The chill that rolled in with the setting sun settled into a comfortable temperature. It wasn’t too cold, not too warm—

  Stop monologuing and focus on the fight!

  Pickle’s sword lunged forward without warning, the tip aimed straight for my chest.

  I reacted on instinct, dropping my back low and snapping my blade upward. Steel rang out as I barely deflected the thrust. The impact rattled my arms, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  Behind me, I heard the rapid pitter-patter of Rogue’s feet closing in fast.

  “GO IN ALREADY, PICKLE!” Rogue shouted.

  Pickle stumbled for just a split second as he brought his sword back down. “Sorry!”

  In the brief moment where I looked like I was playing limbo, I planted my left hand against the ground and kicked out hard, aiming straight for Pickle’s midsection.

  “Cross your arms!” Rogue warned.

  Pickle reacted just in time. He blocked the kick, but the force still sent him flying upward.

  “Urgh!” he groaned as his body lifted off the ground.

  Using the momentum of my spin kick, I twisted and dropped into a low crouch, now facing Rogue.

  “Woah, chill, Boss!” Rogue yelped.

  Before he could scramble away, I pushed off the ground with my left arm and lunged forward, swiping him aside.

  “Agh!” Rogue cried as he was sent skidding away.

  I turned, locking my eyes onto Pickle.

  He was still falling.

  Perfect.

  As I rushed toward him, mana gathered in my hands, shaping itself into a crossbow.

  “Hey, that’s not fair!” Rogue yelled.

  He complains a lot. Reminds me of a certain someone.

  Ignoring Sys, I kept charging the crossbow while closing the distance. The creation sped up the mana flow, and the missile formed faster than usual.

  I fired.

  “Pickle!” Rogue shouted.

  “Roger!” Pickle replied, twisting midair and reflecting the missile.

  I was right. I’d noticed it before during testing. The mana missiles fired from the crossbow weren’t the same. Usually, the missiles were pure mana condensed into light projectiles, but now, with a solid crossbow that charged them up, their spectral-like state had gone away. The missiles were now more like physical arrows. It’s probably the tradeoff for being able to charge up so fast.

  But I can work with that.

  I dashed forward, sword held low at my side.

  A lot of things have drawbacks, negative aspects that make you think twice. But instead of throwing them away, why not see what you can squeeze out of them?

  Pickle raised his sword as he saw me charging, but the sudden whistle of something homing in on him made his eyes flick back.

  The missile he’d just deflected was coming back.

  I’d wrapped it in a thin barrier, just enough to guide it, just like that circle from before. It took extra focus and a bit more mana, but that was fine.

  Right now, I was just trying things out. And, to be fair, it had worked out.

  Now Pickle had two threats bearing down on him at once.

  Was the missile a distraction? Was I feinting so it could strike? Or were both attacks fake, setting up something worse?

  The answer didn’t matter.

  Because the worst possibility was obvious.

  Both were real.

  Pickle hit the ground hard, landing on his backside as both the missile and I closed in. He raised his hands immediately.

  “I forfeit, General.”

  I stopped. The mana missile froze midair.

  Then, with a wave of my hand, I willed the missile to go away.

  “You did well, Pickle,” I said, offering him my hand.

  He took it and stood. “What did I do wrong there?”

  I paused.

  Honestly, he hadn’t done anything wrong. His counters were solid. His pressure was good. If anything—

  “You just need more training. When you saw both me and the missile coming, you should have attempted to spin yourself with your blade, forming a type of barrier that could deflect us both.”

  Pickle stared at me.

  On second thoughts, that probably isn’t possible for him. That move requires a strong core.

  Like mine.

  I wonder what I could use to help Pickle out with-

  “Nightclaw.”

  “What’s up?” Nightclaw replied, adjusting his wings.

  Oh, a counter for attacks in the air. Nice.

  “Lieutenant,” Pickle said formally.

  “At ease, Private,” Nightclaw replied with a casual wing wave.

  Nightclaw had really taken a liking to Pickle’s way of speaking.

  “Did you see what we were working on?” I asked.

  “I did,” Nightclaw said, lifting his beak. “I take it that you want me to provide support when something like that happens?”

  “Basically. But I also want you attacking when you see an opening. You should—”

  “HEY!”

  “Ugh,” Nightclaw muttered. “Here comes the loudmouth.”

  Rogue came scampering over, leaping onto Pickle’s shoulder and yelling straight into his ear. “WHO SAID YOU COULD FORFEIT? WE COULD’VE KEPT GOING!”

  Pickle winced. “I’m sorry, Sergeant. I believed it was a good moment to stop and admit defeat, so that we could learn what could be fixed upon.”

  Rogue twisted his ear. “Listen here, newbie, we were this close to beating Boss—”

  “Chill out on my Private,” Nightclaw said as he flew closer.

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  Rogue scowled. “Why are you here, Birdbrain?” He turned to me. “Boss, don’t tell me I have to work with him again.”

  “That’s what I should be saying, feces eater,” Nightclaw shot back.

  Rogue climbed higher up Pickle, standing face-to-beak with Nightclaw.

  Pickle looked miserable.

  “What’d you call me, little pecker?”

  “Bold words for someone who eats their own crap.”

  “Sergeant, Lieutenant,” Pickle groaned. “My head hurts.”

  “You’ll be fine. The only thing this giant idiot can do is fill your head with a mindless ramble that feels like a brain aneurysm.” Rogue said sharply.

  “No, Sergeant,” Pickle corrected. “Your claws are physically digging into my head.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Rogue stepped back down, then froze. “Wait. I’m a sergeant, and Nightclaw’s a lieutenant?”

  Pickle nodded.

  “Boss,” Rogue then asked, “what’s the ranking order anyway?”

  The military rankings? There’s like 5 different groups in it. But since he did say sergeant and lieutenant, and since I’m the general apparently, it could be either the army or the air force……..or the coast guard………and the marine corps.

  But they all have a similar ranking system.

  “From highest to lowest, it goes General, Colonel, Major, Captain, Lieutenant, Sergeant, Corporal, and Private.”

  Rogue’s jaw dropped. “.......You’re telling me I’m below him?”

  “Not surprising,” Nightclaw said calmly.

  “Pickle,” Rogue said slowly, “why exactly is this the case?”

  Pickle cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Nightclaw demonstrates superior attack patterns, greater physical mass, faster speed, flight capability, and heightened senses. Compared to you, Sergeant Rogue, he is the more capable combatant.”

  Rogue glared. “Are you saying I’m weak?”

  Pickle shook his head quickly. “No, Sergeant. Compared to you, I still have much to learn. That is why I am but a mere Private.”

  Rogue went quiet. He looked at Nightclaw, then at me, and back to Pickle. “.......I’ll let it slide.”

  “Oh, we’re honored,” Nightclaw mocked.

  “YOU BETTER SHUT—”

  I recalled them all.

  They could finish that argument later.

  That was tight.

  Sys came over while picking his teeth, trying to get popcorn bits out.

  “Tight?”

  Did I not use it right? Sys looked deep in thought. How about “tough”?

  “You sound old.”

  Age doesn’t relate to me, so that insult holds no power.

  “Okay, boomer.”

  Oh nah. You’re the old one for saying that. No way you just unironically said that in this day and age.

  “You mean the same day and age where we don’t even have toilets?”

  Sys sighed as he floated to my shoulder.

  Blah blah blah, let’s get a move on. It’s getting dark anyway.

  I shrugged my shoulders as I prepared to exit the Arena.

  Pickle showed a lot of promise.

  “He did, and honestly, it surprised me a lot. I didn’t think he’d be this good with a sword.”

  As you already know, your summons inherit your attributes. That’s the cause behind their intelligence and human-like personalities. Aside from increased size, speed, and strength, pertaining to what potential they have for their specific kind, they should excel in them also.

  “Specific kind?”

  Since Pickle is more humanoid, he inherited your swordsmanship skills. If you wanted, he’d even be well adept with his hands for craftsmanship.

  “Then, what about my other summons?”

  You’ve already seen a few of them. Nightclaw is a great scout due to his flight and inherited nature, Melvin and Drill are great at setting traps, and your other smaller ones are great at supporting in the backlines.

  Sys then stopped.

  Where the mystery truly lies is what’s still hidden in their potential. Magic, combat strategies, all of it, is really up to you.

  I made a face.

  “That’s all you got?”

  Sys made a face too. You’re the one who wanted soul magic.

  True.

  Pickle and Rogue, while not yet a perfect duo, showed promise. If Pickle was the main fighter who applied the damage and pressure, Rogue was a sneaky support who pressed in to take away attention and buy time for Pickle.

  Wait, isn’t that what Sys meant by support?

  And if I added in Nightclaw, he’d be great for aerial support and for any air counters that Pickle wouldn’t normally be able to take care of.

  It’d be a three man team, a great way of either pressuring or stalling for myself. Charging up the crossbow, buying time to recover, or even-

  It was then that the sudden noise of a large bell rang throughout the entire city.

  “What’s that?”

  Oh, it’s time. I forgot about that.

  “For what?”

  The Shadow Festival.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  At a clinic hidden amongst the numerous rowdy stores that seemed to scream out to any passerbys, Rune sat silently as he watched over Orion.

  While it wasn’t that Orion was in a life-threatening situation, the fight had left him mentally and physically drained. He was in a coma like state from pure exhaustion. And of course, he had numerous slices and bruises.

  He fought Zin after all.

  Orion was a close-ranged brawler who excelled at tanking hits to slowly get closer. While he wasn’t yet at the level required for body strengthening magic and his own Form, Orion was still a solid fighter who could deal heavy blows.

  It was because of his lineage.

  But, during that fight with Zin, Orion’s durability had no use when there was no reward for taking hits. His strength was useless when he could land no attack. Zin was simply too quick for him to get a hold of.

  And he was too ruthless to let it end so easily.

  Rune tightened his hands into fists.

  Zin had always fought like a coward. He used dirty tricks to get ahead, and it was only because of his stupid talent that allowed it to even work. Even without those tricks, Zin’s sense for fighting and his skill with a sword were not laughable.

  Rune knew it well. Very well.

  He had always been weaker than him.

  And even now, even after his victory against Zachary, Rune kept a grim face.

  Because he did not have the time to be worrying about just Zin.

  After that weird transmission from the Count, Rune had learned of the next matchups, along with his own.

  And that it was against Beric.

  Rune almost let out a laugh at the irony of it.

  He then thought back to the first fight.

  Beric’s fight.

  When Rune had watched Beric stand across Malo, he didn’t expect much. Rune knew how gifted Beric was, but such talent paled to someone like Malo.

  Or at least, he had believed so.

  After seeing Beric’s weapon skill, his ability to stand toe to toe with Malo, recover even after Malo revealed his Form, overwhelm him with an army of summons, reveal his own Form, and finally land the decisive blow, Rune was left speechless.

  Even when those all around him jumped up and cheered for such an outcome, Rune still sat.

  For you see, as much as Rune hated to admit it, for how wrong and disgusting it sounded…………Rune had secretly hoped that Beric wouldn’t be so strong.

  He felt uncomfortable with it. He had all this anger upon seeing Orion in such a state, to see Zin smile so proudly over his own friend. After such a mockful bait, Rune had felt that it was only right that they would settle it here. At this tournament, they would finally end their long history.

  But then Beric appeared.

  And Rune remembered that Zin wasn’t the only one he had a bad history with.

  Rune looked up at the ceiling

  It was fate.

  It was at least some form of an unlucky cliche that had paired the two of them.

  Despite his own anger at Zin, and his desire to get revenge for Orion, Rune knew it.

  He knew it well.

  He was in no place to ask for such a thing.

  Someone like Rune, even if he was strong enough, still didn’t deserve to win against the one he had wronged.

  And even if now Rune had realized what he had done wrong, that didn’t mean that everything was fine now. Just because he turned over a new leaf, it didn’t mean that what he did to everyone, to Beric, to Matthias, to………..Arthur-

  Rune then looked out a window.

  A loud bell had rang.