The next bolt snapped from Ludger’s palm, faster this time. Viola yelped, jerking sideways at the last moment. The mana sphere whizzed past her ear, close enough that she felt the heat.

Another came a heartbeat later, then another.

She swung once, splintering one apart, then stumbled backward to dodge the next. Her breath came sharp, her body tensing as panic flickered in her eyes. If I miss one, I’m done—!

She risked a glance over her shoulder. Her heart stopped. The buildings!

If Ludger kept throwing spells like this, the ramshackle homes around the guild would be torn apart. But when her eyes followed the glowing trails, she realized—none of them hit. Every bolt that missed her arced upward in a graceful curve, climbing into the sky before fading into harmless wisps.

He wasn’t just blasting wildly. He was controlling them, pulling each shot just enough so the collateral damage vanished.

Viola’s mouth went dry. He’s not even trying. He’s playing with me.

Another bolt came. She twisted, ducked, swung—barely keeping up. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, her wooden sword trembling in her grip.

Across from her, Ludger stood calm, hand raised, each attack deliberate. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp.

Viola grit her teeth, forcing herself to stay on her feet. Fine! If he thinks I’ll break, I’ll prove him wrong!

At first, every impact rattled her bones. Each time her wooden blade struck a bolt, the shock traveled up her arms, numbing her fingers and shaking her stance. Her swings grew heavier, her breath shorter. She could already feel her grip starting to slip.

Damn it… if I keep blocking like this, I’ll drop the sword before I even get close to him…

Another bolt flew in. She barely managed to knock it aside, the weapon vibrating so hard she almost lost her balance. Her teeth clenched. There has to be a better way—

And then the thought hit her.

Her eyes narrowed, lips curling into a sharp grin. “Alright… fine. If brute force doesn’t work…”

Mana flared around her hands. [Weapon Enhancing].

The dull wooden sword shimmered faintly, glowing with a thin aura. The next bolt cracked against it—and this time, the impact was nothing. No bone-rattling tremor, no sting in her wrists. Just clean resistance.

Viola’s grin spread wide, ear to ear. “Ha! That’s more like it!”

Another bolt came. She swung without hesitation, carving through it like a knife through smoke. The fragments fizzled away harmlessly, and she didn’t even flinch.

Then another, and another—each one meeting her blade, each one shattered cleanly. Her eyes blazed with renewed confidence as she laughed, exhilaration spilling out of her chest.

“See that, Ludger?!” she shouted, panting but defiant. “You’re not the only one who can cheat with magic!”

Across from her, Ludger’s smirk sharpened. Finally figured it out, huh? Good. Let’s see how long you can ride that confidence before it breaks.

His hand rose again, gathering mana for the next barrage.

Ludger’s smirk deepened. He flicked his wrist, gathering more mana than before. The next [Mana Bolt] came larger, brighter, faster—hissing through the air like a spear of light.

Viola braced, her glowing blade flashing upward. The impact cracked like thunder. For a heartbeat, she felt unstoppable—until her weapon’s aura flickered. The bolt dispersed her reinforcement, bleeding the magic out of her swing.

Her grin faltered. Wait—what?

Another bolt screamed toward her. She swung again, teeth clenched. The weapon held, but the glow dimmed further, strands of mana unraveling under the pressure.

It hit her then. His attacks don’t just collide—they chew through my reinforcement. If I stop feeding mana into the blade, it’ll shatter in seconds.

She hissed through her teeth, forcing more of her energy into the weapon. The wooden sword blazed back to life, the aura growing steadier. Another bolt struck—and this time she held, though sweat poured down her forehead as her reserves thinned.

“Hah!” she shouted between breaths, forcing a wild grin back onto her face. “I’m still standing!”

Ludger’s hand remained steady, another bolt already forming at his palm. His voice was dry, merciless. “Good. Then stop smiling and keep up, or you’ll drop before the labyrinth even sees you.”

Viola’s grin twitched, but she locked her stance again, sword glowing. “Bring it!”

The next bolt snapped forward.

The next bolt slammed into her blade. Viola staggered but held. Her aura sputtered, then flared again as she forced more of her mana into the sword.

Another bolt came. Then another.

Her breaths grew ragged, her shoulders trembling with each swing. The glow around her weapon faltered more often now, dimming longer between each strike.

Finally, when the fifth bolt in a row hit, the aura snapped like a candle in the wind. The impact ripped the sword from her hands, sending it clattering across the ground. Viola fell to one knee, chest heaving, sweat pouring down her temples.

“I… I can still—” she panted, reaching weakly toward her weapon.

Ludger lowered his hand, the last bolt dispersing harmlessly into the air. His expression didn’t soften, but his voice carried a rare hint of approval. “Enough. You did better than I expected.”

Viola blinked up at him, startled.

He exhaled slowly, checking the faint readout of his reserves. Half a pool left. If this were a real fight, I could’ve kept going until she collapsed for good.

His eyes flicked back to her. Of course she’d lose a battle of mana. She’s a warrior, not a mage. But she lasted longer than most idiots swinging steel at spells.

He smirked faintly. “Not bad for your first time standing against real magic. But don’t fool yourself—you’d be dead ten times over if I hadn’t been holding back.”

Viola groaned, dragging herself upright with shaky legs, but her stubborn grin returned, lopsided and tired. “Then… I’ll just have to get stronger, won’t I?”

Viola’s legs buckled again, and this time Ludger moved. He crossed the distance with calm steps, placing his hand against her arm.

[Healing Touch].

A warm glow seeped into her battered muscles, easing the ache, flushing away the strain in her arms and legs. Viola let out a shaky sigh, relief softening her expression.

“Don’t get used to it,” Ludger muttered. “If I have to heal you after every mistake, you’ll never learn where your limits are.”

“Y-yeah, yeah…” she grumbled, but didn’t pull away.

Ludger straightened, glancing around out of habit—and froze.

Through the cracked doorway of the guildhall, a shadow leaned against the frame. Gaius Bront. Bottle in hand, beard glistening with the drip of liquor as he tilted it back. His bloodshot eyes weren’t glassy this time; they were fixed on Ludger and Viola with a slow, deliberate weight.

At least he wasn’t shouting. At least he wasn’t swinging to chase them off.

Instead, his gravelly voice carried across the yard, dry and unimpressed.

“…Why are you still around?”

Viola stiffened, grabbing her sword. Ludger, meanwhile, didn’t flinch. His smirk flickered faintly as he turned to face the broken guildmaster.

Finally decided to watch, did you?

Ludger met Gaius’ bleary stare without blinking. “We’re still here because we’re not leaving until you teach us. Magic, specifically. Doesn’t have to be much—just enough to make it worth Torvares sending us.”

He folded his arms, voice dry but firm. “We’ll repay the favor. Cleaning, errands, grunt work—doesn’t matter. You give us a little of your time, we’ll cover the debt.”

Viola’s mouth fell open, clearly wanting to argue about “grunt work,” but Ludger’s tone left no room for interruption.

Gaius tilted his head, liquor sloshing in the bottle as he let out a rough laugh. “You brats really don’t know when to quit, do you? Most would’ve run off by now.”

“Most aren’t us,” Ludger said evenly. “So what’ll it be? Keep wasting away in there, or put us to work until we’re worth teaching?”

The guildmaster’s crooked grin faltered. He stared at them for a long moment, then took a slow pull from the bottle.

“…Persistent little bastards,” he muttered, lowering it with a sigh. “Fine. We’ll see if you’ve got the spine for it.”

Ludger narrowed his eyes. That was too easy.

The man had stonewalled them, drinking himself into oblivion. Now, after a few sharp words, he agreed? No shouting, no half-hearted insults, no attempt to shoo them out like rats?

He’s messing with us again.

Gaius staggered a little as he walked forward, but when he stopped in front of them and crossed his arms, there was a steadiness under the booze. His presence filled the empty yard, worn but not hollow.

“Fine,” he rasped. “You want earth magic? Then listen.”

He jabbed a finger at the dirt beneath their feet. “The principle is simple. Earth isn’t just dirt or stone—it’s weight, stability, force. To shape it, you need to understand it. Not just push mana into the ground and hope a wall pops up.”

He dragged the toe of his boot through the soil, leaving a crude line. “You anchor. Always anchor. Earth doesn’t flow like water or dance like fire. It sits, waits, and crushes. If your mind isn’t steady, the spell won’t hold. It’ll crumble on you.”

Viola frowned, still hugging her sword. “So… it’s all about being boring and heavy?”

Gaius snorted, lips curling around the bottle. “If you call living long enough to win boring, then yeah.”

Ludger smirked faintly. So he can still string a lesson together after all. The question is, how much of this is real teaching—and how much is another excuse to waste our time?

Gaius planted his feet, arms still crossed, and his rough voice carried across the yard.

“Before we go any further—what are you actually doing when you cast magic?”

A visible question mark might as well have popped over Viola’s head. She blinked at him, mouth half open. “…Uh… throwing fireballs?”

Ludger frowned, jaw tightening. That’s… not a bad question, actually.

Gaius’ crooked grin returned. “Exactly what I thought. You’re just waving your arms and hoping mana turns into fireworks.”

He tapped the side of his head with one thick finger. “Basic magic—the kind used by warriors, swordsmen, all the brawn-for-brains types—doesn’t go any deeper than this: push mana through your body, reinforce something, swing harder. Easy enough. Even pigs can learn it if they live long enough.”

Viola scowled. “Hey!”

Gaius ignored her. “But real spellwork? Even the most basic elemental spells? That’s different. You’re not just tossing mana around—you’re shaping it. Directing it into the element itself. To make fire, water, air, or earth obey. Magic is forcing a phenomenon to exist.”

He crouched, scooping up a handful of dirt and letting it run through his fingers. “Anyone can dump mana into their arms and swing a sword. But when you tell the ground itself to rise, to bend, to shield—you’re not swinging anymore. You’re commanding.”

Viola’s eyes widened a little, her earlier defiance dulled by curiosity. Ludger, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes further, filing away every word. So that’s how he wants to frame it. Not fuel, not brute force—command. Makes sense why warriors hit a ceiling when they don’t think deeper than muscle.

Ludger stayed quiet for a moment, letting Gaius’ words settle. Viola still looked lost, but his own mind was already connecting the dots.

When I cast [Create Water], it isn’t like I’m pulling buckets of liquid from thin air. The system might call it “creation,” but that’s not what really happens. I can feel it—the mana isn’t making something out of nothing.

His eyes narrowed, recalling the subtle resistance that always accompanied the spell. It brushes against the oxygen in the air, twists it, I would assume that my mana works as hydrogen, compresses it, forces it into the form of water. The phenomena happens because mana changes the rules just enough to make it possible. Not chemistry. Not alchemy. A cheat. A shortcut.

He exhaled slowly, folding his arms. “So, it’s not just pulling an element out of a hat. It’s bending what’s already there into what you want.”

Viola blinked, tilting her head. “Wait, what does that mean? You’re losing me.”

Gaius’ bloodshot eyes slid to Ludger, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Hmph. At least one of you isn’t completely thick. Yeah, kid. That’s the idea. Mana doesn’t make miracles—it forces the world to behave like one.”

Viola pouted. “Hey! I understood some of it!”

Ludger smirked faintly. Good. If I can keep pulling apart how this works, then even Gaius’ drunken half-lessons are enough to sharpen my edge.

Gaius tilted his bottle back, took a long pull, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes, though red and weary, carried a faint sharpness as he spoke.

“You’ve got the right idea, boy. But earth isn’t like the others. Fire, water, wind—those change the environment, sure. Heat, liquid, air currents. They bend what’s already there, but the world doesn’t fight them too hard.”

He stomped his boot against the ground, the sound echoing like a hammer strike. “Earth? Earth is different. To create it, to change it? That’s heavier. Permanent. It doesn’t vanish into thin air like a gust of wind or a splash of water. When you force earth into being, it stays. You pile it, shape it, twist it—and if you do it wrong, it breaks everything around you.”

Viola frowned, tilting her head. “So… you’re saying you don’t just throw rocks around?”

Gaius snorted. “I can manipulate the ground, same as any earth mage. Raise walls, sink pits, throw boulders. But my focus isn’t just moving dirt. It’s creation. Transformation. Turning one state of matter into another, forcing stone where there wasn’t any. That’s not something most people can pick up after waving their hands a few times.”

His gaze hardened, distant for a moment. “It’s an art. One that only a few bloodlines ever carried. Most of them are gone now. And looking at you brats…” He smirked bitterly, lifting the bottle again. “You’re not the kind of students who’d normally get near it.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed. So he’s not just broken. He’s rare. And Torvares knew it.

Gaius lowered the bottle, letting it hang from his hand as he looked down at the dirt beneath his boots. His voice was steadier now, less slurred—like the act of teaching pulled something awake inside him.

“Another thing,” he muttered, tapping the ground with the heel of his boot. “Earth isn’t just heavy. It’s stubborn. Fire, water, and wind—those are freer, lighter. Their mana scatters in the air, so when you twist it with your own, the world doesn’t fight back as much. But earth…” He gave a harsh laugh. “Earth’s already saturated. The air, the soil, the stone—it’s thick with condensed mana. That makes it harder to push, harder to bend.”

Viola frowned, her wooden sword drooping in her grip. “So you’re saying it’s tougher because… it’s already full?”

“Exactly,” Gaius said, jabbing a finger at her. “Your own mana isn’t enough. You don’t just shove your will into the ground and expect it to listen. You have to feel the mana already there, seize it, twist it until it obeys. And make no mistake—environmental mana doesn’t yield easy. It resists. It drags. It’ll rip your spell apart if your focus slips.”

He crouched, scooping a handful of soil and squeezing until it sifted between his fingers. “To control earth properly, you don’t just wield your power. You wrestle with the world’s. That’s what makes it different. That’s why so few ever master it.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed, absorbing every word. So it’s not just shaping. It’s negotiation… or domination. Using the world’s own mana against itself. No wonder only a handful of families ever touched this art.

Viola puffed her cheeks, trying to look undaunted. “Sounds like a challenge. I can do it!”

Gaius barked a laugh, half amusement, half scorn. “Hah! Big words from a brat who can barely hold a sword steady.”

Ludger smirked faintly. Still… at least now he’s teaching instead of drinking. That’s a start.

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