Deep-Dungeon: Floor - Unknown
Swoosh.
A long dagger-knife with a ring-hole at the bottom of its grip shot forward and embedded itself into the center of a man's chest.
"Agh?!" The man—wearing robes similar to Marze's—cried out in pain, dropping the Mage Slayer he was holding as he flew backward.
Bam!
His body hit the dungeon's writhing wall, halting his momentum before he collapsed onto his backside with a pained grunt.
The dwarven guide, Finn, walked forward with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. Behind him, a pile of corpses—each dressed in matching robes—lay stacked like lumber.
"Now then… time to stop playing tag."
Wham!
Finn slammed his right boot into the wall, grazing the man's head and freezing him in place.
Despite the sudden violence, the dwarf's smile remained. Now, though, it carried a hint of menace.
"You're the one who made the Mage Slayers, no?"
He tilted his head slightly, his voice still easygoing.
"You're going to tell me everything you know."
The hooded man hesitated. His scarred, partially disfigured face twisted into a manic grin before a low chuckle escaped him.
"Heh heh heh… you're too late…"
His voice grew louder, turning into a near shout.
"Our job was to lure you deep into the dungeon… up on the surface, they're already—ack!"
Wham!
His sentence—and life—ended in an instant as Finn's side kick buried the dagger even deeper into his chest, rupturing whatever organs were still intact.
The dwarf's smile was gone now. He turned around, eyes narrowing as he looked up toward the ceiling.
Don't tell me…
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Urbus Rigarden:
"Will?!"
Rosti and Colette shouted for the magicless swordsman as he lay bloody and unconscious atop the shattered upper floor of a café he'd been blasted into.
The once-luxurious walls were reduced to rubble, cradling his limp form.
Down below, the perpetrator—a devilish, one-eyed bipedal monster—grinned up at him.
"Gaggh!"
Thankfully, Will Serfort stirred. He vomited a mouthful of blood, groaning as he forced himself to his feet. His sword clanked at his side, and his legs creaked as if resisting the motion.
The fog on his lenses began to clear. His blurred vision and ringing ears faded, and when his focus returned—he froze.
His pupils dilated.
The monster was gone. Nothing remained but a fading afterimage.
In the next instant, Will's ki flared as instinct took over. His head snapped up—and there it was.
High above him, mid-air, the beast descended like a falling blade. Its Mage Slayer came swinging toward him with deadly force.
He barely stepped back in time to avoid being cleaved in two.
But the strike wasn't so simple.
Instead of just hitting him, the creature's power sliced through the entire rectangular building he'd been standing on. The shockwave hurled Will through the brick wall behind him.
"Tsk."
He winced in pain but twisted midair with inhuman control. In that fraction of a moment, he angled his Moria blade behind his shoulder.
Skrrr.
Skrr.
Using it like a climbing pick—or more like a falling pick—he dragged it down the side of the collapsing building, slowing his descent until he landed cleanly on the cobblestone street below.
The café he'd been in just seconds ago was now a heap of debris. Dust and shattered stone clouded his sight.
Thankfully, it did the same to the monster. He had a moment to think.
How is it so powerful?! It doesn't make sense!
The dust began to part.
The beast emerged slowly, eerily toying with its Mage Slayer, that ever-present smile still plastered on its face.
And then Will Serfort had a thought. A very alarming one.
Wait… could it be even stronger than a Grand Duke…?
This was one of the few times in his life that Will sincerely hoped his intuition was wrong.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
High above the chaos, Clairie Serah hovered on her magic broom. The tower arbiter stiffened as a bead of sweat trickled down her chin.
Is that… a Devander?!
The 40th-floor Notorious Monster?!
That fiend was infamous for slaughtering multiple Magia Vander.
On top of wielding a Mage Slayer, the creature itself was a Magebane—highly intelligent and deeply resistant to magic. It wasn't something they could deal with, not like this.
It was meant to be hunted by a group of high mages led by a Vander, using specialized tools.
But the Vander were currently indisposed, and magic itself was next to useless anyway.
As for magical tools? They'd take time to arrive from the upper institute.
And time was the one thing they didn't have.
Clairie gulped.
The future suddenly looked very bleak.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Back at their hiding spot, Marze chuckled, his grin stretching beneath the mask.
"Fifty of our ment got wiped out trying to shove that abomination through the gate."
Headless inked a message into the air with a flick of his finger.
Yeah, we had a hell of a time trying to capture it alive.
Marze snorted, glee rising in his throat.
"Well, now it can run wild all it wants."
Maybe I was overeating. Seems like the mission isn't shot just yet, he thought.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Skrrt.
Skrrt.
Will was blown back again, digging his blade vertically into the street below just in time to grind to a stop.
His bones rattled. His whole body trembled with each breath as he panted, soaked in sweat and pain.
Huff.
Huff.
Even if I dodge the main attack, I still get blown away like a piece of scrap paper!
This isn't an enemy I can face head-on!
He raised his head slowly.
All I can do now is run—
"?!"
Will froze.
The Devander was no longer looking at him.
It had turned toward two boys instead—his classmates—sprawled helplessly on the ground. They scrambled back in fear before their legs gave out, leaving them frozen in place.
He recognized them immediately.
Sion's lackeys: Lyril and Gordon.
Dammit, what are they doing here?!
Gordon trembled, voice cracking.
"N-No, what are you—"
The Devander raised its Mage Slayer to strike.
Will was already moving.
For a brief moment, life flashed before the eyes of the two boys.
For a moment—
Clank!
The sound of metal against metal rang out—replacing the sound they expected: steel tearing through flesh and bone.
Boom!
Dust and rubble erupted in front of them, a thick cloud hanging before it slowly began to clear.
Will stood there, feet dug into the fractured stone, his Moria blade raised horizontally above his head—blocking the Devander's strike in a desperate clash.
"Hrrggh?!"
Gordon and Lyril stared, stunned.
Of all people, the one standing between them and death… was the boy they'd spent years mocking. The one they'd spat on, insulted, and laughed at.
A few days ago, Sion had told them the truth—that Will was the one who'd saved them during the Evil Sentinel incident in the dungeon months back.
They never believed it.
But now, this—this couldn't be denied.
And Lyril couldn't understand why.
"Flunkee?! Where did you—"
"RUN!"
Will cut him off, voice strained, his entire body shaking as his feet slipped inch by inch.
"I said RUUUUUUN!!!!"
He roared, summoning every ounce of strength to hold the line.
"Eeek!"
That was all it took. The boys snapped out of it, spun on their heels, and bolted in a full sprint—clumsy, panicked, desperate.
No one would blame them.
Even high mages would do the same.
As they rounded the block, the Devander raised its left, bare hand over its body—pinning Will in place with its sword—then swung down with its elongated arm.
It threw a rocketing, nimble punch.
"Gahh!"
Will was launched like a cannonball.
For a moment, the Devander stood still.
Tmhp.
Then it blurred forward, reappearing midair beside Will before he could even hit the ground.
It switched its Mage Slayer to its left hand, curled its right fist, and slammed it into Will's chest—driving him straight down.
Blood, saliva, and phlegm burst from his mouth as his head jerked, and his body smashed through the cobblestone, carving a miniature crater.
Booom!
The ground trembled. A soft quake rolled through the area, enough to draw the nearby dwarves running.
"Agh…"
Will moaned in agony. Blood dripped from his nose and ears while the Devander loomed over him—its body trembling with laughter.
And then, Will understood.
It's playing with me.
It's enjoying this.
This was the second time.
Twice now, the creature had the chance to finish him—pierce his heart while he was wide open.
Twice, it chose its fists instead.
Will groaned, trying to rise, but his body wouldn't obey.
He didn't know whether to feel ashamed… or grateful.
Well, I should be grateful.
As long as I'm alive… I can meet Elfie again—
He had spoken too soon.
The Devander hefted its sword over its shoulder and swung down.
It has had its fun.
As the blade neared, a familiar gruff voice rang out.
"Will!"
Out of nowhere, Donnan dropped from above, axe in hand.
Without breaking stride, he tackled the Devander with his shoulder, forcing it to slide back several feet.
The old dwarf planted himself in front of his fallen friend, sweat streaking down his face.
Some from exhaustion. Some from raw nerves screaming at him to run.
But Donnan held firm, gripping his axe tighter.
"You okay, Will?!"
"M-Mister Donnan—"
"You just stay right there!"
He cut him off.
Several more dwarves, led by Gina, burst onto the scene and surrounded the Devander.
"We're gonna chop that thing to pieces!"
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
The Watchers, led by Iris, broadcasted their voices across Rigarden through their masers.
Vroom.
"Everyone, follow the Book Learner! Concentrate our forces in the southern district! Defeating the Devander is our top priority!"
"Mages, launch an all-out attack as soon as the dwarves destroy its Mage Slayer!"
Across the mage capital, as mages finished off the last of the unarmed Dinobori, they responded with swift affirmatives—then rushed toward the battlefield.
None of them noticed the black wisps of miasma drifting off the Dinobori corpses.
Up above, from their hidden perch, Marze jeered like victory was already sealed.
"Aww, they've got it surrounded."
Headless scribbled another loose, crooked response.
Yeah, perfect. ( ◠‿◠ )
Just like we planned.
He paused as the black, spectral spirit above his barren neck swelled, warping into something almost like a grinning face… then faded back into its usual shape.
Okay, Boy… time to eat up.
Down below, the encircled Devander suddenly leaned backwards.
From the center of its chest, muscle, tissue, and bone writhed grotesquely—until a black sphere slowly protruded outward.
"Wh-What's going on…?" Donnan's voice echoed the stunned confusion of the dwarves around him.
Will, still lying weakly on the ground, stared wide-eyed.
It… pushed out its core?
He couldn't believe it.
After all, a monster's core was practically its heart—its source of power.
Even if some could survive without it, destroying the core was as good as a death sentence.
So why?
Why would this thing—this clearly intelligent, sentient being—violate Monster 101 and make its source of strength so vulnerable?!
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
"!"
Edward Serfence, watching the scene unfold through the magical projection on his maser, suddenly had a very bad feeling.
He'd never faced a Devander before. The deepest floor he'd ever reached was 33, and everything he'd heard about the monster was more rumor than record.
He knew next to nothing about it.
But he did recognize the black wisps of miasma floating into the fiend's core.
So would anyone who'd ever stepped foot in a dungeon.
His head snapped back toward the Dinobori he'd just slain—and sure enough, miasma was rising off its corpse, drifting upward toward the Devander.
No good! It's a trap—we played right into their hands!
He raised his wand and pointed it forward, trying to redirect the flow, roaring in panic.
"Gather all the Traces! Now!"
Too late. ╭∩╮( •̀_•́ )╭∩╮
Headless mocked silently from his and Marze's perch.
All around Rigarden, black miasma—Traces, the lingering essence monsters left behind—floated up from Dinobori corpses and dyed the sky in inky black.
And then… it all began to concentrate.
Toward the Devander's core.
Rigarden fell still, paralyzed in collective shock.
Then Headless's voice echoed—not just in his head this time, but across the city. It came like a soft whisper, a taunting lullaby… an omen dressed as a joke.
A whisper that promised death.
Devander-chan has a unique skill.
It can absorb the Traces from other monsters.
Something only the dungeon is supposed to be capable of.
Basically, it eats its friends to get crazy strong.
Clairie froze in horror, her eyes wide as she cursed under her breath.
Oh no. How could I not have known?!!!
She really couldn't be blamed.
The deepest floor she had ever reached was 35. Perhaps only her master had gone deeper among those currently fighting.
But even Caldron had never encountered a Devander.
After all, floor 40 and below were only traversed by the highest of high mages—the elite of the elite.
The Vander. Ascendants. Adjutants. People like that. The top dogs of each faction.
If Edward hadn't run from the Tower so soon he would've too.
Of course, Thorzeus Fasce had recently defied that unofficial rule with their suicidal policy of forcing younglings and rookies to push past their limits… but that was another story.
The point remained: very few had seen a Devander—fewer still had lived to tell the tale.
Most parties venturing onto floor 40 and above made it a priority to avoid the beast, often preferring to face the floor boss instead.
So it was understandable that knowledge of the Devander's capabilities was… limited.
Still, as the de facto overseer of this battle, Clairie felt more than just shame.
"Don't let it get any more Traces!"
She roared across the city, her voice amplified through her maser.
Donnan surged forward, axe in hand.
"Come on! Charge!"
He and the dwarves rushed toward the seemingly defenseless Devander, while mages scrambled across Rigarden to gather as much of the stray miasma as they could.
Unfortunately, the former effort didn't go as planned—and the latter… meant little now.
Before the dwarves could reach the monster, they were struck by black, lightning-like blasts from above.
"Agh?!"
They shouted in pain, blasted back, cut, pinned, or paralyzed by surging bolts of dark magic.
Marze howled with psychotic glee, knives floating around him as his wand spun in one hand.
"Ohhh, no you don't!"
"Now sit there—and watch how a real monster is born! HAH-hah-hah!"
He laughed wildly, sniping mages and dwarves from afar, halting them in their tracks.
Iris and the Watchers searched desperately for the source, but the attacks seemed to come from nowhere—multiple directions, multiple angles.
It became clear: Marze's assassin getup wasn't just for show.
Casting attack spells while maintaining Hide?
No small feat at all.
Dun.
Dun.
Dun.
Each dark wave halting the dwarven advance echoed like the tolling of a grand bell, heralding a new dawn—Or rather, eternal night for all of Rigarden.
The people watched helplessly as the miasma faded—completely absorbed into the Devander's core, which then slid neatly back into its chest.
"Graah!!"
The Devander roared as its body began to shift.
Features reminiscent of the Dinoboros danced across its new form.
It stood tall. Then slowly crouched low.
From its back, black devilish wings unfurled—shadows torn from hell itself.
They writhed like serpents, hissing silently in the wind.
Bone-white horns curled from its skull, framing a toothy mask with far too many fangs—and no eyes.
Its skin rippled with corded muscle, crimson-blackened and charred, like it had clawed its way out of a furnace.
It was no longer lanky.
Its new frame was powerful—athletic, monstrous.
A brutal, evolved killing machine.
As it crouched lower still, spikes emerged from its obsidian wings—creeping out like a porcupine's quills.
At that moment, three people moved on instinct alone:
Asta, who had just felled the last armed Dinoboros.
Komari, who tried to move but couldn't—her legs jelly, her mana spent after pushing herself too far too often.
And Will, still sprawled on the ground, not far from the beast.
All three felt it at once.
Their ki surged—and simultaneously, they shouted out with matching desperation:
"Duck!"
"Dodge!"
"Get out of there!"
Only two managed to react in time—Gina and Donnan, who dropped flat to their stomachs.
The rest didn't.
Spikes shot from the Devander's wings in all directions, spinning midair—
And then they drilled through the rest.
Dwarves were beheaded.
Mages were turned into donuts.
Eleven lives were lost in an instant.
Marze's cackling grew louder, more unhinged.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! I love it!"
"Eeek?!"
"Help—!"
The cries were music to his ears.
"Magic won't work! And the dwarves' brute strength can't do jack shit either!"
"You fuckers are so screwed! Ha ha ha ha!!"
Will knelt silently as the Devander straightened up, grinning once more.
The sight of the dwarves—the people who took him in when his own turned away…
The sight of friends dropping like flies…
It froze him.
And then unprecedented calm flooded his mind.
A chilling clarity, like a machine starting to override his thoughts.
His emotions dulled—deemed inefficient.
His brain sharpened. Cold. Focused.
So all those monsters were pawns...?
They used our counterattack to fuel their real weapon…?
High above, Headless snapped his fingers—like a maestro directing a final act.
The city's the altar.
The party's the ritual.
Now everything is in place…
To kill the Vander.
Will gripped his sword tighter, forcing himself to stand as the Devander slashed another dwarf across the chest.
It's too strong. Nobody can fight it… not the mages… not the dwarves!
A memory flashed through his mind—something recent, something he'd never forget.
That magic blade he used against the Grand Duke.
If it's that spell… that's the only thing that could—
"Will!"
"?!"
He snapped his head around.
Rosti was running toward him—Kiki in his arms.
"Rosti? Why're you—"
"Never mind that! Your sword!"
The blonde artificer cut him off, already pointing his wand at the blade.
"?!"
Will's shock deepened.
How does he know…?
But there was no time to think.
He clamped down on his thoughts and nodded.
Raising his sword, Will braced himself as Rosti fired a water spell his way.
Just like in the dungeon with Sion.
As the blast neared, Will stilled his racing heart.
Cleared his mind.
Remember that feeling. Just like back then. All you have to do is absorb the spell—
He never got the chance.
Will and Rosti both froze.
The Devander had appeared between them.
Maybe Headless had sent it, sensing something off.
Maybe it acted on its own instincts.
Either way, it moved—and it interfered.
Rosti's spell was swallowed into its Mage Slayer.
Gone. Not a drop reached Will.
Not satisfied, the Devander turned toward the 'weaker' target—
And swung.
Will stiffened, eyes wide, as the blade fell on his friend's arm.
In that instant of hesitation, he couldn't move.
Not that he would've been fast enough.
But someone else was.
Clang!
Before the Devander's blade could sever Rosti's arm, an axe intercepted the swing—parrying it upward and halting the monster's strike.
A figure faded into view in front of Rosti.
A muscular, ash-blonde midget with an axe.
Will's voice caught in his throat, tangled between shock and relief.
"Shishō?"
Rosti blinked.
This is Will's master?
Asta didn't answer. He didn't even look at them.
He just raised his axe again and struck.
Clang!
Dust and wind exploded outward as the ground cracked beneath them.
Sword met axe.
Monster met man.
They pushed against each other in grim silence, a brutal contest of pure force.
The 5'4" dwarf didn't give an inch to the 11-foot monstrosity.
If anything—he won.
The Devander slid back several feet.
Asta took a single step.
From his perch, Marze's smile faltered.
Huh?
Asta rolled his thick neck, scanning the field.
His eyes paused on the corpses—scattered dwarves, fallen mages, broken weapons.
His expression darkened.
And then he blurred forward.
So did the Devander.
Both vanished into afterimages.
Only their shadows remained visible.
Only their grunts and occasional clash of weapons gave them away.
Aside from Will and Komari, few could track their movements.
The two figures were practically invisible—only the sound of roofs collapsing or walls being torn apart hinted at their location. Shattered glass, cracked stone, the tremors beneath the earth... they left behind chaos, but not form.
They were ghosts in a battlefield.
Yet, no one seemed anxious.
Because most of the grunts, crashes, and cries of pain came from a monster, not a man.
Whispers stirred across the city.
Who was fighting the Devander?
Who could go toe-to-toe with that thing and still stand?
But no one had an answer.
From a rooftop, the wind faction scout who'd trailed Asta earlier glanced toward his companion—clad in fire faction robes—and raised a brow.
"Still think he's just a normal dwarf?"
The fire mage had no reply.
He didn't need to. A sharp, human cry cut through the air.
"Tsk."
Asta clicked his tongue, audible even over the battlefield.
He faded back into view.
His clothes were torn, dirt-streaked—but not a scratch marred his body. Not a bruise. Not a drop of blood.
Yet everyone's hearts dropped.
Because in his hand… were the broken fragments of his axe.
A tool meant for chopping wood had held its own longer than anyone expected.
But it was never made to clash with a blade forged to slaughter mages like livestock.
The Devander reappeared across from Asta, looking dazed, damaged, but still very much alive.
Asta's eyes narrowed.
"Will! Sword! Now!"
"Ah! Y-yes, Shishō!"
Will fumbled, gripping the Moria blade by its handle and tossing it toward his master.
He shouldn't have.
Because in that split second, the Devander lunged.
Asta cursed under his breath. No time to brace—no time to dodge.
He had to jump.
His body launched upward, arms stretched to catch the blade mid-air.
But now he was wide open.
Now he was vulnerable.
Now he was exposed.
"Headless! Do it now!" Marze barked, panic in his voice.
Already on it.
From the shadows, Headless snapped his fingers.
A black magic circle bloomed in the air right where Asta rose.
Unable to reorient himself midair he was helpless as the gate swallowed him whole.
With a flicker, he vanished—sucked through the array into parts unknown.
Clang!
Will's sword hit the broken floor with a hollow, final sound.
Its target was gone.
So was their hope.
"Shishō…?"
Will's heart fell as fast as the blade.
And then the Devander turned to him—grinning wide, its mouth full of too many teeth.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Location – Unknown
Far, far away, the same magic gate flared into existence—then spat Asta out onto a barren field surrounded by jagged rock and distant mountains.
No road in sight. No trace of civilization.
Just trees. A vast forest that tugged at his memory.
Rigarden?
Not even a speck of it on the horizon.
Asta stood frozen, blank. Then his face twisted with fury as he gripped his hair.
"Dammit, Asta, you fucking idiot!"
He growled at himself before letting out a long breath and straightening up.
"I really didn't want to do this… but it looks like I have no choice."
The magicless swordsman inhaled deeply, then closed his eyes and outstretched one arm. Slowly, deliberately, he began to spin—tuning himself to something far away. Searching.
And then he felt it.
A tug—faint, but familiar.
Northwest.
Very far.
He stopped and turned in that direction, reaching out through that thread of connection.
Dozens of kilometers away, nestled on a hilltop clearing, sat a humble cabin.
Asta and Noelle's home.
Inside, tucked in Noelle's private study, on a shelf coated in dust and sunlight, sat a tattered, grey-black book with a five-leaf clover stamped across its cover.
The moment Asta reached for it, the book began to glow faintly red. It rose from the shelf, drifting through the air, pages fluttering open to the very first one.
From that page—something emerged.
A large, rusted broadsword. Dust-covered. Scuffed. Heavy.
Its blade and hilt were disconnected, joined only by a thick, ridged fuller. Ancient. Familiar.
Danma.
The Demon Slayer Sword had returned.
The grimoire floated gently down onto Noelle's desk, its duty done.
The sword, meanwhile, moved with silent purpose.
Despite its size, it weaved through the cabin like a ghost—bypassing shelves, vases, furniture—without disturbing a thing. It hovered into the living room, gliding toward the fireplace.
Then, as if sensing its destination, it rotated upright—and launched.
Straight up the chimney, out of the cabin, and into the sky.
A streak of power cut across the heavens like a black-red shooting star, racing back toward its master.
Back to Asta.
He didn't move, didn't flinch. He simply stood, waiting, palm out.
He hoped his disciple could hang on just a little longer.
Because that's all he needed.
...Who was he kidding?
He knew Will could do so much more than that.
He just hoped he didn't have to.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
"Aaah!!!"
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Will roared in desperation, summoning every ounce of strength as he clashed with the Devander.
But the gap between them was insurmountable.
Strength. Speed. Agility. Reflexes. Instinct.
All of it—overwhelming.
The Devander casually parried Will's blade to the right, forcing him to overstretch.
Then, with a brutal twist, it slammed a roundhouse kick into his ribs, launching him into the air.
In an instant, it flew up—its black wings tearing through the sky.
And then it was above him.
Before Will could regain control, the Devander's fist smashed down like a meteor, sending him skimming across rooftops like a stone across water.
Crash.
Crash.
Crash.
Tiles shattered. Rafters snapped.
Rosti stood frozen. Then, without a word, he gently lowered Kiki from his arms.
The Carbuncle blinked in confusion, staring up at him.
Rosti offered a shaky smile. One that slowly reached his eyes as he straightened and turned toward the wreckage.
"Kiki… go find Colette. I'll make sure your master stays safe. That's a promise."
"Mrow?"
"It's fine. I know what I have to do. So go on now."
Kiki hesitated… then gave his knee a single lick.
Without another sound, the Carbuncle turned and sprinted away on all fours.
"Mrow!"
Rosti's smile faded.
His fists clenched at his sides, trembling.
"Sorry, Will… looks like I'm going to have to hurt you… again."
Once again, ███████ █████ ██████ would have to break Will's heart.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Shing.
Clang.
Bang.
From rooftop to rooftop, Will and the Devander clashed—trading blows with swords, fists, and kicks.
Their speed and force climbed with every strike, until it felt less like combat and more like a storm tearing through the city.
And through it all, Will's thoughts began to sharpen.
No amount of rage, adrenaline, or fear is going to win this!
Shishō's fine. Definitely.
He might even be on his way back.
If I can just hold on until he—
No!
Who's to say how many will die in the meanwhile?!
There's still the masterminds hiding in the shadows…
The Vander…
Elfie is in danger! I need to protect her!
Will abruptly backed away, sidestepping a punch that smashed through a wall behind him. The air pressure alone cracked nearby windows in a sharp burst of sound.
He steadied his breath.
And then—he shifted his stance.
Simple. Solid. A basic guard.
He planted his feet and locked eyes with the enemy.
I'm not a wand.
I'm a sword.
If my master can do this... so can I.
Using everything he's ever taught me.
Will's heartbeat steadied.
For a moment, nothing else existed.
Just the Devander, dragging its Mage Slayer across the rooftop with a sharp, scraping hiss and him.
Nothing else mattered.
Not the chaos swallowing Rigarden.
Not the cowering civilians.
Not the injured mages. Not the dwarves.
Not the masterminds lurking behind the curtains.
Not the Vander.
Not even his shishō.
Not even Elfaria.
Only this.
Only the Devander.
Only the battle.
The fiend blurred forward, its sword screaming toward Will's chest.
But this time—Will saw it. Clearly.
And he moved.
Clang!
He deflected the swing wide, steel grinding against steel.
And before the Devander could recover, Will stepped in.
No hesitation. No fear.
He drove his sword forward, straight toward its core.
The blade struck. It's tip grazing its target.
The Devander blurred again, practically teleporting several meters back.
But it wasn't unscathed.
It wasn't much more than a paper cut.
But a thin, crimson line now traced its ribcage.
"GAAAAH!!!"
The Devander shrieked—a guttural, banshee-like howl that echoed through the city.
Enraged.
Humiliated.
That this tiny insect had managed to mark it.
The Devander intended to lunge.
But Will moved first.
He exploded forward, forcing the fiend onto the defensive.
By contracting and relaxing the muscles in his legs with precise Ki control, he rocketed ahead like a launched spear.
His speed increased.
His reflexes sharpened.
His strikes grew heavier, faster, more punishing.
And now it was the Devander who blocked.
The roles had reversed—predator and prey.
Will's body screamed with protest.
Muscles ached. Bones cracked. His mind flashed red in alarm.
Stop! Stop now! You're breaking apart!
But he silenced the noise.
Drowned it out.
This wasn't a place for common sense.
He was a sword.
And swords don't hesitate.
All that matters… is slaying the Devander.
Should he die? Be crippled?
Then so be it.
That was the price.
No true warrior thinks of survival or self-preservation.
Only the mission.
It was a noble gesture.
But a tragic one.
Because no one had told the boy that nobility means nothing against overwhelming power.
As Will closed in again, the Devander abruptly stopped.
And grinned.
In an instant, it vanished—then reappeared right in front of him, mid-run, bringing its blade down in a brutal arc.
Will's eyes widened.
His clarity shattered.
Emotions surged back like a tidal wave.
It had all been a game.
Oh… till the very end, it was just toying with me. Feeding me hope. False hope.
His legs buckled.
His spirit cracked.
And as the sword descended, everything fell.
Baam!
His glasses cracked and were flung from his face.
Blood sprayed through the air.
Will's eyes dimmed.
Not from pain.
Not from death.
But because the blood wasn't his.
He had felt it—a push.
Someone had shoved him, knocking him off the rooftop just in time.
And then everything slowed.
As he fell, he saw through the haze—the dust clearing.
And there stood Rosti.
Hand outstretched.
Smiling.
Skewered clean through the chest by the Devander's Mage Slayer.
"Huh...?"
Will murmured in disbelief.
Rosti blinked—just once—as a glimmer of white touched Will's hair.
He'd done it.
He'd saved him.
And he managed to trigger it in the process.
Mission accomplished.
But that only made him hate himself more.
Still, he forced one last smile.
"Will… I'll always be there for y—"
His words, like his life, ended mid-breath.
The Devander twisted its blade with a savage spin—cleaving Rosti in two.
Blood and entrails painted the rooftop.
His broken body crumpled.
The fiend wrenched its sword free.
And as Rosti's blood splattered across Will's face, the boy plummeted downward, gravity tearing him from the rooftop like an afterthought.
He didn't even register the crack of mist, the dust, the shockwave.
Only the silence.
And then a scream.
Torn from his throat like his soul had snapped.
"GAAAAHHH!!!"
Vroom!
"Will!"
Workner came soaring in on his Sky Raider—a wyvern-like beast—just in time to catch the falling boy.
Will thrashed in his arms, desperate to break free. His screams grew shrill, raw, every syllable coated in hysteria as he stared up at the rooftop.
At the Devander.
Still watching him.
Grinning.
"Rosti!"
"Rosti!!"
"ROSTI!!!"
But no matter how many times he screamed, there was no answer.
Nothing came back.
Even the Devander seemed to have lost interest.
Mocking him with its disinterest, it turned its back and leapt away—toward the academy.
Toward the tower.
Toward better prey.
Will stopped moving.
For a second, it looked like he might leap off the Sky Raider and give chase—until his eyes locked onto the rooftop.
The blood.
The mist.
The pieces.
"Rosti…"
"Will, stop it!"
Workner's voice cut through the wind like a blade as he pulled the boy back, gripping him tighter.
"He's gone!"
Will froze.
And then—collapsed.
Onto the back of the Sky Raider, limp and hollow.
He couldn't feel anything.
Not his legs.
Not his arms.
Not hope.
Not resolve.
Everything was slipping—cast out into that black, endless void.
And all the while…his hair grew paler.
Grey bleeding into white.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author's Notes:
[1] Sorry for the extra long wait, I've just been busy and lazy. Not a recipe for success unless the success you're looking for is procrastination.
[2] If you'd like to chat, discuss the story, or hang out, feel free to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar