The very next day, the Wizarding World launched a sudden assault on the homeland of the Gaiensar World.
Although the Gaiensar side had made some preparations, the scale and determination of the Wizarding World far exceeded their expectations.
In less than a few hours, a breach was torn open in the Gaiensar World's outer defensive perimeter—the barrier surrounding their world.
"Rumble rumble..."
With an ominous peal of thunder, countless blue, chain-like patterns lit up in the sky. At the same time, translucent protrusions slowly materialized in the surrounding space, distorting those chains little by little. It was as if someone was trying to forcefully break through the blockade, violently squeezing their way inside.
For the first time in thousands of years, the alarm bells once again echoed throughout the Gaiensar World.
Countless civilians, going about their business unhurriedly, turned pale the instant they saw the sky. Dropping everything, they scrambled toward the nearest shelters.
Meanwhile, large contingents of the Gaiensar's local defense forces were urgently redeployed to the breach, ready for combat.
Not long after, as the chains shattered, a spatial rift was violently torn open above the Gaiensar homeland.
Anyone standing on the surface of the Gaiensar World only needed to look up to see a long, narrow crack hanging overhead.
From that rift emerged three figures in distinct attire. The one in the lead swept his gaze calmly across the alert Gaiensar soldiers and their war machinery but didn't take them seriously. His gaze instead drifted toward the distant horizon—he could sense a gathering of powerful individuals there.
With that thought, a wave of psychic power radiated out from him, and a voice echoed in the minds of every creature who saw him:
"From this moment forward, we—on behalf of the Wizarding World—formally declare war against the Gaiensar World. No false pretenses, no empty rhetoric. Only one of our civilizations will survive the Sea of Worlds."
As the voice faded, the massive Gaiensar armies instantly received an attack order from central command.
In the blink of an eye, a torrential storm of attacks surged forth from every direction, all aimed at the three intruders.
The lead wizard responded with a faint smirk of disdain. A black void opened on his forehead.
"So cautious... not even one halfway decent opponent showed up."
The wizard beside him also had a black void open on his forehead. Unbothered, he replied, "Then so be it. Let's just get it done."
He shrugged, clearly uninterested in dragging things out. "Alright then."
In that instant, all three of their bodies dissolved into floating, black, illusory spheres, suspended midair.
Like springheads, they began releasing vast amounts of black mist, completely ignoring the Gaiensar forces' bombardment as it streamed downward into the earth.
Anything the mist came into contact with—whether matter or energy—simply passed through unaffected, as if the two existed in separate dimensions.
The Gaiensar psionics observing from the shadows immediately turned grim. Instinctively, they felt the need to act at once.
Without hesitation, massive waves of psionic energy surged forth like crashing tides, aiming to destroy the three black spheres.
But the moment their powers touched the spheres, an unknown, highly corrosive toxin rode the energy currents back toward their true bodies—startling them into shock.
Left with no other choice, they hastily severed the afflicted energy like a soldier cutting off a poisoned limb.
As they hesitated, watching the three spheres continue to spew black mist, a commanding voice rang out in their minds:
"That area's space has already been fully corrupted. Use Gallonel's Blade to cut it off and dispose of it."
"Yes, sir!"
With their superior's order, the psionics immediately complied.
Back at command, the officer in charge of the operation watched through a screen as his subordinates executed the plan, a flicker of confusion in his heart. He couldn't quite understand the Wizarding World's motive.
"Go to all this trouble to break into our world… just to pollute a section of space?"
"That doesn't seem like a worthwhile trade..."
Replaying the scene over and over in his mind, he tried to detect anything unusual—but found nothing at all…
---
Forty Years Later
Staring coldly at the two people before him, Orsaga asked with a deadpan expression,
"What do you want? Speak if you have something to say. If not—get lost."
His attitude was just as foul as ever. From his arrogant gaze to his complete lack of courtesy, every detail radiated the entrepreneurial philosophy of "Don't like it? Don't buy it."
Since he never promoted his services, and those who found him were usually desperate and at the end of their rope.
Staring up at Orsaga, Charles hesitated. He'd heard no shortage of horror stories about this place before coming.
According to veteran clients, the first visit made you cry, the second crushed your spirit, and the third made you regret being born.
Yet even so, everyone who had come here admitted one thing: the results spoke for themselves.
Still, Charles suspected some of that praise came from a "Misery loves company" mentality…
But glancing at the half-dead Saya beside him, Charles finally spoke:
"I hope you can cure him. Whatever the price—if I can manage it—I'll pay."
Orsaga gave Saya a glance.
With nearly a century of experience in medical research and poisons, it didn't take him long to figure out the problem: Saya's body and soul had suffered a shock, resulting in a violent mismatch that prevented consciousness from returning.
In seconds, Orsaga had already come up with several viable treatments.
"5,500 Tier-2 magical beast souls," he said.
Following his usual strategy of "mark it up a thousandfold and see who bites," he quoted the price flatly.
Charles visibly flinched. His face shifted through a series of emotions before he gritted his teeth and nodded.
There were people in the Wizarding World capable of healing Saya—but none of them were accessible to someone of his standing. So this was his only option.
"Good."
They signed the contract.
The next moment, Orsaga's power surged into Saya's body and began reshaping it.
As his magic seeped inside, Orsaga suddenly detected a dormant bloodline—clearly an artificial transplant. A typical wizard trick: bloodline grafting to steal the abilities of other races.
He could tell that this bloodline had a strong self-regulating ability and had formed a symbiotic relationship with Saya. If activated, it would allow Saya to heal naturally.
Better yet, the activation cost was two-thirds lower than the treatment he'd originally planned.
So, with zero hesitation, Orsaga switched methods on the fly.
Whether activating that bloodline would lead to other side effects? Not his problem. His job was to make sure the patient woke up—nothing more.
Moments later, he turned to the stunned Charles and said calmly,
"The treatment was a success. Her body is in excellent condition. She'll wake up in a couple days."
While he had to admit Saya looked extremely healthy, Charles felt something… was off.
Flustered, he gestured anxiously: "But… he… now…"
Before he could even finish, Orsaga waved him off.
"Shallow thinking. What, she can't be a woman? Women can hold up half the sky! Your prejudiced nonsense makes me feel cold even in the middle of summer! Besides—even if his gender changed, he's still the same person. Stop being so superficial! You're too young and naïve!"
"!!"
Charles was stunned.
He hadn't expected Orsaga to be so utterly shameless.
Before he could protest, Orsaga casually waved a hand and teleported them both out.
Thrown into a sea of flowers outside, Charles immediately began flailing and howling in panic—convinced he'd failed Saya miserably.
After exhausting himself with guilt, he finally calmed down. Staring at the still-unconscious Saya—now sporting the elegant features of a female elf—he found himself thinking:
:Maybe… this isn't the worst outcome? I mean, gender doesn't affect combat ability…'
___
T/N:
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