"Illusion Mage?"
"Illusion mage?"
Dylan snorted involuntarily. The mystery of the failed ambush unraveled with that single introduction from his opponent.
"What's so funny?"
"They say you need to know magic to take on a mage. So I did a little research myself."
Dylan drew the two daggers from his belt. The blades spun nimbly in both hands like a trick, clashing against each other and sparking.
"That's junk magic."
A breeze blew. Metaph, pondering as his bangs settled, finally came up with an answer.
"So?"
"It means your little tricks are pointless now. You've messed with my senses, right?"
The words hit the mark. The low-level mage let out an admiring gasp, as if surprised.
"Whoa, you saw right through it."
"The fact that you tracked me down means you're on night duty or something. Not sure if you're even a professor anymore, though."
"And why's that?"
"Bragging about being an illusion mage gives away your weakness right from the start. If you're professor-level, you should be worth ten of them."
The daggers, grating irritably against each other, suddenly went still. Their tips pointed toward the mage, aimed for the afterlife.
"Want a proposal?"
Dylan decided to show one last mercy to the guy who still hadn't fled, playing protector.
"Tell me where the higher-ups are, and I'll send you off painlessly."
"You really mean that?"
It wasn't the response he'd expected. Normally, they'd puff up with useless pride or beg and cry. But this one kept up his sneering attitude.
"This bastard thinks it's a joke..."
"You've talked long enough, so can I ask one question too?"
Dylan felt a thrill at the prey lunging in. The vibe of someone desperate to try something. The outcome was set, but at least it'd be entertaining.
"If it's your last words."
"Why are you targeting mages?"
It was an absurd question. In this situation, who cared? Yet asking his motives, questioning the beast's roots of slaughter—it felt strangely fresh.
"My side's simpler than that."
Gripping his daggers reverse-style, Dylan thought of the Night Raven. A place anyone could join if they vowed to kill mages. They never showed their faces to each other, communicating only through old-school methods—a group shrouded in veils. Their goals aligned, but motives varied wildly.
"Truth is, mage or street bum, doesn't matter. I just need a justification. That's it."
Justification for slaughter. The Night Raven gave him that for his joy in crushing the same kind: the noble cause of purging society's evil, mages.
"You just got unlucky."
The blade sliced his thigh. Euphoria exploded, overwhelming the pain surging through his veins. Staring ahead after cutting his own flesh, Dylan invoked the primal way to break illusion magic.
Reclaiming stolen senses. And nothing woke them like pain.
As planned, the dumb mage was a step away from where he'd seemed. The illusion was broken.
The ground kicked up, sound ripping through the night air. It was thrilling. The moment of lunging, pressing the blade to the neck. Imagining the fresh blood spraying before he could even catch his breath. Pure joy for him.
Slash—
The longed-for sensation flowed through his palm. The distance closed in an instant. The hot red liquid soaking that gap always reminded him he was alive.
Savoring the split-second with his whole body, Dylan lifted his gaze from the neck to confirm the fading life.
That's when he saw it.
Eyes wide open, not shut. Violet pupils gleaming sharply in the dark.
A venomous serpent.
Thud—
Dylan stumbled back hastily, readjusting his grip on the dagger. The process had been flawless. Slashed, killed. No exceptions in such a simple motion.
"Irredeemable trash."
In the shifted atmosphere, the mage smirked and wiped his neck. The wound and blood vanished cleanly under his hand.
Less magic, more miracle. Where had it gone wrong? He'd reclaimed his senses for sure. If before that was the issue, maybe the target wasn't an illusion mage. Or he'd faked it.
Even so, that recovery speed was impossible outside the Magic Tower's old fogeys.
"Even people make wrong choices sometimes. Correcting them is possible too."
"...What the hell?"
Dylan lowered his stance warily at the changed tone, ready to react to anything. All senses sharpened, focused on one man.
"I'm saying pests like you don't even deserve salvation."
His sweat-slicked eyes blinked in tension. The sting from the droplet caused it.
When vision returned after the brief blackout...
He stood on the peaceful outer wall.
"...?"
Like the mage's wound vanishing. Bloodstains on his clothes and the ground—gone in a blink.
Even stranger was his own state. Daggers undrawn, stance straight. Just like when he'd first climbed the wall, facing the opponent.
"What the..."
"Illusions aren't for trash like you to comprehend."
A distant roar began. Swiveling to find the source, Dylan spotted what shouldn't be there.
"Drowning on dry land—a rare experience. Good parting gift, no?"
Water surged from all sides. Like a tsunami hitting inland.
"You fucking bastard!"
The world submerged rapidly.
"A competent comrade will chew your head to bits!"
"Oh, the one I told I'd be at Snowrobe tonight?"
"...What?"
Water lapped at his toes, soaking his shoes. Dylan mulled the incomprehensible words.
The mage ahead seemed to know about their infiltration tonight. Through prior intel from someone.
The letter he pulled sealed it.
"He knows he can't cause harm inside Snowrobe, so not my concern."
"What the hell does that mean..."
"That's why I prepared you as a time-killer. No need for us to clash."
Water reached his chin. Dylan steadied his breath when a low voice sounded.
"Won't kill you, though. Might squeeze some info from trash like you."
Consciousness drowned.
The world went under.
*
"An exception, huh."
Maness whipped his head around from the orb he'd been focusing on. A man entered his view. An odd familiarity emanated from someone who didn't seem like a student.
"Expected the Jerman lady."
Silver hair like moonlit glow. Eyes wilder than a beastman's. Recognizing him, Maness recalled the name.
Row.
The one who'd embraced demon power.
"...Who are you?"
Play dumb for now. Why was this monster at Snowrobe now? Showing himself here.
He needed time to figure it out.
"You feel it too—not professor or student."
Rummaging memories frantically, Maness recalled a scene. Iris's casual chat about bumping into a weirdo while scouting Snowrobe late evening.
If he'd noted it well, he'd realize later it was a Night Raven exec.
That time was now.
Flashback done, Maness faced him squarely. The guy could take his life with a flick. But no despair. He knew better than anyone he couldn't act rashly at Snowrobe.
"Sorry, wrong person. I really don't know who you..."
"If true, no need to tense up."
Maness shut his mouth. No sweat or trembling hands. Ability to detect minute mana or behavioral shifts. Pure insight.
"Maness Pictri, right?"
"......"
"Don't be wary. Just here to say hi."
Row spread his arms reassuringly.
"I'm not dumb enough to threaten a student in the headmaster's domain."
Snowrobe lacked security beyond on-duty professors. No need. One existence tamed any monster like a lamb.
The headmaster watched every intruder's move even now.
"Then don't waste time on me—go greet who you came for."
"That's why I'm here."
"...You came for me?"
Maness reconsidered Row. Night Raven members had unique worldviews. Extreme individualists.
Row's eccentricity stood out.
"You look the most promising to me."
Light needs shadow, so he became one. Lowly existences let others rise, so he stayed down. Hope sweetens with despair, so he embraced only that.
The cataclysm long ago. Heroic epics passed down. Too peaceful for legends of expelling demons from the continent, Row realized.
So he chose chaos.
For a hero's return.
"Your mana’s unique, though."
Seeing through mana without touch, Row showed interest. Impossible normally, but Maness got it. Once a prodigy hailed to etch history. Snowrobe's brightest grad ever.
"Impressive... not enough. At this level, rapid growth, no limits."
Watching Row lost in thought, Maness gathered mana into the orb.
"And similar to me. Not quite human..."
Unwelcome encounter, but a chance to test his power. Perfect while off-guard.
Orb like a mana bullet. Heightened senses from tension aided focus.
Boosting mana density around the practice orb felt like a third arm emerging, dominating his body.
Now.
Target: Night Raven. Puppet in the headmaster's grasp.
Fire.
Silver bullet surged. The ultra-compressed mana orb streaked straight like light.
Thud—
It hit true—into darkness.
No metaphor. The shot orb embedded in a black wall from the ground, smoking.
Row's demon-assimilated power. Curse that once razed a kingdom.
Living darkness.
Clap clap—
Applause from behind crumbling shadows. Row emerged, beaming.
"Fun, fun!"
Clapping on, his eyes sharpened.
"Glad I visited my alma mater. Maybe fate."
Maness thought the same—fortunate timing. That reaction meant interest regardless. Cue to overhaul plans.
"But that greeting's rough."
"Hard to chat smoothly with someone muttering alone."
"Apologies for that."
Bowing gentlemanly, Row turned, gazing afar.
"Hate seeing that classmate soon anyway. That's it for today."
Classmate sparked a name.
"...Professor Metaph?"
"Yeah, the one with your talent."
Row extended a hand. Darkness walls rose around Maness.
"You'll soar higher than him. Don't disappoint."
The walls blinded his view. Soon dissolving, Row was gone.
Like night fading at dawn.
Maness picked up the orb on the dirt, still warm from moments ago.
"Gonna be busy, damn it."
Unlike planned, he'd drawn Night Raven eyes. Total shitshow.