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In the mystical realm of Xeltonnia, a world woven from threads of magic and high technology, the very essence of life is evolution. Here, when creatures of any race are pushed to their absolute limit—be it through trauma, tragedy, or the brink of death—they awaken their truest, most powerful forms. Elves ascend into High Elves, Dwarves become Great Dwarves, Demi-humans transform into Prime Demi-humans, Dragons shed their primal skin and emerge as fearsome Dragonoids. Even the lowliest Goblins claw their way up into deadly Hobgoblins.
But evolution does not always lead to greatness. Some lose themselves to their newfound strength. They revel in their might, intoxicated by the rush of almost godlike power. These fallen beings become Rogues—unstable, dangerous, and uncontrollably destructive.
To counter them stands a single line of defense: the R.C.A. — Rogue Control Association. A powerful, elite organization tasked with tracking, hunting, subduing, and capturing Rogues to maintain peace and balance in the ever-shifting order of the world.
Our story unfolds in the heart of the cyber-fantasy metropolis, the grand kingdom city of Reynets. A sprawling mega-city with glittering magic-tech towers, neon-lit bridges, floating transit rings, and crystalline energy veins running beneath the streets. Among these modern marvels sits the R.C.A. Headquarters, an awe-inspiring arcane-tech fortress with layered platforms, energy-reactive panels, and a vast courtyard wide enough to land skyships. Magical barrier grids ripple through the skies like transparent veils, while cyber trees with glowing data-leaves decorate the grounds.
And within this city, amidst the hum of magic and machine, stands a young man.
Emil Geltiff.
At 21, Emil had just stepped out of the gates of academia, freshly graduated from college with grit in his soul and shadows in his past. His race: Slimehian, a rare hybrid evolution—half slime, half human—the result of surviving a trauma so severe, it forced his evolution far earlier than normal. And now, holding an acceptance letter from the R.C.A. in his hands, his long walk toward vengeance and justice finally begins...
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We see Emil in his modest, dim-lit suite — the walls scuffed, furniture minimal. Around him, several small blue spheres of semi-transparent slime floated, drifting lazily as though drawn to his subconscious energy. He pulled on casual wear: fitted pants, a neutral-toned shirt, and then a charcoal hoodie. He slipped on his sneakers, tied them tight, then bolted to the door—only to spin back, slap the lock shut with a faint slime-padded click, and vanish into the corridor.
Outside, the day was alive with mana traffic and bustling footwork. Emil skidded to the apartment balcony, looked down three stories, gauged the drop. "...Screw the stairs."
He leapt.
Thump! His body shifted slightly gelatinous on impact, dispersing the weight. Slime skated from his heels as he slid forward with a smooth glide and took off running—nimbly vaulting over trash bins, cutting through alleys, and sprinting down neon-lit sidewalks.
Moments later—breathing heavy, hoodie flapping in the breeze—he skidded to a halt.
The R.C.A Headquarters.
It towered before him like a cathedral of circuitry and spellcraft: polished chrome-glass panels gleamed under twin suns, veined with glowing neon circuit lines that pulsed like lifeblood. The angular spires jutted into the sky with cybernetic grace, crowned by slow-rotating arcane sensor rings, each inscribed with tracking runes and shimmering anti-Rogue sigils. Hover-discs swirled overhead like silent sentinels. Behind the structure stretched an expansive open courtyard—half training ground, half aircraft landing pad. The mana-reactive pavement shimmered beneath each step, while kinetic spar pillars thrummed silently, waiting for challengers.
"Woah... So this is the R.C.A, huh?" Emil thought aloud, wide-eyed, breath catching in his throat.
The front of the entrance was crowded—dozens upon dozens of applicants from every corner of Xeltonnia. Elves, Dwarves, Dragonoids, Hobgoblins, Prime Demi-humans, and even more. Every evolved to even not yet evolved race Emil had studied or only heard of in passing. Some looked nervous. Some eager. Some ready to the teeth.
Emil stood amidst the crowd, shifting awkwardly.
Tap.
He flinched slightly, feeling a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find a short white-haired Demi-human Cat boy beaming up at him with vivid green eyes and twitching ears.
"Uhh, heya there?" Emil said with a slight tilt of his head.
"Heya buddy! You seem pretty cool—what are ya, huh?" the boy chirped energetically.
"Slimehian."
The cat boy's eyes widened, ears perking even more.
"Slimehian, eh?! Isn't that one of those super rare evolution races?!" he leaned forward, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Yeah, that's right." Emil nodded with a casual shrug.
"WOAHHH! You're the very first rare evolutioner I've ever met! That's so cool! C'mon, let's be friends!"
The boy stuck out his hand with infectious enthusiasm. "I'm Kitt! Kitt Nythelle!"
"Uh… sure thing." Emil reached out and shook his hand. "Emil. Emil Geltiff. Nice to meet ya, Kitt."
And with that simple handshake amidst a crowd of rising legends-in-the-making, the bond of two potential elite members of the R.C.A. began to form.
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The moment the instructor emerged from the gleaming entrance of the R.C.A Headquarters, the atmosphere shifted. She stood tall and commanding, with deep ebony skin that shimmered faintly under the neon circuit-lights, golden-yellow hair cascading in soft waves down her back, and sharp, elongated ears betraying her lineage as either a High Elf or High Dark Elf. Her round glasses glinted with analytical precision, complementing her sleek black suit, matching gloves, and stilted heels that clacked with authority against the polished mana-reactive floor.
"Everyone, please come inside and follow me to the courtyard. That'll be where we'll be conducting your interviews and examinations," she announced, her voice clear, crisp, and devoid of leniency.
She turned briskly, heels echoing through the arched chrome-glass hall as the crowd of interviewees, including Emil and Kitt, trailed behind her. The corridor curved slightly, glowing circuit lines flowing like rivers on the walls, illuminating the path to the courtyard.
"Hey, do you think this examination's gonna be hard?" Kitt whispered, nudging Emil as they walked.
Emil shrugged, arms crossed, head dipped slightly. "To be honest, not sure either."
Kitt tilted his head thoughtfully. "Which team do you wanna be in?"
Emil looked over with mild surprise, hands shifting to his hips. "Team?"
"Yeah yeah, team! There are five teams in the R.C.A. Each with a powerful leader. Team Topaz is led by the high human otherworlder, Yuito Ichiban—an excellent swordsman, some say he's been trained by twelve different schools of blade mastery. Team Ruby has Anriette Bleedhearth, the Vamp Queen Fencer, who moves like a blur and duels like a dance of death. Team Amethyst's leader is the Dwarven Hammer, Coal Casker—smithy boss and walking earthquake. Team Onyx follows Gisabelle Claudrine, a bleach-furred Prime Demi-human Cat. She's tall, ripped, terrifyingly fast, and dangerously precise. Lastly, there's Team Emerald, with Murk Murdoc, the Hobgoblin Assassin. His stealth techniques are legendary—even some of the higher Rogues can't detect him until it's too late."
"Hmm... not sure either," Emil muttered, tapping his chin. "Maybe the otherworlder's team. Never met one before. I'm kinda curious."
Kitt scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Ohh... uhh... yeah, I dunno about that team though..."
Emil glanced at him sideways. "Huh?" Then, to himself: Does he not like the otherworlder or something?
As the group emerged into the courtyard, a collective hush fell over the crowd. It was vast, paved with shifting mana-reactive tiles that pulsed with a soft glow, and surrounded by sleek kinetic spar pillars. Drones hovered overhead in lazy patrols, occasionally zipping to reposition. At the far end were three large training zones, each glowing with a distinct hue.
The instructor turned and gestured with a graceful sweep of her hand. "This is where your interviews and examinations will take place. Section One: The Power Measuring Orb. Simply place your hand on the large orb, and it will react to your internal power. The brighter it glows, the stronger your potential. Section Two: Target Accuracy Practice. You will hit several moving targets within a specific time frame. Precision and timing matter. Lastly, Section Three: Sparring. You will face one of our instructors in a brief bout. Last five to ten minutes or defeat your opponent. Your survival, adaptability, and combat instincts will be assessed."
She snapped her fingers.
In a flash of arcane light, floating numbered tickets materialized before each interviewee. Emil blinked as one hovered before him, glowing softly. He took it, the number pulsing once before settling. Kitt grinned and grabbed his own.
The examination had begun.
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Kitt leaned toward Emil with a toothy grin. "Hey, what's your number?"
Emil glanced down at the glowing blue slip in his hand. "Forty-five."
"Haha! I'm thirty-three! Guess I'll be going before you, slime boy!" Kitt chuckled, tail swishing excitedly.
Emil smirked. "Heheh, yeah whatever, cat kid."
Their banter was cut short as a collective gasp rippled through the crowd of interviewees. Eyes turned toward Section 1—the Power Measuring Orb—now flaring with an intense, radiant white light. A hum resonated in the air, subtle yet electrifying.
"Woah... look at that," Emil muttered, shielding his eyes slightly.
Kitt whistled. "Oh! She's from the grand noble family of Liorael. A family full of talented and gifted High Elves. I heard they start training while still in the womb!"
"Damn..." Emil murmured, as they both watched her step away from the glowing orb with quiet confidence.
The Liorael girl had short, tousled dirty blonde hair and piercing dark blue eyes. Her expression was composed—cool, even. She adjusted the cuffs of her jacket before calmly making her way to Section 2.
The instructor near the practice area raised a hand. "Target Accuracy—15 seconds! Begin!"
The Liorael girl didn't flinch. She calmly extended her right palm forward.
"Wind Blast!"
FWOOOSH—Target One exploded with a burst of wind.
"Wind Blast!"
FWOOOSH—Target Two, down.
"Wind Blast!"
FWOOOSH—Target Three, shattered.
"Wind Blast!"
FWOOOSH—Target Four, obliterated.
Her hand then moved to the wooden sword at her hip. With one quick draw, she invoked, "Thorn Whip."
A green pulse rippled along the blade, vines emerging and coiling around it—now transformed into a writhing, barbed weapon. With swift, elegant strikes—one, two, three, four, five, six—she sliced through the remaining targets.
CLACK-CLACK-CLACK. The last target shattered as her whip-sword flicked back to a resting position.
A moment of stunned silence—and then the courtyard erupted into applause. Even a few instructors exchanged approving nods.
"She's not just noble-born... she's damn skilled," Emil said, nodding in admiration.
Kitt responded, eyes wide. "No kidding... she's got that quiet prodigy energy."
Section 3 awaited next—the Sparring Arena. A circular ring etched with glowing blue arcane lines. Her opponent stood already waiting:
A tall, striking woman with pale skin and crimson eyes. Her deep white hair flowed behind her like a banner, and she wore a sleek black uniform with crimson trim. She radiated elegance and lethality. Her name rang in whispers across the courtyard: Anriette Bleedhearth.
Leader of Team Ruby.
"Your sparring partner will be the leader of Team Ruby, Ms. Anriette Bleedhearth," the instructor announced. "Reminder: to qualify, you must last between 5-10 minutes, or defeat your opponent."
Anriette stepped forward with a graceful smile and lifted a wooden fencing sword, its tip already aimed at her opponent. "A Liorael girl, hmm? Let's see what one of your famed bloodline can do."
The noble girl said nothing. She simply pulled down and took off her hoodie, letting the wind flow through her dirty blonde hair, and drew her wooden blade in one smooth, practiced motion.
Her stance shifted into a classic fencing posture. Left foot back, blade tilted with subtle aggression.
Anriette's crimson eyes gleamed. She mirrored the posture but with a more refined form. One hand behind her back, her blade pointed directly toward the center of her opponent's chest.
"Ah... a fencer stance... just like me. Her form's more raw... but there's potential there," Anriette mused inwardly. Her smirk curved slightly sharper.
The instructor raised her hand. "Ready—"
Both fighters tensed.
"—And begin!"
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The Liorael girl stood still—tension rising, her breath calm yet steady. The instructor's signal had barely left her lips when she surged forward, blade in hand.
She rushed forward, her wooden sword, aimed with precise aggression, sought a direct thrust into her opponent's core—but it was met with swift, fluid resistance.
Clack!
Anriette Bleedhearth blocked the incoming strike effortlessly, her stance unfaltering as her blade met the thrust mid-air.
"Now now… ending the fight too early is a bit boring, don't you think?" she quipped, her smile calm, teasing—like a predator slightly toying with a worthy prey.
With a graceful twist of her wrist, she parried the attack and used the momentum to shove Elaris back several paces, her boots skidding against the polished wood of the arena floor.
But Elaris barely had time to recover.
Anriette was already dashing forward.
Whip—whip—whip—CLACK!
A blindingly fast flurry of strikes came swinging—left, right, an overhead slice—all expertly parried by the younger elf, her face now tightened in focused resolve. Each block sent tingles through her arm, each impact rattling her stance, but she held.
"Alright… my turn to go on the offense," Anriette warned sweetly.
She vanished briefly into a blur of movement and appeared just inside the girl's guard.
Thap! Thump! WHACK!
A devastating triple-strike—thrust to the shoulder, twist to the ribs, and a finishing sweep to the side—landed clean, driving the girl stumbling backward. The stinging pain across her body wasn't just physical—it stung her pride.
She gritted her teeth.
"Wind-Guided Piercing Thrust!"
Her blade glowed briefly, wind swirling around its tip as she dashed forward with aerodynamic precision. Anriette barely blocked in time, her blade grinding against the magically-accelerated thrust. The air cracked with the force.
"I told you—ending this early would be a bit too bo—"
BOOM!
Before she could finish, the Liorael girl fired an Air Blast directly from her blade's tip. The gust struck Anriette dead on, interrupting her posture and blasting her backward.
Cheers erupted. The audience roared. Even the instructors nodded in surprise.
Anriette hissed internally. "What an undignified attack… it honestly surprised me."
Elaris didn't waste a moment.
"Vine Bind!"
Her blade unraveled, transforming mid-stride into a sinuous, thorny vine. With a sharp thrust, it shot forward—snagging Anriette's limbs and rooting her to the spot.
The crowd gasped.
Elaris leapt in, gathering wind at her palm—"Wind Blast!"—ready to fire at point-blank range—
But fwssshhh!—Anriette dissolved into a cloud of black mist.
"True Form: Vampire Bat!"
A flurry of dark wings fluttered upward—she transformed mid-air, avoiding the blast entirely. As she reached the apex of her flight, she morphed back into her humanoid form with a swift pirouette and aimed her hand down.
"Crimson Thorn Volley!"
Dozens of blood-red thorns rained from above in a deadly arc.
But the girl reacted fast.
"Sharp Cyclone!"
She slashed her blade upward—wind gathered into a roaring vortex. She used it not only to blast the thorns aside, but also propelled herself backward while doing so.
For a moment, nothing.
Then—THWACK!
From behind. Their blades clashed again in a booming collision that echoed through the sparring arena.
Both girls were flung apart by the sheer force.
The girl narrowed her eyes and dashed once more—but as she raised her blade—
Anriette held out her hand.
Palm open.
Signaling to stop.
"That's enough, Ms. Elaris Liorael," she said calmly, her voice now returning to that of the composed leader. "I acknowledge that you have passed. Please wait to the side, and we'll evaluate you to determine which team you're qualified to be a member of."
Applause erupted.
Elaris, breathing heavily, lowered her blade. She walked toward the sideline, picked up her hoodie, and pulled it back over her head—her expression unreadable.
But her eyes burned quietly with resolve.
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Elaris Liorael, eh? What an interesting girl. Her fencing skills are a bit rougher than Ms. Anriette's, but she's skilled with the blade nonetheless," Emil remarked, eyes narrowed in quiet analysis.
"How could you tell, bud?" Kitt questioned with a begrudging tone.
Emil simply shrugged, stuffing his hands into his hoodie's pockets. "Eh, just could."
Kitt blinked, tilted his head, and let out a soft shrug. "Err... alright then."
The test progressed. One by one, the interviewees faced their evaluations. Some passed to applause, others walked away in defeat, heads lowered.
Then the call came.
"30!"
"It's my turn! Watch me fly, Emil~!" Kitt said with an energetic grin, throwing a wink and a thumbs-up over his shoulder.
"Yeah yeah, do good out there, dude," Emil replied, waving lazily without looking.
Kitt approached the instructors with a bounce in his step. The lead instructor began reading out his information:
"Kitt Nythelle. Demi-human Cat. Stated archetype: Warrior. Preferred weapons: Twin Great Swords. Here are your two wooden great swords."
"Oh! Thank you!" Kitt responded brightly as he took the oversized training weapons, their weight meaning nothing to him.
"Alright, please proceed to the First Section. Place your hand on the power measuring orb."
"Alrighty!" Kitt obeyed with no hesitation, pressing his palm against the orb.
A glowing light burst forth—bright, but not blinding like Elaris's. Still, murmurs of acknowledgment stirred around the room.
"Decent output," one instructor noted.
"Surprisingly solid," another murmured.
"Please proceed to the Second Section. 15 seconds. Begin."
Kitt's tail flicked in excitement as he stepped forward. He took a deep breath and grinned. "Time to show off!"
Very dark purple mana surged up his arms and into both blades.
"Dark Enchant!"
The wooden great swords shimmered with black energy as Kitt twisted his stance and unleashed a breathtaking flurry:
"Flying Dark Slashes!"
Horizontal arcs of dark energy roared forward like waves crashing onto a shore. Each wave slammed through the designated targets with precise ferocity.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six-
The slashes tore through the field, and the final target cracked, shattered, and splintered with a resonant crack.
He stood tall with his blades crossed, grinning proudly.
"5.8 seconds," one instructor whispered in disbelief.
"Efficient... and flashy."
The room erupted in light cheers and applause. Kitt bowed dramatically, tail flicking behind him.
Then the voice came again.
"Proceed to the Third Section. Your sparring partner and instructor will be the team leader of Team Topaz: Yuito Ichiban. Remember, to qualify, you must last between 5–10 minutes or take down your opponent."
Kitt's ears twitched at the name.
"Of course it's him," he muttered.
Still, he mustered a sheepish grin. "Understood!"
Across the sparring arena, Yuito Ichiban stood tall. A calm demeanor, dark slicked-back hair, and eyes that carried both experience and skill. He held a single wooden odachi, resting against his shoulder.
"Are you ready, Little Nythelle?" Yuito lightly teased, his voice light, his tone sly.
Kitt's tail bristled.
"Ugh, shut it!" he barked back, his tone sharper than usual.
Emil, watching from the bench, arched a brow. "Never seen Kitt that ticked off before... This might be good."
The instructor raised his hand. "Third Section: Begin!"
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"Dark Enchant!" Kitt roared.
In an instant, his twin greatswords pulsed with a sinister glow, shadows writhing along the blades like living tendrils. A confident smirk curled across his lips. The arena's tension snapped like a bowstring.
Without hesitation, he kicked off the ground—Cat-Like Agility active—becoming a blur of motion. His figure zipped forward, almost untraceable, before springing high into the air.
"CAT LEAP!"
He soared upward, twin blades raised, and descended like a meteor.
Twin Collapse!
A thunderous crash exploded on impact—splinters of stone and gusts of wind burst outward. But Yuito wasn't there.
A blur zipped backwards.
Skrrrrt—!
Dust kicked up behind Yuito Ichiban as he skidded to a halt, shoes grinding against stone. His hand had already drawn his wooden odachi mid-motion.
"Sharpness Enchant."
A clean shiiing! echoed as a faint shimmer traced the edge of his blade.
"Very powerful! Show me more, yeah?" Yuito called out, grinning like a fox.
Kitt landed in a crouch, eyes locked onto his opponent. "For an old man, you're still agile, huh?" he said with a cocky grin.
He raised both blades above his shoulders. "Enhance Stamina!"
A faint glow pulsed over his body. His breathing deepened. Muscles surged. Then—
Boom!
Both fighters dashed forward in unison, colliding mid-arena in a stunning sequence of high-speed swordplay.
Wooden blades clashed. Sparks of fire and shadows danced. Each strike echoed with heavy, bone-shaking thwacks that caused the spectators to lean forward in awe.
Kitt twisted, delivering a Double Spinning Slash!
A whirlwind strike forced Yuito back several meters, his feet sliding across the stone floor.
"You're full of surprises," Yuito muttered, flicking his blade to his side with practiced grace.
Kitt didn't give him time.
"Flame Enchant!"
His swords ignited in roaring crimson. With a wild grin, he lunged—
WHOOSH! Overhead slash!
Yuito blocked, wood-on-wood cracking loud. But Kitt didn't stop. A follow-up left arc slash screamed in.
Blocked again! Yuito countered with a swift horizontal sting to Kitt's ribs—
"Gkh—!" Kitt grunted, sliding back.
But he gritted his teeth and surged his magic again.
"Dark Surge Aura!!"
A pulse erupted from his chest. Enshadowed magic coiled around his limbs like armor, flaring violently. The arena dimmed slightly under its pressure.
With renewed force, Kitt stormed forward. The choreography between the two now looked like a dance—dark flames and radiant sparks erupting with every precise clash.
Kitt roared, pivoted mid-combo, and slammed his swords again and again in complex, flowing patterns—he moved like liquid flame and shadow.
Yuito, still composed, blocked and deflected with equal elegance. Until—
SLAM! Yuito pushed back with a burst of strength.
Then:
"Hell-Raiser Slash!"
His blade swept upward in a fiery arc, forming a blazing crescent.
Kitt's eyes widened—he weaved to the side in time, the flames grazing past his cheek.
"My turn!" he roared.
He ducked low, launched forward—
"Down Dark Slash!"
His blade screamed with shadow as it arced downward.
Yuito's stance didn't falter. He tightened his grip.
"Rock Enchant."
His blade hardened with earthen magic, glowing like sunlit stone.
"Fall Boulder Slash!!"
The two mighty slashes collided with explosive force—
BOOOOOM!!!
A shockwave rippled through the training ground. Dust and splinters rained down. Both combatants were blasted away from the epicenter, skidding backward.
Silence...
Then—
ROARING APPLAUSE.
The crowd of interviewees and instructors cheered wildly. Some even whistled and hooted. Sweat dripped from Kitt's brow as he panted, his breathing ragged from using Enhance Stamina and repeated enchantments.
Yuito stood tall, breathing slightly heavier, but not faltering.
With a quiet exhale, Yuito slowly sheathed his odachi.
"...That's enough, Kitt Nythelle," he announced calmly, voice clear and commanding. "I acknowledge that you have passed. Please wait to the side, and we'll evaluate which team you're best suited for."
Another round of applause broke out.
Kitt exhaled deeply, his magic fading away. He turned toward the sidelines.
Emil stood there, clapping with an impressed smirk.
Kitt chuckled, lifting a hand and flashing a proud smile back.
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After Kitt's intense duel concluded, the rest of the interviews resumed. More hopefuls came and went through the examination process—some showing flashes of skill, others barely scraping by. And then...
"Number 45!" the instructor called out.
A voice from the sidelines rang clear:
"GOOD LUCK, EMIL!" Kitt shouted, his voice loud and full of cheer.
From the sidelines, Elaris watched with narrowed eyes—focused, intense. There was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze.
Emil Geltiff stepped forward with a lazy saunter, hands in his pockets, an odd little bounce in his step. The instructor squinted down at her clipboard and read aloud:
"Emil Geltiff... Slimehian. A rare evolution... Archetype: Living Arsenal...? Preferred weapons: None...?"
Murmurs broke out from the crowd of interviewees. Whispers and confusion buzzed like static.
"No preferred weapons...?" "Living Arsenal? The hell is that?" "Slimehian...? Thought they were support-types..."
Unfazed by the rising speculation, the instructor composed herself and continued, "Alright then. Let's start by measuring your power. Please place your hand on the orb."
"Alright then," Emil replied with a slight nod. Then he did something odd—he raised just his finger.
The instructor blinked, slightly concerned. "Mr. Emil, it must be an entire hand, or else it wouldn't work prope—"
But it was too late. Emil's fingertip touched the orb.
Instead of the orb emitting a glowing light like usual, it exploded into a torrent of bright blue energy. A spiral of condensed mana surged around it before erupting skyward in a roaring pillar of electric blue light. It was like a beacon punching through the clouds.
Gasps broke out from all sides. Even Emil's brows raised slightly. He pulled his finger back and looked at it as if it had betrayed him.
The instructor blinked, stunned into silence.
"Uhh... alright then... to the second section."
Emil shrugged and strolled toward the target range. He stopped behind the designated line.
"Alright, 15 seconds. Begin!"
Emil's hand snatched a nearby floating slime orb. Without even winding up, he threw it with a casual overhand motion—just like a baseball pitcher tossing a fastball.
As the slime orb neared the cluster of targets, it burst mid-air and split into several smaller spheres. In that split second, Emil snapped his fingers.
"MARBLE BOMB SCATTER!"
BOOM!!
All the tiny slime spheres exploded with violent precision, lighting up the field like coordinated charges in a demolition run. Every target vaporized in under two seconds. Smoke and mana residue hung in the air.
Stunned silence.
Then a weak voice from the instructor "O-Oh... uhmm... okay... I guess we're off to the third section then..."
Emil casually turned and gave a peace sign with a goofy grin, his hands resting back on his hips as he walked over to the sparring zone.
The instructor began announcing, "Your sparring partner and instructor will be the team leader of Team—"
"HOLD IT!"
A thunderous voice interrupted her. A towering, muscle-bound Demonoid with spiky white hair stepped into the 3rd Section stage.
"I'LL TAKE ON THIS GUY! I'LL BE HIS INSTRUCTOR!"
The instructor nodded quickly, sweat forming on her brow. "Y-Your instructor will be a senior from Team Ruby, L-Lars Eifritz. R-Remember, the goal to qualify is to either last 5–10 minutes or take down your opponent..."
Lars stepped forward, cracking his knuckles, and instead of picking up a wooden weapon, he picked up a somewhat blunt steel axe. "Alright, what you showed in Sections 1 and 2? All fake. Flashy fake nonsense. I'll be the one to expose it and humiliate you—"
"Yo, before you start with your stereotypical big tough guy monologue... mind if I light a smoke?"
Lars paused. His brow twitched. "A... smoke? Uh. Sure. Go ahead, kid."
"Thanks a bunch, geezer." Emil replied, smirking as he lit his cigarette. The blatant disrespect earned chuckles from the crowd.
Emil took a drag, let the blue-tinged smoke curl from his lips, and exhaled.
"Aight. I'm good now. We can begin, geezer."
The instructor cleared her throat.
"And... begin!"
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Without warning, Lars instantly shot out a spell from his palm—Flame Bolt!
FWOOSH!
A spear of fire shot through the air like a red comet.
But Emil was faster.
He snatched a floating slime sphere with one hand, his fingers glowing a faint cyan.
"Slime Shift: Hardened Bat."
The sphere twisted, hardened, and reshaped—becoming a semi-translucent bat with swirling inner energy.
CRACK!
With a clean swing, Emil whacked the Flame Bolt to the side, dispersing the flame into the air with embers trailing behind.
THOOM!
But Lars was already there, rushing in, axe overhead.
"GAHH!"
The great axe came down in a roar of momentum—
—but Emil stepped left, sidestepping in a graceful pivot, and guided the axe downward with his slime bat as though in slow motion.
CLANG!
The weapon struck the stone floor, cracking it.
Before Lars could recover, Emil spun in tight—swiftly striking Lars's facet, then pivoted into a sharp punch to the gut.
BOOM!
The sheer force blasted Lars backward across the arena in a dusty skid.
Lars growled as he stood, wiping blood off his nose. "Damned brat!"
His veins glowed red as he snarled. "Dark Flame Enchant!"
His axe ignited—jet-black fire curling around the blade.
Then—he charged.
"Dark Flame Flurry!"
His axe came alive—a storm of wild flaming slashes, screaming with cursed fire. But Emil's eyes never blinked.
CLANG! CLANG! WHACK!
He parried, deflected, even retaliated mid-flurry—whacking Lars's chest and driving a boot into his stomach, blasting him back to a skidding halt
"Flame Red Armor!" Lars bellowed.
A blaze of red energy engulfed his body. He rushed forward for Dark Flame Rush—
But Emil was already pointing with his fingers.
"Slime Bullet."
POP-POP-POP!
Three condensed slime shots fired like bullets, shattering Lars's Flame Red Armor with wet thuds and a burst of steam.
"GAH!" Lars staggered.
Desperate, he chanted: "Chaos Red—"
But Emil was already weaving around the incoming Chaos Red Lightning Bolt, dashing forward like a dancer in a storm.
Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, lightning and fire flashing across the sky with each swing.
Lars raised his axe high.
"Dark Flame Swinger—!"
BOOM!
But Emil cut in with a knee strike, stunning Lars.
His palm glowed—
"Slime Wire."
A tangle of viscous, glowing strands exploded from his hand and wrapped around Lars, binding him like a spider's prey.
"GET OFF—!"
Too late.
Emil leapt forward, twisting mid-air and delivered a dropkick.
CRACK!
Lars was blasted back again, tangled in slime wires. Emil spun him around, then slammed him back into the ground.
BOOOOM!
Dust rose. Silence.
Lars coughed, panting hard. Blood dripped from his brow. He struggled to his feet.
"DAMNED BRAT! HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO YOUR SENIOR?!"
Emil flicked his cigarette, exhaling blue smoke. "Doesn't really matter. The goal's to last... or take you down, right?"
Then his tone sharpened. "By the way—you should start movin', old man."
"HUH?!"
Lars looked around—dozens of Marble Bombs surrounded him, silently glowing.
He leapt back on instinct.
Emil muttered, "Wrong move, geezer."
SNAP.
BOOM!
A Marble Bomb behind Lars exploded, launching him forward—into another. Then another.
Chain reaction.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Lars was bounced around like a ragdoll, slammed and blasted side to side, up and down.
Emil tossed his slime bat into the air—it spun like a blade.
He grabbed another slime sphere and hurled it like a fastball.
CRACK—!
It hit Lars in the gut, exploded—wrapping around his body in a tight, binding cocoon.
Lars collapsed, twitching.
But then—
He screamed. A demonic roar that shook the courtyard.
His skin reddened. Steam hissed from his pores.
"He's activating..." someone muttered.
"Berserk Demon..." another whispered.
"Right..." Emil said, eyes narrowing.
"Enhance Agility. Enhance Strength."
Energy surged through his limbs as he dashed forward.
"Mimicry Style..."
He caught the descending slime bat mid-air, spinning as he approached.
"YOU'RE DEAD, BRAT!" Lars screamed, beginning his final incantation.
Emil's eyes flared.
"WIND-GUIDED..."
He thrust the slime bat forward just like a rapier—
"PIERCING THRUST!!"
BOOOOOOM!!!
The impact shattered the air—a compressed burst of wind behind Emil sent debris flying.
The bat struck Lars's chest—his entire body lifted off the ground before crumpling in a heap.
Silence. Pure silence.
Eyes wide, jaws dropped.
Even Kitt stood in stunned awe. "What the hell...?"
Elaris blinked, confused. "Wait... wasn't that my move?!"
Emil landed, exhaling smoke. "You gotta calm down..."
He dropped his cigarette, stomped it out, and turned toward Lars.
"...You loud geezer."
The instructor snapped out of her trance.
"Oh—uhm... Emil Geltiff! You have taken down your opponent! You are qualified! Please wait to the side. We will evaluate which team suits your capabilities."
The crowd erupted in cheers. Interviewees clapped, hooted, and howled in excitement at the display.
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The last five interviewees finished their examinations. Out of the dozens who tried, only 23 were officially selected and hired into the R.C.A.
They were now ushered into a sleek, modern waiting chamber. White walls buzzed with magical interface panels, and the gentle hum of the mana-filtered air brought a strange stillness to the room.
Emil Geltiff sat beside Kitt Nythelle, both relaxed yet charged with anticipation.
"THAT WAS FRIGGIN' SICK, EMIL!" Kitt blurted, his tone bursting with energy. "You barely used any other spells and stuck with your slime powers! That mimic strike? Clean as hell!"
Emil scratched his head and chuckled. "Heh, yeah, thanks. You were pretty intense too, especially in that match with the otherworlder... you got some history with him or something?"
Kitt's lively expression dimmed slightly. He turned his gaze away. "Ah... nah... it's uhh... kinda personal to be honest. Kinda hard to explain."
Emil leaned back, nodding lightly. "Alright, I get it. Hmm... I wonder what team we're gonna end up in, eh?"
"Honestly? I hope we're teammates," Kitt replied with a cheeky grin, giving Emil a playful shoulder jab.
"Heh, yeah. I'd like that too," Emil replied, his lips curling into a light laugh.
Moments later, the bench shifted as someone new joined them. Elaris Liorael — quiet, graceful, and ever-observant — sat beside Emil.
The silence between them stretched for a beat until Elaris broke it.
"Mr. Emil?"
He blinked and turned toward her. "Oh, uhh, yeeeaah? And just Emil is fine..."
"Emil, I have a question," she said, eyes intent.
"Ye–yeah? What would that be?"
"That final attack you landed earlier... it was an exact copy of my Wind-Guided Piercing Thrust. How though? How did you replicate the stance so perfectly?"
Emil's eyes lit up slightly with pride. "Oh, that. Yeah, it's a personal skill of mine. I call it Mimicry Style. It's a technique that lets me copy any move I've observed, down to the exact positioning, tempo, flow... everything."
Elaris leaned in, almost desperate. "Can you teach me? Please? I need to learn it."
"Eh? What for?"
"I... need to get stronger. To prove my family wrong about me. They always said I was weak... disposable. I want to change that."
There was hesitation in Emil's eyes. He studied her expression. It wasn't hunger for power—it was yearning. A desperate ache to grow.
"Alright... I won't pry into your family stuff," Emil finally replied. "But if you wanna learn the Mimicry Style, I'll teach you."
Elaris smiled with radiant gratitude, almost unrecognizable from her usual stoicism. "Thank you so much, Emil!"
He scratched his cheek, flustered. She really wants this. Kinda embarrassing, but... yeah, I can tell she's not learning it for the wrong reasons. She's... interesting.
"You can call me Ela," she offered, extending a hand.
"And you can call me Emil," he said back, shaking her hand gently.
"Nice to meet you, Emil."
"Same to you, Ela."
Just then, the room's intercom rang out with a synthetic chime:
"Ms. Esther Gracevyne, Mr. Fritts Ribbter, Mr. Kitt Nythelle, Mr. Emil Geltiff, and Ms. Elaris Liorael—please step through the doors and meet your new team members and leader."
The five stood, exchanged glances, and walked toward the shimmering mana-light doors.
As they passed through, the magic shimmered off their bodies like mist, revealing a new chamber filled with warm golden light—and a familiar voice.
"Welcome to the team, newbies!"
Emil and Elaris's eyes widened in recognition.
But Kitt? He flinched, visibly irritated.
Standing at the center of the polished room was a tall figure, wearing a proper suit and donning a sheathed odachi on his belt. His aura was confident—commanding.
It was none other than Yuito Ichiban, the High Human Otherworlder.
"You may know me as Yuito Ichiban," he said with a charismatic smile. "I'm an Otherworlder and the proud leader of Team Topaz. It's a pleasure to meet you, new recruits."
He opened his arms in a wide, confident gesture. "Once again—welcome to R.C.A's Team Topaz!"
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