The air was thick with the scorched tang of spent mana and the damp chill of melting ice.
The girl in purple breathed shallowly, glaring at the boy before her—still straight-backed though winded. In those jet-black eyes of his, calm as a midnight sea, there wasn't a ripple of emotion.
As if beating her were nothing more than a mundane errand.
That indifference stung worse than losing.
Her fingers clenched, trembling.
Since the day her mother abandoned her, power had been her only pride. Clinging to it as faith, she'd single-handedly destroyed the magic lab that imprisoned her.
And now, at the one thing she prized most, she'd lost to a peer… If even that didn't matter, then what was she?
Worse, he kept muttering the same name.
"Arash…?"
All the intel she had said Shane was just a slave without even a surname.
Who was this Arash? She'd never heard of him.
Even that old man who'd turned magic into instinct couldn't have conjured up something this strong out of thin air, could he?
Seeing how confusion and frustration twisted her pretty face, Shane's mouth ticked up, a glint of interest in his eyes.
He had a tiny agenda.
He didn't want Arash's name to be unknown in this world; if someone showed curiosity, he was happy to tell the story.
He sat casually on a broken stretch of wall, letting the fatigue from the True Name release ebb.
"Arash is a legendary hero," he said evenly. "They say two neighboring nations fought without end—sixty years. To end the pointless war, the people chose Arash. He climbed to the summit of a snowy mountain and, with a single arrow…"
He sketched the old epic in brief.
"…So his name came to stand for unrivaled archery—and a sacrifice made for peace."
"Hard to believe, right? An ordinary man with no magic doing something like that."
Her taut, angry posture froze for an instant at the end of his tale.
But the irritation in her eyes didn't fade; it settled, darker. A life like hers left no room to believe in such idealized figures.
"Sacrifice… for peace?" she echoed softly, then gave a short, sharp laugh. "I don't believe anyone would burn their life away so strangers can have 'peace.'"
"And even if it's true, what kind of 'hero' is that? Just an idiot."
Impossible to reason with. Shane shook his head lightly and let it drop.
"Believe it or don't. Either way, I answered your question. Now it's your turn to answer mine."
Her expression flickered. The way he'd fought—merciless—was still fresh in her mind.
This one would kill.
After a long moment, she turned her head and muttered, "Jellal's mana is strong. Very strong. For the Tower of Heaven, he's the brightest 'material.'"
Born able to awaken magic? Shane's thoughts stirred. Grandpa Rob had said if someone was born with enough mana, they could basically awaken on their own.
So that straight-laced Jellal had such talent?
And Erza seemed to have used mana just now too… another one? Weren't prodigies supposed to be rare?
What is this place, a genius hatchery where prodigies pop like bamboo shoots after rain?
Shane couldn't help a silent whistle, but he felt no pressure—he was happy for his friends.
Even with oceans of mana, you still had to study and train.
His own path was trickier: squeeze his brain to figure out what cheat the Book of Heroic Spirits had dealt him. Without history and legend, the brain cells he'd burn…
What, I'm a history grad student? Then we're fine.
He thanked his past self for not zoning out in class, steadied his mind, and pressed on.
"'Material'? For the tower's ritual? Who exactly are you trying to resurrect with all this?"
"Zeref." At the name, her voice dropped without thinking; fear and fervor tugged at her face.
"The legendary dark mage from centuries ago—the strongest and most dangerous of all: Zeref.
This 'Tower of Heaven' is an altar built to welcome his return."
Shane nodded, thoughtful.
So the dark mage who'd cost countless lives to build this stone tower was named Zeref.
He filed the name away.
And took interest.
I did say I was going to set this place on fire… A blood-soaked den like this only looks right in flames.
He rubbed his chin, reminding himself not to forget that later. He was a man who did what he said.
Then, the question that interested him most:
"Right—your mana's clearly strong, so why pick that… well, limp sort of magic? Is there some restriction on learning proper magic outside?"
That bothered him most. Lobbing crystal orbs like bombs felt abstract to him—not what magic should feel like.
"And the ice magic you used at the end—that's obviously way more practiced than the crystal-throwing. Why not lead with it? You might've even kept up with me a bit."
Once magic came up, Shane couldn't help himself; the questions stacked up.
"Shut up!"
The words lit a fuse. She snapped her head up; the pallor on her cheeks flushed scarlet with rage, the thin calm she'd kept shattering.
"What do you know?! I'm using Lost Time Magic.
And… ice magic—what I hate most is the ice magic she taught me! Why should I use her magic?"
Shane blinked, baffled by the sudden outburst.
"But I'm not wrong. You've poured far more effort into ice magic—your mastery is miles ahead of that crystal trick. As your opponent, I can feel that clearly."
"Drop dead!"
The matter-of-fact critique only poured oil on the flames. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she lurched to her feet to hurl herself at him, even with no mana left.
Shane sidestepped; she crashed to the floor with a thud.
When he went to check again, her eyes were shut and she didn't move.
"Already out? That's some fragile psyche," he muttered. Who knew what he'd said that hit a nerve. At least wait till after you finish answering.
Once he was sure she'd fainted, he left her be and looked to the other corner where Jellal still lay.
He walked over and nudged the boy's calf with his foot—not hard, not soft.
"Hey. Quit lying there. If you're awake, get up. The floor's cold, isn't it?"