“BOOOYYY!
“Rem! What the hell?! You haven’t been picking up my calls!” Vix shouted, rushing up to meet him halfway.
“You haven’t exactly picked up mine either, boy!” Benneth barked back.
“I a good reason for that! The Grand Majestry revoked my communicator privileges!”
“To hell with that! We need to speak with Staffire, ”
“What? Why?”
“ The girl! The one you so boldly—” Benneth jabbed his cane toward him, “—in your high and mighty glory—had to yell at until she became an easily moldable mess for someone else to just… ”
“ What are you talking about?!”
“Aggh! I don’t know, lad, but shit’s hit the fan and I don’t know what to do anymore!”
“How about start by going back to the academy and doing your… director things? Keep an eye on Rin!”
“I can’t. I’m… no longer Director at the academy.”
“What?! You voted yourself out?!” Vix grabbed Benneth’s collar with both hands.
“No! Absolutely not! That Cannus and his snake tactics pushed me out! But unfortunately, even if I was still director—Rin… she’s no longer in the academy. She didn’t even show much potential in the end for having a favorable mana link to you or Staffire.”
“Oh… well, wait—why did they even kick you out? Actually, never mind. If that’s—” Vix froze mid-thought, eyes widening. “HOLD UP. WHERE THE IS RIN?!”
“Her supposed father came to pick her up. They struck a deal with the Hammer. He’ll be homeschooling her now. The child chose that fate herself.”
“Wh—what?! And she
this man was her father?!”
Benneth pulled out his communicator, and a holographic projection flickered to life — an image of Steve and Rin at the academy gates, smiling as they departed.
Vix stepped closer to the display, narrowing his eyes. He placed two fingers on the hologram and spread them outward, zooming in on Steve’s face.
“She’s adamant about it,” Benneth said. “Said she wanted to leave the academy due to… ‘ill experiences.’”
Vix studied the image for a long moment. “It’s odd… there’s a resemblance.”
“His name’s Steve Arthur,” Benneth replied grimly. “Makes the girl an Arthur too.”
“But… there’s a difference between her being and actually confirming it,” Vix muttered, his eyes still fixed on the hologram. “I used on her when I first found her in the desert. If there was even the faintest memory of her parents in her mind, I would’ve seen it. She had nothing. A slate so blank it’s been ”
“” Benneth straightened, shifting uneasily.
“Yes,” Vix said calmly. “And as far as I’m concerned, this man is her father until her latent memories say otherwise.”
Benneth frowned, gripping his cane tighter. “How… frightening. Then I must get to her side at once—wait.” He snapped his gaze back up at Vix. “Why did the Grand Majestry revoke your communicator privileges? You won’t be denying my calls now, will you?!”
“Uh… long story that I really don’t feel like sharing.”
Benneth squinted at him. “The hell have you been up to, boy? Why do I…” — he leaned in and sniffed twice — “why do I smell on you?!”
“That’s none of your business!” Vix snapped, turning away.
“You’ve finally fallen off the deep end, haven’t you?” Benneth frowned, shaking his head.
“I’m not ban—” Vix was cut short as his communicator buzzed. He pulled it up, and Milo’s face flickered onto the screen.
“Ah. Proof you
respond to me,” Benneth said flatly. “No excuses later.”
“Shut up! Anyway—Milo. News?”
“Requesting your urgent presence at my coordinates,” Milo said, voice tight. “I believe I may have a suspect cornered regarding… circuses.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Be advised. Location on my mark.” The line went dead.
Vix nodded, sliding the communicator into his belt. “I gotta go, Rem.” He was already jogging off.
“Right. But ” Benneth bellowed after him.
“I will! Find Rin!”
“You’re damn right I will…” Benneth muttered, tapping his cane against the concrete before limping the other way.
#
Chase took a cautious step back, already losing ground. His fingers twitched at his side—too afraid to reach for his wand. There wouldn’t be a point. The slightest motion, and it would already be too late.
Milo stood utterly still. His wand was raised squarely at Chase’s chest, his gaze half-lidded, lips motionless. Even his breathing was invisible; his chest didn’t move, as if he’d forgotten how to draw air.
“Why are you a fan of circuses?” Milo asked, voice low and calm.
“Wh-what?!” Chase stammered, panic bleeding through his throat.
A red orb flared to life at the tip of Milo’s wand—slowly rotating, compact, alive.
“Do you like jokes?” Milo asked again, the tone unchanged.
“Milo! What are you talking about? Can’t you see I’m a victim?!”
“Is slaying your squad, even as they begged for their lives, a joke to you?”
“I—I had no choice!”
Milo didn’t answer. The orb grew larger, its light spinning faster, compressing into something far denser than flame. The red glow washed over Chase’s face, outlining every drop of sweat that rolled from his temple.
Chase’s breath hitched. His voice quivered as he tried to speak, his right eye twitching with primal fear.
“No choice, you say?” Milo’s tone was quiet. “Alright then. Die where you stand.”
He raised his wand—and the world ignited.
A bolt of condensed plasma erupted forward, white-hot and blinding, tearing the air apart in a straight, merciless line. Chase barely moved in time, diving sideways as the beam vaporized the floor where he’d just stood.
He hit the ground rolling, heart hammering in his chest, and ripped his wand free. “” he shouted, flinging a curse toward Milo’s face. A crackling orb of purple energy screamed through the air—only to be deflected by the faintest twitch of Milo’s wrist.
Chase fired again. And again. Spells, curses, hexes, jinxes—every ounce of raw, chaotic magic he could condense and hurl. The air filled with streaks of light and bursts of sound. Each one met the same fate: a soft pop, a flick of Milo’s wand, nothing more.
Milo’s movements were clinical. Each counter was a single, precise gesture. His expression didn’t change. His robes didn’t flutter. His breathing—nonexistent.
A curse curved midair, turning sharply to strike him from behind. The impact rang out like shattering glass—but when the light faded, Milo’s back was wrapped in a perfect, seamless barrier. The curse dissipated harmlessly.
Chase’s panic surged. He darted toward the wall, running along its surface, boots clanging against the crystal as he fired volley after volley. The chamber exploded with bursts of color—green fire, violet mist, electric blue sparks.
Milo didn’t even glance his way. He let some attacks crash against his barrier. Others he erased with a single flick, as if brushing dust from his sleeve. His eyes locked in a forward gaze. His stance never shifted.
“What’s wrong, Milo?!” Chase roared, his voice cracking under the strain. “Why won’t you fight back?!”
Chase leapt high into the air, the entire chamber flashing beneath him as he clutched his wand with both hands. His teeth grit. His body tensed.
He swung downward like a lumberjack bringing an axe to bear, his wand trailing a violent arc of light. A thunderclap roared through the crystal chamber as storm clouds materialized above—summoned by sheer will.
Bolts cascaded from the ceiling in a relentless barrage, each one hammering into the spot where Milo stood. The flashes came again and again—white, blinding, deafening—until the entire floor was swallowed by smoke and ozone.
Chase hit the ground behind the blast zone, landing hard on one knee. The air stung his skin. The metallic taste of magic clung to his tongue as he panted, sweat pouring down his face. He wiped his forehead with his left hand, his wand trembling in the right.
The rumbling faded. The smoke began to clear.
And then—
Milo was still there. Perfectly upright. Perfectly still. Not a mark on him. His robes fluttered faintly from the dying wind as he tilted his head just enough for his eyes to meet Chase’s.
For a moment, Chase’s chest froze. Then—he laughed. A nervous chuckle at first, then louder, spiraling into a manic fit.
“H-how are you still
We’re—we’re the same rank! We’re rated How did you survive that?!”
Milo didn’t respond. Didn’t even move. His shadow stretched long in the fading light, quiet and merciless.
“…No matter,” Chase said, forcing a grin that twitched at the edges. “If you don’t want to talk—if you think just because you’re part of the you’re better than me, better than anyone in this damn world…” He raised his wand slightly, his voice breaking. “Then you’ve got another thing coming.”
He snapped his fingers.
Milo’s eyes shifted—just barely—to the corner of the vast crystal chamber. He didn’t blink.
A figure stood there. A man, face smeared white, a grin painted red from ear to ear, green paint circling his eyes.
Another
A woman appeared beside him, same chalk-white skin, same smile, only her eyes were circled in violet.
Another. Then another.
Within moments, the room filled with cloaked figures, dozens of them, their faces painted in the same grotesque caricature. Red grins. Hollow eyes. Wands drawn, all aimed directly at Milo.
Milo exhaled through his nose, eyes lowering to the floor for a single breath. Then he sighed—quietly—and lifted his gaze again.
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“No sorcerer can be as strong as they want…” Chase’s voice rose as the echo bounced off the crystalline walls. “But the minute they’re they’re good as dead. Isn’t that right, Milo?!” His voice cracked into a laugh. “What do you think, huh?!”
He took a step forward, wand shaking in his grip. “WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS, MILO?! WHAT THE
ARE YOU GONNA DO NOW?!”
Chase’s cackles tore through the chamber, jagged and hollow, bouncing back from every crystal wall like a hundred laughing ghosts.
The air thickened inside the crystalline chamber, slowing to a crawl. The tips of every wand glowed in different hues — pink, purple, crimson, blue, yellow, dark green — each one radiating a separate kind of death.
Lightning. Fire. Divine rays. Curses. Hexes. Summons. Damnations.
Every wand fired.
A kaleidoscope of destruction tore through the air toward Milo — a storm of color and fury, each spell carrying its own cruel intent.
He finally blinked.
His right foot slid back half a step. His wand hung loosely at his side.
#
Milo raised his wand — a single, minimal motion.
A barrier erupted around him like molten glass, the air screaming as it solidified. The first barrage hit. Then the second. Then dozens more. Spells ricocheted off in every direction, deflecting into walls, ceilings—
Some of the clowns didn’t even have time to scream before their own spells rebounded, tearing through them in bursts of light and smoke.
Milo didn’t flinch. His expression didn’t change. The glow of the barrier reflected in his eyes, cold and divine.
“”
Milo’s voice boomed across the crystalline chamber, echoing like a command from heaven itself. He thrust his wand straight up toward the ceiling.
From its tip burst a molten chain of pure sunlight. It cracked through the air with a deafening , coiling upward until it shattered the crystalline dome above. At the end of the chain hung a sphere — blazing and immense — shaped like a miniature sun, its surface covered in fiery spikes like a celestial flail.
The temperature spiked instantly. The air shimmered. Sweat rolled down Chase’s neck as the room grew hotter by the second.
Milo began to spin his wand. Slowly at first. Then faster.
The Solar Leash followed, the flail swinging in wide, fiery arcs that tore across the walls. The crystalline structure screeched and splintered under its touch, shards raining down like glowing glass.
“” one of the clowns screamed.
A storm of spells erupted from every direction — lightning bolts, curses, hexes, fire streams — but each one crashed harmlessly against Milo’s barrier. The Solar Leash, now spinning like a blazing halo around him, carved through the ranks with precision. Any clown it touched vanished in a burst of light and molten dust.
Chase barely managed to dodge a passing chain, diving behind a shattered altar. “What the hell?!” he shouted, raising his wand. “”
A bolt of lightning tore from his wand, slamming into Milo’s barrier. For the first time, a crack splintered across it — glowing faintly under the heat. Chase’s pulse surged with fleeting hope—
Then the flail turned.
The molten sun swung down, roaring like a dragon. Chase leapt aside as it smashed into the floor, molten crystal spraying out like liquid fire. The weapon didn’t stop. It followed him—relentless—its chain whipping and slashing through everything in its path.
“What the hell—it’s ” Chase yelled, sprinting along the wall, his boots slipping on melted crystal. He fired a volley of water bolts over his shoulder. Each one hissed into vapor before it could even reach the flail.
The heat was unbearable. The sound—deafening. The chain ripped through the air behind him with the roar of a comet, closing in, inch by inch.
The molten flail screamed after him, tearing gouges into the crystal walls with every swing. Chase sprinted for his life, boots skidding over the melting floor as sparks and shards exploded at his heels.
He clenched his jaw, his wand glowing faintly blue. No time for words—no time for chants. He gathered water mana in silence, the air around him twisting as humidity condensed into droplets that orbited his arm.
The His last card.
He pushed his body harder, circling the chamber as the Solar Leash whipped past him again, molten links snapping and hissing. Each dodge sent heat searing across his skin. He didn’t scream. He couldn’t afford to.
Behind him, the flail crashed into the ground once more, detonating shards of crystal skyward. Steam filled the room as water particles from his forming spell clashed with the heat, wrapping him in a veil of mist.
Across the chamber, Milo stood motionless amid the chaos—his barrier absorbing the endless barrage of spells from the clown army. Each impact was a dull, useless thud.
“Gah! Such a
spell—yet such a pain in the ass,” Chase muttered under his breath, maintaining his charge even as he skidded behind a shattered pillar. His left hand pulsed brighter, a spinning vortex of water mana now coiling tighter and tighter, the weight of the Hydro Cannon growing unbearable.
Then—he stopped running.
He spun on his heel, raised his wand, and released the built-up lightning from his off-hand straight toward Milo’s barrier.
The shield flickered—small fractures branching out across its glowing surface.
Chase’s lips curled into a trembling smile.
“Are you seeing this, Milo? Do you it?” he called out, voice echoing through the storm of heat and mist. “My lord only wants one thing—the bettering of our pathetic world! It shouldn’t lie in the hands of a handful! It belongs to
Everyone should be happy! Everyone should be smiling!”
He drew back the Hydro Cannon, now fully charged. The sphere of compressed water hovered before his wand, vibrating with catastrophic pressure.
“You don’t smile!” Chase screamed. “You’ve smiled!”
A stray curse streaked toward Chase. He vanished in a flash of lightning, reappearing across the chamber mid-sprint, momentum never breaking. His wand blazed with energy as he unleashed another volley of attacks, the relentless rhythm echoing like cannon fire.
Each impact splintered Milo’s barrier further—more glasslike cracks spiderwebbing across its surface, glowing faintly under the heat.
“What’s so wrong with that?!” Chase shouted over the chaos. “He knows better! He’s going to the world! He’s going to it!”
He leapt onto a half-shattered ledge, firing another string of lightning bursts that hammered the same spot. The barrier flared, trembling under the pressure.
“Just give up!” Chase screamed, his voice raw, desperate, and fanatical. “Join us—and end this mockery!”
There was no response from Milo.
His summoned flail swung wildly now, missing its targets and smashing into new sections of the crystal chamber. He looked like he was getting desperate.
Each impact split the walls with thunderous cracks; distant screams echoed through the structure.
Chase didn’t hear them anymore. He’d blocked it all out—the chaos, the heat, the destruction. All he wanted was an answer.
Nothing.
He waited a heartbeat longer. No response.
Something inside him snapped.
He screamed, thrusting his wand forward with both hands. A blinding surge of lightning erupted from the tip, a continuous beam that tore through the air and slammed into Milo’s barrier.
More fractures spread. Chase’s roar grew louder as he poured every drop of mana into the attack. The barrier trembled—shuddered—then finally shattered, exploding outward into a storm of glowing shards before fading into dust.
At the same moment, the molten flail and its chains evaporated mid-swing, dissolving into harmless sparks that rained over the wrecked chamber.
Chase lowered his wand, chest heaving. The air was thick with heat and floating crystal dust.
Had he actually struck down the great Milo Stark?
He squinted through the haze, eyes darting across the ruined floor. Nothing. Not even a shadow.
A shaky chuckle escaped his throat. Then another. Then laughter—loud, manic, echoing against the broken walls.
“That was your flaw, Milo,” he said between fits of laughter. “You clung to something that was already over from the start. I tried—I tried—to warn you. But you were too thick-skulled to listen, weren’t you?”
Chase’s shoulders shook as his laughter filled the hollow chamber.
Chase wiped a tear from his cheek, breath still hitching from the force of his laughter. His black glove caught it, the fabric darkening where the tear sank in—heavy, hot, almost oily.
He looked around. The dust was settling now, drifting slowly through the air like ash after a bombing.
Then—his eyes widened.
A chill shot down his spine.
Why wasn’t anyone else laughing?
“Why aren’t any of you laughing?!” Chase shouted, voice echoing through the ruined chamber. “Laugh with me! We did it! We beat him! Our lord will be pleased! What’s—what’s the meaning of this?!”
Silence.
No response.
No movement.
He was alone.
Chase took a step back. Then another. Then one more, nearly tripping over a broken crystal shard.
His throat closed up. The air felt dry, sharp. He coughed, voice cracking.
Then—
A single
The sound hit him harder than thunder. He froze.
Another footstep. Closer.
He whimpered.
He raised his wand, but it sputtered weakly. His mana was gone—drained. Empty. He could barely breathe. His hands trembled, jerking uncontrollably.
The footsteps kept coming. Steady. Unhurried.
“No… it’s impossible…” he stammered. “How the hell… how the are you still alive?!”
From the haze, Milo emerged.
His eyes were half-lidded, calm. Bored. His head slightly lowered, wand held loosely in his left hand. The white gloves he wore shimmered faintly in the broken crystal light. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.
“J-just who are you?! What are you you… you DEMON?!”
Then he realized it.
He realized what had happened. And he’d played right into Milo’s game like a fool. The flail——it was never meant to hit him. Milo had used it to draw Chase’s attention away while he quietly, methodically slaughtered every clown in the room. One by one. No hesitation. No restraint. It wasn’t combat—it was extermination.
Chase scrambled backward, snatching up broken shards of crystal and hurling them. They clattered uselessly across the floor. The few that struck Milo didn’t even make him flinch. He walked through them, unbothered, unstoppable.
Chase spun around to run—
But Milo was already there.
He appeared in front of him in an instant, wand pressed against Chase’s gut.
A pink spear of light erupted from the tip—silent, precise, unstoppable. It tore straight through Chase’s stomach, exiting in a burst of vaporized blood.
Chase gagged, the breath leaving him in a single broken gasp. Blood splattered across Milo’s sleeve, his pristine white gloves now streaked crimson.
“M-Milo… wait—wait—shit—” Chase’s voice cracked into a plea.
Milo didn’t move. One hand pressed against Chase’s shoulder, holding him steady. The other clenched the wand, twisting slightly.
“I—I can’t see…!” Chase choked out. “I can’t—see—!!!”
Milo’s expression didn’t change.
He released the spell. The light vanished.
Chase staggered, coughed once—then collapsed to the floor. The glow faded from his eyes as his blood pooled beneath him, quiet and final.
Milo stood over him for a moment, expression unreadable.
A thud hit the floor behind Milo. He didn’t even flinch.
Vix approached from behind, tugging one glove back into place. His wand rested sheathed against his hip, untouched.
“Well,” he muttered, stepping carefully over shattered crystal, “looks like you took care of this mess already.”
He stopped beside Milo. Chase’s body lay motionless at their feet, a dark pool spreading beneath him. The metallic scent of blood still hung in the air.
“…Care to explain?”
Milo didn’t look up. “This was the suspect. He worked for the man who attacked me in New York.”
“The hell? ” Vix asked, tone calm but eyes narrowing.
“Yes.”
Vix exhaled slowly. “…That’s annoying.”
He crouched beside the body, turning it slightly with the edge of his boot. “A double agent clown. That explains the raid on Fort Carven—and why their operations have been so damn effective.”
“Yes,” Milo said again, still staring at the corpse. His sleeve was streaked with dried crimson.
Vix followed his gaze—and noticed the others. Chase’s entire squad lay scattered across the floor, lifeless.
“…Were they—?”
“No,” Milo interrupted quietly. “They were innocent.”
Vix paused, then straightened. He studied Milo’s expression—it was blank, unreadable to anyone else, but he could see the faintest tremor behind his eyes. Without a word, he rested a hand on Milo’s shoulder.
“You did the best you could,” Vix said gently. “There was nothing more to be done.”
“There’s always more to do.”
Vix nodded once. “...Right... always..."
He looked over the wreckage again—the broken altar, the blood, the flickering lights—and then back to Milo. “They’ll rest easy now. And we’ll catch the one behind this. Together.”
“Certainly,” Milo said, voice low. But his eyes weren’t on Chase’s body anymore.
They were fixed past it—on something else. Something farther ahead.
Suddenly, a faint chime broke through the silence.
Vix and Milo froze, exchanging a glance. It wasn’t either of theirs.
The sound came again——followed by a weak flicker of light from Chase’s hip.
Vix crouched beside the body, pushing back part of the tattered coat until he found the communicator clipped to the belt. The light pulsed once more, then dimmed.
“Looks like someone’s calling the dead,” Vix muttered. He unclipped it carefully, turning it over in his hand. The screen was locked—security seal intact.
“Passcode,” Milo noted.
“Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Vix drew his wand, holding it just above the device.
A small circle of light spread from the wand’s tip, cascading over the communicator. The air hummed with faint static. The screen flickered once… twice… then unlocked with a soft chime.
The communicator vibrated in his hand. “New message—priority one,” a voice announced from the device.
Vix tapped the projection rune on the side. A holographic display rose in front of them, faint blue light reflecting off the broken crystal walls.
The image steadied—revealing a man in a brown coat, gloves, and a disarming smile.
Steve Arthur.
Only Milo’s brow twitched.
The hologram crackled, Britlex’s distorted voice carrying through the static.
“Chase. I’ll be bringing the brat over soon. Everything’s moving along nicely. Tell our men to ready themselves. We will have our main act ready soon enough.”
The recording ended with a faint laugh before the projection fizzled out.
Vix exhaled slowly through his nose. “.... That’s… that’s .”
Milo finally looked up, his voice colder than before. “Who the hell is ‘Steve’? Because that’s not a Steve. That’s my primary target from New York.”
“What?!” Vix blurted, shocked.
“He cut his hair short and dyed it brown,” Milo said, squinting at the hologram. “He’s painted over his scars, probably. But that’s him. He isn’t fooling anyone.”
Vix’s eyes twitched—because he had been fooled. The realization hit like ice. “That’s Rin’s supposed father… and if—if he’s really leading this clown gang… oh shit. Benneth is heading over to them right now. Their lives are in danger!”
“What?” Milo asked, frowning.
“I need to go! Secure this entire area, Milo! I don’t have time!” Vix snapped, already moving.
“Commander, wait! Who the hell is ” Milo reached out—too late. Vix had already leapt away with tremendous velocity, vaulting out of the shattered crystal room without even using the elevator. Milo watched him go, expression unreadable.
#
Back in the Grand Majestry’s Master Command Room, Kai paced in front of the open window. Moonlight poured in, the only light source, washing the floor in silver.
Then his communicator chimed. He lifted it to his ear.
“Hello? Yes… I’m doing fine. Well… it didn’t work. Yes—yes! I tried the ! It didn’t work!”
He paused, listening, then sighed. “You don’t think his type, do you? …What?! That’s rude!”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, half-laughing. “I gave up. He’s your commander again. Alright, see you soon—wait— you idiot! You have responsibilities at Kormadyne! Hello? Hello?!”
The line clicked dead.
Kai stared at the communicator for a second before chuckling and shaking his head. “Figures.”
