Ugh.

Lucimia swapped her magic, letting wind take the lead like a blade of cold air.

Honestly, these freakish skills gave her a pounding headache—Shadow‑cleaving swords, trait magic, adaptive octopus summons—why was her starter village this hard?

Kicking off with a boss fight—how is that fair??

She felt that if she were any squishier, she’d probably bite the dust.

She rode the wind and shredded a few octopi, but the next wave spawned with fresh Wind resistance, like scales hardening against the gale.

How was she supposed to fight that?

Bazeroth didn’t stop summoning. Octopi multiplied like inkblots, circling her, the ring tightening like a noose.

No choice—she used Instant Movement and slipped free, yet the octopi wheeled and caged her again, a tide with too many tentacles.

Their numbers kept swelling. Every time Lucimia switched to another spell, the octopi sprouted a new resistance—endless, relentless.

She wanted to strike Bazeroth, but he turtled up, a black‑mist shield curtaining his crown and his front like soot‑dark armor.

The octopi kept harrying her, pecking at her focus like crows at grain.

Just when Lucimia hit a wall, the sky cracked with a turn of fate.

A streak of white shot up from the grass, and Bazeroth, deep in chant and puppeteering the octopi, left his back wide open.

The white ray speared his chest. He hacked up old blood, a splash of iron on black fog.

Lucimia glanced over. It wasn’t a ray—it was a longsword, gleaming like moonlight.

“Is that… the White Sword?” Her eyes lit up. She knew that move.

Desty’s White Sword—she’d forgotten the name, but she remembered the swarm of controllable blades that strike from afar.

If Bazeroth got skewered by a White Sword, that meant Miss Desty had noticed the Magic Array was wrong and had come to help.

Lucimia looked down.

A red‑haired girl stood in the sea of grass, a dozen white swords fanned behind her like a halo. She lifted her chin to the fight in the sky.

Desty drew a deep breath and yelled, “Take! Me! Up!”

Lucimia didn’t think twice. One flick of her hand—Flight Spell—Desty rose on a breeze.

As she climbed, the White Swords trembled, then went wild, scything through octopi big and small, harvesting them like stalks. Lucimia’s pressure eased at once.

Bazeroth’s face went black; Desty had made it after all.

He kept chanting, spawning more octopi. Desty sent the White Swords to reap, blades wheeling like swallows.

Whoosh! The White Sword sliced an octopus as if it were paper.

“Huh? The ones you hit don’t seem to carry resistances.” Lucimia floated to Desty’s side, puzzled.

“Resistance? What’s that?” Desty glanced over. “Oh, right—I checked. The Magic Array really has issues. At first I didn’t buy it. Then I saw the enforc—no, Bazeroth—summon these Evil Entities. That sealed it. He’s bad news.”

“Mm…” Lucimia nodded and gave her the skinny on resistances.

Desty listened, then shrugged. “No idea. Maybe they only resist magic, not sword techniques.”

“Works for me.” Lucimia nodded. If Desty could cut, she could breathe. Next step—hit Bazeroth himself.

“Wait—give me buff magic. I’m only a Fourth Rank Swordmaster; I won’t last long.” Desty snagged Lucimia’s sleeve as she was about to dart off.

“…Uh, what buff magic? Didn’t catch that.”

“…?” Desty blinked her ocean‑blue eyes. “What do you mean you didn’t catch that? Buffs—speed, stamina, mana recovery. I’m only Fourth Rank; the White Sword won’t hold for long.”

Lucimia blinked back. “Sorry. I don’t know those. Never learned ’em.”

“??” Desty gaped. “What do you mean ‘never learned’? I just watched you trade blows with Bazeroth—you’re an Eighth Rank Mage, right? How can you not know buffs?”

“Uh…” Lucimia raked her hair, sheepish. “Forget it—tell me what you want, and I’ll learn it now.”

She flushed. She’d forgotten magic wasn’t only offense—there were buffs and debuffs too.

“Now?” Desty flicked a look at Bazeroth. He used the opening to cast Healing Magic on himself and chanted harder, birthing more octopi from the murk.

“Do we even have time? You’re not joking?”

“Don’t ask—just say what buffs you need. Keep it simple.” Lucimia drew a magic book from her Storage Ring, its pages whispering like leaves.

“…” Desty could only sigh, then chose to trust a probable Eighth Rank. “Simple’s fine. Mana recovery, speed, stamina.”

She waved, and a White Sword casually severed a flying octopus, clean as silk.

“Got it. Cover me for a bit. A few minutes.” Lucimia flipped through, found augmentation spells, and started—eyes scanning like lightning.

“…”

Desty said nothing. She summoned more White Swords, a flock of white wings, and met Bazeroth’s octopi head‑on.

Two summoners clashed, tide against tide.

Bazeroth heard their chatter. He felt slighted, like dust under a boot, and chose to slam Desty with magic while Lucimia wasn’t casting.

He raised a hand. A fireball gathered like a small sun, then streaked at Desty.

Desty had already seen it. She set White Swords before her like a shield wall and caught the blaze.

“Hmph.” Bazeroth snorted. He readied a flaming bird—then saw Lucimia snap the book shut.

“Done.” Lucimia slid the book back into her Storage Ring.

“What?!” Bazeroth froze. She learned it already? Without carving a Magic Array? She’d just glanced at a book!

Desty didn’t buy it either. “You’re done? That wasn’t even a few minutes.”

“Believe it or not…” Lucimia didn’t bother to explain. She lifted her hand, and warm light poured over Desty like sunrise.

Desty felt energy surge, body turning feather‑light, mana rushing back like a spring.

“It… actually worked?” She stared at her fingers, marveling at the current inside.

“Enough chatter. Clear the octopi. I’ll handle Bazeroth.” Lucimia flickered—gone like a spark.

“…Okay.” Desty called more White Swords, a white storm tightening.

Bazeroth’s face sank. He whipped his staff, and the crystal orb breathed a slow black fog, like ink stirring in water.

Lucimia sensed a big move brewing. She called a lightning spear, arcs coiling around it like snakes, and hurled it at him.

“Parlor tricks.” Bazeroth didn’t even respect the little spear. One blink—he dodged.

“Teleportation.” Lucimia murmured, triggering Teleportation Magic.

A marked teleport was single‑use. She didn’t teleport Bazeroth. She teleported her spear.

The spear that had flown past popped back in front of Bazeroth’s brow, bright as a star.

“?!” He jerked, blinking away again, instinct sharp as a wolf.

Lucimia teleported again. The spear snapped to a new line, a hawk changing dive.

They traded like that, back and forth. Lucimia tweaked the angle, then sent it one more time.

Bazeroth’s body moved on reflex; he turned his head—only to find the spear wasn’t aimed at his skull, but at the crystal orb on his staff.

So that’s the target?!

Boom! The orb shattered, glass raining like ice.

The octopus summoning stopped cold.