Chapter 119

The ice crystal conjured at the tip of Mikhail's staff shot toward the magical beast dead ahead.

THUD!

The elemental core took the hit square-on and plummeted, scattering black ash in every direction. Its blazing wing lost its light in an instant, and the fireball it had been building vanished without a trace.

"……"

Silence settled over the area. Mikhail lowered his staff and recalled the creature's specifications.

Fire-attribute elemental core. Not only was its magic resistance weak to begin with, but it was especially vulnerable to opposing elements.

Mikhail spared the fading red body a passing glance, then moved toward where the objective sat.

A mana cluster, hovering above a mound of sand.

He dropped to one knee and extended the arm wearing the magic tool. The transparent orb attached to the device drew the blue sphere into itself.

[20pt]

Mana fluid swelled and rippled inside the orb, and the score etched itself onto the display.

A value proportional to the grade of the resource he'd just collected.

Mikhail checked the amount, then pressed onward down the corridor leading to the next chamber.

Two more stops like that and I'll have a decent cushion built up. After that…

His grip tightened around the staff.

He intended to track down Verte and pin him in place—keep him from functioning as a variable that could derail the main storyline.

---

Meanwhile, at the magic research institute's formation.

THOOM!

The magical beasts inside the chamber crumpled under fatal wounds, and the arrowhead-sharp glow of offensive mana died with them.

The institute's members lowered their outstretched hands one by one and surveyed the room.

Wariness and tension toward the unfamiliar space and its threats were written plainly across every darting pair of eyes.

"……"

Verte, however, looked nothing like the rest.

He walked forward in silence through his stalled companions and fixed his gaze on the corridor branching off to the left.

The direction of Entrance Five. In other words—Salvator Academy's starting point.

"…This is where I split off. I'm going to find Senit."

Verte delivered the announcement in a tone as dry and lifeless as crumbling earth. One of his companions hesitated, then cut in.

"Verte, you're really going? Why not stick with us a little longer before you—"

But the sentence never finished. A bronze-skinned arm rose from among the group and severed the words mid-flight.

"Got it. Go ahead, Verte."

Verte held Noen's gaze for a brief moment, then pulled away and moved toward his target direction.

His feet carried him forward without delay, striking the yellow-brown floor in steady strides.

Then, abruptly, he stopped. He turned his upper body back toward the group and spoke.

"…It's unlikely, but if you happen to run into Senit—tell him I went this way."

Noen met Verte's eyes in silence. But it wasn't long before he gave an easy nod.

"Got it. Go ahead."

Verte turned again and walked on, disappearing around the bend before long.

The sound of his retreating footsteps was swallowed by the swirling drafts.

Quiet fell over the group. One of Verte's companions shifted their gaze from the path he'd taken to Noen and asked in a careful tone.

"Noen, is it really okay to just let him go like that? He didn't exactly look like he was in great shape. And more than that… if we actually run into Senit, are you seriously going to tell him where Verte went?"

Noen looked down at the young man who'd posed the question and answered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Of course not."

"Huh?"

The entire group blurted out the same bewildered noise and pinned Noen with stares demanding an explanation.

But Noen didn't elaborate right away.

Instead, he let a thoughtful hum roll between his teeth—as if sorting through his reasoning—then rubbed his chin and spoke at an unhurried pace.

"I told you earlier. What matters most to us is Verte, our teammate. There's no need to push him into a fight he can't handle."

"Mm, sure, that makes sense… but then why lie about it?"

"And besides—don't overthink this. The odds of Verte actually running into Senit are practically zero."

Noen swept his gaze across the group, folded his arms, and tapped his temple.

"Think about it. What are the chances that someone like Verte—an ordinary person who just set foot in these ruins for the first time—instantly figures out the layout, navigates his way to Entrance Five where Salvator started, and arrives in one piece?"

The group's eyes went wide. Their lips pressed shut as they exchanged glances. Noen ticked off points on his fingers.

"And that's not even the end of it. Salvator isn't sitting around at their entrance—they're pushing deeper as we speak. So here's the next question: what are the odds Verte catches up to a moving target without a single wrong turn?"

Noen paused for a breath, then continued.

"On top of that, even if Verte demands a one-on-one—what are the chances Salvator's people actually agree? They're scrambling to rack up points with every second counting, bracing for rival factions that could show up at any moment. You really think they'd hand over a key fighter without a fight?"

Noen unfolded his arms and let his tone ease.

"Factor all of that in, and the answer's pretty clear. This stage will end long before Verte ever gets close enough to Senit for a fight."

The group nodded along, visibly brighter than before.

A palpable wave of relief settled over the group.

Noen flashed them a grin, then turned his attention to the blue mana cluster sitting in the corner of the room.

"So all we need to do is focus on scoring as many points as we can. Whether it's for Verte's sake or ours—that's the best move."

Noen walked over to the glowing mana cluster and extended his arm with the magic tool.

The cluster pulsed with light, and mana filled the orb's clear interior.

[30pt]

Noen checked the updated score, then turned toward the chamber on their right and rolled his shoulders loose.

"All right then—shall we get moving? Everything we see, we knock flat!"

"Let's go!"

The group roared their answer and charged toward their next objective.

Da-da-da-da—

Their footsteps as they poured into the target area were as spirited as soldiers on the advance.

The instant the shoe-falls ceased, a deafening crash took their place.

The beasts lurking inside the chamber couldn't withstand the onslaught of mana and collapsed like leaves before a gale.

KA-THOOM—. THUD—.

A massive body slumped to the ground. One of the group vaulted over the fallen desert whip-serpent's body, planted herself in front of the mana cluster, and shouted back at Noen.

"—Over here! There's a score right here!"

[60pt]

Noen absorbed the mana into his device just as before and bumped the total higher.

"Good. On to the next one."

He twisted the wrist bearing the magic tool as he spoke, and the group fell into the same rhythm without missing a beat.

They pushed into a third location and unleashed mana at the beasts lying in wait.

CRACK—. CRACKLE—.

This time, however, beasts weren't the only things waiting.

The moment the armored insects crumpled under the barrage of spells, mechanical structures emerged from behind the massive bodies where they'd been hidden.

Sensors at their centers flared to life, locking onto the intruders with defensive urgency, and mana projectiles launched without hesitation.

"Tch…!"

Noen grimaced with irritation and fired off a spell, shattering the mana spheres hurtling toward his companions before they could connect.

BOOM!

Ancient machines. This just got annoying.

Driven by archaic formulas too convoluted to reverse-engineer, the only reliable way to take them down—short of finding the internal weak point—was to overwhelm them with superior firepower.

Unlike the beasts, these constructs had far greater resistance to pure mana-based attacks than to strikes combining weapons and mana.

Noen eyed the three machines extending from the walls on long, serpentine necks that writhed like snakes, and barked his order.

"Everyone, crank it up! We finish this in one push!"

The group obeyed without hesitation. The intensity and pressure of the mana blooming from every direction surged to a new level, and the completed spells slammed into the ancient structures.

CRACK—. CRACKLE—.

Pierced by the barrage, the machines lost function and let their elongated bodies droop like dead vines.

"Hah… hhhk. Huff… that scared the hell out of me."

"Ancient machines popping up out of nowhere was bad enough… but three of them? Didn't see that coming."

The institute's members braced their hands on their knees to catch their breath or wiped the sweat streaming down their cheeks.

Noen steadied his own breathing just the same.

But he pulled himself together quickly and approached the mana cluster tucked in the corner of the room.

[90pt]

When he extended his hand and fed mana into the device, the fluid inside rose a little higher, and the updated figure appeared on the display.

Noen stared at the score.

Then, on impulse, he turned his head toward the corridor leading deeper into the ruins.

A faint rumble was drifting in from somewhere far off. The same kind of sound a beast made when it hit the ground.

—KA-THOOM. THUD.

If that's what I think it is… then the time to compete with other factions is getting close.

Noen pressed his lips into a hard line and ran through which factions they were most likely to encounter.

The first opponents that came to mind were the Guild's private defense academy and the Night Owl Training Camp—both assigned to nearby entrances.

But judging by how rhythmic and measured the impacts sounded, if it was one of the two, the former was the more likely candidate.

In that case, a head-on clash right now is out of the question. Everyone's spent. Better to regroup first and wait for an opening…

—Step.

Noen flinched mid-thought, his attention torn from the distant noise.

What had cut through his focus was something entirely different.

Footsteps?

But they were far too light and steady to belong to a pursuing beast or an ancient machine—and whoever it was made no effort whatsoever to conceal their presence, ruling out a scout.

Wait—did Verte come back?

Noen's face broke into an eager expression, and he jerked his head up to look back the way they'd come.

At the edge of his vision, he caught a few of his companions turning toward the same corridor.

Noen watched the approaching silhouette with a loosened, welcoming expression.

But the warmth lasted barely an instant.

Wh— what?

His eyelids tore open, impossibly wide.

The anticipation of seeing his friend again froze solid—like a night frost catching tender shoots—and all that remained in his chest was the cold ash of shock and disbelief.

"…Huh."

Noen let a hollow breath escape and swallowed hard.

The figure drawing closer with those composed, unhurried strides looked nothing like Verte.

—Step.

Deep blue hair swaying at the shoulders.

Eyes as still and fathomless as deep water, betraying not a flicker of agitation.

Noen couldn't tear his gaze away.

CRACK—. CRACKLE.

From a chamber further in, the noise of damaged machines sputtered and echoed through the corridors.

[140pt]

Mikhail glanced down at the magic tool on his wrist as he moved along the corridor. Salvator's score on the display was climbing steadily, right on schedule.

"……"

He pulled his eyes from the number and picked up the pace. The closer he drew to the source of the noise, the clearer the familiar silhouettes became.

The research institute crew.

Cautious and indecisive, huddling together and murmuring among themselves—a picture-perfect reflection of their original characterization.

But the one figure who should have stood apart from the rest, honed to a razor's edge—Verte—was nowhere to be seen.

He split from the group.

Mikhail narrowed his eyes and stepped into the chamber where the institute's members had gathered.

"…!"

Every head in the room snapped toward him at once, and a strangled silence gripped them—as if shock had seized each of them by the throat.

Mikhail stood his ground, meeting the barrage of stares converging on his face.

"Mikhail Senit. You… no—why are you here?"

It was the broad-shouldered man standing near the mana cluster who broke the silence.

He fixed Mikhail with a hard look, his thick brows furrowing as he spoke.

But Mikhail had no intention of answering.

Ignoring the question entirely, he scanned the room in every direction and got straight to the point.

"Where is he? Verte Fischer."