She pointed to three specific runes along the outer ring.

Ronan listened.

"A luck ritual, according to what I remember of my parents' technique, needs the mana output to taper at specific points along the circle rather than flow evenly, or the working overloads at the convergence instead of settling into them." Aura's finger followed the line she'd indicated. "You copied the shape of the circle perfectly. You didn't know to vary the mana density while drawing it, because nothing about the visual pattern would have told you that."

Ronan absorbed the information without frustration. It wasn't a failure worth dwelling on. He simply needed to learn from it.

"I see. When drawing the circle, I applied constant mana throughout the entire drawing process." He thought to himself. "Can you fix it, or do we need to start over?"

Aura hesitated. "We can fix it. I won't be able to redraw the whole thing – I never learned to draw it myself, only watched – but I can guide you through where to lighten the ink flow as you redraw the affected lines. That much is instinctual from me doing the ritual so many times, and I can help guide you."

"Then let's fix it."

He worked through it a second time, slower now, Aura crouched beside him the entire time, correcting his hand or his pacing at specific points – telling him to ease off in certain places, hold steady in others. It was the same circle, but different. Her voice stayed level, though Ronan caught the faint tension in how she watched each stroke. He thought it was nostalgia.

Freya watched from outside the circle, arms crossed, silent. Ronan could tell from her posture that she was still nervous, maybe more so now that the first attempt had visibly failed.

When Ronan finished the second pass, the runes took the mana differently this time. The flicker smoothed, turning a lot steadier, spreading evenly along the circle rather than pooling unevenly at random points. Aura exhaled. Some of the tension left her shoulders.

"That's what it's supposed to look like."

Ronan channeled the final surge of mana needed to complete the working. The circle brightened all at once, light climbing the runes in sequence rather than all together, and for a moment the whole clearing was lit gold before the light collapsed back into the circle and faded out entirely, leaving only scorched but intact lines in the dirt.

Nothing visibly happened to Ronan's body. No warmth, no sensation, nothing dramatic the way he might have expected from something called a ritual. He almost assumed it failed until he opened his status window.

[Ronan Ashbourne]

[Age] – 18

[Status] – Healthy (Luck Enhanced)

He stared at it a moment longer than necessary. Something almost like relief settled into him, though he didn't let it show on his face for Freya's benefit.

Aura looked between the fading circle and Ronan's expression, waiting for confirmation.

"It worked."

Aura's response was shown in her facial expressions, not her words – not quite a smile, but something close. The particular satisfaction of being right about something she wasn't fully sure she remembered correctly.

Ronan gestured to Freya. "I will expect you to come here next week as well, until the tournament starts."

"I… I think I can do that," she conceded. She looked a lot more relaxed now. The ritual hadn't actually done anything crazy like the one in Xyta had done, like turn them into mindless beasts.

"Wonderful."

Her expression steeled. "And in return?"

She already knew the deal, they'd already talked about it. But she wanted confirmation.

Ronan gave it to her without worry.

"During the tournament, I will assassinate Iris Lockhart."

—

Somewhere far from the forest, Kazuma sat alone in his room, the communication artifact humming faintly on the desk in front of him. It was small, impossibly smooth, and carved from what looked like polished bone. It pulsed with mana.

A voice crackled through, familiar.

"How are you doing, Kazuma?"

"Neither good nor bad," Kazuma answered. Flat. No inflection, like he'd been taught.

The man on the other end laughed, seemingly pleased. "Good. You still remember what you were taught. Neutrality's always the correct answer regardless of the truth of it."

Kazuma said nothing.

"What have you learned so far?"

Kazuma considered the question for exactly two seconds. No longer. "Not much of note. The Academy is a location with a notable concentration of strong individuals. Several show real long-term potential."

"Names."

"Luca Underwood," Kazuma said. "His growth trajectory already exceeds my own."

Silence.

"You're certain?"

"I am."

The man hummed. Thoughtful now. "Continue."

"Grace Light. Resourceful. Tends to maneuver ahead of situations before they fully develop." Kazuma paused, categorizing. "Iris Lockhart. Competent mage. Strong political instincts. Irene Ashbourne. Similar profile. Aura Acheron–"

"Acheron?"

"Second-ranked combat student. Demon lineage, likely. Unconfirmed."

Another hum from the man. Less interested this time, despite the fact that the Acheron girl's location was now confirmed.

Kazuma listed three more names. The man absorbed them without much reaction.

Eventually, the voice said, "You're doing well, Kazuma."

Kazuma didn't respond. Praise meant nothing.

"The artifact," the man continued. "You still have it?"

"Yes."

"Good. I was right to trust you with this assignment." A pause. Then, he continued with something, almost phrased as an afterthought: "You remember what you are, yes?"

Kazuma responded without a beat of hesitation. "A tool. Bred, trained, deployed. Three functions. Killing, infiltration, information-gathering."

"Exactly." Satisfaction bled through the transmission. "You are doing well, my son. Your contributions will bring the elves to–"

The artifact shattered.

Not turned off. Shattered. Mid-sentence, mid-thought, pieces scattered across the desk like fragments of glass.

Kazuma's senses spiked.

Every reflex honed through years of training surged at once.

He turned fast, hand already moving toward the knife strapped beneath his desk.

No one.

The room was empty, exactly as when he walked in.

But then a voice reached him anyway. It came from everywhere, Kazuma couldn't pinpoint it.

Feminine. Calm. Weirdly casual as well.

"Relax," the voice said. "I only want to talk."