Note: This story begins near the end of Wistoria: Wand and Sword Chapter 11.
—
In an empty alleyway not far from the Town Square of Urbus Rigarden, a boy stood in quiet contemplation. He wore a white dress shirt, black dress pants and shoes, with a striking orchid-purple pendant hanging from his collar and a sheathed sword at his hip.
Not long after, he sweatdropped lightly as his magenta pupils—shining behind the circular glass of his spectacles—rose slightly. He reached up to his familiar, who was seated on top of his head.
"They were both acting kind of odd… do they not like each other or something?"
Will wasn't someone you could call emotionally attuned.
That much was painfully obvious by the number of times he had incidentally soured Elfaria's mood or set off Sion and the others—never knowing what he did wrong, only apologizing profusely or ducking out of the way to avoid their wrath.
And this situation felt no different. He didn't know what was wrong between Colette and Rosti.
But he did know something was definitely off.
He had come out today at Colette's invitation for a shopping trip, and with no reason to refuse, he was all too eager to meet with his friend.
It was a rare joy for him.
When his roommate insisted on tagging along, Will hadn't minded. The thought of a group outing with two of his best friends excited him.
But oddly enough, Rosti and Colette didn't seem to share that same enthusiasm.
Will didn't know why. And while he never saw them openly argue, he could've sworn they were practically tearing into each other in their thoughts—shooting invisible daggers with their eyes everywhere they went.
Whether it was at the clothing store, trying to find himself a new jacket.
Or passing food and refreshment stalls.
Or just walking down the street.
Will inwardly hoped he was imagining it. But when they all but politely told him to get his sword checked with Donan and the dwarves—one of his goals for the day—he knew something wasn't right.
Especially with that weak excuse about their presence making the dwarves uncomfortable.
That might've been true for other humans. But definitely not those two.
Rosti literally worked with Will at Gina's tavern—he was nearly as friendly with the dwarves as Will himself.
And Colette? She was a regular patron at Gina's. Slumland's community welcomed her warmly.
Will didn't say it out loud. He wouldn't say it, not with how Elfi, Father Ashley, and Workner-sensei taught him...
But frankly, Will smelled... bullshit.
He was still trying to piece together what caused the tension.
He was great friends with Rosti.
He was great friends with Colette.
Both of them seemed like the kind of person the other would get along with—friendly, easygoing.
And though they were formally introduced only today, they'd crossed paths many times through him. They'd always been cordial.
Will had expected them to get along splendidly.
Yet, whatever happened between them today said otherwise.
Will wanted to understand what went wrong.
The strange ki flaring from both friends—ki he couldn't get a proper read on—only left more questions than answers.
Maybe the insight of a magical beast gifted with the ability to transmit messages could help shed some light.
And maybe it could.
But unfortunately, he couldn't speak Carbuncle.
Kiki seemed to understand the situation, but the cat-like magical creature couldn't put it into words.
At least not in a way a Lyzance could comprehend.
She simply folded her furry black forelimbs, closed her eyes—those matching Will's—and gave a sagely nod.
"Mrow…"
Will nearly clicked his tongue in exasperation.
Just as he was about to sigh and head toward Slumland, his instincts flared—and his head snapped backward so fast it nearly threw Kiki off him.
"Mrow?!"
The Carbuncle hissed in protest as she tumbled down onto her owner's shoulder, making Will wince as he bit down on an apology he couldn't voice.
At least out loud.
S-Sorry, Kiki, but this skill Shishō taught me can sometimes make me paranoid!
Vowing inwardly to make it up to her later, Will schooled his expression, trying not to appear more antsy than he already was as he turned to face the new arrival that had startled him.
Seeing the familiar petite blonde with ocean-blue eyes—this time without her usual Academy robe—nearly caught him off guard.
She still wore her signature black ribbon tied around her hair and head, paired with her waist skirt and stockings.
But now, no longer covered by the robe, was a long-sleeved white blouse tucked neatly into her skirt.
The girl gave him a long look, as if sizing him up for his reaction. The way she assessed him made Will sweat.
Thankfully, she didn't press the issue. A moment later, she simply offered a nod.
"Will Serfort."
Will let out an inner sigh before inclining his head in greeting. "Lihanna."
Lihanna Owenzaus: Rigarden's famed Miss Perfect.
A practical shoe-in for this year's valedictorian, having already earned full credits across all three evaluation sections—spellwork, written, and praxis.
Someone so far beyond me she's practically a different species.
And that was exactly why Will found it strange that she seemed to be seeking him out, rather than simply passing by.
Will wasn't the type to keep his doubts to himself.
"Did… you need something from me?" he asked cautiously.
Lihanna met him with a level stare. Without giving anything away, she replied evenly.
"Do you have a moment? It shouldn't take long."
It didn't really feel like a question, not the way she didn't wait for an answer and instead spun on her heel.
"Follow me."
Will could do little more than blink—Kiki blinking alongside him—before hurrying in the direction she led.
After about five minutes of walking, Lihanna led him inside a grand mansion where a pair of butlers bowed upon entry.
Trying not to look as overwhelmed and out of place as he felt, Will did his best not to gape at the portraits, architecture, jewelry, chandeliers—every sign of wealth, each piece probably worth more than everything he owned.
Thump. Thump.
He followed Lihanna up two flights of polished wooden stairs, stopping at a set of complementing twin doors, centered beneath an arched frame.
Ka-chak.
Lihanna casually turned the silver handle and pushed her way through. Will stifled an inward welp and hurried to grab the door.
He turned around to close it as delicately as possible, afraid he might be scammed into paying reparations if anything was damaged.
He'd been bullied in countless ways over the past six years. Sadly, blackmail and intimidation were among the most common.
Letting go of the handle, he turned back—and froze.
Lihanna hadn't informed him of anything. Especially not additional company.
His ki had already alerted him to the others.
Maybe I should've been ready.
But maybe it's just been a long day, he told himself—because it wasn't until he saw them that the recognition struck.
And he certainly wasn't expecting them.
Wingall Lindor. Julius Reinberg. Sion Ulster.
The top three students in the sixth year after Lihanna. Two of whom had been some of Will's greatest tormentors throughout his time at the academy.
All seated around a luxurious rounded table, dressed in equally luxurious attire, with exquisite food and drink arranged before them.
Lihanna calmly took her stand at the head of the table.
Then she made a declaration far too casual for what it actually meant.
"It's our final term at the academy. Meaning, it's almost time for the all-student praxis."
Her ocean-blue eyes were as steady as her voice.
"I want the five of us to form a party for the dungeon dive."
Will nearly gaped at how absurdly natural she made it sound.
Once again, he didn't even get the chance to speak before someone else exploded first.
Maybe that was a blessing in disguise—one that saved him from embarrassing himself even more than he already felt.
Bam!
Sion shot to his feet, fire blazing in his eyes. His palm slammed the table with enough force to spill his tea.
If Will had done that, he'd already be imagining an empty money pouch and another week of overtime at Gina's tavern.
Sion didn't seem to share such financial woes. Veins bulged beneath his eyelids as he all but spat in Will's direction.
"Him?!" he roared. "What's the flunkee doing here?!"
Good question. I also want to know.
Will kept the inward comment to himself.
Julius, still seated and twirling a curl of his silky blue hair, had a similar vein twitching on his temple as he spoke.
His voice was soft. His words were not.
"Lihanna… what's going on? Want me to put him over ice for you?"
Will Serfort had always been amazed at how Julius managed to maintain his noble facade while saying—and doing—such cruel things.
Nearly cringing in discomfort, Will pried his gaze away from his two would-be assailants and turned to the undisputed leader in the room.
In the same room with the two people who hate me most in the world?! Why would you bring me here, Lihanna?!
Will inwardly cried dramatic tears.
For a moment, he even forgot about the existence of one Edward Serfence. Then again, he always had a strange soft spot for his abusive professor.
Some deep part of him insisted that the Dark Viper Mage wasn't cut from the same cloth as his other bullies.
Will never understood why that was. But as a sword, he tended to trust in one of the things a defective Lyzance like himself possessed.
His guts.
If he felt something, there had to be truth to it.
Unfortunately, the Owenzaus girl either didn't possess them or was simply even worse than him at reading a room.
She tilted her head—don't tell Elfi, but dare he say, cutely—to the side and asked in innocent confusion:
"…Is that a no?"
Will nearly wilted in disarray.
This oblivious?! Was she always this airheaded?!
His brief moment of comedic self-pity didn't last.
It was cut short by a noble heir who hated being ignored by a no-talent more than anything in the world.
"HEY!" Sion roared, even louder than before. "Don't you dare ignore me!"
"Whaaa?!"
Will nearly fell backward in shock as the Ulster heir launched himself from his seat and lunged with his right arm.
Not everyone was caught off guard by the sudden move.
Wignall, silent until now, had been watching.
He reacted instantly.
Producing his Greenseed Wand from his sleeve, the elf's forest-green eyes flashed as he pointed it toward Sion—just moments before the hand reached Will's collar.
Woosh.
A burst of magical energy rippled through the room. Mages felt it. Will smelled it—floral, familiar.
Flueria.
In a blink, the entire room transformed into a grassy field blooming with sunflowers and wild flora.
Sion froze, fingers still clutching Will's collar.
The two boys and Julius went wide-eyed, all turning in unison to Wignall.
He kept his wand raised and offered a soft smile. His tone hovered somewhere between teasing and mocking.
"When did you mages become as barbaric as the dwarves?"
Sion's face contorted with displeasure, though this time it wasn't directed at Will.
Psh.
He clicked his tongue in irritation, released Will, and turned a dark glare toward Wignall.
The elf remained utterly unfazed.
Glossed over before, everyone's attention was now drawn to him.
Interested. Captivated.
Perhaps even slightly intimidated.
Will's gaze, however, was laser-focused—calm and assessing.
Illusion magic!
He recognized it immediately.
A unique, non-elemental magical attribute possessed only by elves. It allowed them to summon scenes from their fantasies…
And eventually turn those fantasies from illusion into reality.
It was this rare magic, this exclusive ability, that fueled most elves' elitism.
Wingall's closed-eye smile radiated confidence and superiority—making it clear he shared in those feelings.
"What say we hear Lihanna out first?"
It didn't sound like a suggestion, yet no one raised objections.
Clicking his tongue once more and not sparing Will another glance, Sion dropped back into his seat, now turned to face Lihanna.
Julius had already resumed his indifferent, unbothered facade, while Will was simply relieved to finally get some sort of explanation.
Miss Perfect scanned the table before fixing her gaze directly across from her—on the Learner.
"I want to form a party of the best mages in our year…" she began, matter-of-factly, "…together with the person who stood out most at the festival."
Will's cheeks reddened slightly in embarrassment.
It wasn't every day the no-talent earned praise—especially from one of Rigarden's elite.
He felt himself growing giddy, only for that feeling to climb higher as Lihanna continued, now turning her attention to the others.
"He has skills that we lack. And the way I see it, that can only help us in the dungeon."
Will's cloud-nine moment barely lasted.
Julius twirled his hair, disdain smoldering in his eyes.
"I question your judgment, Lihanna," he said coolly, like the typical aristocrat he was. "Are you sure you haven't been misled by his meager festival performance?"
Reinberg nearly scoffed. "Dragging around a boy who can't even use Search will only drag us—"
He stopped himself.
A sour memory had surfaced. One he would've preferred remained buried.
His humiliating defeat at the festival.
All thanks to the same no-talent he was insulting. The same boy who somehow not only knew Ars Weiss' weakness but had the inhuman senses to exploit it, tracking Julius' magical leakage like a bloodhound.
Julius Reinberg narrowed his eyes, glancing sidelong at Will.
98 degrees, or the opposite of that… whatever it was he said… I don't believe a mere human could be that sensitive—let alone able to tell the difference between my footsteps and my clones'. Something's fishy about this no-talent…
Perhaps Julius' sudden silence would have drawn attention—
If not for Sion's outburst, cutting him off immediately.
"I don't want to be in a party with him either!" Sion shouted again, sounding like a broken record.
Boo hoo hoo…
Will inwardly wept once more.
Help once again came for him from an unexpected source.
Crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap, Wignall's mocking smile returned.
"All this meaningless pride and animosity…" he began with a sigh, as if surrounded by children, "…it sounds to me like you two are just bitter about losing to him."
The elf seemed entirely unconcerned with the ire his next words might provoke.
"Who are you to look down on someone who already defeated you? It's really quite petty."
Will Serfort had always liked Wingall Lindor.
But now that feeling was beginning to soar.
Sion, meanwhile, was feeling the exact opposite.
"WHAT?!" he snapped through gritted teeth, mentally adding Wignall to his growing list of enemies.
Yet Wignall carried on, unbothered, still smiling as he began listing off Will's strengths.
"He has the brute strength of a dwarf."
"The agility of a monster."
"Yes, he may not possess even the slightest hint of refinement… but his sword did best your wands."
Wignall spread his hands wide, glancing between Julius and Sion.
"And that is all that matters."
Sion looked ready to burst, while Julius, still composed, continued twirling his hair and responded with a lazy drawl.
"…You're one to talk. Aren't you still behind Lihanna in credits… O Noble Elf?"
Wignall didn't rise to the bait. He met Julius' words with the same lofty, magnanimous smile.
"Indeed I am. Which is why I respect her opinion."
His grin widened ever so slightly.
"And if she sees something in the no-talent, well… I'm inclined to respect him too—unlike the two of you."
The final line had an unmistakable edge, and Will felt a cold sweat prickle down his back.
Please don't take it out on me.
But strangely, both Julius and Sion went silent.
Neither shouted. Neither sneered.
They simply lowered their gazes, as if begrudgingly acknowledging something—or perhaps lost in thought.
"Hmph," Julius muttered with a half-hearted sneer, looking out the window.
Sion clenched his fist tightly.
The most humiliating moment in my life… where he of all people saved me from that… that thing! Fine then. The no-talent seems to know his way around a dungeon. Let him come.
And then I'll show him what I'm truly capable of.
Perhaps not entirely tone-deaf to the tense, sinking mood in the room, the self-proclaimed leader spoke again—drawing all attention back to her.
"I want to be the best in our year when I ascend the tower. And all of you are going to help me do that."
Her voice softened.
"If that's what it takes to win more fame and honor… as well as a better future for myself…"
There was a tinge of sorrow there, one that made Will instantly perk up in confusion.
"Wait… did you not get scouted at the festival?"
"The Thunder Faction showed some interest," Lihanna replied flatly.
That only puzzled him more.
"Then why go through all this trouble? You're already moving up once you graduate…"
Will was genuinely clueless.
From what he understood, the dungeon praxis was a last-ditch opportunity—for failing students to earn enough credits to graduate, or for subpar ones to barely meet the quota to be considered for Tower ascension.
Lihanna didn't fit either of those categories.
She already had a bright future ahead. So why risk it? Why stake something that could be compromised—or worse, lost?
As soon as he voiced his question, Lihanna shut her eyes.
Silence overtook the room. It stretched long and heavy, while she sat still, as if grappling with something sharp and weighty. Something sad. Something depressing. Something she didn't want to say—but had to.
Then her eyes opened again, calm and clear as the sea.
And she gave him an answer so casually delivered it barely sounded like it belonged to her.
"Because frankly, any students who don't make it to the Tower or have to go through the graduation route are leftovers. They're inferior."
Just like that, the field of flowers vanished.
The room was back to normal.
Well—not normal. If the atmosphere had been tense before, now it was borderline eerie, shadows flickering across Julius' and Wignall's faces like something unspoken had stirred.
Only Sion remained visibly unbothered, oddly enough.
But Will didn't notice that.
Inferior? What is she saying? She—Miss Perfect—is an inferior?
Seeing the confusion in his eyes, something in Lihanna's chest twisted.
She made another declaration—or maybe it was a confession. One that carried the expectations or duty of noble lineage, of death and ghosts.
She thought of her dear, departed sister.
Her cousins. Her aunts and uncles.
All the Owenzaus who'd been claimed too early by fate.
"I'm an Owenzaus," she said quietly. "And the Owenzaus generally die young."
"If I'm to prevent my family's ruin, I need to deliver overwhelming results."
Her voice rose—not in volume, but in power.
It grew more steady. More resolute. And for the first time… raw.
"Simply ascending the Tower won't be enough."
She scanned the room with eyes like sharpened lightning.
"When it comes down to it, I'll do whatever it takes to become a Magia Vander."
Will's breath hitched. His pupils trembled.
But she wasn't finished.
From out of nowhere, a golden chalice manifested on the table in front of her—and a golden coin before each of them.
For Lihanna, hers bore the image of a mage's staff in front of a thunderbolt.
For Wignall, a beautiful flower in bloom.
For Sion, a flaming bird.
On Julius'—a snowflake.
And for Will… a sword sheathed behind a shield.
"Surely I can't be the only one here with a dream."
The four observing her grew more solemn, more focused.
Each gripped with something unspoken.
Lihanna picked up her coin, held her hand above the cup… and dropped it in.
Clang.
"If you see any merit in this… then take one of the coins in front of you and place it in the goblet."
She said nothing more.
She didn't have to.
From their sleeves, Sion and Julius produced their Halcon and Bluemirror wands, respectively.
With Wignall joining them, all three pointed to their coins.
A soft silver glow wrapped each one as levitation magic took hold—and the coins floated into the air.
"I agree, of course. Forming a party with the people here today gives us the best chance of success."
Whatever thoughts were stirring inside Wignall, he didn't voice them.
Neither did Julius. Nor Sion.
"Do I really have a choice? I need more credits…"
"...Hmph."
With matching flicks of their wrists, the trio let their coins drop.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
And then, there was only one left.
Will.
He stared down at the coin resting in his palm.
A dream, huh...?
Will thought back.
Back to when he was five or six.
When life had fewer worries.
When she was still by his side.
He thought about their promise.
Their vow.
How they used to read The Adventures of Denma over and over together.
On the orphanage rooftop beneath the fake sky.
During the day. Beneath the curtain of night.
In the forest.
Even during their brief time together at the academy—
—a time foggy and half-lost in his memory.
With his thumb, Will flicked the coin into the air.
It spun.
It shook.
And—
Clang.
It landed with the others.
As Lihanna cast him a short, approving glance, Will's thoughts were already drifting elsewhere.
With his promise. To see the real sun and moon.
Alongside the girl still waiting for him in the Tower.
To peek through the fake sky… and finally see the truth beyond it.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Rigarden Academy
Time didn't wait for the students.
As soon as the weekend ended and classes resumed, the teachers took the stage.
At the front of the lecture hall, Workner-sensei stood with his wand in hand, narrowing his hazel eyes behind rimmed glasses.
"As you all know," he began, pointing toward the board, "the all-student praxis will begin in ten days."
The hall quieted instantly.
For once, no one cloud-gazed or dazed off.
Every student hung on his words with rare, collective focus.
As Workner waved his wand toward the board, a diagram drawn in chalk began to glow—manifesting into a three-dimensional outline of a dungeon.
"As students, your academic careers have involved ascending one floor each year. Floors one through six."
At least, that's how it should be.
Workner thought that wryly, resisting the urge to glance at his favorite student.
"Floors seven through ten were off-limits to you. Unlocked only under very specific circumstances. This... is one of them."
"This is an opportunity. One that will allow you to fight Over-Five enemies—and other high-credit monsters—providing you the chance to save your futures. Or perhaps... carve out a better and formerly unthinkable one."
He let his eyes drift across the lecture hall, watching the gleam of excitement stir in many of them.
Workner didn't like that gleam.
"This shall be the only time Rigarden permits you to earn more than one thousand credits at once."
Like a spell undone, the room's energy dropped.
The students sobered up fast.
Good.
They remembered what this was: a fleeting, brutal opportunity. One they could not afford to waste.
But Workner wasn't finished.
"Floor Keepers are particularly valuable," he reminded them. "Defeating even one will earn you a substantial amount of credits."
He adjusted his glasses slightly, voice calm but firm.
"I'll say it one more time. This is your chance to make up for any missing credits. And if you hope to ascend the Tower… then this may also be your last chance to make your mark."
His eyes darkened.
"Do. Not. Waste. It."
Gulp.
The collective sound of dry swallowing filled the air.
Sweat glistened on their cheeks.
Heads nodded—quickly, profusely.
Workner smiled brightly.
Good.
Unfortunately, the students' fears and nightmares were just beginning.
Before anyone could even sigh in relief, another voice—silent until now—spoke from the back of the classroom.
"In theory, you can earn full praxis credits through the All-Student Praxis."
All heads turned toward Edward-sensei as he stepped forward, casually taking Workner's place at the front of the room.
Hands in his coat pockets, ever the blunt realist, he delivered his bombshell with no hesitation.
"Needless to say… some of you will die."
The room gasped. Students stiffened.
Workner groaned softly into his palm, already feeling a migraine coming on—but he didn't interrupt.
Some things need to be said. And no one's warnings are taken more seriously than Edward Serfence's.
As if reading off weather conditions, Edward continued in a flat, lazy drawl.
"Last year, four students were eaten by monsters."
A collective gulp passed through the room.
"Yes, teachers are stationed throughout the dungeon during the Praxis. But they can't be everywhere. And those of you planning to deep-dive away from camps or outposts…"
He shrugged.
"...Might as well order a coffin and write your wills now, if you think this is going to be a stroll."
The room chilled.
"Act rashly, and you won't leave the dungeon. She is alive. The unprepared will feel her wrath. The arrogant—her sadism. The overachievers—her cruelty."
"Forget about playing the hero."
Will's pupils dilated.
Edward didn't need magic to darken the room. His words alone made it suffocating.
"What we want to see isn't how desperately you want to become a Magia Vander," he finished.
"It's whether you have the good sense to realize… you're not that special."
With that, Edward and Workner exited the room without another word.
The moment they left, the students broke into hushed panic.
Books snapped shut. Notes were gathered. Desks were cleared in a rush.
Many sprinted off to start their preparations—heading to artificing workshops to buy magic tools, others to teachers to beg for dungeon-floor strategies beyond the textbooks.
Some planned to brew elixirs or track down rare life-saving gear.
Because no one—no one—was willing to waste these next ten days.
Days that could very well be their last.
Will Sefort was no exception.
He closed his notebook with a quiet snap, eyes narrowing as he looked out the window.
Time to pay Shishō a visit.
It was time for some extra lessons.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author's Notes:
[1] I'll try to do better here than in my last story
[2] Feel free to join the discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar