"I'm so happy, Filvis-san!!"
"..... Lefiya, is that you? You seem well."
"? What's wrong? Why are you—"
"I'm sorry."
"—Huh?"
"Please, don't involve yourself with me anymore. ..... I can't face you again."
"...Huh? W-what do you mean by that?!"
"....."
"Wait, please!! Tell me what happened?!"
"....."
"Filvis-san!!"
"..... I'm sorry."
●○●○●
The Labyrinth City, Orario, serves as a "lid" over the Great Chasm. To prevent monsters from overflowing should the prayers of the founding god Ouranos fail to seal the maze, the city walls act as the first line of defense, stopping any threat from spreading to the outside world.
These walls, massive in thickness and height, function as a protective barrier for the world and the main gates for the city. Special metals extracted from the Dungeon reinforce their structure, creating a solid build capable of withstanding the impact of even the largest monsters.
On top of that wall, at a spot overlooking the entire city, a master and disciple conducted their usual training.
"Come."
Bete tapped the stone ground with his metal boot in a casual motion. Yet Bell knew that this stance, which didn't even look like a combat posture, lacked even a second of vulnerability. He understood perfectly that Bete represented a version of himself improved by several magnitudes.
For this reason, Bell charged with everything he had from the start. If he didn't, he wouldn't even touch the hem of his opponent's clothes.
"─────!!"
Bell lunged in a straight line, utilizing the agility that had exploded after his two rank-ups. He held his dagger in a reverse grip without hesitation. While he lacked actual malice, he attacked with true lethal intent.
The "Rabbit's" lightning-fast strike closed the distance in the blink of an eye. This high-speed thrust had sharpened to a point where even veteran second-class adventurers would struggle to see it clearly. Bell's attack combined the essence of the techniques Bete had hammered into him, the maneuvering specialized for human combat taught by Bache, and the growth gained from real battlefield experience.
With these three elements intertwined, Bell's current attack speed as a Level 3 approached the level of an average Level 4 adventurer.
No mercy. No hesitation.
Attack with the intent to kill at every moment; this was the lesson Bete imposed on him, and the rule Bell forced upon himself. In a fight where lives are exchanged, flowery words have no place. Thus, that thrust was meant to be a finishing blow—a strike so fast and powerful that evasion seemed impossible.
Against a second-class opponent, this hit would have been the end. A first-class adventurer might have escaped with a serious wound. Even an elite might have suffered a scratch. If the opponent were third-class, the duel would have ended right then.
—But what if the opponent existed beyond all standard measures?
"Weak."
"Kh...!!"
Bell's powerful strike hit nothing but air. The lunging blade failed to touch Bete's body, slicing through empty space instead. Bete lowered his center of gravity, pivoted on his left foot to slip inside Bell's guard, and drove a palm-strike upward.
Relative to Bete's actual power, the blow was a minor shock. He wasn't just holding back; the move was a simple feint to set up his next motion. Regardless, it was more than enough.
"Gah, ah."
The impact easily tossed Bell's small frame aside. Although his size granted him the superior flexibility that served as his greatest weapon, Bete surpassed him even in that.
A terrifying gap in physical ability.
This was the wall separating "Second-Tier" from those who defied measurement. It was a matter that preceded technique or maneuver; it was the absolute dominance of Status backed by years of adventuring and countless brushes with death. To Bell, who remained at a much lower rank, fighting Bete felt like facing a Floor Boss in the deep zones.
"(This man... he's incredibly strong.)"
Bell muttered to himself, twisting his body in mid-air to catch the momentum. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he kicked off to widen the distance. This was his first training session since reaching Level 3, yet he felt a bitter sting because the gap between him and Bete never seemed to shrink.
In fact, it felt as though the chasm was widening. While his rank-up had technically narrowed the distance, his goal still felt unreachable.
"No time for breaks! Next!"
"Yes, sir!!"
He had no time to think. All he could do was cling to everything he had. To get stronger as fast as possible. To learn everything he could. To move just a bit closer to his "idol," Ais.
"Ooh!!"
He roared. He ignited. He burned. The fire churning deep within him continued to surge. He wanted to get stronger and stronger to catch that ambition. Even if it was far away now, he would reach it one day.
He lunged with his entire soul.
"Firebolt!!"
Having confirmed the area was clear of flammable materials, he fired his magic without reservation. Normally, one doesn't fire magic at someone who isn't a monster or an enemy, but Bell realized that clinging to such ideals in training with Bete meant immediate defeat. He fired without doubt or confusion.
Bete didn't dodge the incoming fireball. Even with Level 6 Status, taking a direct hit from magic would cause burns, but Bete showed no panic.
—This training didn't exist solely for Bete to polish Bell into something "acceptable" by his standards. While that was a reason, Bete wasn't kind enough to simply provide "charity."
Just as Bell tried to learn the core of human combat and maneuvering, Bete hungrily absorbed everything he could from this session. He tested the optimal timing for absorbing magic with his silver boots (Flosvirt), the frequency of use, and the threshold of effectiveness.
Facing a quick-cast mage like Bell—a style shared only by Al—Bete was testing "anti-mage" combat tactics. The no-chant Firebolt possessed low power per shot, but firing it at point-blank range while moving as a front-line fighter made it an excellent deterrent.
Though Bell's power and maneuvering were far from first-class, the lack of chanting meant he could fight as a complete "Magic Swordsman" who didn't fear spell-failure or mind-down. In other words, Bell was a unique opponent for Bete, and fighting him was not easy.
With the decisive battle against the Evils approaching, training against humans who used curses and malicious magic became indispensable. This was Bete's secondary goal. Since Bell realized this too, they clashed with total sincerity.
They pushed each other higher. Perhaps this was the ideal relationship between master and disciple.
"That attack was half-assed!! You think that's enough to face me?!"
"Kh... Firebolt!!"
"I told you, it's half-assed!!"
"Kh...!?"
Harsh insults fell like repeated lessons, followed by a more ferocious assault. A barrage of punches and kicks followed. Each strike carried enough force to shatter bone, and Bell desperately tried to evade them.
The fight left him no room to catch his breath. Yet Bell clearly felt Bete's strikes becoming faster and steadier. Originally, Bete hadn't been taking it easy, but Bell's rank-up lowered the threshold for "the step before the kill," increasing the intensity of every blow.
"(Damn it, if this continues, the duel will end without me doing a thing... In that case,) Firebolt!!"
"!"
He fired Firebolt from extremely close range after closing the gap. It was a nearly suicidal move, causing Bete's eyes to widen slightly in surprise. Naturally, Bete wasn't unable to respond; he immediately tried to place his magic-absorbing silver boot between himself and Bell. However, Bell's pre-prepared magic was a fraction of a second faster.
"...!!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
"D-damn it!"
The Firebolt didn't reach Bete; the silver boot absorbed it, but that was exactly the point. At this range, absorbing magic is mandatory, and even with absorption, it requires a micro-moment that prevents an immediate response to the "next strike."
This was what Bell targeted: to launch his next move before Bete finished absorbing the magic.
Activating Argonaut—he charged energy for a fraction of a second in his left foot and released it instantly.
A momentary acceleration.
Indifferent to his own body being scorched by the aftereffects of his own magic, he launched a kick on the fastest, shortest path possible, aiming precisely for Bete's solar plexus.
The certain sensation of contact.
He hit the target directly—
"──── That move wasn't bad."
"Ghaaaaa!?"
—So he thought.
But Bell's powerful kick was stopped by Bete's palm.
"Kh... kh...!"
"Heh! You're still naive! Your movements are completely telegraphed!!"
As Bell's balance broke from the recoil of the kick, the counterattack came without mercy. Bell, taking the hit unprotected, was sent flying. He rolled hard across the ground but managed a breakfall, so the damage wasn't critical.
But the assault didn't stop there. Bete lunged immediately to close the gap.
"And what was that, huh? You closed the distance so randomly!! You're overconfident in your magic! That's why your guard is easily broken and you take a counter!!"
"Kh... guuuu!!"
One strike after another, then more. A barrage of violent blows rained down on Bell as he tried to stand. Every hit was heavy. The force made Bell wonder if his body, which had become tougher after the rank-up, could even hold.
Above all, there was no holding back. Bete didn't wait for Bell to stand; he continued to kick him without pause. Bete had chosen, without hesitation, to completely crush Bell's consciousness. To beat him until he fainted, to push him beyond his limits, and then forcibly wake him up.
"If you can't stand, then just die!!!"
"G-ha!?"
Bell was kicked like a soccer ball, his body flying through the air before gravity slammed him back down. All the air left his lungs. He couldn't breathe. His vision blurred. His thoughts scattered.
Still, Bell had to stand. Because he was still capable of fighting. It didn't matter if he didn't win; what mattered was not being defeated.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA────!!"
"──── Right, just like that, scream with everything you've got."
Bell stood up again and again, letting out thunderous roars.
●○●○●
The Loki Familia headquarters, Twilight Manor. As noon arrived, and while the familia members who had gone out to search for "keys" were eating lunch in the dining hall, Al—who had embroiled Finn with the Amazon army—returned to the manor.
He had spent his time with Airmid at the Dian Cecht Familia, searching for ways to counter the curses used by the remnants of the Evils. Curse-breaking medicines and protective charms. Between the "Saint" specialized in healing and Al, the peerless talent who mastered all arts and skills, high-speed innovation occurred.
Conception, execution, inspection, improvement, then mass production.
Although they could secure necessary materials in required quantities without intermediaries, the skill of the two in achieving tangible results in such a short period was truly astounding. They say "two heads are better than one," but the joint work between the Saint Airmid and the gifted Al was faster and more efficient than any description.
Technical innovations followed one after another. By performing trial-and-error at extreme speeds, they made staggering progress. Airmid with her resolve as a talented girl, and Al with his unparalleled talent. Both undoubtedly possessed massive talent as a base, but more terrifying was the sheer volume of attempts and experiments they accumulated.
The results born from the number of effective attempts—excluding any waste—were something others could never replicate. Improvements the Saint extracted with her intuition and long experience were executed by Al with his innate sense and learning ability. Through repeating the "failure and improvement" cycle at a breakneck pace, innovation accelerated insanely.
Rest? Is it a type of food?
That was their mindset as they worked without pause. It reached a point where the Dian Cecht Familia members who initially tried to help backed away in horror; even Dian Cecht himself tried to intervene to stop them.
As a result, a new medicine was completed in just three days, even though they hadn't eaten proper meals and worked through the night. They had already found a stable production method that didn't rely on blood and entered the mass production phase. By the time of the decisive battle against the Evils, the medicine would be available not only to the Loki Familia, but to most other major familias.
Both types of medicine are expected to be sufficiently effective and are considered extremely useful for the future. With this, even if the events of the previous Knossos battle repeated, damage could be minimized.
Thus, Al returned to the manor and was eating lunch in the hall like the other members────
"Excuse me, Al-san."
"..... Mm?"
As he devoured his first real meal in two days—during the production period, he and Airmid had eaten preserved foods and rations to save time—a voice came from the side. He looked to find the enchanting Elf girl, Lefiya. She seemed a bit hesitant, but her facial features carried a certain resolve.
While he chewed his food, he signaled for her to continue. She raised her head as if she had made up her mind.
"Please, teach me how to fight!"
"..... Heh?"
●○●○●
An entire week had passed since the battle in the artificial labyrinth.
A maze full of complex and malicious traps, Orichalcum doors, colored monsters appearing incessantly, suicide soldiers from the Evils, unhealable curses, and finally, the "Creature" (Demi-spirit). All those threats targeted our lives with clear malice. Even in the deep floors, I had never felt death this close. In fact, if a single mistake had occurred, it wouldn't have been strange for the death toll to rise.
───── I couldn't do anything.
We fell into traps easily and were manipulated without being able to act. My magic, which had increased in power, and the "Concurrent Chanting" I had struggled to learn—I couldn't use them properly. More than that, at that time, I was just a burden to others. The only reason I'm still alive is pure luck and being protected by the Captain and Ais.
"(..... How shameful.)"
Lefiya was on the verge of collapsing from her own sense of helplessness. She thought she had become a bit stronger after her training with Filvis and her fight on the 59th floor.
The most I could do was defeat a few monsters. My feet froze in terror, and my mind scattered in confusion. In the end, the Captain and the others saved me.
Then, the battle against the masked Creature. From the beginning, I didn't think I was capable of fighting an opponent the Captain himself described as being far beyond us. Those who stood on the front lines were Al and Ais. As for me, instead of providing support, I was tossed aside by the mere shockwaves of a single strike from the Creature. And even that blow—if not for the Captain protecting me—might have been a fatal injury.
My current strength is nowhere near enough to be of help to Ais and the others. I know that well. But I cannot stand by. If I don't catch up to them quickly, I will simply be left behind.
──── Furthermore, I "saw" it at that time.
The fighting style of Al as he faced the masked Creature that had grown stronger after absorbing the magic stone of the red-haired Creature. His combat style was more vibrant and dazzling than any adventurer I had ever seen. Sword skills that grew sharper and more refined with every strike, movements that predicted enemy attacks and evaded them as if he saw the future, and above all─────
There was the "perfect form" of a mage.
Concurrent Chanting performed with extreme speed and precision despite possessing a massive magical energy that almost exploded at any moment. His physical movements never weakened even in the middle of a chant. His maneuvering was so refined that he could perform all of that perfectly.
Everything required of a mage who masters Concurrent Chanting was there.
I don't know a fighting style like that. To perform perfect Concurrent Chanting in a dire situation where any minor flaw in magical energy could lead to an immediate explosion—while carrying wounds that were almost fatal—and yet not retreat a single step before an overwhelmingly powerful enemy... that courage and technique are incredible.
I had never heard of a mage who could do that. Not Alicia-san, not Filvis-san—even Lady Riveria might not be able to do that. His Concurrent Chanting was that complete.
If someone like that exists, he is certainly someone standing in the "Realm of Heroes." This surely wasn't just talent, but the result of massive effort and indescribable training. No doubt this man is a genius, but even more so is the number of "death zones" he has crossed. It isn't a matter of training volume; it's the rank one reaches after continuing to use magic without anyone's protection, in situations where one mistake means death.
I caught a glimpse of it with my own eyes. I still haven't even stood on the starting line.
An unbelievable gap has formed between me and my "colleague"—technically I joined shortly after him, but given his experience in the "Education District," there's no difference.
There might be a gap in talent. But since we belong to the same "Familia," there shouldn't be a difference in the surrounding environment. Therefore, the issue lies in "resolve."
I will reduce waste and move with maximum efficiency. I don't possess the qualifications of the Captain, the wisdom of Lady Riveria, or the brilliant combat sense of Ais. The only weapon left to me is "Magic." At the very least, I must not lose in this aspect, or I won't be myself anymore.
I will become stronger. To move closer to Ais. To stop being a burden to the Captain and the others. And so that... Filvis.
Therefore─────
●○●○●
"Please, teach me how to fight!"
"..... Heh?"
Before those eyes and words full of resolve, Al let out a confused sound, and a piece of bread fell from his hand. Other familia members in the hall widened their eyes as they looked at the two. But the girl in question didn't care; she looked directly at Al with a serious gaze as if she saw no one else.
"..... Why me?"
Al asked in confusion. He couldn't think of a reason why Lefiya would ask him for training. Lefiya's style as a pure mage and Al's style—fighting on the front lines even while using magic—didn't exactly align. If she had asked Riveria or Filvis, who were already training her, it would have made sense. Asking him... he didn't understand.
"My current state isn't working... like this, I will never be able to reach any of you..."
Of course, this doesn't mean Riveria isn't enough. As a back-line specialist, Riveria surpasses Al by miles thanks to her long years of experience. If Lefiya's goal was to become the final version of the "Nine Hell" Riveria, she only had to follow her path.
But that isn't enough. Like that, Lefiya would remain merely an inferior copy of Riveria. And that is unacceptable. The issue isn't "catching up to Riveria." She must have the resolve to surpass Riveria, the strongest mage in the city, or she will always be looking at their backs from a distance. Lefiya must acquire a weapon Riveria doesn't have, and something Ais lacks. Because that is what will represent strength for her and her loved ones in the end.
This is why Lefiya chose this man to be her teacher. Her colleague who still stands at the forefront of the labyrinth conquest, and one of the "two strongest pillars" in Orario.
They started together. In fact, if we counted the "Education District" period, she was ahead of him, yet he became the strongest man in the familia and surpassed her by vast distances. Al Cranel, the vessel of a hero loved by talent and trials more than any other divine follower.
"Please, I must change! I can't stand being only protected anymore!!"
"I have no reason to refuse, so that's fine... But, is your desire to change because of Filvis?"
"Th-that is—yes, that's right."
Since the battle in Knossos, her friend seemed drowned in deep melancholy. Lefiya was deeply worried about her. Filvis was distancing herself from people more than before. Lefiya didn't know what had happened to her, but she wanted to be of help. She wanted to be the person Filvis could rely on in times of trouble; this was one of Lefiya's motives for changing herself.
"───── Fine then. I don't think I have much to teach you, but if that satisfies you, I will teach you."
"Thank you! I'll be in your care!"
Although Al's courage and exceptional history as an adventurer are known to all, very few ask him for training. The reason might be the impression of coldness and difficulty in dealing with him, but the biggest reason is that many feel they won't be able to keep up with his supernatural growth speed.
But Lefiya bowed her head as if that didn't matter.
As for Ais, who was watching this scene from the entrance of the dining hall...
"By the way, I've been thinking about this for a while—why do you address me as 'Lord' and so formally?"
"Huh?"
"We're almost the same age, and we're colleagues, aren't we?"
"Th-that..."
Lefiya couldn't say that when she first joined the familia, she thought if she spoke to him informally he might get angry and kill her, and that she missed the moment to stop and just kept dragging it out until now.
──────────────────────────────────────────────────
Note: Looking at Volumes 17 and 18, it seems Bell's thinking leans toward the primal (a natural-born warrior). Bell is suited for a very harsh teacher more than someone gentle like Ais.
Ages:
Lefiya: 15 years old.
Al: Just turned 16.
Al's tenure in the Loki Familia is slightly longer, but the difference is minimal.
We can say they are the same age, but Ais is the oldest.
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