The entire hall fell silent.
Hundreds of mages inside the guild—whether they had been boasting, drinking, or brawling—froze as if hit by a petrification spell, their movements suspended mid-air, all eyes converging on the calm figure at the center.
Even the smell of spilled ale and half-eaten food faded from the wooden floor, leaving behind only a suffocating, invisible pressure.
Hoshino Arashi's long fingers held a glass; the beads of condensation on its surface reflected the stunned faces surrounding him.
He raised it to his lips, taking an unhurried sip of cold juice, the movement of his throat faint under the light.
Then—only then—did he glance toward the figure before him: Gray, muscles locked in a frozen punch, transformed into a living ice sculpture.
"Still want to keep going?"
His voice was soft, yet it reached everyone's ears, like a feather brushing the edge of a drawn blade.
Gray's pupils trembled violently, bloodshot veins spreading through the whites of his eyes.
He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, blood roaring through his veins, yet his brain's commands failed to reach a single muscle.
Every limb, every tendon—betrayed him.
"D-Damn it!"
His teeth ground together, the sound sharp and grating.
"You bastard… what did you… do to me?!"
Each word seemed to be squeezed out from the depths of his soul—raw humiliation and furious disbelief interwoven.
Arashi's lips curved in a faint, almost bored smile.
He lifted his hand—
Snap.
A crisp sound echoed through the hall.
The unseen force that bound Gray like ten thousand chains vanished in an instant.
Sudden inertia, paired with the rush of restored control, sent his body lurching forward; his knees buckled, and he nearly face-planted onto the floor.
"Nothing much."
Arashi set down his glass, tone light and almost lazy.
"I just needed to let your body… cool off for a bit."
Gray panted heavily, chest heaving, sweat sliding down his sculpted frame.
He glared at Arashi, the unwillingness in his eyes sharp enough to pierce steel—yet, he didn't move.
Reason whispered what pride refused to admit: if his opponent had harbored even the faintest killing intent earlier, his neck—or perhaps his heart—would already have been crushed.
This wasn't a contest of magic.
It was dominance on a level far beyond life itself.
He inhaled deeply, forcing down the raging blood inside him, then silently retrieved his discarded shirt from the floor, slipping it back on with stiff movements before returning to sit beside Cana.
"Told you," Cana chuckled, swirling her drink in triumph. "Should've listened when I said you'd get burned."
Her tone was teasing, but there was amusement glinting in her eyes.
The sudden clash had ended so abruptly that instead of cooling the mood, it was like tossing ice into boiling oil—causing an even greater explosion of energy.
After that fleeting silence came a thunderous uproar.
Every gaze directed toward Arashi had changed completely.
No longer mere curiosity about a newcomer—
but reverence. Genuine awe for overwhelming strength.
The celebration lasted late into the night.
Most of the members eventually stumbled home drunk, yet the liveliest and most curious ones lingered behind, circling around the new face at the bar.
Gray, still sulking but unable to suppress his curiosity.
Mira, collecting dishes with a gentle smile, though her eyes never left Arashi.
Cana, tipsy and red-faced, still drinking straight from her barrel.
And tiny Levy, squeezed to the front, her two inseparable partners Jet and Droy at her side.
They surrounded Arashi like moths to a flame.
"Arashi, what kind of magic did you use just now?! You made Gray freeze up completely!"
Levy's face shone with scholarly curiosity, palms pressed to her cheeks as if she'd stumbled upon a long-lost tome.
"That wasn't a Molding Magic… or any known branch of magic."
Arashi met their eager stares, his tone calm yet patient.
"My magic," he said at last, "is a Lost Art—Ten no Metsuryū Mahō (Heavenly Dragon Slayer Magic)."
The air froze once more.
"Dragon Slayer Magic?!"
The words hit like a bomb, sending shockwaves through every heart present.
A Dragon Slayer—
one of the ancient mages who once fought the dragons themselves, wielding the power to slay them.
Each one, a living legend capable of shaping eras.
"That's right," Arashi replied evenly, as if stating the weather.
"I command the power of the stars. What you saw earlier was nothing but the simplest application of it—Telekinesis, a basic control of starlight force."
He didn't elaborate on the origin of his powers, nor on the fact that he wasn't of this world.
The name alone—Heavenly Dragon Slayer—was heavy enough to say everything that needed to be said.
After that, the atmosphere turned warm again, curiosity and alcohol mingling freely.
The conversation flowed like good wine.
Through that night of laughter and questions, Arashi began to see these new companions not as strangers, but as people—each vivid, flawed, and alive.
He learned about Gray's habit of saying "I'm fired up!"—and his inexplicable tendency to strip without realizing it.
About Cana's unbreakable bond with her barrel of booze, and her life motto: "No drinking, no life."
And about Mira—whose gentle smile concealed a past full of thorns and fire.
Whenever someone mentioned "Satan Soul," a fleeting shadow would cross her face, gone as quickly as it came.
Eventually, the late-night talk shifted toward the guild's strongest members.
"Speaking of which… where's Erza?"
Cana looked around the now-empty hall, her voice half-slurred, half-teasing.
"Erza-nee probably went to the riverside behind the mountain again," Mira answered softly, a trace of helpless affection in her tone.
"She does that almost every night. As soon as a party ends, she heads there to train alone—sometimes till dawn."
"Every day?"
The words made Arashi pause mid-gesture, cup hovering in mid-air.
He turned his eyes toward the dark silhouette of the guild's back mountain.
The night was deep; only a few stars blinked faintly above that direction.
That crimson-haired knight, always hidden behind her armor—
the woman everyone called the Fairy Queen.
What was she carrying within her heart, that drove her to such merciless discipline?
A trace of curiosity, faint yet persistent, stirred quietly within him.
(End of Chapter)
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