The guard captain drifted for a long moment.
When he came back to himself, he realized Gauss was looking right at him.
"Thank you for saving us! My name's Jimmy—how should I address our benefactor?"
The thought that, without this man, he and his comrades might already be on the ground bled out sent a flash of relief through his eyes.
"Just call me Gauss."
Sensing the surge of professional aura rising off the man, Gauss blinked. It was his first time seeing someone advance into a class in front of him. The man wasn't particularly young either—likely not the most gifted sort. Looked like the goblins' pressure had been high enough; under that weight, he'd broken through on the spot.
"Gauss, there are a few more."
Alia and the others came up behind him. They'd run down a handful of goblins that tried to bolt in the chaos.
Gauss flicked his sword a few times and took their heads.
Never refuse a small good deed just because it's small.
The guard captain watched, puzzled. He didn't quite see why Gauss's teammates had gone out of their way to herd the goblins back so he could finish them. Wasn't that redundant? With the power of this elite party, any one of them could have wiped up at will. He didn't ask—chalked it up to coincidence.
Serandur slipped past to tend the wounded guards behind them.
"What are you all doing out here?" Gauss asked, eyeing their gear. Clearly they were hired swords—so where was the client? When he'd seen the fight from the air, he could've sworn there were other figures.
"We took a private job—escort a mage and his grandson to Sena City," Jimmy said, jaw tightening at the memory. "While me and my boys were bleeding, that old mage slipped off."
Private job—partial advance now, balance on delivery. Selling out your team and skipping the check, all in one. "He'd told us to hold a little longer so he could prep a spell to 'help' us."
Jimmy's fists clenched. Next time, he swore, he'd plant one right in the wrinkles of that old face.
Thinking of the mage, then of the handsome swordsman who'd stepped in, he couldn't help but sigh. "Casters—always got a scheme. Fighters like you—got heart."
Stereotype or not, class does shape temper.
Gauss blinked, a touch awkward. "Jimmy, truth is—I'm a caster."
"Huh?" Jimmy turned back, blank—as if he hadn't heard right. A caster? He replayed that blur-fast footwork in his mind—how? But the hint shook something loose: the way the man had descended from the sky; the robe—he'd put it down to a… personal taste. Warriors can fly through items, talents, odd skills—but it's not common. For a caster, it made sense.
"I only dabble in the sword," Gauss added. He had awakened a second sword class, but he had no intention of telling everyone. Dual-class adventurers weren't common; it was better kept as a card up his sleeve.
"Dabble…" Jimmy's mouth twitched. He suddenly felt very tired. After all those years honing melee, to be outdone by a "mere mage"—complicated didn't begin to cover it.
After a quick breather, Serandur finished patching the guards. Thanks to Gauss arriving when he did, the goblins hadn't had time to do lasting harm. For a Level 4 Priest, these were just cuts and bruises.
"What now?" Gauss asked, watching the guards right a wagon and calm the horses.
"I'm going to Sena," Jimmy said. "That old codger's headed there. I'm going to make him answer for this."
With veterans like them up front, they could have won if the mage had put in. Instead, he'd lied to their faces, used their fight as bait, and slipped away. If Gauss's team hadn't shown up, they'd be in goblin bellies by now.
The more he thought about it, the hotter he got. The promotion had put enough steel in him to go after justice.
"Be careful, then," Gauss said, and pointed them the right way. They were headed the other direction—no "on the way" to speak of.
"Benefactor, this is what we've got on us. It's not much. Next time we meet, I'll make it right—I'll be in Sena for a while," Jimmy said, suddenly remembering and fishing out a small pouch from his lining: a dozen-odd silver coins. Not nothing, not a lot. They'd sunk most savings into the wagons. He knew it was a near-insult of a thank-you for a mage like this—but he was tapped.
Gauss looked them over, then plucked a single silver out of the pouch. "This is plenty," he said, shaking his head. "Call it friends."
Before Jimmy could argue, he turned away. "Next time, we'll share a drink."
He swung up into the saddle and rode off easy. The path he'd taken here was already swept clean of monsters; there'd be no trouble for Jimmy's crew.
…
"Total Monster Kills: 5,999."
"Total Monster Kills: 6,000."
He pinned a slime to the ground. The total finally hit 6,000. Between the big 4,000 and 10,000 milestones, the mid marker at 6,000 lit up.
"Total Monster Kills: 6,000/6,000."
"Reward: Class Trait [Master of Stable Casting]."
No spell or stat points at 6,000—but a trait. He read it:
[Master of Stable Casting]: Your casting becomes steadier, less likely to be interrupted.
A small talent, on paper—but he was pleased. "Steadier, less likely to be interrupted" doesn't sound like more damage or obvious numbers—but it's key. With it, he'd be cooler under enemy counters and interrupts—and less likely to "crash" while flying.
In fact… he should try something.
"Give me a sec."
He lifted and cast Fly on himself. Magic wrapped him; he floated off his chocobo and above the canopy.
"Feels… different," he murmured. Hard to describe—the feel of Stable Casting wasn't the same as simply having higher Fly proficiency. It was an upgrade on a different axis—steady in a way that felt almost eerie.
He looked out, then flicked his wand.
Shup-shup-shup!
Magic Missiles arced out and burst above the trees.
It worked.
He'd been drilling "cast while flying" for a while; with the new talent, he finally took the key step. He tried moving while casting—mostly fine; at higher speeds it tugged a little. Keeping Fly stable while weaving another spell demanded fine, smooth control—more than 1 + 1 on mana cost. The talent helped, and so did [Spell Proficiency].
He smiled. Mobility as a mage had climbed a rung. Like strapping weapons to an aircraft—now he could be a true gunship: reposition with Fly while laying down spells.
Enemies without anti-air could only stare up and sigh. If he'd had this against the basilisk bull, he wouldn't have needed to land on a ridge—just drop a Fireball right on its head.
His Fireball was still green, but not having to find a perch was safer and simpler.
After a short while, he cooled off and dropped back to the ground. Being a gun platform felt great; the drain did not. Long runs of flight-casting would guzzle mana.
"You already got it?" Alia stared as he settled back onto his mount. He'd told them Fly was step one, flight-casting step two.
As a caster herself, she knew the difficulty: Fly was hard; Fly-while-casting was harder. She would have needed ages. Gauss wasn't her—but still. How long had it been? They'd been together near constantly; she hadn't seen him train outside a few night hunts.
Had he been doubling up—working while they rested? A chill ran down her spine. When the talented also outwork you…
"Yes. Took a fair bit of thought," he said with a nod. No reason to hide it; they'd see it soon enough.
"A 'fair bit'… you're terrifying," Alia muttered. Even counting the night sessions, it hadn't been long. "Good thing we're friends. Tell a few wizards and they'd strap you to a lab bench."
"Not many evil wizards left, right?" Gauss shot her a look. Wizards weren't the same as mages and sorcerers; their power came from… mixed sources—and a deeper urge to pry things apart. In the old, blind days, some had grabbed "subjects" for research.
The Guild's rise had curbed that. Wild wizards were fewer; many lineages had folded into the Guild. With the monster nations pressing, the civilized camp mostly held together. These were golden years for adventurers; numbers had exploded.
"Let's head for the next village," he said. With 6,000 met and 8,000 a ways off, he stopped chasing every kill and got back on the road.
The party chatted quietly as the forest thinned and their silhouettes dwindled down the path.
…
Time jumped; they worked through three more villages.
"Safe travels, Sir Gauss!"
"Come visit again!"
"Goodbye!!"
"I love you, Sir Gauss!"
Who…? A confession? Gauss glanced back at the crowd—curious, because the voice sounded a little rough—but there were too many faces. He shook his head, pressed his heels, and caught up with his snickering teammates.
"How can you walk away when someone confesses? Our captain's popular," Alia teased.
He ignored it with a cough and switched tracks. "That's the fifth village. Supplies are running low—we need to hit a town and resupply."
Five villages had left their mark on them. Big and small, warm and wary—people of all kinds. Clear threats, heal wounds, fix houses, train militias… without noticing, they'd changed a lot of futures.
Some were saved from sickness by Serandur; some learned a skill and dared to dream of adventuring. House by house, fence by fence, things grew stubbornly out of the mud—hard defenses between monsters and men.