The World of Otome Game
is a Second Chance for Broken Swords
Story Starts
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Chapter 5.3 -
Cosmic Dungeon
Then the creature—the thing that remained—shrieked with a sound that was nothing like before. This wasn't pain or fury. This was loss. This was something fundamental being torn away. The sound bypassed ears entirely, struck directly at souls, made everyone's vision go white with the intensity.
The massive body thrashed, hand-limbs flailing wildly, tails whipping with uncontrolled fury. The remaining two tails began to dissolve, melting like wax, the cosmic orbs along their length going dark one by one.
"It's dying!" Olivia called out. "Keep the pressure—don't let it recover!"
But then the body dissolved, not collapsing but liquefying, the crystalline structure turning to shadow and flowing upward. Both Durga and Leon dropped from quite the height as the surface they'd been standing on ceased to exist.
Meltryllis's waves caught them instantly, the water forming gentle cushions that settled them down on the chamber's transparent floor.
"Stay ale—!" Leon's warning was cut off when an inhuman screech wailed from above. The monster manifested high above them, perhaps two kilometres up, its fragile-looking wings beating as it revealed what lay beneath.
Everyone's eyes tracked upward, their minds struggling to process the altered form hovering in the vast space.
The central mass pulsed and shifted between two impossible states—an enormous eyelid, its surface slick with membranous fluids that caught the light like oil on water, and simultaneously a gaping maw lined with jagged, serrated teeth that gleamed like obsidian daggers. The two concepts occupied the same space, fighting for dominance, creating visual discord that made the eye slide away from focusing too long.
At the centre blazed a massive orange eyeball, easily fifty metres across. The iris swirled with patterns that suggested malice given form, whilst the pupil—a vertical slit like a predator's—dilated and contracted as it fixed its gaze upon them. The sclera was sickly yellow-grey, pulsing with visible veins thick as cables that throbbed with each beat of whatever passed for this thing's heart.
Where three tails had once lashed with deadly precision, now nine writhing limbs—possibly more, the count kept shifting—twisted and coiled through the air like serpentine whips. Each appendage glistened with viscous coating that dripped steadily onto the chamber floor below, the droplets sizzling and eating into the crystalline surface where they landed, leaving smoking pits.
But it was the pixie-like form that made stomachs clench with revulsion.
Gone was the deceptive crystalline beauty that had masked its true nature. Now everyone could see it in its horrific glory—exposed muscle fibres that twitched and contracted visibly, stark white bone jutting through tears in the flesh, and sinew stretched taut like violin strings ready to snap. The anatomical display was grotesquely fascinating and utterly repulsive. Muscles rippled without skin to contain them, each fiber visible as it worked. Bones gleamed pristine against the raw red meat, creating stark contrast that burned itself into memory.
Most disturbing of all was what remained of the head.
Only a cracked skull persisted, the fracture from Leon's earlier strike running from crown to jaw like frozen lightning. The jaw hung impossibly wide in a perpetual silent scream—despite the pixie having had no mouth before, now it possessed one stretched beyond any human limit. Through the gaping aperture, two eyeballs rolled and undulated frantically, pressing against the inner surface of bone, fighting each other for position, each one struggling to catch a glimpse of the world beyond their bony prison. They weren't resting naturally but floating, animated by something that had nothing to do with optic nerves or conventional biology.
'Well,' Leon thought grimly, already tracing his bow, 'that's going to feature in my nightmares for the foreseeable future.'
"Don't let up, continue attacking!" Angelica's voice cut through the comms, cutting through the moment of horrified paralysis.
"I have created over a thousand blades," Leon's voice rang out as everyone restarted their assault. The words of his aria carried across the chamber as reality bent to his will. He traced arrow after arrow, each one a sword converted to aerodynamic form, and loosed them in a storm. Caladbolg II after Caladbolg II materialized and launched, twisted drills of destruction that screamed through the air. Rain upon rain of steel fell upon the enemy, each blade finding purchase in cosmic flesh.
Durga restarted her bombardment, beams of crimson and black energy spawning from above her crown, blasting upward before arcing down like divine artillery. She charged toward the creature, weapons manifesting in each of her multiple hands.
Leon followed her lead. As he ran he traced hundreds upon hundreds of swords at fixed XYZ coordinates in the air, creating makeshift platforms and stair steps of projected blades—each one stable enough to push off from, each one placed with Structural Analysis precision. He ascended through empty space on stairs made of steel, never ceasing his bowed assault, never stopping the rain of steel, never stopping his tracing Noble Phantasm after Noble Phantasm as he notched them on his bow.
Olivia and Illya redirected their constructs toward the nightmare hovering above. Stork knights and shadowed wolves rushed upward in suicidal flocks. Owls with bladed claws circled and dove. Gravitic blasts and beams of blackened light joined the storm.
Meltryllis—still maintaining platforms for both Angelica and Olivia—summoned a massive water spout that crystallized mid-formation into a tornado of jagged ice shards. The frozen vortex reached upward like a pillar, shredding limbs as fast as they regenerated. Her two passengers added to the assault—Angelica's enchanted flames that latched and burned without ceasing, Olivia's hair-daggers that she called 'Degen' launching one after another.
Both Sella and Leysritt followed Leon and Durga's lead, their solar-like energy orbs manifesting as they flew toward the monster on wings of light.
But the creature roared in defiance.
Every remaining limb raised simultaneously, and gigantic plasma orbs began forming in each clawed hand—not the hundred-metre spheres from before but massive concentrations easily two hundred metres across. They launched in waves, dozens at once, tracking each combatant with malevolent intelligence.
"Melt, defence!" Leon ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Don't wait for it to descend—block with ice walls!"
"Sella, Leysritt, redirect with gravitic magic," Olivia followed up immediately.
Walls of ice manifested in patterns across the chamber, intercepting the plasma orbs, detonating them prematurely. The guardian spirits added their power, bending space itself to curve the trajectories away from their allies.
Then it vanished.
Reality folded, and the creature simply ceased to exist in its position. It reappeared instantly behind Leon and Durga, the distance crossed in zero time. The skeletal pixie swiped with one muscled arm, the movement impossibly fast.
The impact sent both Leon and Durga flying. They tumbled through the air, unable to arrest their momentum, and crashed against the chamber's far wall with bone-shattering force. Leon felt ribs crack, felt his back crunch against the invisible barrier that marked the dungeon's edge. Durga hit beside him, the impact driving the air from both their lungs.
"Leon! Durga!" Olivia's worried voice came through the comms, answered only by pained grunts.
"Sella, Leysritt, Illya, cover us!" Olivia ordered, her tactical mind already adapting. "Angelica, continue your attack. Melt, bring us to Leon and Durga."
"Yes, Ms Olivia," came Meltryllis's reply, her usual cheerfulness replaced by worry.
The monster, now relieved of the burden of thousands of projectiles pin-cushioning its body, began teleporting around the chamber. It appeared and disappeared in rapid sequence, harassing the trio of guardian spirits. Plasma orbs launched from every position, creating a web of destruction that filled the space.
The trio of guardian spirits struggled, caught between offence and defence. They couldn't maintain both simultaneously—every moment spent blocking was a moment they couldn't attack, and every moment attacking left them vulnerable. Meltryllis attempted to detonate the orbs prematurely with ice walls placed in their paths, but there were too many, coming too fast.
Olivia leapt from the water platform carrying her and Angelica, leaving the wave behind as she rushed toward the pair collapsed against the wall. She dropped to her knees beside Leon, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with hands that only trembled slightly.
Durga was already shakily trying to stand, waving Olivia off. "Tend to Master first," she said through gritted teeth, one arm cradling her ribs.
Olivia hovered her hands over Leon's back, her palms glowing with restorative magic. She could feel the damage through the connection—cracked vertebrae, ruptured organs, internal bleeding. Her magic went to work immediately, knitting bone and sealing vessels.
Then came three heavy thuds against the same wall, followed by three more impacts as bodies slid down to collapse near them. Sella, Leysritt, and Illya—all three thrown like rag dolls, all three struggling to rise.
"Sorry, Master," Sella said shakily, one hand pressed against her side where a plasma orb had scored a direct hit.
Then everyone's hair began to rise. The air itself became saturated with magic—so thick it was almost visible, so concentrated it made breathing difficult. Static electricity crackled across skin and armour.
Durga was the first to move, followed immediately by Meltryllis. Both took defensive positions, Melt raising ice walls in layered patterns, Durga manifesting her dhal shield and expanding it to cover the group.
With everyone's backs literally against the wall, thirteen copies of the abomination suddenly appeared in a wide semicircle that was almost practically straight before them, surrounding their position. Each one identical, each one real, each one charging power. The space between the pincers flanking each pixie's skeletal head sparked with building energy, reality warping around the focal points.
Thirteen beams of pure destructive energy burst forth simultaneously, all concentrated toward the same point—toward the huddled group with nowhere to run.
"Unknown to death, nor known to life," Leon's voice rang out clearly despite the pain, despite the building roar of incoming annihilation. "Rho Aias!"
The seven-layered shield bloomed before them—seven petals of translucent pink energy, each one massive, each one overlapping the others in a flower of absolute defence.
It was quite the boon, because as soon as the thirteen beams of pure destructive force converged—as concentrated destruction met absolute defence—both Meltryllis's ice walls and Durga's dhal shattered instantly. The ice exploded into steam, the divine shield cracked and burst into motes of light.
Not that Rho Aias fared much better.
In two seconds, four layers had already broken.
Each shattered petal reflected damage back onto its caster. Leon's body jerked as though struck by invisible hammers. Blood burst from his skin in random patterns—not from wounds but from the sheer internal damage, from blood vessels rupturing under impossible pressure. His bones cracked audibly, the sound carrying even over the roar of the beams, his skeleton fracturing under forces it was never meant to withstand.
But beneath the pain, Leon felt something else—relief, a cycle of healing and damage running simultaneously. Olivia's hands never left his back, her magic working overtime, reknitting flesh as fast as it tore, setting bones as fast as they broke.
Leon dismissed and resummoned Rho Aias, the fifth layer shattering and reforming, the sixth layer holding for precious seconds. Behind them, everyone huddled in his shadow. From their perspective, Leon's back looked impossibly large—their last hope before oblivion takes them for everything. The layered shield bloomed and reformed before him like a flower eternally opening, each petal translucent pink shot through with gold script, each one catching the light of the destroying beams and refracting it into rainbow patterns that would have been beautiful if they weren't instruments of survival.
The petals shattered and reformed in sequence, a rhythm of destruction and recreation, buying them seconds, buying them time, buying them life.
Leon looked inward whilst his body screamed, searching through Unlimited Blade Works for something that could change the tide. He found three possibilities. One was a bright symbol, a sword of victory, signifying the triumphant before it was broken. The other two were looming constructs within his Reality Marble, massive beyond measure, and Leon wondered when Archer had been able to see the originals.
'He'll prime these two for now,' Leon thought as he traced another Rho Aias, the seventh layer shattering, the first reforming.
'Judging the concept of creation.'
Leon winced as pain beyond the physical lanced through him. These were divine constructs—weapons wielded and created by gods, the materials unknown to mortals. Even the most basic imitation would take a toll. What he didn't know was that blood was now streaming from every orifice of his face—nose, eyes, ears, mouth—painting his features red. His body was experiencing backlash on a cellular level, his brain suffering from countless micro-aneurysms as neurons fired and died.
But Olivia was there, reknitting him over and over, her face contorted in concentration and desperation, her magic working beyond what should be possible, drawing on reserves she didn't know she had.
'Hypothesizing the basic structure.'
'Duplicating the composition material.'
Leon's body buckled as his Reality Marble compensated, unable to replicate divine materials, substituting with alternatives that were close but not perfect. His circuits burned, overloading, threatening to fail entirely.
'Imitating the skill of its making.'
'Sympathising with the experience of the blade.'
'Reproducing the accumulated years.'
His body was overheating now, temperature rising beyond what flesh could sustain. His mind, his instincts, his every cell was rejecting what he was doing—this wasn't meant for humans, this was hubris, this was reaching beyond mortal limits. But he pushed through it all, forced his will onto reality, demanded that the world bend.
'Excelling every manufacturing process.'
With a desperate roar of defiance that tore his throat raw, Leon shouted the names that would doom or save them:
"IG-ALIMA! SUL-SAGANA!"
Everyone's eyes widened, their minds unable to process the sheer scale of what appeared above them.
Two swords materialised in the air, but calling them swords was like calling mountains pebbles. They were impossibly vast—each blade easily five kilometres long, two kilometres wide at the base, tapering to points that could pierce reality itself. They appeared like guillotines dropping from heaven, their whole massive lengths falling with the inevitability of divine judgement.
Ig-Alima and Sul-Sagana—the swords wielded by Zababa, the war god of Kish, weapons that had split mountains and carved valleys, blades that had been present at the dawn of civilisation when gods walked among men. Ig-Alima, 'the most exalted one,' whose edge had never dulled. Sul-Sagana, 'the greatest of heroes,' whose weight was said to equal the world's sorrows.
But Leon's versions were hollow—not solid divine metal but shells, frameworks, imitations that captured the form and function but not the true essence. They were to the originals what shadows were to solid objects. Yet even shadows of divine weapons wielded power beyond mortal comprehension.
The swords fell.
The kinetic force alone was apocalyptic. Two mountain-sized blades dropping with terminal velocity, with gravity itself weaponised, with mass multiplied by acceleration creating forces measured in megatons. The air screamed as it was displaced. Sonic booms overlapped into a single continuous roar that deafened.
The blades fell onto the thirteen copies of the horror given form, and the chamber shook.
The impact created a shockwave that radiated outward in all directions. Everyone was blown backward against the wall by the sheer force—not from the swords themselves but from the air displaced by their passage, from the pressure wave that preceded them, from the reality-shaking violence of their descent.
The thirteen copies were cleaved and crushed simultaneously. Those caught under Ig-Alima's edge were bisected, split from crown to base, their cosmic flesh parting like water. Those beneath Sul-Sagana's flat were simply flattened, compressed, reduced to spreading stains beneath impossible weight.
The swords embedded themselves in the chamber floor, driving deep, creating cracks that spread in spiderwebs for kilometres.
But still the creatures' cries echoed across the chamber. The chorused symphony of horrific shrieking was amplified tenfold as thirteen throats screamed in unison—not death screams but rage, pain, denial. The sound bypassed ears entirely, resonated in souls, made reality itself vibrate in sympathy.
"This is our last stand," Leon rallied them, his voice hoarse but carrying through the comms to all eight combatants. They were all shakily trying to stand from the backlash, all bearing injuries, all exhausted. "Buy me thirty seconds."
He could see the twelve copies vanishing now, dismissed or destroyed, fading like nightmares at dawn. But the thirteenth—the original, the real one—was starting to recover, was pulling itself together even whilst pinned beneath Sul-Sagana's immense weight.
"Make sure it doesn't leave that position," Leon commanded, already beginning the projection, already reaching for the sword that mattered. "Pin it down. Overwhelm it."
Everyone charged.
Durga was first, roaring defiance, all her arms wielding different weapons as she leapt onto Sul-Sagana's flat and ran up its length toward the trapped creature.
Meltryllis followed, carrying Olivia and Angelica on waves that solidified into platforms, bringing them into range. Angelica's rifle cracked out measured shots whilst Olivia's hair-constructs multiplied, a storm of Degen rushing forward.
Sella and Leysritt took to the air, their wings of light carrying them upward as they bombarded the pinned creature with solar orbs, each impact creating spreading cracks in its crystalline flesh.
Illya teleported directly above the trapped nightmare, her shadow constructs manifesting in waves—wolves and hares and owls, all wielding bladed weapons, all diving with suicidal determination.
The creature thrashed, tried to teleport, tried to escape. But the pressure didn't let it. It couldn't move. Couldn't flee. Could only endure.
Leon stood alone, thirty metres back, both hands raised. His circuits were burning, his body was failing, blood covered his face and soaked his clothes. Olivia's healing had kept him alive, but couldn't keep him whole—he was breaking apart from the inside, held together by will alone.
But he had thirty seconds.
He reached into Unlimited Blade Works one final time, reached for the sword he'd seen only in fragments, the sword that was broken but whose concept remained. The blade of the king who'd pulled it from stone, the sword that had chosen the worthy, the weapon that represented victory itself.
'I don't need the perfect copy,' Leon thought as his body strained to its absolute limits. 'I just need it to remember what it was. What it meant. What it represented.'
Golden light began to gather between his hands, coalescing from nothing, from memory, from the weight of legend itself. Not the Holy Sword Excalibur—that was beyond him, was something that could only be held by the true king. But the sword that came before. The sword of selection.
The golden light intensified, taking shape, forming a blade that gleamed like captured sunlight.
The sword solidified, three feet of golden steel, with a crossguard and a pommel bearing a dragon wound around a crown.
His hands closed around the grip. The sword recognised him—not as its king, never that, but as someone who understood what it meant to carry weight, to bear responsibility, to sacrifice.
Everyone was giving their all, pouring everything they had into keeping the creature pinned, keeping it from escaping, holding it in place for what had to come next.
Leon raised the sword high, and golden light blazed along its length, running from hilt to tip, building in intensity until it was painful to look at directly, until shadows were banished entirely from the chamber.
The golden light became blinding, became absolute, became a pillar that reached from floor to distant ceiling.
"Everyone back off," Olivia yelled through the comms.
"SWORD OF SELECTION!" Leon roared, bringing the sword down in a vertical slash that was less a strike and more a declaration, a statement that this ended here, that this ended now. "CALIBURN"
The blade fell.
The golden light became a wave, a tsunami, an absolute wall of destruction that swept forward with the inevitability of dawn, the certainty of the sun rising, the promise that darkness would always yield to light.
The wave struck the pinned creature.
And the creature screamed—one final time, a sound of such absolute despair and denial that it threatened to shatter minds, to break spirits, to unmake souls. But the sound was cut off mid-note, severed, ended.
The golden light consumed everything—flesh, bone, cosmic matter, the very concept of the creature itself. It burned away the corruption, cauterised the wound in reality that this thing had represented, and cleansed with fire that was simultaneously gentle and absolute.
When the light faded, when everyone could see again through vision spotted with afterimages, the creature was gone. Not dead—gone. Removed from existence as thoroughly as if it had never been. Even the pieces that had been scattered across the chamber, even the ichor that had stained the floor, even the memory of its presence seemed diminished, harder to recall clearly.
Sul-Sagana and Ig-Alima faded, their purpose fulfilled.
And in the centre of where the creature had been pinned, scattered across the crystalline floor, lay the spoils of their victory: multiple orbs that still pulsed with faint inner light, jagged shards of crystalline carapace, the two massive curved horns—each one easily ten metres long—and the upper half of the pixie's skull, the fracture still visible, the empty eye sockets somehow still watching.
Then, suddenly, the three academy students felt pressure. Not physical—something deeper, something that bypassed flesh and struck directly at their cores. Each one felt it individually: the sensation of being seen, of having someone—or something—look into them, into their souls, into the very essence of their character. Judging. Weighing. Determining if they were worthy.
His legs simply gave out, his body having nothing left to give. He fell backwards, and Olivia was there instantly, catching him, lowering him gently, her hands already glowing with healing magic even though she was swaying with exhaustion herself.
"We did it," someone said—Leon couldn't tell who through the ringing in his ears. "We actually did it."
At the centre of the chamber, an altar appeared.
-=&
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Despite her tiredness—that bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to settle into every fibre of her being—despite the soreness that radiated through her muscles with each breath, despite the fact that she still hadn't resolved matters with her fiancé, despite all of it, Angelica felt absolutely excellent. Magnificent, even.
She had finally achieved one of her most cherished dreams. Not merely to go on an adventure, though that alone would have been extraordinary, but to actually conquer a dungeon, to prove herself capable of such a feat, and most importantly, to contract with her very own guardian spirit. The weight of that accomplishment settled over her like a warm blanket, chasing away the lingering doubts that had plagued her before they'd descended into this place.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Angelica remained seated on the cool transparent floor of the chamber where they had just slain the dungeon's final boss. Her legs felt rather like jelly, if she was being honest with herself, and she rather suspected she'd be aching dreadfully come morning. But that was tomorrow's concern. Tonight—or was it still afternoon? Time lost all meaning in this place—she simply wanted to savour this moment, to let the reality of what she'd accomplished sink in properly.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Looking to her left, Angelica couldn't help but smile as the guardian spirit she had contracted with tilted her head, her luminous cyan eyes bright with what Angelica could only interpret as genuine affection. The spirit smiled at her in return, and something warm blossomed in Angelica's chest—a connection, a bond forming between them that went deeper than mere words.
She had relinquished control over her guardian's appearance entirely, allowing the spirit to choose for herself, and what a remarkable choice it had been. The spirit had introduced herself as Britomart, a cosmic fairy-type guardian spirit whose very presence seemed to make the air shimmer with possibility.
Britomart wore a flowing white dress with a high collar and a daringly plunging neckline that descended to her midriff, held together by delicate golden chains in an intricate lattice pattern. The fabric fell to mid-thigh with layers of white and deep purple trimmed in golden knotwork, moving with fluid grace. From her back emerged translucent fairy wings that refracted light like stained glass, though they vanished and reappeared at will, as though she dismissed them whenever they might prove inconvenient.
She stood perhaps half a head shorter than Angelica, petite but carrying herself with natural confidence that made her seem taller. Long hair flowed past her shoulders in gentle waves—a delicate lavender-silver that graduated into soft pink at the tips, styled with two elaborate buns positioned high on either side of her head, each wrapped in ornamental golden rings. Delicate pointed ears peeked through the elaborate hairstyle, marking her fairy heritage clearly.
But it was her eyes that truly captivated—large and expressive, the irises a brilliant cyan that seemed to hold actual light within their depths. Not nebulas or cosmic horror, but something cleaner, something that spoke of clear skies and distant stars viewed on peaceful nights. Her skin possessed a soft luminescence, pale as fresh cream with the faintest hint of rose, giving her an ethereal quality. When she smiled, those eyes crinkled with warmth that seemed entirely genuine, entirely hers.
She was beautiful in a way that managed to be both ethereal and approachable, powerful without being intimidating—a fairy who'd chosen her own appearance and wore it with absolute confidence.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Olivia was sitting beside her, resting whilst her new guardian spirit—a blonde, petite fairy named Pollux—lay with her head on the academy scholar's lap. The other guardian spirits were scattered behind them, all taking the opportunity to recover from the brutal battle they'd just survived.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Angelica could hear that the battle above them was winding down, the sounds of combat growing more sporadic, more distant. Quite serendipitously, she could also feel the magic emanating from the altar reaching its zenith, building toward some critical threshold that made the air itself vibrate with anticipation.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Leon stood before the altar, working with focused intensity. After everything had calmed down—after both Angelica and Olivia had contracted with their new guardian spirits—they'd been able to notice the changes in the sole male member of their group.
He looked... different enough that one would notice immediately upon looking at him properly.
Where before Leon had possessed black hair, now it turned white, as though what colour had remained had been bleached away entirely by some tremendous force. His eyes had changed as well—one remained the silver-grey she remembered, but the other had shifted to gold, creating a striking heterochromatic effect that was both beautiful and unsettling. His skin, previously pale, now bore a very light tan, as though he'd spent weeks under a gentle sun. His features seemed sharper somehow, more refined, his face having lost some indefinable softness and gained an edge that made him look older, more weathered.
Olivia had theorised that, because of the tremendous backlash he'd endured from the nightmarish creature's final attack—in which his body had been simultaneously destroyed and reknit over and over in that impossible cycle of damage and healing—some fundamental things about his physical form had begun to drift, where some of his parts were eventually replaced totally.
Leon had just shrugged when she'd explained this, as if changing something so integral to one's identity was a minor inconvenience rather than anything worth concern. He'd simply taken one of the prominent horns from the celestial nightmare they'd just slain—claiming it as part of his share of the loot—and set to work.
The moment his hand had touched the altar's surface, an anvil and a forge had manifested before it, appearing from nowhere as though they'd always been there. However, Angelica wasn't sure if it was another facet of Leon's magic or the altar's magic.
Olivia had explained this was Leon's unique method of contracting with guardian spirits. Rather than the traditional communion most used—offering prayers, pledges, or requests—Leon created offerings tailored to each spirit's interests and desires. Gifts forged with his own hands, imbued with his magic, designed to appeal to the very essence of what that spirit represented.
She'd pointed out examples. The long metal greaves—elegant pieces of leg armour with flowing designs—had been Leon's offering and gift to Meltryllis, crafted to suit her graceful, dance-like combat style. The various weapons Durga had wielded throughout the battle—the farasa, the additional blades, the implements of war—had all been his offerings to her, each one perfectly balanced for her divine strength.
These offerings became part of the contract formation itself, Olivia had explained. They became essential to the contracted guardian spirit, bound to them in ways that transcended normal equipment. The spirits could summon and dismiss the items at will, calling them forth from nothing whenever needed. If the items broke in battle, they would eventually reknit themselves given time, regenerating as long as the contract existed, as long as the bond remained intact.
It was a fascinating approach, Angelica thought. Personal. Intimate in a way that standard contracts weren't, which made her a little guilty by comparison, but it lessened as she felt the bond between her and Britomart—the warmth of being connected to someone—wishing she could connect like this with her betrothed.
A twinge of anger filled Angelica as she again reminded herself of her current personal problems, but she waved those feelings away for now.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
A bright, blinding light suddenly encompassed the altar, so intense that Angelica had to shield her eyes. One last clang echoed throughout the chamber—louder than all the others, final and absolute—and then the light burst outward in a wave of pure magical energy that washed over everyone present.
When Angelica could see again, two figures stood before Leon where none had been moments before.
They tackled him enthusiastically, appearing so suddenly that he had no chance to brace himself. He staggered backwards, caught off-balance, as both spirits latched onto him with obvious affection. The offerings he'd been working on—whatever final touches he'd been applying—were no longer visible, presumably absorbed into the contract formation.
Angelica studied the new guardian spirits with interest.
Both appeared humanoid and feminine, far shorter than Leon—perhaps reaching only to his chest. Both possessed the delicate, pointed ears and translucent wings that marked them as fairy-type spirits, though their wings seemed more substantial than Britomart's, less prone to fading in and out of visibility. Both wore flowing white robes that seemed simpler than Britomart's elaborate dress, yet no less elegant.
They looked like sisters, perhaps—or twins, given their similar features. Yet specific key differences made them distinct, as though they represented two aspects of the same concept made manifest in contrasting forms.
"The guardian spirits could be innocent and cruel at the same time," Olivia said suddenly, her voice solemn with a hint of sadness that made Angelica glance over at her. Olivia was looking at Leon with his new guardian spirits, her expression complicated—fondness mixed with something that might have been grief or regret. Her hand continued to run gently through Pollux's hair, the small fairy making contented sounds in her sleep.
Angelica wasn't entirely sure what Olivia meant by that cryptic statement, but something in her tone suggested it wasn't meant for her to understand. Something private between Leon and Olivia, some shared context from whatever history they had together before the academy.
She didn't pry. Everyone was entitled to their secrets, their private griefs.
After managing to stand up from the tangled limbs of his newly contracted guardian spirits, Leon approached them, the two new guardian spirits at his side still clinging to both arms as though afraid he might vanish if they let go. He looked exhausted—more than exhausted, really, but there was satisfaction in his eyes, a quiet pleasure at having completed something important.
Angelica turned her head towards the right as movement caught her attention.
The main group of adventurers, professors, and students appeared at the chamber's far entrance, finally finished with their own battle. They'd clearly had a harder time of it than Leon's smaller group—many looked utterly spent, some limping, others supporting injured companions. But they were here now, drawn by the altar's call, ready to attempt their own communion and establish guardian spirit contracts of their own.
This was highly encouraged, after all. Every guardian spirit gained by a member of the kingdom contributed to the kingdom's overall might, strengthening Holfort's position in a world where power determined survival. The academy actively promoted dungeon expeditions for precisely this reason—not just for the treasure or the prestige, but for the strategic value of binding powerful spirits to the nation's service.
Margot Fou Bellefleur was at the front of the group, still looking as fresh as she had at the expedition's start. Her face was bright and proud, one hand placed firmly on her hip as she marched forward toward their smaller group with the confident stride of someone who'd never doubted her victory.
But as she approached, her expression shifted. Her confident smile faltered, replaced by a confused frown that deepened with each step.
She stopped a few metres away, eyes scanning their group with clear bewilderment.
"Hey," she said, her tone blunt and direct as always. "Where's Leon? And who the fuck are you?"
She was staring directly at Leon as she said it.
Leon, still flanked by his two new guardian spirits, simply gave her a tired, exhausted look.
-=&
As everyone stepped out of the dungeon, they were greeted by the late-afternoon sky, the sun hanging low on the horizon, painting everything in shades of orange and gold.
In their ascent through the dungeon's levels, Leon had been approached by two of their upperclassmen—the two ladies he'd saved from the boss on the second floor. Both had offered their sincere thanks, their gratitude genuine and somewhat embarrassed at having needed rescue.
The upperclassman who introduced herself as Clarice hovered around the group after voicing her gratitude, seeming reluctant to leave despite having nothing particular to say. The other, who introduced herself as Deirdre, had been far more forward—she'd begun chatting Leon up almost immediately, even asking if he would invite her to tea. Leon, caught somewhat off-guard by the directness, had acquiesced to setting up a date before the end of the first term.
Both ladies had managed to contract with their own guardian spirits during the altar ceremony. In fact, plenty—if not all—of the expedition members had been able to establish contracts with new guardian spirits. The dungeon had been generous in that regard, at least.
Olivia, who had observed this exchange with keen interest—noting that this was the first girl who'd shown genuine romantic interest in Leon—immediately began calculating. This could be the opening salvo of her long-planned 'Operation Yuri-Yuri Harem as Leon's Mistress.' She'd need to cultivate this Deirdre, assess her compatibility, determine if she'd be receptive to... unconventional relationship dynamics.
For now, though, she simply accompanied Angelica as they both fell into discussion about magical theory, their conversation flowing naturally from combat applications they'd used in the dungeon to theoretical improvements.
Olivia began offering Angelica ideas for more devastating fire-based spells—modifications to increase temperature, ways to make flames stick to targets, methods of creating backdrafts and firestorms. She spoke with innocent enthusiasm, completely unaware of the increasingly horrified expressions forming on nearby academy students' faces as she cheerfully described magics that could ruthlessly maim or kill someone with the proper application of control and the chaotic nature inherent to the fire element.
"—and if you superheat the air in their lungs whilst simultaneously creating a vacuum around their head, the pressure differential causes—"
"Hey, Olivia," Angelica interrupted, her attention suddenly drawn upward. "Did Leon's land suddenly expand?"
Olivia, following Angelica's gaze, frowned as two new floating islands hovered just beside the island they were currently standing on. They hadn't been there when they'd entered the dungeon—she was certain of that.
Everyone could hear the telltale sound of an airbike engine revving, its pitch rising sharply. Judging from the rapidly increasing volume, it was approaching fast—very fast.
All eyes turned skyward, tracking the rapidly enlarging silhouette. The rider performed a full flip mid-flight, the bike rotating end-over-end with practised ease before descending in a sharp dive that made several students gasp. The bike stopped mere metres from the ground, the floating stone within it groaning as they arrested the descent at the last possible second.
A tall young lady stood up from the bike, swinging her long leg over the seat with athletic grace as she stepped onto solid ground.
She was striking—beautiful in a way that commanded attention rather than simply attracting it. Long black hair fell past her shoulders in glossy waves that caught the afternoon light, framing a face with delicate features and piercing blue eyes that seemed to assess everything they looked at. Her figure was exceptional, curves that would make most women envious displayed by form-fitting adventurer's attire that somehow managed to be both practical and eye-catching.
She wore a distinctive ensemble of black and blue—a fitted breastplate in black with golden accents that protected her torso whilst leaving her arms bare except for black gauntlets with golden trim. A short black battle skirt hung from her waist, split on both sides to allow freedom of movement, revealing long legs protected by knee-high black boots with golden reinforcements. A long black cape flowed from her shoulders, lined with brilliant blue fabric that billowed dramatically in the wind created by her landing.
The armour was clearly high-quality, each piece custom-fitted, bearing the unmistakable signs of someone who took their equipment seriously.
She surveyed the assembled group with those sharp blue eyes, her expression settling into a frown. "Where is Leon Fou Bartfort?" Her voice carried clearly, confident and direct.
Both Angelica and Olivia heard Margot mutter from nearby, her tone mixing exasperation with resignation: "What is my crazy daughter up to this time?"
All eyes turned toward Leon, who was still preoccupied with talking to Deirdre. His two new fairy guardian spirits hovered beside him, listening to the conversation with apparent interest, whilst Durga and Meltryllis stood behind them like silent sentinels.
Leon looked up, sensing the sudden attention, tilting his head in confusion as he wondered why everyone was staring at him.
The black-haired lady approached with confidence oozing from every step, though her expression shifted to a frown as she drew closer, studying him intently. "You seem different from the photographs," she said, her tone carrying a note of suspicion. "You are Baron Leon Fou Bartfort, correct?"
Leon ruffled his hair awkwardly, the gesture drawing attention to how his white hair caught the orange light of the sinking sun, making it almost seem to glow. "A recent magical side effect," he explained simply. "Yes, I'm Leon Fou Bartfort."
He frowned slightly as he glanced at Margot, then turned back to the girl, raising an eyebrow. "What does the eldest Bellefleur daughter need with me?"
"Good—you have a sharp mind as well." With a theatrical flick of her hair, she placed one hand over her considerable chest and executed a light curtsy that somehow managed to be both respectful and confident. "My name is Mégane Fou Bellefleur. As you can see behind me—" she gestured toward the two floating islands "—I've conquered three dungeons total. I'm here to offer two of my recently conquered lands as tribute to the new Barony of Leon Bartfort."
She paused for dramatic effect, her blue eyes locked on Leon's mismatched gaze.
"Along with these lands, I offer my blade, my magic, my loyalty, my service, and my body as your primary vassal and mistress."
The silence that followed was profound.
Then everyone's hair seemed to rise as the temperature dropped noticeably. A rock near Olivia's foot was suddenly crushed to powder as everyone heard a sharp stomp that cracked the ground beneath it.
Olivia approached both Leon and Mégane with measured steps, her face forming a smile that didn't seem quite right to Leon—and to anyone who could visibly see the Bartfort vassal's expression, it was clear this smile belonged on a predator rather than a petite blonde academy student.
"Greetings, Ms Bellefleur," Olivia said, her voice sweet as honey and twice as dangerous. "My name is Olivia, and I'm the Bartfort Baron's primary vassal and mistress." She extended her hand with exaggerated politeness. "I'm sure a lady of your standing and accomplishment would rather aspire to be my liege's wife rather than settling for the position of a lowly vassal and mistress, wouldn't you agree?"
It seemed as if a bear and a tiger were about to clash, metaphorical sparks flying between them as Mégane clasped Olivia's offered hand. Both immediately began trying to crush each other's fingers whilst maintaining their amicable masks, their smiles never wavering even as the pressure increased.
"Oh, posh," Mégane said airily, though her grip tightened noticeably. "I'm simply being practical. The responsibilities of managing an up-and-coming barony would not suit me—I'm an adventurer first and foremost, you understand. However, since I'm contributing two island dungeons compared to your contribution of one..." She paused meaningfully, her smile sharpening. "The position of primary vassal and mistress should rightfully be mine, don't you think, secondary vassal and mistress Olivia?"
Both women exchanged increasingly strained smiles as they continued attempting to pulverise each other's hands, neither willing to show weakness by releasing first.
The assembled crowd watched with horrified fascination, several students taking cautious steps backward.
Meanwhile, Leon was sporting his typical exasperated, tired expression—the one that suggested he'd seen this coming somehow and had already resigned himself to the chaos. He looked toward Margot with a silent plea for assistance, for intervention, for something.
The guild leader only had her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she grumbled audibly about her crazy daughter who'd skipped the entire first term to go dungeon-diving, who never listened to reason, who'd apparently decided that offering herself as a vassal and mistress to a newly elevated baron was a perfectly sensible career move, not seeing the irony where she subjected her parents to the same stress back when she was young.
Leon sighed.
It was going to be a long journey back to the academy.
Behind him, his two new fairy guardian spirits giggled at the spectacle, whilst Durga and Meltryllis exchanged knowing glances that suggested they found this entire situation deeply amusing. Deirdre had her foldable fan extended as she covered her mouth, her face clearly amused at the events.
The sun continued its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and reds, whilst two determined women continued their grip-strength competition, and Leon contemplated whether it was too late to descend into one of his other unexplored dungeons.
At least dungeons are straightforward about wanting to kill him.
-=&
End