Building Brotherly Bonds
Silvery moonlight filtered through the cracks in the window, casting a serene glow over the quiet predawn hours. The stable door creaked open with a piercing screech... and what poured out was a fishy, metallic stench that assaulted the nostrils.
It was a foul odor Gerald was somewhat accustomed to. As he stepped inside, a light bloomed from his fingertips. Soon, the horrors hiding in the darkness were laid bare in stark clarity.
Silver blood pooled everywhere, glinting transparently under the artificial glow. "......!"
A short gasp escaped someone. The wooden walls were plastered with silvery blood, and at the center lay chunks of mangled flesh, grotesquely splayed out—like an abstract painting by an artist drunk on persona.
In the heart of the now-illuminated stable, the mystical creature that had radiated pure white brilliance just last night was gone. Once proud in its nobility, its white fur was now matted and clumped in sticky crimson. Between its ripped-open chest, shriveled innards spilled out, adhering to the floor in bizarre patterns.
Traces of a ravenous beast tearing and devouring its prey. But a unicorn was a symbol of purity, a mystical being wielding purifying power... no ordinary animal could harm it.
'Another mystical creature's doing? No, that doesn't make sense.'
No matter how many mysterious beings inhabited this island, each had its own territory. It was rare for one to venture here to hunt.
"......Hmm."
Which meant this was likely a deliberate act. A unicorn's body was inherently noble, yet paradoxically, it became the most alluring medium for corrupt entities.
Most tragic was the unicorn's head. Its intelligent eyes were pulverized beyond recognition, and the horn on its forehead had been yanked out root and stem, leaving only a deep, crude hole.
"No traces anywhere."
Gerald's brow furrowed deeply. Who had the gall to commit such an atrocity right here in Eldmier?
With no incidents in recent decades, they'd grown complacent. He issued a low command to his assistant, who stood trembling beside him, hand over mouth.
"Go. Report this to the school."
"Y-yes, sir!"
The assistant scurried out of the stable. Whoever did this couldn't be a normal wizard. This proved a highly dangerous individual had infiltrated the school. They had to track and capture them.
But first, priority was alerting everyone. Even if they escaped, at least the students would be on guard.
Soon, behind that righteous sense of duty, Gerald's pragmatic worries bubbled up.
"Damn it, Professor Benedict's going to chew me out until I'm dust."
The sorrow of losing the unicorn paled against the dean of students' thunderous scolding prickling his back. Gerald gazed indifferently at the indigo sky pouring with starlight and let out a deep sigh.
"Just how much was this thing worth......?"
Heroes, wizards, saints, barbarians, archers, assassins. The world brimmed with professions, but when it came to debating the "strongest," they were all supporting roles at best.
So, what profession had produced the most all-time greats?
Anyone who knew the biz wouldn't even hesitate. It was the blacksmith.
The comrade you ignored comes crawling back, begging you to return. The whole world pleads for just one more item. The lover who declared breakup spirals into mental breakdown and ruin.
Legends that'd make your head spin just hearing them—the blacksmith was always the star.
Who wins between a creator god and a blacksmith? The blacksmith, duh.
World's greatest warrior vs. sculptor? Easy—sculptor takes it.
What kinda bullshit is this? Nah, these are the legends the world raves about. You calling it all a massive prank? Mass hypnosis?
Whoever doesn't buy this crap, cast the first stone.
Sigh, what do wet-behind-the-ears kids know? They just haven't grasped the world's truth yet.
In games, gear beats levels. Higher-grade skills outshine raw talent. Spending cash trumps grinding time—that's common sense unless you're some rice-thieving barbarian.
Mana? Enlightenment? Realms? Pfft—nope. One absolute power crushes all: gear advantage.
The sword-maker beats the sword-swingers. The wand-carver outclasses the spell-slingers. That's the meta.
Holy sword-wielding returned hero vs. divorced crypto whale? Don't make me laugh.
"Hah!"
『Aqua Flagel』
With a hearty kiai, I swung my wand. A condensed stream of water lashed out like a whip, slamming the front with brutal force.
Kwachik—!
The training ground cracked sharply, puffs of dust rising. Compared to other students' spells, it didn't fall short—in fact, it packed a sharper edge.
From afar, you couldn't tell, but up close? The difference shone.
Beauty reveals itself in the details. Magic too.
"Heh, water magic's not half bad, at least."
Unlike other kids wielding just a basic wand, my hands were loaded. One gripped the wand, the other a hefty, worn grimoire.
Mana flowed smoother with water than other attributes, for sure.
Heh—this was my power.
I gazed fondly at the grimoire tucked in my robe. If a status window hovered before me right now, it'd probably read something like this over the book:
◈ Effect: Slightly boosts water-attribute magic power and affinity.
◈ Description: Covered in suspiciously fishy leather, but its baseline performance is solid.
'This is efficiency. This is the way of the world.'
While others sweat over "talent" and "enlightenment," I juice my stats with aftermarket parts. Why trek the thorny path when there's a highway?
Wiping the satisfied smirk from my lips, I prepped the next spell. Can't have flickers followed by drips. No way in hell!! Hell no!!!!!
"Hahahahahahaha—"
My bottled-up laughter burst out. As I thrust my wand skyward in bombastic guffaws, Lily, practicing beside me, shot me a bewildered look.
'......He looks kinda sleazy.'
In her eyes, I probably resembled some scheming blackguard clutching a shady tome amid diligent peers—maybe not entirely wrong.
As if voicing her thoughts, a buzzkill voice chimed in from the side.
"Hah, decked out in all that junk and still just this? Is it zero talent, or is all your gear trash? Looks like both to me."
A classic dickhead tone shattering the fun. I didn't even need to turn—I knew who it was.
I sighed lightly, readjusting my wand. Sigh, the jealousy of mortals envious of genius. Geniuses are lonely in every era. The tragedy of talent. What a joke.
"Dunno. From where I'm standing, you need to slap on something cheap or not, fast. Falling this far behind, you gonna keep up in class?"
My sincere advice made his face stiffen.
"What? Hah, unbelievable!"
He barked a hollow laugh, genuinely pissed. Watching him, my brow twitched.
......This punk, copying me now?
"Relying on artifacts from the start means no solid foundation."
He cleared his throat like some lecturer. "It's the wizard who casts magic, not the wand or grimoire in your hands."
Slick looks hiding annoyingly diligent straight talk. But something about it grated.
Tsking, he eyed my grimoire and hammered the nail. "Are you the wizard, or the wand? Looks like the grimoire's got you on a leash."
He shook his head pityingly. His lackeys piled on like it was rehearsed.
"Yeah, looks dumb."
"Totally lame, lame."
"Even the grimoire's cheap."
"Kid's a beggar, that's why."
What a package deal of assholes. Rude pricks. No skill, all swagger. Third-, fourth-, fifth-place scrubs ganging up on the top dog? Made my eyes hurt.
Okay, not saying I'm top dog.... But fact is, my spell outpowered theirs this time.
"Yeah, yeah. Real diligent, good for you. Keep grinding."
I waved dismissively, curling my lips smugly. "But drawing stripes don't make a housecat a tiger. Kitty thrashes all it wants, still a kitty. Right?"
"What......? You filthy half-breed!"
My lazy sneer flushed his face beet-red in seconds. The lofty preacher vanished; he lunged like he'd swing his wand or grab my collar any second.
Back down now? Nah, not a man. Yeah, you walked right into it.
Magic? Pfft. Eat fists! Abracadabra!!
The kids' pure fists flew at each other's faces.