Wizards typically underestimate swordsmen.
When a wizard first steps into the realm of magic, they awaken to a new sense—something beyond their five senses. It's like a new hand, a new tool, or a mysterious sixth sense. Through it, they shape their mental world, which they call the "inner world" or the "realm of magic."
Accessing this realm requires no keys, doors, or paths—it's simply within them.
By gazing at the heavens, flames, or glaciers, they refine their world. This process defines a wizard's training and discipline.
The perception that wizards are mad often comes from the extreme methods they use to cultivate their inner worlds.
In the 48th year of the Empire, one wizard, who built his entire inner world around fire, burned an entire city to reach a new plane of existence.
That event, known as the "Flame Flood Incident," claimed thousands of lives.
The wizard responsible, later branded the Demon of Fire, did not burn the city for mass murder. After countless killings, watching people burn no longer inspired him. So, he escalated, burning the entire city in his quest for new insights.
Many knights and wizards perished trying to stop him, but he eventually met his end.
Such obsessive pursuit of knowledge defines wizards. They are driven to seek truth and revel in the euphoria of enlightenment, even at the cost of their sanity.
It is no surprise, then, that wizards look down on swordsmen. Wizards walk a world unseen by swordsmen.
A wizard skilled in magic, especially one specialized in certain areas, could easily dispatch even the most talented swordsmen.
This leads to missions like this one:
"Complete the task, claim the reward, and leave."
Among the few groups accepting mercenary contracts, the "Shadow Nest" is the most prominent. Known for their expertise in covert operations, members of Shadow Nest cloak themselves in black soot and blend into the night.
One wizard casts a spell, "Thickened Shroud," enveloping an enemy tent in shadows that obscure perception. Another spreads a sleep-inducing scent, while a third employs a spell called "Dream of the Abyss" to plunge all inside into unconsciousness.
It might seem excessive, but after facing five monstrous berserkers earlier, they couldn't take risks.
Even though wizards disdain swordsmen, "Will-bearers"—those who have awakened a measure of "Will" or inner strength—present a challenge. "Will," or as some call it, "resolve," is a trait of knight candidates and higher.
Spotting a Will-bearer is tricky without combat, but one stood out earlier.
The golden-haired warrior.
He had tossed aside his helmet mid-battle, revealing sharp eyes, crimson irises, and a terrifyingly precise swordsmanship that left an impression even on these haughty wizards.
The leader had encountered knights of near-knight-level strength numerous times before. His instincts as a seasoned mage told him one thing:
that golden-haired man was the most dangerous.
"It's done."
One of the subordinates informed him, prompting the leader to push aside the tent flap and step inside.
Even if there were individuals of knight-level power within, the preparations they had made should render them incapacitated. At most, one might remain standing, but that wouldn't qualify as a true challenge.
Inside the tent, thanks to their cloaking spell, no one should have noticed anything strange. Yet, there they were—
two piercing blue flames glowing in the darkness.
For a brief moment, it resembled a malevolent spirit made entirely of fire—an "Evil Flame." But it was not a magical beast.
"...A leopard?"
It was a black leopard with flames flickering from its eyes.
The leader immediately realized the truth: those fiery eyes contained magic, mystery, or perhaps something even more potent.
Both he and the accompanying mage, previously cloaked in black soot, felt their disguises burn away. The spells concealing them unraveled, revealing their forms fully to the creature that stood before them.
No words were exchanged. The atmosphere inside the tent grew unbearably heavy.
And then,
"Kachoo!"
The leopard sneezed.
The leader's thoughts stuttered.
...Did it just sneeze? Seriously? That completely ruined the tension.
Esther was reminiscing about the past. One phrase summarized the turning point of her life:
"Damn curse."
The curse had upended everything, tangling her life into knots. It was maddening, but in a way, she'd come to terms with it. Unraveling the curse was like loosening a bundle of thread—time-consuming and painstaking, but once the process began, the rest felt inevitable.
That loosened thread allowed Esther to reclaim a small part of her former power.
"Grrr..."
The leopard bared its sharp fangs.
"...A familiar?" the enemy mage speculated. Familiars—summoned entities serving as extensions of a mage's will—were often animals or spiritual constructs. The assumption was incorrect but understandable.
Esther, however, ignored the intruders. Her magic coursed through her body, her gaze piercing beyond physical sight to detect the tricks and enchantments they had employed.
Five spells.
A perception-shrouding spell, a windborne sleeping mist, and a slumber-inducing enchantment—these three had been layered to obscure senses, weaken awareness, and lull their targets into unconsciousness.
Clearly, they weren't here for a casual visit.
Enkrid, it seemed, had already succumbed to the magical lullaby, likely because of prior exhaustion. The others had probably fallen asleep too. That left Esther as the only one who could act.
"Kill it."
The mage gave the command. Esther felt the shift in the magical plane as a spell took shape.
It had been a long time since she'd witnessed a proper magical invocation.
Above her, the "Blade of the Wind" formed—a vertical guillotine composed of sharp, slicing air, descending swiftly.
With a sharp jump, Esther evaded. The blade struck the ground where she had stood, dissipating into nothingness.
The curse she bore made using magic a dangerous gamble. Casting spells triggered severe backlash.
Another mage began muttering incantations, his fingers weaving intricate gestures to channel his power. His words were almost unintelligible, likely a customized runic dialect designed to prevent countermeasures.
Esther didn't need to understand the words—she could read the flow of the magic itself.
Pathetic.
From the ground beneath the male mage, shadows stretched and surged, aiming to ensnare the leopard.
Esther slammed her paw against the ground. The moment she did, a transformation began—not a mystical, internal shift, but a physical, external one.
The threads of her curse, once tightly bound, had begun to loosen. A significant part of this unraveling was thanks to a peculiar force entwined with Enkrid's aura.
This meant Esther no longer needed to endure the curse's full backlash through her current form.
For a brief moment, she could return to her true self.
The incoming shadow spell was designed for restraint, but Esther's response was simple.
"Bask in my scent,"
she commanded, her voice deep and commanding, as a
hand
—not a paw—emerged to intercept the attack.
As the claws retracted, they revealed a pristine white hand, the skin so flawless it almost seemed to glow. The encroaching shadows of the enemy's spell transformed seamlessly into a black robe that enveloped Esther's body.
The leopard's fur vanished as her form grew larger, taking on a distinctly human shape. Naturally, this transformation left no trace of her previous beastly figure. Even her modesty remained intact, thanks to her deft manipulation of the enemy's magic into her own garment.
The pale skin was now draped in the dark robe, adding an air of mystique.
A tense silence filled the tent, heavy and oppressive. The two mages who had entered with the leader were wide-eyed, their muscles tensing with dread as they beheld the transformation.
The woman who had emerged from the leopard's form spoke, her voice calm but resonating with power.
"...It's been a while."
Esther, now fully human, felt a surge of emotion. The curse had kept her bound for so long. Though her return to humanity was temporary—more like stepping out for fresh air than a permanent reprieve—it was more than she had dared to hope for.
For the first time in what felt like ages, she could savor the fresh, crisp air beyond her prison of fur and claws. Even with the enemy's magic interwoven into the atmosphere, it didn't bother her.
Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down her shoulders and back, and her outstretched fingers, tipped with sharp nails, glinted faintly.
"Hello?" she said, her tone almost playful.
The leader and his mages were too stunned to respond.
A leopard turning into a human? What in the world is this?
"It's not a familiar," one of the mages muttered nervously.
"Get a grip!" the leader snapped, though his voice betrayed his own unease.
He had seen many things in his time, but this was beyond belief. She had taken their magic—a spell meant to bind her—and reshaped it into clothing? Was that even possible?
His doubts mounted. Was this an illusion? A deception?
As the black robe she had conjured shifted with her movements, it revealed glimpses of her pale skin beneath, but there was no time to dwell on such thoughts. This was no mere display of power; it was a statement.
The leader swallowed hard. This woman was no ordinary mage. She was high-level—possibly beyond anything he had faced before.
Esther's red lips curved into a satisfied smile. "Let's begin, then."
For her, this was a moment of profound joy. How long had it been since she could freely wield magic, drawing from her own world? Her delight materialized in the form of her next spell.
D'Mueller's Scythe.
At her incantation, a massive black scythe materialized in the air. Unlike the earlier wind blade, this spell was far more advanced—a high-tier magical attack.
"Companion of life, darker than the abyss!" the leader shouted. The defensive spell etched onto his body activated instantly.
Esther's eyes gleamed with intrigue. It was a type of magic she hadn't encountered before, a tattoo-like defensive spell engraved directly onto the skin. It was remarkably fast to activate.
Magical tattoos?
she mused, analyzing the flow of power. It was an efficient method, using inscriptions to channel spells instantly.
Interesting, but limited.
High-level magic couldn't be cast this way—it required a deeper connection to the magical realm.
The scythe collided with the barrier created by the leader's defensive magic. The clash filled the air with a cacophony of sound as the scythe's edge splintered and shards of darkness scattered like broken glass.
Esther snapped her fingers, dismissing the fragmented weapon with a faint
click
"Haah... haah..." The leader panted heavily. One exchange was enough for him to realize she was far out of his league.
"Call them all in!" he shouted, summoning the remaining four subordinates outside. It was time to fight as a group.
But Esther was no stranger to magical combat. Before the curse, she had faced countless mages in duels that left her jaded with the experience.
"Born from a spark, become an inferno that consumes all," she intoned smoothly, continuing her chant without pause.
Flames erupted from the ground at the feet of the reinforcements as they rushed in.
"Block it!" one of the mages yelled, their combined effort raising a protective barrier just in time.
"Wrong answer," Esther said with a smirk, her crimson lips curling into a predatory grin.
In the blink of an eye, she was upon one of the mages, her body leaving behind a ghostly afterimage as she darted forward.
Her spell,
Burning Hand,
ignited in her palm. She grabbed the closest mage by the throat, and the heat from her touch seared through flesh and bone.
"Arghhh!" The mage screamed, though his voice faltered as his vocal cords melted away. All that remained was a sickening hiss of escaping air.
"Next," Esther said, baring her sharp teeth in a feral grin.
She took down two more mages with effortless efficiency. Her physical prowess matched her magical dominance, and the final two fell to the
D'Mueller's Scythe
with swift, clean strikes.
Decapitating them was almost anticlimactic. High-level spells weren't necessary—nor, in her current state, entirely possible. But what she had was more than enough.
Heads rolled, hitting the ground with dull thuds.
"Who knew you weren't a damsel?"
The lazy voice of Rem echoed through the tent. He had been feigning sleep, lying on his side with his head propped up on a fist, watching the chaos unfold with a relaxed smirk.

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