Birand stood before the thatched hut, facing the Church’s knights, wearing a smile everyone knew yet suddenly feared, a warm mask gone cold.

Familiar expression; alien aura, like sunlight blocked by iron clouds.

The Hero’s smile wasn’t bright or open anymore; a thin thread of venomous killing intent coiled beneath it, like frost under ash.

The elder priest shuffled forward, grief heavy as rain in his eyes. “Hero. Are you truly going?”

Ahead, a wild wind carried the metallic reek of blood and slaughter. It brushed Birand’s face like a blade; he kept that frost-smile and touched the Holy Sword’s hilt with quiet fingers. “In this battle, I will win.”

“Hero. You…”

“No need to say more, Yuris. If you can—kill me.” Birand let out a soft laugh and rose into the sky like a black gull on a storm draft.

The elder priest sighed, and the knights, their morale withered like winter grass, slowly fell back.

Birand watched the approaching figure with a calm surface; in his black eyes, rage and madness churned like a storm over a dark lake.

Far off, peculiar surges of magic kept flaring, sparks leaping like fireflies. Birand sent them a blade-edged, mocking glance.

“Birand, Birand—heh. You idiots trying to curse me with word-magic. You probably don’t know, do you? My name is Luxiao.”

He drew the Holy Sword, shut his eyes as if an old memory rose, then smiled. A tear slipped past the corner of his eye like a glass bead. “Meddlers, I’ll show you the price of ignorance.”

…

A dream…?

Unease first, then motion—Eli curled in on himself, Birand’s moment of contagious fury clinging like smoke, filling him with a deep, cold fear.

How heavy must that grudge be, he muttered, then let it drift away like mist, wanting to sink back into sleep.

“Up!!!!” Edlyn shouted beside him, her voice like a bell struck too hard. Eli jolted up, grabbed her like a bear hugging a quilt, and flopped back to the floor to keep sleeping. “Don’t. Let me sleep a bit.”

Pinned and breathless, Edlyn opened her mouth and bit his face like an angry fox.

“Awooo!” Eli sprang up again like a startled cat.

Edlyn scrambled up and kicked him hard in the butt, a snap like a branch.

Eli’s body went soft; he collapsed face-down in a posture of utter defeat, like a toppled scarecrow.

Liqianyu sauntered over with that same cheeky grin, light as drifting leaves. “You rascal. Your luck with girls is something else.”

Eli blinked at her, sleep still clinging like cobwebs. “Holy crap, you can get out of bed?”

“Heh-heh, told you—my cultivation’s special.” Her laugh chimed like silver bells, her long aquamarine hair swaying like water. “But you? Slept on the floor all night. How’s that feel?”

Eli rolled his eyes and buried his face in the carpeted floor like an ostrich in sand, saying nothing.

Yesterday’s farce ended with the curtain falling on Eli sleeping on the floor—and footing every extra bill.

Edlyn dressed, glanced at Eli dozing off again, and frowned, a crease sharp as a reed. What’s up with him today? Overworked, or overindulged?

Eli slowly pushed himself off the floor, movement sluggish as melting snow. “Ah. I forgot—I still need to coach Edlyn before the exam.”

Edlyn had just decided to delay and let someone rest. “….”

In the courtyard.

Eli took a branch and sketched a simple magic array on the ground, lines circling like ripples. “Ed-chan, arrays with simple structure are the best drills. No staff needed; a branch works. And they’re simple—you don’t have to consider the spell engine or rune linkage.”

“I know that, obviously. And what’s with that gross nickname?” Edlyn snatched the branch and shot him a look, sharp as a needle.

“No, it just fits your IQ,” he said, deadpan, like tossing a pebble.

“Huh?! Say that again!”

Eli pretended not to hear and swerved the topic like a fish. “Have you memorized all forty-eight basic runes?”

“Memorized.” Edlyn rolled her eyes, the motion quick as a flicker. Did he think she was stupid?

“All right then, start drawing,” Eli said, scratching his nose like a lazy cat.

Edlyn frowned and thought a moment, gaze drifting to the array Eli had drawn, its lines neat as frost. He suddenly plopped down, watching her with teasing eyes.

She shot him a mortified glare, heat like blush rising, then went back to work.

“Oh, right. That part needs to go clockwise—you drew it the other way, Ed-chan.” Eli backed up two steps, slow as if testing thin ice.

Vexed, Edlyn moved to wipe the array. It detonated in a sharp bloom, blasting her a short distance like a gust. She landed face-first in the snow—unhurt, but utterly disheveled, snow clinging like feathers.

“Oh. Forgot to mention—drawn wrong, it explodes. Hahaha!” Eli doubled over laughing, laughter bubbling like a pot.

Edlyn scooped a snowball and stuffed it into his mouth, cold as a slap. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?!”

“Hahaha—pfh—” She lunged, drove a kidney shot into him, dropped him flat like a felled log, then sat on his head to continue the payback.

Eli suddenly sprang up, grabbed Edlyn by the ankles, and carried her steadily toward the house, steps sure as a porter’s.

Edlyn ended up riding on his shoulders. She couldn’t break free, so she smacked his head with her small hands like a drummer. Eli barely reacted; he just kneaded her small feet a little, warmth like a stove. “Come on, let’s rest first. After repeating those runes over and over, you must be tired.”

Edlyn fell silent, hugged his head, and settled on his shoulders like a little bird roosting.

In this world, every race shapes magic differently. The Demon Race binds demonic qi to runes unlike human scripts, threads black as smoke and sharp as thorns.

Because she’s used to folding Demon Race structure into her spellwork, Edlyn finds human training especially taxing, like swimming against a cold current.

As long as she masters human magic, the Hero won’t be able to handle her—so she told herself, resolve bright as a new blade.

So she kept at it, earnest and steady, like snow falling without a sound.