Dan and Alexander soared through the night sky on a frantic hunt for the thief.
Driven by sheer determination, they sliced through the air with surgical precision while the city below blurred into a maze of lights and shadows.
It was shaping up to be a miserable night for Dan. Barely a week had passed since he returned from an expedition, and he was still fatigued—yet here he was again, fighting for his life. "Damn thief," he muttered, thinking of the ice-mana spring crystal he'd stashed away, a gem that had taken at least ten thousand years to form.
Without question, it was priceless. He had only been waiting for his monster to recover so it could absorb the crystal; at peak strength, the creature's absorption rate would be higher, perhaps unlocking a powerful new ability.
Dan intended to squeeze every drop of potential from that crystal.
Fortunately, Alexander—headmaster of another academy—was visiting. Together they had boxed in the bandit; without Alexander's help the thief might have vanished for good with the prize.
High above the sleeping city the two men glided silently between rooftops, eyes sharp for any sign of their quarry. A cold breeze and the glitter of stars followed them as they adjusted speed and altitude to trace the thief's faint trail.
"There's no trace of his energy. He probably couldn't fly and ended up badly hurt," Dan observed. Alexander concluded the fugitive had likely holed up in someone's house, already pitying whatever family had been taken hostage—if they were even still alive.
Had Arngrim overheard that conversation, he'd have been alarmed by the hunters' insight—and far less relaxed.
Without warning, a flash of light erupted, followed by a thunderous boom that rolled across the city. Far out on the outskirts they glimpsed a familiar silhouette: the Mist Dragon, visible for only an instant before it vanished again.
"Let's move!" they agreed, and streaked toward the spot.
*****
Arngrim lay on the living-room sofa, eyes closed, when something clattered down the stairs with a muffled thud.
He didn't rush to his feet; he assumed it was someone who lived there. If so, no cause for alarm—a mere gesture would solve any problem. Unlucky soul to stumble upon him!
But when he rose, he saw no one. Was his mind playing tricks? Had that brick always been there, or was it the source of the noise?
What a ridiculous scare. He lay back down and shut his eyes; he needed rest if he was to leave the city as soon as possible.
Then the muffled sound came again, this time from the floor near the stairs. Arngrim sprang up and exclaimed,
"What the hell is going on?"
He scrutinized the spot, but nothing seemed out of place.
"Huh? Has that brick always been there?" he wondered.
Finding nothing amiss, he lay down again, though he kept his eyes open for a while, watching.
When nothing else happened, he finally closed them.
"Putf!"
Once again a muffled sound echoed. Earlier he had ignored the noise, but now it was unmistakably strange. He rose in an instant, eyes darting toward the source.
The brick? Studying it more carefully, he realized it wasn't just his imagination: when he'd first heard the noise, the brick had been almost at the foot of the stairs, yet now it was inching steadily toward him…
He hesitated, unsure what to do. Was this a threat? Should he approach? If he released his summon he would feel safer, but that would alert his pursuers—and he'd be finished.
How ridiculous, he told himself. Summon his monster just to deal with a brick? What could a brick possibly do?
Even if it moved on its own, what real harm could it cause? Was he a coward? Minutes ago he'd faced two Masters; now he was backing away from a piece of construction material?
At worst he'd walk over and crush it; whatever scheme the person who planted it had in mind would be over.
Arngrim advanced cautiously, yet the closer he got the more absurd it all seemed…
Given his earlier escape—so desperate he'd needed a treasure—he should have been tense, but feeling bolder he crouched and picked up the brick. Nothing special: as ordinary as any other, without the faintest trace of energy.
Then Arngrim squeezed, trying to pulverize it. Unexpectedly every finger in his hand snapped.
He hadn't held back; the task should have been simple. In his mind he'd grind it to powder. But in that very instant he felt mana emanating from the brick—it was a monster. He dropped it at once.
The brick's resistance proved it was no trivial thing. Without a second thought, aware his life was in danger, he summoned his monster, ignoring the attention it would draw.
The mighty Black Mist Dragon erupted in a burst of shadowed energy.
Thirty meters long and nearly twenty high, the beast's arrival shook the room, walls crumbling and the roof cracking beneath the pressure of its presence.
Arngrim ordered the dragon to obliterate the brick. Though puzzled, the creature obeyed, launching a bolt of black lightning.
Yet before the beam could strike, a faint glow blossomed from the brick, releasing a chain of seals that, to Arngrim's horror, locked onto the dragon. What was happening? His heart sank. How dangerous could a simple brick be? Were all these houses built from the same stuff? He felt insane.
In less than a heartbeat, the seals shredded the incoming energy as waves erase a sandcastle. They struck the dragon—and it vanished. Arngrim stood frozen.
Blood dribbled from his lips; his monster was dead… How terrifying this had become.
He watched the fearsome brick-shaped creature dissolve into light.
"A summon! It belonged to someone? Of course it did; that person targeted my monster specifically!"
"Damn you," he thought. "I'll deal with you once I recover. Damn this city—damn you all!"
Arngrim was beside himself.
Moments later, two beams of light burst over the horizon.
"Ah, crap… more troublesome people," he muttered. Low on mana and without his summon, he tried to take to the sky in desperation, even though he knew he wouldn't get very far.
What place is this?
Seated on a bench beneath the shade of a tree laden with beautiful blossoms—of a species Marcelo couldn't name—he wondered if this might be the perfect spring afternoon. Before him, a charming couple strolled past, completing the scene.
The young woman, who looked no more than twenty, smiled while gazing so intently into the boy's eyes that Marcelo half-believed the young man could see his own reflection in them.
The boy had a pleasant look about him; though not muscular, he was athletic and carried the firm-featured face of someone in the prime of life. His short brown hair matched well with his tall frame—almost 1.77 m.
The woman beside him was a touch shorter.
Yet she was truly enchanting.
Her features were strikingly vivid: black hair framing a lovely face with subtle, jade-like delicacy—like a mythic nymph brought to life.
Lips as red as apples, hypnotic brown eyes that made Marcelo's heart almost leap from his chest.
Then the girl asked:
"Would you like to live in another world?"
Marcelo watched the boy grow flustered at the question, clearly awkward and at a loss for words.
Yet, as though on autopilot, the words slipped from his mouth:
"I'm not sure… I think wherever you are, I'd be happy to be."
The girl smiled.
Without delay, gently tucking a lock of hair behind her lovely face, she pressed:
"Then—will you promise me?"
He looked at her, surprised. "Promise what?"
"That you'll go with me, wherever I go."
Her voice rang with expectation.
With a calm smile he answered, "I promise."
"To the end of the world?"
"Yes, to the end of the world."
"Forever?"
"For all eternity."
Ugh, how sickly sweet! This sounds like some Korean drama, Marcelo thought.
"And why does it feel like some kind of pact? Who would be naïve enough to fall for that?"
Marcelo chuckled.
Poor guy—he doesn't know that beautiful women are actually the most dangerous.
A Korean drama? What is that again?
Once more, a fog rolled through his mind, making him brush off the question.
Suddenly a deafening crash shattered the moment's peace, yanking him from the daydream.
Marcelo opened his eyes to see the ceiling collapsing.
"No… not again. Why does the world always end when I'm asleep?"
Taking in the house's total ruin, he stood frozen before the devastation.
The walls, once solid, were now laced with deep cracks and scars of violent impact. The roof, partially caved in, exposed splintered beams and tiles scattered across the floor.
Rubble and dust formed a shroud over every corner, heightening the sense of abandonment.
Shattered windows and dangling doors bore witness to the destruction.
Marcelo sighed. When gods clash, mortals always pay the price.
It was probably just another summoner and his monster getting into trouble, and—as an apprentice—he had no way to seek justice on his own. That fact weighed on him deeply.
Resolute, he thought, "One day I'll be stronger, and I'll make every one of those shameless brutes pay for driving ordinary people from their homes." But how would he explain any of this to the guild master? What a headache!
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Marcelo mused as he saw a man and woman descending from the sky. It was Dragomir himself—the guild master.
Laughing, Dragomir said,
"When I saw that explosion and noticed all the damage centered here, I figured it might involve you. Care to tell me what happened?"
Marcelo, still flustered, replied that he knew nothing. One moment he'd been asleep, the next he'd woken to the house collapsing.
Intrigued, Dragomir nodded.
"All right, I understand everything."
Marcelo, incredulous, asked,
"You really understand?"
"Perfectly. Don't worry; I'll arrange a new place for you," Dragomir said.
Meanwhile Marcelo was thinking,
"This guild master must be crazy! First the wall, now the whole house… and all he does is give me more stuff!"
Worried about hidden motives, he blurted out,
"Master Dragomir, I'm only interested in women; I don't need all this attention!"
His heart pounded—he might end up paying for everything later, but his pride had no price.
Dragomir, surprised, replied,
"I think you misunderstand me, Marcelo. I only want to be an ally, which is why your well-being matters to me."
Relieved, Marcelo thanked him.
Dragomir then introduced the young woman, who looked about Marcelo's age. Around twenty-four, she had the same black hair as Dragomir, striking blue eyes, and an oval face with beautiful cheekbones—a unique charm.
"This is my granddaughter, Elena. I don't look that old, do I?" he joked.
Ever curious, Elena had insisted on meeting Marcelo and greeted him shyly:
"Pleased to meet you."
Marcelo responded in kind, and after a brief chat they said their farewells. Dragomir told Marcelo to gather anything important and simply come to the guild; a new home would be arranged.
A few minutes after the pair left—while Marcelo stuffed a change of clothes and whatever else he deemed useful into a bundle—two men arrived.