Amelia lifted a single finger toward the floating island hanging in the sky; she tilted her head, and a sweet smile bloomed like a flower on her pretty face.

The mana math came up short; the array can’t keep running; that island’s about to drop like a kite losing its string~

Two voices snapped “Huh?!” in unison, like sparrows startled off a branch—Ling’s and Elfe’s; Alicia went blank, tongue-tied like a deer in headlights.

Ling strode forward and gripped Elfe’s shoulders; tension bit her face like a dry winter wind.

Th-then can I feed my mana in right now—will it still make it?!

It felt simple: mana’s low, and Ling could fill it; her mana’s a deep well, enough to stuff a spell’s hungry belly.

But Amelia didn’t nod; a small wistfulness drifted across her face like morning mist.

Truth is… once a spell’s running, feeding it mana different from the first stream is like mixing two rivers—tricky.

Why? Her voice fell light as a pin in quiet snow.

Mana erodes mana; you know that, right? It’s acid on silk—that’s why.

Her heart jolted; a spell-name flared like a spark—“Mana Shield!”

Ling hadn’t used it much, yet the thought burned bright; if she remembered right, it used natural mana’s fierce bite to corrode other mana and form a ward, like sand scouring stone.

Looks like you get erosion… then listen. Your mana will gnaw at the mana lodged in the array like termites at beams. Before yours helps, the circle collapses from lack, like a sandcastle under a wave.

Ling lowered her little head; sorrow pooled on her face like rainwater in a gutter.

So… I won’t get to see that floating island anymore?

The little one loved that island; the idea of only looking, not playing there, tugged her heart like a kite cut loose.

It’s not hopeless. We just need a magic core—high-grade, like a crystal heart. Cores seep mana outward; let nature rinse it a little like a spring washing pebbles, then feed it into the array. That mana’s smooth, non-eroding, a clean supplement.

Hope rose like dawn over a ridge; the daydream of playing on the island bloomed again, and Ling’s sadness flipped into bright excitement like lamps lit at dusk.

Th-then I’ll go find some cores right now!

She spun, but Amelia caught her arm, a tether on a racing kite.

Idiot. Think. High-grade cores aren’t stones in the road. You can’t find one just because you wish for it.

B-but… Her voice wilted like a petal in heat.

Newborn hope got snuffed like a candle; the letdown doubled, heavy as wet cloth.

Rumble—

Fire breathed behind them like a furnace; Amelia and Ling turned together as if pulled by the same thread.

Silent till now, Alicia drew her Demonblade; flames ran its length like a living snake. She planted it in the ground, hands crossed on the hilt, her brows set like iron.

Will… this do?

Amelia blinked, puzzled, the thread of the question slipping like smoke through fingers.

What do you mean, “will it do”?

Alicia glanced at the Demonblade and tapped the steel; Amelia’s gaze slid to it like iron to a magnet.

I mean, can this serve as the core you mentioned? The blade’s built from mana cores, top to bottom, like a spine of crystals.

Amelia stalled for two beats, then stared wide-eyed; worry flickered like a lantern—are you sick?

You’re joking, right? That’s your weapon!

Alicia didn’t care; she even pulled a small book from her breast, a quiet seed in her palm.

Not joking. I’ve planned to learn magic lately. I can shed the blade like old skin.

But your melee…

Don’t worry. I’ve mostly learned to shape mana as a mimic; if I have to fight up close, I can model the Demonblade’s form and traits like the moon reflected in water. A replica won’t match the original, but it’ll do.

Amelia had no words; Alicia had gone this far, clearly for the little one, a warm wind for a sapling. Refusing now would be stone-hearted.

Alright, I get it. Bring the Demonblade and come with me. Those two little ones should come watch too, flocking like geese.

The four drew close; light flowered under their feet like frost patterns; a modest magic array unfurled beneath their soles.

Whoosh—

Unlike Rafi, that reckless Demon King who breaks four out of three portal doors, Amelia handled space like clockwork. Her mana was little, yet she split it needle-precise, so transfer loss was a whisper.

They arrived at the array’s heart, the clock’s core; if you feed mana, you feed it from the heart.

Alicia, lay the sword on the core’s surface. And absolutely don’t stab it in to look cool—like poking a beehive.

I know without you telling me! Don’t talk like I’m some peacock preening!

She stepped to a round-table platform; dense sigils crawled over it like ant trails. Alicia could only pick out a few.

She ignored the unreadable marks and set the Demonblade flat. The blade felt almost human; as her fingers left, it shook twice in protest like a bridled horse, then went still under her hard glare.

Once released, she stepped back to her place. The Demonblade burst into light like a lantern, then floated up, bobbing in the air like a buoy.

Done?

Of course. What did you expect—some huge boom or a fancy black-and-white flash? Stop dreaming. Let’s go; I’ll take you to our side to play~

No budget-burning spectacle arrived; that let Ling down like a firework that fizzles, but she brushed it aside. The fun ahead chimed like spring bells, and that mattered more~