the wood creaking slightly beneath his weight, he could see two figures approaching from the dock below. Their movements were synchronised, purposeful. Just as his boots touched solid ground, having alighted from the ship's ramp, he was tackled simultaneously by two figures. Leon had to reinforce his legs and back to prevent himself from falling over completely, the sudden impact driving the breath from his lungs.
"Master!" Two synchronous voices called out in perfect unison, their tones mirroring each other exactly. The two guardian spirits he had left behind surged forwards with obvious joy, their embrace fierce and warm. He returned the hug, his smile sincere though it carried quite the bitter edge to it—the weight of separation and reunion mingling painfully. But then another arm wrapped around him from behind, two distinctly sizable bumps pressing against his back with familiar warmth.
"And why are you joining in, Olivia?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"I felt left out," Olivia pouted, her voice taking on that petulant quality she reserved for such moments. "Come on then, Sella, Leysritt—join in properly!"
As two more pairs of arms encircled him—their embrace simultaneously comforting and suffocating—Leon could see the gathered onlookers watching with obvious interest, their eyes sharp with speculation. He caught Angelica's gaze across the press of bodies, and his eyes pleaded silently for rescue, though she quickly averted them, a slight curve visible at the corners of her lips despite her attempt at composure. The scene was undoubtedly providing ample fodder for further gossip.
Looking down at his two guardian spirits, Leon felt his breath catch slightly. One bore an ethereal, otherworldly elegance that seemed to shimmer with celestial light—Meltryllis. Her long hair cascaded in waves of pale lavender that shifted to blue at the tips, like twilight bleeding into night. The delicate frills and ribbons of her dress seemed to float around her as though touched by some invisible breeze, all whites and pale blues that reminded him of moonlight on water.
The other possessed a commanding, regal presence—Durga. Her extraordinarily long silver-white hair flowed almost to the ground, partially gathered in an elaborate style, whilst the rest cascaded freely like a silken waterfall. She wore deep crimson robes adorned with gold, the fabric rich and luxurious, befitting divine majesty. Golden ornaments gleamed at her throat and arms, and her bearing radiated power tempered by grace.
Both spirits looked almost like sisters despite their disparate origins—one celestial and lithe, the other terrestrial and commanding. Different aesthetics, different presences, yet something in the way they moved, the way they held themselves, created an unmistakable harmony.
And then Leon's gaze travelled upwards to their faces, and his chest constricted painfully.
The same delicate features. The same soft curve of cheek and jaw. The same eyes—though different colours now, transformed by their elemental natures—that still held that familiar gentle quality he remembered all too well.
The face and looks of Sakura.
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Angelica was not really having a great day today. After being publicly rebuffed by her fiancé for the second time this school year, it was a blow to her aristocratic pride—one that stung far more deeply than she cared to admit.
She could only grit her teeth at the prince's shameless use of his authority despite his endless proclamations that the academy promoted equality amongst its students and his actions were just an extension of it.
The prince's public humiliation of her wasn't an expression of freedom or youthful exuberance, despite how much he probably believed it was, but an exertion of his power, wielded without a single word of rebuke from anyone in the administration. No consequences, not a single care for how it appeared to the watching sons and daughters of the nobles under their rule, or what it might mean for her standing amongst her peers.
'Was he always like this? Had I simply been too blind to see it?' Angelica asked herself, the questions gnawing at her composure.
She knew, of course, that their betrothal was fundamentally a political arrangement—a strategic union designed to strengthen alliances and solidify bloodlines. Which is precisely why she had driven herself relentlessly to earn His Highness's genuine affection, to transform a cold contract into something resembling a true partnership—something the queen had suggested and emphasised in earnest as she trailed off grumbling to herself.
She had done so much and sacrificed far too many parts of herself in the process, all in service of becoming the ideal consort for the future king. What were all of those carefully orchestrated playdates during their childhood for, if not to cultivate familiarity and fondness? What was the purpose of all those intimate tea services and private dinners arranged in the palace's most exclusive chambers, if not to deepen their bond?
'Or was it just too much that he grew tired of me?' Angelica's maudlin thoughts began to fester.
She had even stepped into her mother's household as her personal attendant for the better part of a year, meticulously studying the intricate protocols and delicate machinations required of a queen—the diplomatic nuances, the careful management of court politics, the endless performance of grace under pressure.
All of it had been undertaken with him in mind, with the future they were meant to build together. And now, at the mere suggestion of freedom, she had been cast to the wayside as though she were nothing.
'Surely he knows that I harbour no fantasies of exclusivity,' she thought bitterly. 'I was prepared to accept his infidelities, his mistresses—that's the way of nobility, after all. But to do this publicly, to humiliate me before our marriage is even official... that's something else entirely.'
Not to mention the whispers she'd been hearing about that particular girl. The gossip that circulated through the academy corridors like poison through water—not merely that she had entangled herself with the prince, but that she had systematically worked her way through his entire inner circle. The sheer audacity of it, the naked opportunism, made Angelica's blood simmer with impotent rage.
'Was the prince truly this blind? Had he become so easily manipulated by a pretty face and calculated charm?'
Angelica was drawn from the spiralling depths of her resentment by the soft scrape of porcelain being placed before her. Quite the ornate bowl it was—genuinely beautiful, she noted with the appreciation of someone who'd been brought up with the finer things in life. Within it lay what appeared to be rolled roasted pork, arranged with deliberate care, topped with a glossy brown sauce that gleamed under the dining hall's light. Four thinly cut pieces were layered gracefully upon one side, each slice perfectly uniform.
Beneath this centrepiece lay some sort of white grain she wasn't immediately familiar with, interspersed with an assortment of vegetables and what appeared to be small pieces of meat.
She looked up to find the Bartfort Baron positioned at her side, his expression carefully neutral—though whether that neutrality was genuinely felt or merely performed, she couldn't reasonably determine.
"Someone wise once told me that hunger is the enemy," he said quietly, his voice calm and measured. "It clouds judgement and weakens resolve."
Angelica studied him briefly, wondering at the timing of his intervention, before gesturing for him to continue.
"Our land has been developing this new grain," he elaborated, his tone taking on the measured cadence of someone describing a familiar subject. "It's called rice. Quite versatile, really. The dish is essentially stir-fried rice with fresh vegetables, ham, and egg, tossed together until everything is coated with the oil's fire-kissed fragrance. The topping is roasted, rolled pork belly with a sweet and savoury sauce."
When they initially settled at the Bartfort Barony, everyone had to gather by the guild hall, and Angelica found herself distinctly aware of Leon and Olivia's absence as they disappeared through the heavy wooden doors, leaving her marooned with her own spiralling thoughts. At least the Baron had just distracted her from her maudlin thoughts, directing her attention to food and the task at hand.
The weight of the moment pressed against her—this raid, this collaboration, all of it suddenly felt rather consequential.
"We're about to commence," Leon said, materialising at her side with that characteristic efficiency of his. His expression remained composed, though she'd begun to notice a faint crease between his brows. "Best not to allow yourself to become distracted by matters beyond your control. I shall retrieve Olivia for you."
He bowed slightly, a gesture that seemed almost performative in its formality, but expected of him, before turning to depart. Angelica watched him go, her mind turning over what little she understood of the man.
According to Olivia's enthusiastic account during their first meeting, Leon was ostensibly the quiet, supportive type—the sort of vassal lord one might expect to fade into the background. Yet the girl had grinned with genuine fondness when describing how he could transform into something somewhat different when circumstances demanded it: a sarcastic, sharp-tongued counterbalance to chaos.
"Ahem!" The lady at the podium commanded the room's attention with practised ease; the enchanted lectern amplified her voice across the gathered crowd. "My name is Margot Fia Bellefleur, and I serve as guild leader of this branch. We shall now commence discussion regarding the collaborative raid effort—a joint venture between Holfort Academy, the Bartfort Guild Branch, and House Bartfort itself."
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Angelica surveyed the gathered assembly with a mixture of curiosity and careful assessment. Thirty men and women from the adventurers guild, she noted—a substantial force that had apparently made Bartfort their base of operations only recently. The Baron's strategy was clever; by offering them permanent accommodations in exchange for five years of residency, he'd transformed what could have been transient mercenaries from minor noble houses into invested stakeholders. People protected what they owned. It was pragmatic, really, and she found herself respecting the calculation behind it.
The second contingent consisted of students from Holfort Academy, numbering roughly thirty as well. When one accounted for attendants and guardian spirits, the true numbers swelled considerably—almost tripled, in fact. It was supposed to be a larger group, but there was a certain magic or something equivalent you needed to know how to wield in order to traverse this particular dungeon.
Guardian spirits were another matter entirely. Most of the students who'd contracted them had inherited the relationships from their families; it was rare to see someone forge a new bond. Greg Fou Seberg was the exception she could readily name—he'd cleared a dungeon and managed to establish a contract that way. The feat alone marked him as notable.
Which made the Baron's situation utterly baffling.
Angelica had been shocked to learn that Leon Fou Bartfort had already contracted two guardian spirits. Two. And his vassal knight—apparently the same pragmatic young woman who served as both companion and partner—had somehow secured three. It was an extraordinarily unusual concentration of power for individuals so young and apparently unconnected to the major noble bloodlines.
When asked why Olivia didn't bring her third guardian spirit to the academy, she explained that she had to leave her behind to keep two of Leon's guardian spirits company.
Within Holfort's social structures, having female attendants or female-presenting guardian spirits as a male student was viewed with considerable disdain—a tiresome double standard, given how liberally the lower nobility paraded their purchased companions about campus without consequence.
Leon and his vassal presented an altogether different puzzle. The Baron carried himself with genuine courtesy, yet lacked that suffocating quality of performative deference she'd grown accustomed to observing—that desperate scrambling to please, the careful calculation of each word. Angelica found she appreciated his abstinence from that exhausting theatre, though few others seemed to notice the distinction.
What struck her most was how genuinely present he seemed, even within conversations. Most nobles of comparable standing maintained a calculated distance, their attention divided between her and whatever social machinations occupied their minds. They were perpetually disconnected, always reaching for something just beyond genuine engagement. Leon, by contrast, would treat you the same way he'd treat any other person—respectful, kind, though with a bit of distance as compared to the ones within his inner circle.
At least that's what she had surmised from their brief interactions. Though, truthfully, he could simply be extraordinarily skilled at performing authenticity—a notion that wouldn't surprise her in the slightest amongst the nobility. The thought nagged at her even as she dismissed it; there was something too consistent about his behaviour to be merely theatrical.
"Ms Redgrave." Angelica looked up sharply at the sound of Durga's melodious voice. One of Leon's contracted guardian spirits, the woman hovered mere centimetres above the ground, her toes barely grazing the stone floor as she drifted with preternatural grace. Angelica could quite understand, in that moment, precisely why bringing such a being to the academy would render Leon's matrimonial prospects utterly untenable; Durga's ethereal beauty was genuinely breathtaking to behold. "We're about to commence."
Without further preamble, Angelica fell into step beside the guardian spirit, who glided forwards towards the dungeon's yawning entrance with an otherworldly elegance. The moment was upon them.
Their contingent's role was strategically straightforward, yet demanding. They would serve as the vanguard, pushing rapidly towards the depths of each floor before establishing a secure position to await the veteran adventurers' arrival. The arrangement was precise: their group would furnish supporting fire whilst the escorted students engaged the lesser threats under the veterans' protective umbrella. Once the seasoned adventurers reached their position, they'd advance in formation to the next floor.
The tactical structure for this particular raid was carefully calibrated. The first two bosses would be challenged by the students, backed by everyone else—a manageable challenge designed to build confidence and experience. The next two would require the veterans' primary involvement, with students providing secondary support. And then, the final confrontation: reserved exclusively for their group. Of course, assistance could be requested if circumstances demanded it, though Angelica rather suspected it wouldn't be necessary.
The other nobles had scoffed—predictably—at the notion of Bartfort and Olivia engaging the final boss independently after the preceding fights had depleted resources and attention. Angelica, however, knew better. This arrangement existed solely because of her initial request, and the pair had accepted without hesitation or negotiation. They'd felt no compunction whatsoever about tackling a dungeon solo, as though such a feat barely merited consideration.
From intelligence her father's network had quietly gathered, Olivia had single-handedly cleared the Lunar dungeon—now opened to the Adventurer's Guild in perpetuity—whilst Leon had similarly conquered a Terran dungeon entirely alone, which now remained open as a permanent resource. The only reason Olivia retained merely a Knight's title rather than matching Leon's Barony was her deliberate decision to attribute most of the credit to him for discovering the other dungeon islands. When Angelica had enquired as to why she'd make such a choice, Olivia had merely shrugged, before answering with that characteristic enormous grin: "Because it's the more fun choice."
Angelica shook her head at her newfound acquaintance—or perhaps friend? She remained genuinely uncertain which descriptor applied—though she had to admit she'd been thoroughly enjoying Olivia's company of late. By extension, Leon's presence had become considerably less tiresome than she'd anticipated. The realisation was oddly pleasant.
Yet as she turned her focus ahead, a sharp internal correction arrested her thoughts. She ought to concentrate on matters of actual consequence—specifically, persuading the prince towards rational consideration of her proposals, as it may upset the future influence of the royal family. The thought catalysed a heavy sigh that escaped before she could suppress it.
'Not now, Angelica,' she reprimanded herself sternly. 'An adventure awaits.' With deliberate purpose, she brought both palms sharply against her cheeks, forcing renewed determination through the gesture. She deliberately kept her gaze forwards, studiously avoiding the group gathered behind her who were presently fussing over Marie with what she considered rather excessive enthusiasm.
And as she entered the dungeon, what greeted her was precisely the sort of controlled chaos she'd come to expect from Leon's immediate circle. There he stood, looking thoroughly exhausted, trapped between Olivia and her third Lunar guardian spirit—a being named Illya who, like her sister spirits, possessed the same striking white hair, luminous red eyes, and porcelain skin. Illya presented an altogether different presence: long cascading hair that fell to her lower back, a considerably more generous bust, and a frame that echoed Olivia's own athletic build. The pair had positioned themselves on either side of Leon, their arms wound around him possessively as they shook him with what Angelica could only describe as manic enthusiasm.
"Sis-con Sandwich!" they both shrieked in unison, whatever that peculiar phrase meant. Angelica recognised the sound uttered as part of the old human language—the archaic tongue that Olivia occasionally deployed with unsettling fluency, claiming she'd studied it during her childhood.
It was curious, really; most references to the old humans surfaced only in ruins and dungeon archaeological sites, which suggested Olivia's adventuring experience stretched back considerably further than her youthful appearance would indicate. Illya, too, wielded the ancient language, weaving it into her spell's arias.
'What on earth were they saying?' Angelica wondered idly as she approached the group, observing Leon's face with academic interest. His expression had settled into something resembling profound defeat, the sort of weariness that suggested he'd exhausted whatever conversational strategies he'd initially deployed. Judging from that countenance alone, it was probably best not to enquire as to the specifics.
When Olivia noticed her approach, she waved Angelica over with characteristic exuberance, finally releasing her grip on the visibly relieved baron. Leon straightened his coat with the practised efficiency of someone accustomed to being manhandled by enthusiastic companions.
Yet as Angelica's gaze swept across the dungeon's interior, her frustration with the group's antics evaporated entirely. In its place bloomed something approaching genuine awe.
This particular cosmic dungeon bore almost nothing in common with traditional subterranean structures. Rather than the conventional stacked floors—the sort of linear progression through up to one hundred individual levels—this space presented something far more extraordinary and breathtaking: vast chambers suspended in what appeared to be infinite darkness, punctuated by points of crystalline starlight.
Massive boulders and debris hung weightlessly throughout the space, creating a three-dimensional maze of precarious stepping stones. A transparent floor composed of some unknown material anchored the bottom of each chamber, and at strategic intervals, portals granted access to subsequent rooms. The format permitted simultaneous visibility of both upper and lower sections, creating a disorienting sense of vertical depth.
This complexity, Angelica recognised, explained the deliberately limited student roster for this particular trial. Only those who'd mastered airstep or possessed equivalent mobility magic could traverse this space effectively, as progress depended entirely upon calculated leaps between those suspended boulders. At least the gravitational forces here operated at reduced intensity, making the prospect marginally less lethal than it might otherwise have been.
They'd already established their formation during preliminary discussions. Leon would lead as vanguard, whilst she would occupy the mid-line alongside Olivia, who'd been assigned Meltryllis—one of Leon's guardian spirits—as additional support.
The arrangement had prompted Leon to suggest that Meltryllis could "help her maintain pace," a comment that had stung somewhat despite her best efforts to remain composed. 'As if I couldn't keep up with others my own age,' she'd thought irritably, though she'd wisely held her tongue. Her performance would demonstrate her capabilities far more effectively than any defensive protest.
Durga and Illya had been designated for the rear formation, whilst both Sella and Leysritt would flank their mid-line position, providing additional support.
"Everyone, take careful inventory of your equipment," Leon instructed. He stood imposingly tall in his long red coat, practical combat trousers, and chest armour that seemed precisely contoured to his lean musculature—the ensemble of a seasoned warrior who prioritised function over flourish. His hip holsters bore only a pair of handguns; curiously, he'd deliberately minimised his loadout for this particular venture.
Olivia, by contrast, had equipped herself in adventure gear that somehow managed to be simultaneously practical and decidedly impractical, though Angelica suspected that assessment reflected more about her own traditionalist expectations than any actual strategic deficiency on the vassal knight's part.
Olivia wore what appeared to be light armoured plating in pale blue-grey tones—segmented pieces that protected her shoulders, forearms, and shins whilst leaving considerable flexibility for movement.
A form-fitting black bodysuit served as the base layer beneath the armour, cut daringly to reveal her midriff and emphasise her athletic figure. The ensemble was completed by a short red skirt or hip cloth that provided minimal coverage and a high collar that framed her face. Most striking were the armoured leg pieces that extended from mid-thigh down to articulated boots, the plating designed with both protection and mobility in mind.
The overall effect was that of someone who'd carefully balanced protection with unrestricted movement—prioritising speed and agility over heavy defence, and maybe she might have preferred looks over overall defence.
"It's about time we start," Leon declared as he approached the edge of the circular landing upon which they were positioned. Angelica watched as everyone filtered into their assigned positions with practised efficiency, the weight of the moment settling over them like a held breath.
Angelica could see his broad shoulders rise and fall as he drew in a deliberate, measured breath.
"I am the bone of my sword," he intoned, his voice dropping into something ancient and resonant. The incantation rolled through the air like thunder caught in a bottle, and Angelica felt the magical pressure around her intensify dramatically. It was suffocating in its weight, pressing against her skin from all directions—but sharper somehow, as though the very air had been honed to an edge.
The atmosphere crackled with barely restrained power.
Olivia's voice rang out next. "I will one day get boned by his sword," she intoned, hands clasped in front as if in prayer with solemnity.
Angelica—couldn't understand the words being said from the pair, but she could feel their effects; she felt the telltale shimmer of magic cycling through Olivia's frame, visible as a faint luminescence beneath her skin.
"SELLA!" Leon's call cut through the mounting tension like a blade through silk.
"Owie!" Olivia's complaint came immediately after, preceded by the unmistakable sound of an open palm connecting with the back of her skull.
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Despite her initial bravado and the carefully orchestrated antics of her current group, Angelica still couldn't help but feel a pang of nervousness coiling tightly in her chest. This was her first foray into a dungeon—a genuine, proper dungeon—and the weight of that reality pressed against her shoulders. The raid's goal was to clear the whole dungeon, floor to floor, without retreat. She swallowed hard, pushing down the flutter of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her composure.
"Alright, listen carefully," Leon said, his tone shifting into something more focused. "Last call before we descend. We'll do a full descent without stopping—up until we reach the floor of this area. Use airstep when you need leverage to swing your weapon; otherwise, it's just wasted energy and momentum." He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the group before settling on her. "But then again, I want to limit the time we get into melee range. This will be a three-dimensional battle; enemies can come from any direction, so communicate and cover each other."
Angelica felt her stomach tighten further. 'Was this really what professional adventurers did?'
"By the way, Angelica," Leon continued, his voice dropping slightly, "please don't tell anyone about this for now. The adventurers' guild and the palace already know about the lost item I retrieved earlier, but I just don't like it being public knowledge. It's... complicated." He trailed off, and Angelica found herself nodding hesitantly, wondering why Leon would show her one of his secrets. What did it mean that he trusted her with this information?
"This is Luxion. You can think of him as my familiar."
A floating, round ball materialised in the air, hovering with an almost defiant precision just above Leon's shoulder. It gleamed with an otherworldly luminescence, clearly far more than a simple magical construct.
"I resent that designation, master," the orb protested, its voice carrying a distinctly irritated timbre. "I am a product of science."
Leon raised his eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Aren't you a product of both old human magic and science combined?"
"Magecraft is a science!" the floating sphere insisted vehemently, though Leon simply shook his head with the expression of someone too tired to argue further.
"Fine, Luxion is our companion here, and he'll be responsible for collecting the loot," Leon said, directing his full attention back to Angelica. "So, everyone should just focus on combat."
She acknowledged this with a nod, feeling marginally more reassured by the arrangement.
"Good," Leon said. "Okay, we start as the adventu—oh, never mind, they're here." He raised his hand in acknowledgement as a group of adventurers entered the chamber.
He gave the newcomers a measured nod, his entire demeanour shifting into something colder, more professional—a mask slipping into place with practised ease.
"Ready?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question. His amber eyes swept across their formation with clinical precision as he quickly checked everyone's positioning. The tight grouping was deliberate, calculated to ensure that each member could cover the others' blind spots without obstruction or delay.
Meltryllis stepped closer to Angelica as the guardian spirit gathered her magic, water coalescing around Angelica and Olivia in shimmering, opalescent waves—the same wave seemed to envelop the party as well. Still, it didn't feel wet against Angelica's skin, nor did it dampen her clothing; Meltryllis simply gave both Olivia and Angelica a serene smile as they floated amongst the spiralling currents of water around them, generated continuously but maintained at an arm's length boundary with almost conscious restraint.
"Good, let's go," Leon said, and with that statement, he leapt into the void.
Angelica felt her stomach lurch violently as she suddenly felt weightless, the water's momentum launching her, Olivia, and the guardian spirit Meltryllis in quick succession, following Leon's lead downwards into darkness.
The rush of air against her face was sharp and cold, invigorating despite the vertigo threatening to overtake her senses. Angelica readied her rifle, which doubled as her primary magic focus, the familiar weight of it settling against her palms with reassuring solidity.
'I probably shouldn't have asked for a third helping of that scrumptious fried rice a while ago,' was her last coherent thought before she shook her head, lifted her rifle to her eyes, and aimed carefully at the space between Leysritt and Leon, where she spotted a swarm of crystalline rhomboids emerging from the shadows below.
She pulled the trigger smoothly, as a magic circle manifested brilliantly in front of her barrel, crackling with barely contained energy.
"Fireball!" she declared, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
-=&
Leon saw the first strike, a streak of brilliant flame that cut through the void from his left side—the familiar hiss and crackle of magical energy ionising the thin atmosphere around them. He clearly heard Angelica's cool, measured voice from behind him as the magic streaked across the endless expanse of space, the spell's trajectory perfectly calculated.
The flame struck a cluster of those grotesque rhomboid crystalline monsters, their surfaces gleaming like malevolent jewels against the star-dotted darkness. Each creature was usually accompanied by tiny fairy-like beings that moved with an unsettling, jerky grace.
Still, it was the fairy-like monsters that drew Leon's attention—that large, unblinking eye that encompassed most of their crystalline face, paired with a mouth filled with jagged teeth arranged vertically down their torso like some nightmare's interpretation of a zipper.
This was followed by the distinctive whine and subsequent eruption of black and red energy beams, courtesy of his guardian spirit Durga. The powerful entity was currently situated at the rear of their formation, her presence a reassuring weight against Leon's consciousness.
Beside her floated Olivia's latest guardian spirit—Hecate, one of the three lunar sisters that Olivia had somehow managed to contract in her typical overachieving fashion. The spirit had adopted Olivia's former life's name and, curiously, moulded her ethereal body into an adult version of Illya, complete with silver-white hair that seemed to catch and reflect the distant starlight.
Leon felt the familiar tingle of gravitational distortion as a massive sphere of gravitic energy followed in Durga's wake—courtesy of either Sella or Leysritt.
The gravitational sphere manifested as a writhing distortion in space itself, reality warping inward like a lens drawing light to a focal point. The rhomboid monsters and their fairy escorts were dragged screaming into the compression zone, their crystalline bodies grinding against each other with sounds like a cathedral's worth of windows shattering simultaneously.
The fairies' luminescent forms flickered desperately, trying to escape the inexorable pull. Then—compression. The sphere collapsed inward with a sound like a thunderclap swallowed backwards, and when it released, only a slowly expanding cloud of glittering fragments remained, magic stones spinning lazily amongst the debris before Luxion's invisible drones swept in like spectral scavengers.
Leon's enhanced vision could track the loot as it disappeared in real time, caught by the faint distortions against the backdrop of nothingness and distant stars—the telltale signs of countless cloaked AI drones operating under Luxion's efficient command. The artificial intelligence's resource collection was a boon—a service he had offered towards the guild branch of his territory.
"Engel lied! Storch Ritter! Dēgen!" Olivia's voice rang out behind him, her pronunciation of the Germanic incantations crisp despite the stress of battle.
Leon felt rather than saw the surge of magical energy as Meltryllis's water-based defensive spell activated. A towering wave of crystalline-clear water suddenly appeared before their formation, its surface rippling with contained power as it absorbed the incoming barrage of needle-sharp crystal projectiles launched by a second wave of enemies.
The defensive barrier was precisely calibrated—high enough to completely block the attack whilst remaining low enough not to obstruct their line of sight to the battlefield beyond.
Leon's body began to heat up as he processed raw magical energy through his circuits, the familiar burn of prana coursing through his veins like liquid fire. The sensation was both painful and exhilarating as he brought naked steel to bear, deadly projectiles materialising from nothingness in response to his will. Each blade took shape with perfect clarity in his mind's eye as he took careful note of the approaching waves of cosmic monsters, their movements predictable yet numerous enough to be dangerous.
He applied precise vectors and directional force to each projected blade, his mind computing optimal angles of attack before releasing the steel rain upon his foes. The satisfying thunk of impact resonated through the void as his weapons found their marks.
The sharp, almost musical clang of hardened steel crashing against crystalline carapaces filled the space around them, accompanied by the high-pitched, anguished cries of the pixie- or fairy-like monsters. Their luminous bodies, once bright and ethereal, now floated limply in the endless void with Leon's blades protruding from fatal wounds, their life-light dimming like dying stars.
"Top and bottom," Meltryllis announced from behind him, her voice cutting cleanly through the chaos of battle with that same confident precision she always carried.
"Durga," Leon commanded, and his guardian spirit acknowledged immediately with a crisp, "Yes, master."
The sound of countless red and black beams erupted from the top and bottom of their formation, like streaks of ribbon confetti, painting the void in violent colour. The shrieks of the agonised death throes—both the crystalline rhomboid shapes and the horrific fairies—grated harshly on everyone's ears, a symphony of suffering that Leon ignored.
"Steel is my body, fire is my blood," Leon declared, continuing his aria as the words shaped reality around him. The immediate space began to blur metaphorically, becoming a pseudo in-between—caught somewhere between the physical reality surrounding them and the infinite expanse of his inner world.
His eyes tracked one of the supposed floating rocks with precision, watching as it conveniently moved to intercept their descent.
The floating boulder's surface rippled like disturbed water, then split with a grinding shriek of stone against stone that set Leon's teeth on edge. The crisscrossing seams widened, revealing not hollow emptiness but rows upon rows of jagged crystalline teeth that gleamed with predatory hunger. The 'petals' of stone peeled back with obscene organic fluidity, and at the centre, that massive eye—easily the size of Leon's torso—fixed upon them with alien intelligence and unmistakable rage.
Then came the fairies. Not a trickle, but a torrential swarm, pouring from the creature's maw like luminous maggots, their jerky movements and high-pitched chittering filling the void with cacophonous malevolence.
'Great,' Leon thought with weary resignation. This wasn't really a surprise, as this wasn't their first venture into this dungeon, but this particular monster was a pest to deal with.
"Olivia, Angelica, take both rear flanks—I'll handle the front," he ordered, his voice carrying a calm cadence, his baritone cutting through the cacophony of magic against monsters as he reinforced his vocal box.
"M'kay!" Olivia chirped, somehow maintaining her enthusiasm despite the circumstances.
"Understood," Angelica responded with professional efficiency.
The two acknowledged Leon's order as he heard Angelica fire three successive fireballs behind him, the familiar whoosh of igniting magical energy providing an oddly comforting counterpoint to the chaos. In contrast, Leon heard Olivia produce more of her Stork Knights, their mechanical clicks and whirrs adding to the orchestrated symphony of their defence. The maid trio continued providing support on all sides with disciplined precision, Durga still relentlessly harassing the enemies above and below with her beam attacks, whilst Meltryllis maintained her focus on defending the group and controlling their descent. They were now approaching terminal velocity, which presented its own complications.
Despite the lower gravity in this void space, it still exerted a downward force on the group. Suppose they didn't control their descent properly. In that case, they'd probably break their legs upon landing on that invisible floor without proper reinforcement, or at the very least need to bleed off the excess energy somehow.
He fixed his gaze on the ever-increasing swarm of horrific crystalline fairies as they endlessly spawned from the maw of the floating rock—now transformed into that heinous flower with its jagged teeth and crystalline core serving as its grotesque eye.
Despite Leon's considerably bigger reserves in mana production compared to his past life, his elemental alignment still hadn't changed with reincarnation, which meant he didn't have access to techniques like Airstep that would make this situation significantly easier. But he had a workaround—there was always a workaround if you were willing to be creative enough.
Priming a weapon in his mind—though calling it a sword would be a generous stretch, as it was more accurately described as a jagged rock bashed into a rough facsimile of a proper weapon—Leon raised his arm, stretching it back deliberately as he prepared a Noble Phantasm parallel to the initial primed weapon.
The memory of that fatal wound flickered briefly—the phantom pain of his heart being pierced rippling through his consciousness before he dismissed it.
Gae Bolg, if you properly invoked its true name, had the paramount ability to reverse causality itself, defying conventional understanding. Instead of following the logical progression where the heart is pierced because the spear was stabbed, the Noble Phantasm rewrites reality so that the spear was swung because the heart had to be pierced. The effect becomes the cause.
The mere action of swinging the weapon as you declare its true name becomes the reason for the heart being pierced; the actual trajectory through space doesn't matter in the slightest. Gae Bolg isn't a heart-seeking weapon in any conventional sense—it's a spear that fundamentally rewrites the fabric of reality itself to make it an absolute certainty that the target's heart has been, is being, and will be pierced.
Only individuals blessed with truly absurd amounts of luck could hope to dodge a technique like this, and luck at that level was basically comparable to direct divine intervention. The kind of providence that defies rational explanation.
That's just how Gae Bolg worked if you invoked its true name to target a single enemy with precision, but when thrown—
Gae Bolg materialised in his grip, and immediately its barbed shaft punched through his palm like it was eager to taste blood—his blood, any blood. Leon's jaw clenched against the white-hot pain as barbs hooked into his flesh, but pain was a familiar friend, so he was able to ignore it.
He had to time this perfectly, synchronising his movements with absolute precision. Herakles's massive stone axe manifested beneath his feet, a temporary platform in the void, and Leon's legs coiled like springs. Every muscle in his back, shoulders, and arms synchronised as he drew back, blood running down his wrist in warm rivulets.
"Gae—" The spear trembled in his grip, almost vibrating with anticipation. "—Bolg!"
He quickly dismissed Herakles's weapon the instant he'd extracted maximum force from the leverage, throwing the cursed spear with all the strength he could muster. Gae Bolg practically tore itself from his bloodied grasp, eager to fulfil its deadly purpose.
When thrown rather than thrust, the Noble Phantasm transformed into a devastating anti-army weapon, its nature fundamentally shifting. For a single heartbeat, it was one spear. Then two. Four. Eight. The multiplication was exponential, geometric, beautiful in its terrible mathematics.
The single spear became a rain of countless barbed death, barraging the entire swarm and the grotesque flower creature with overwhelming force. By the time the barbed rain reached the flower-monster and its fairy swarm, the star-dotted void was illuminated by streaks of crimson light trailing each cursed spear.
The impacts came like artillery thunder—hundreds of Gae Bolgs piercing crystalline flesh, each one carrying the absolute certainty of a fatal wound before detonating, taking everything in its immediate vicinity with it. The monster's dying shriek was cut short as its core shattered under the overwhelming barrage, and the fairy swarm simply... ended, their light extinguished like candles in a hurricane.
Their dying shrieks joined the terrible symphony of the other monsters being systematically reduced to raw materials by his party members operating all around him with disciplined efficiency.
After the swarm was utterly annihilated, Leon's momentary relief was swiftly snuffed out. More of those crystalline rhomboid horrors emerged from the void, accompanied by shrieking horror pixies and—worse yet—a writhing, convulsing mass of eyes, maws, and tentacles that made his skin crawl just looking at it. The thing defied easy categorisation, a nightmare given form that pulsed with malevolent intent, its surface rippling with organic wrongness that his mind struggled to process.
He pushed the thought aside and summoned several of Herakles's sword-axes in rapid succession, the broad sides of the blades oriented parallel to their formation. The weapons materialised with sharp metallic cracks, just in time to catch several beams of coruscating light blasting from the monsters' tentacles. The impact shuddered through each construct with bone-rattling force, the edges of the projected weapons glowing white-hot where the energy struck, but they held firm against the onslaught.
He summoned Archer's bow next, feeling the familiar weight settle into his palm with reassuring solidity as he began tracing Hrunting. The methodology came naturally now, his fingers finding the string with muscle memory deeper than conscious thought. "I have created over a thousand blades," he murmured, the incantation half-automatic, words flowing like breath. Just as he'd done when sieging that island where Luxion rested, he traced hundreds upon hundreds of blades in rapid succession, anchoring parallel vectors to Hrunting's trajectory so they'd mimic its flight path perfectly—invisible threads of intent connecting each projected weapon to the Noble Phantasm's inevitable course.
His targeting was deliberately counterintuitive—he fixed his aim at the amorphous blob of eyes, mouths and tentacles at the far right, but to maximise destruction, he aimed far left instead. It was a gambit, a calculated misdirection that would force the Noble Phantasm into a devastating broadside, turning accuracy into area denial.
His muscles straining with the effort of channelling that much power through a single shot, tendons standing out like cables beneath his skin, Leon called out the weapon's true name: "Hound of the Red Plains, Hrunting." The power thrumming through the bow was immense, almost overwhelming—his arms trembling with the strain as it forced the Noble Phantasm to streak in an absolutely straight line at the far left side of the mass of monsters, trailing crimson light like arterial spray.
But as the initial momentum bled from the streaking blade, the hundreds of parallel swords veered right with mechanical precision, exactly as he'd intended—a deadly school of steel piranhas changing course as one. A broadside attack. A wall of steel that tore through the creature's flank and shredded it into component pieces, the tentacle-thing's death shriek cut short as its core ruptured.
Without pause, he traced a nameless sword and morphed it into a more streamlined projectile. The shape-shifting was second nature by now. He notched it on his bow, aimed carefully, and released it—but not at the monsters.
This particular projectile had no strategic target amongst the monsters—that wasn't its purpose. The truth was far more pressing: they were in descent, a controlled descent perhaps, but still a devastatingly fast one. They'd been falling through this void for approximately two and a half minutes now, and even with his reinforced eyesight, he couldn't penetrate the darkness below to identify how far the floor actually was. He had to mark it somehow, had to know when impact was coming so Meltryllis could time their deceleration properly.
The blade rushed through the void untouched, nothing in its path as it finally embedded into something invisible far beneath them—the transparent floor he knew existed but couldn't see. Relief flooded through Leon's chest, washing away the tight knot of tension that had coiled there since they'd begun this mad descent. Now he had a reference point.
"Meltryllis, we're close!" he called out, allowing himself the smallest margin of reassurance.
"Yes, master," came the guardian spirit's calm reply, perfectly unruffled despite their current predicament. She'd heard the message and would begin preparations for landing.
Leon forced his breathing to steady as he quickly assessed how his party was managing the onslaught, checking each member's status whilst maintaining his own offensive output.
He could see Angelica firing her magic at will as she chugged a flask of mana potion in between bursts, her face set in determined concentration—adapting well for her first real dungeon dive. The orange and red light of her offensive spells carved through the darkness in brilliant arcs, each shot finding its mark. Olivia had her Stork Knights—Storch Ritter—harassing a cluster of monsters with almost vindictive enthusiasm as her bladed construct made multiple broad sweeps, hitting anything and everything with what Leon could only describe as reckless abandon.
'Typical,' he thought with some exasperation as Olivia was cackling in what Leon could only describe as madness—that particular laugh that meant she'd completely lost herself in the joy of combat. 'At least she's enjoying herself.'
Sella and Leysritt conjured small balls of concentrated light in the wake of Illya's larger gravitic blasts, their movements perfectly synchronised like mirror images of each other, hands moving in identical gestures. Monsters were forced into tight spaces by the gravitic anomalies—space itself warping around them like invisible fists crushing inward—compressed into convenient targets, or were scorched beyond recognition as they drifted too near the balls of concentrated sunlight that hung in the air like miniature suns, their surfaces roiling with contained nuclear fury. The temperature differential was palpable even at a distance, waves of heat distortion rippling outward from each sphere.
Durga kept her pace without a break as endless beams of red and black ribbons burst forth from her position, weaving a deadly tapestry through the void, each beam leaving tracers of afterimages that painted geometric patterns across Leon's vision. She also added to the assault as four pairs of arms sprang from her back with fluid organic grace—eight additional limbs unfurling like a goddess of war, revealing her true form—holding bows and arrows of crimson light that materialised in each hand. Each additional limb moved with independent precision as they sniped monsters trying to break through the barrage, the arrows streaking out in perfect geometry, eliminating the ones attempting to rush into the party's formation before they could close half the distance.
Meltryllis kept her defensive stance, dancing in the middle of everything with inhuman grace as she manipulated her waves of water to cover everyone when projectiles approached, the liquid moving like living silk at her command. Each movement was fluid, beautiful—a pirouette here, an arabesque there, combat transformed into deadly ballet—and even the symphony of chorused destruction and agonised deaths served as the song to her grace, the screams of dying monsters providing rhythm to her dance.
Leon turned his attention back to their descent as they were fast approaching the invisible floor of the dungeon. His reinforced eyesight could now make out the embedded sword growing larger with alarming speed—the depth marker he'd fired earlier. Thirty seconds, he estimated. Maybe less. He traced a fan of hundreds of swords around the party in a single smooth motion, the blades materialising with familiar weight and balance, all pointed outwards like the spines of some massive hedgehog. With a thought, everything flew, attacking everything around them in a devastating sphere of steel that cleared their immediate landing zone, and he bombarded everything continuously and without pause—ensuring no monsters would be waiting for them on the floor.
As he watched the hilt of the embedded blade grow larger and larger in his vision, growing from a pinpoint to something he could actually distinguish individual details on, he called out, "Meltryllis, now!"
And with a graceful twirl of her lithe form—a movement that seemed almost leisurely despite their desperate circumstances—the party was encased in a sphere of water. Everyone floated within the translucent bubble, suspended and weightless, but not wet, nor were they drowning. They bounced around the interior of the ball without hitting each other, drifting past one another like confetti in a snow globe. Leon felt the strange sensation of being simultaneously falling and floating, his stomach lurching at the contradiction as Meltryllis's magic defied normal physics.
The blob then hit the floor with tremendous force, absorbing the impact that should have shattered bones and pulverised organs—the water cushion converting their deadly momentum into mere force, dispersing it through the liquid medium. Instead of catastrophic injury, it splashed everywhere in a great wave, depositing everyone on the floor with surprising gentleness, their feet firmly planted on the invisible surface beneath them. Leon's knees flexed automatically to absorb the residual momentum, combat instincts keeping him balanced even as water cascaded around them.
"Olivia, flare," he ordered, his voice sharp and clear.
Without even an acknowledgement—she knew better than to waste time responding when seconds mattered—Olivia reached for her ankle where a gun was strapped and pulled. She fired a bright flare that streaked across the void, climbing higher and higher until it rose even above the chamber they had stood at before leaping into this abyss—the prearranged signal that the vanguard had successfully landed.
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End