She nodded once, satisfied they understood.
"However," she continued, relaxing slightly, "you may have noticed something else today. Two mages of the same level do not produce spells of the same strength."
She gestured toward Isolde’s water spell formation still lingering faintly in the air.
"That is because of mana control. Even within the same rank, a weaker-level mage can defeat a higher-level mage—if their control is superior."
A few students whispered excitedly.
"But," Eveline added firmly, "do not be deluded. An apprentice mage defeating an adept mage? Possible, yes. But akin to scaling a cliff with your bare hands."
She crossed her arms.
"And the climb only becomes steeper."
The room was silent, charged, enlightened, and a little terrified.
Exactly how she liked it.
"Now, back to work, everyone..."
Elion glanced sideways, catching William out of the corner of his eye.
The guy was shifting restlessly, scanning the room with growing irritation.
"Where’s that bitch...?" William muttered under his breath, voice barely audible.
Elion’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.
Of course. He’s looking for Mira. And impatiently, at that. If only you knew, Elion murmured quietly, just under his breath.
A faint, cold thrill threaded through his chest.
She’s not coming anytime soon. She’s been broken. And your time... is not too far off.
A malevolent glint flickered in his eyes, sharp and brief, followed by a thin veil of bloodlust he barely managed to restrain.
"Elion?"
He blinked, and the darkness in his gaze vanished in an instant.
Standing in front of him was Isolde, luminous and composed as always.
Her silver-blonde hair framed her face like strands of moonlight, her expression soft with concern.
"Yes?" he replied with a calm smile, as though nothing had been wrong.
"Are you... Alright?" she asked, studying him closely.
"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"
She hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her robe. "I—I just thought... well. Did something happen? In the dungeon, I mean?"
Elion’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Isolde? Has been watching me this closely? Since when?
He had never considered that she, of all people, might be paying attention to him with this level of scrutiny.
"You’re quite observant," he said lightly, masking his surprise with an easy smile. "I leveled up a bit while I was in the dungeon."
A few levels must have sounded like one or two levels to her; any more in a day would sound ridiculous.
It was a half-truth, simple, believable, and technically accurate.
Would it be enough to throw her off?
Hard to say.
"Oh, I’m glad for you," she said, smiling softly. "I noticed your mana control is getting better."
Elion chuckled. "Uhm—yes. But I’m nowhere near as good as you."
That much was true.
Isolde’s mana control was in a league of its own.
Even if her level wasn’t the highest, her spell-casting technique made her stand out far more than most mages in their year.
The academy hadn’t updated its levels in a while, but he suspected Isolde was only getting stronger.
Oh—that’s right... I have the Discerning Eye skill now.
He activated it, and the world around him shifted, details sharpening, information unveiling itself in a soft glow around her.
[Status]
Name: Isolde Velora
Age: 19
Race: High-elf
Level: 23
Class: Dual Elemental Mage (Water & Wind)
Elion blinked, genuinely impressed.
Dual elemental? She’s been hiding that this whole time?
He’d only ever seen her use water spells.
If the academy knew she wielded two elements, her reputation would skyrocket.
But how had she been hiding her other element this whole time?
An accessory?
He looked over at the beautiful silver earrings she always wore. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her without them on.
She noticed the flicker of surprise on his face.
"What’s wrong, Elion?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Oh, nothing," he said smoothly. Then, with a curious smile, "Do you mind showing me how you cast your water spells?"
Her face brightened instantly, too bright, in his opinion.
Gods... she’s beautiful. And that smile... blinding.
"Sure!" she said warmly.
She stepped back, gathering mana between her fingers as she began explaining.
Her tone shifted into something patient and clear.
She demonstrated how she shaped the mana slowly, layer by layer.
How she maintained the clarity of her intention.
How she visualized the spell’s form before channeling it.
And how she practiced controlling the density of water mana until it became second nature.
Her magic flowed softly beside her, smooth, stable, and almost serene.
Elion watched closely, absorbing every detail.
Her insight was truly exceptional.
This...
This might be exactly what he needed.
Despite the bout of inspiration from her insight, he found himself getting distracted.
As Isolde guided Elion through the breathing patterns and mana-flow routes she used, he tried—truly tried—to focus on the instructions.
But her presence was distracting in a way that had nothing to do with mana.
Her voice was soft, her posture elegant, her hair glimmering faintly beneath the afternoon light.
And yet... his gaze slipped. Just for a heartbeat.
Downward.
Her chest.
Or rather, the near-absence of one.
Life really isn’t fair, he thought.
Professor Eveline’s jugs could drown a man, and Isolde... well... law of conservation, I guess. The gods giveth, the gods taketh away.
He didn’t even register that his eyes were lingering until Isolde stiffened.
"You need to let it coalesce—"She stopped explaining, and looked at Elion’s face, her eyes following his line of sight.
Is he staring at my...
Her cheeks flushed instantly, her hands snapping up to cover her chest.
"P-pervert!" she squeaked, glaring furiously.
Elion blinked, jerking out of his daze. "Ah—sorry, I was just—"
He coughed into his fist, turning his head away, touching his chin reflexively.
And then, because fate hated him, he muttered under his breath: "...not like there’s anything to see there anyway."
He knew the moment the words left his lips that he had messed up.
Badly.
Isolde froze.
Her jaw dropped.
A tremor went through her entire body.
A thin wisp of steam curled off the top of her head like a boiling kettle.
Oh shit.
He didn’t even get to move.
She blurred.
Her fist slammed into his jaw with enough force to rattle his skull, and the world spun as he went flying across the training field.
Curious stares followed the pair, but no one seemed too concerned.
After all, they were just sparring, right?
Groaning, Elion sat up, massaging his jaw.
Isolde’s outrage evaporated instantly when she saw him holding his face in pain.
Her eyes widened, horror replacing fury.
"Oh gods—Elion! I—I’m so sorry!" She practically tripped over herself rushing toward him. "I didn’t mean to—are you okay? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—"
She knelt beside him, hands fluttering uselessly before she gently cupped his jaw with her fingertips.
"No... It’s my fault," Elion managed, wincing. "I shouldn’t have said that."
She blushed again, this time mortification instead of anger.
"I... I just... You were staring," she whispered, looking away, ears burning red.
"And I deserved the punch," he said, giving a strained, crooked smile.
Her lips pressed together, a mix of guilt and irritation swirling in her eyes.
But she didn’t take her hand off his jaw.
If anything, her touch grew gentler.