Humankind.

The marble corridor outside Director Diko's office was so quiet. Raymed and Carmilla stood before the great oak door, its inlaid vine work glinting in the light, waiting for the wards to disengage. Behind the door, they could already feel Thalamik's mana simmering like a kettle left alone for too long. It was intense.

Raymed exhaled. "Round One of 'Please Don't Obliterate the School,'" he muttered with a worried smile.

Carmilla pinched the bridge of her nose. "Try not to joke. Diko looked ready to combust over the crystal call."

"I am trying to calm myself."

The wards clicked; the door drifted inward.

Thalamik was planted in front of Diko's wide desk, arms folded, with an unreadable expression. A few moments ago, it felt like he was a caged beast, yet now he was somehow showing radiated restraint, but with irritation. Director Diko, the human liaison, is placed in the mirror image on the opposite side, a stack of damage reports fluttering in his hand and on his desk.

"Close the door," Diko said without looking up.

Carmilla obeyed as she closed and locked it.

"Director," Raymed began, "if this is about—"

"It is about the fight," Diko snapped, spinning on his heel. His usually meticulous black hair stuck up in unusual, anxious tufts.

"Fifteen wolf demi‑humans in the infirmary, two elves in hysterics, one noble elf family eldest heir suddenly requesting a formal duel, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you three.... The champion of the campus orientation champions decided that the courtyard was the perfect place for a reenactment of the Demonfolk War!"

Thalamik's eyes narrowed. "It might sound crazy, but what I'm about to say. But, they spat on me first."

"And you responded by summoning three armored ghouls and beating them all up." Diko slammed a parchment onto the desk. "The Magisterial Board is debating whether to call it 'terroristic intimidation' or 'creative extracurricular demonstration.'"

Raymed raised a hand. "For the record, we voted 'demonstration.' Less paperwork."

"Nice Save, Besto Friendo!" Thalamik was pointed out in awe by Raymed's backup.

A vein twitched above Diko's eyebrow, and he raised his right fist. "Do I look like I find this funny, Raymed.?"

Ray's grin withered. "No, sir." Followed by an awkward smile.

Carmilla stepped forward, voice soft but firm. "If I may, Director, Thalamik was indeed provoked. Even before the batt- 'Demonstration' at the courtyard, Isval had used a lethal arrow spell inside the first trials. Then he met Thalamik again, only to spit at his feet. The wolf students piled on him by grabbing his shoulders first. I kinda agree that they forced his hand."

"Yeah, but his hand is a weapon of mass destruction," Diko deadpanned. "So are yours, actually." He pointed to Raymed's dossier, still open beside a half‑finished cup of headache draught. "And yours, Saint Candidate. This is exactly why Vanguard enrolled you. Some of the higher-ups think you three can tip the scales against Demonfolk. But that only works if the rest of the allied races are willing to fight beside you rather than file restraining orders."

Thalamik's mana flickered—a telling spike that set the desk‑quills rattling. "If those 'allies' spend their time spitting on human graves, they're liabilities, not comrades."

Raymed laid a calming hand on Thal's shoulder. "Easy. Remember what I said after the trial? Every swing at our own side is one swing we won't have when Baal's cousins come knocking."

Thalamik didn't shrug him off this time, but his jaw stayed clenched. "This place is a powder keg. I won't ignite it-unless someone strikes the match first. I am a reactor." 

Diko let the tension hang, then sighed, shoulders drooping. "I'm not asking you to love them. I'm asking you to show the minimum politeness required to keep the Alliance running. Refusal means expulsion. And expulsion means no access to the relic vault, training grounds, or rational path to finding more artifacts to fight the Demonfolks. I mean, our side is the one suffering the most attacks. If the other races want, they can just leave us to die. But Veuz has become the icon of peace now. I believe the general public would fight for her sake to protect the race she is from, which is humankind."

Thalamik then looked away, eyes shadowed.

Carmilla seized the opening. "We promised Hale—even in her last letter—that we'd finish what L'arc Academy started. We, the last survivors of L'arc, will protect humanity."

Mentioning their fallen mentor softened Thalamik further than any threat. He exhaled, a sound between a growl and a sigh. "Fine. Probation, wasn't it?"

Diko nodded warily. "Sixty days. If you experience any unsanctioned violence outside designated sparring arenas, you're gone. During that time, you will attend two weekly diplomacy seminars, log mana‑control drills with Professor Aelric, and write written apologies—non‑sarcastic—to the Demi-human Association and House Opache."

Thalamik's lip curled. Raymed elbowed him.

"…Understood, I promise to behave." Thalamik was forced out.

"Good," Diko tapped a quill on the desk. Now that you understand..." He paused, eyed the trio carefully, and made a sudden, unexpected gesture with his hand, activating a soundproofing barrier around the room.

The students exchanged curious glances.

"Listen, Thalamik," Diko said, dropping his formal tone and leaning forward conspiratorially, "since you actually behaved yourself for once through this discussion, I'll offer you a way out. Consider this a one-time bonus round for good behavior."

Thalamik blinked suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I'll pull some diplomatic strings and arrange an amnesty," Diko explained. He waved dramatically. "But only if you promise never to stage another undead military parade in a non-combat zone."

Thalamik straightened, surprise etched across his usually scowling face. "Wait, does that mean—"

"Yeah, exactly, if you wanted to do it in a combat zone, knock yourself out. No, knock those elves out will be the better words." Diko said with a dry smile. "To be perfectly frank," he leaned closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I can't stand those pompous elves either."

All three students stared in shock.

"Director!" Carmilla gasped theatrically. "I didn't know…!"

Raymed mock-clutched his chest, feigning betrayal. "The scandal! Diko's true feelings exposed!"

Diko rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Oh, spare me the drama, you three. It's no secret among humans—half the elves walk around here acting superior just because they have mana pools deeper than our egos combined."

Thalamik snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Finally, someone who understands."

Diko waved dramatically, half-mocking himself. "But you see, I'm a diplomat—" he pronounced the word with exaggerated dignity, puffing his chest. "I wear a mask of civility to convince everyone that humanity is harmless. Truth is, I've seen firsthand what those arrogant pointy-eared bureaucrats can do if provoked."

His tone softened, turning sincere. "Right now, humans can't risk open confrontation—not until we're strong enough to fight back truly. Until then, we maintain the act."

Carmilla's gaze softened in realization. "Director… I had no idea… but not in a bad way!"

Diko smiled, visibly relaxing. "Yes, yes. Deep down, I'm not trying to expel anyone, especially not the three potential saviors of humanity's diplomatic reputation." He gave a wink. "Honestly, Thalamik, I need you here. You three are literally the keys to humanity climbing this political food chain."

Thalamik cleared his throat awkwardly, cheeks faintly flushed. "Well… when you put it like that…"

Raymed chuckled. "Feeling touched, Thal?"

"Shut up," Thalamik muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

Diko straightened, regaining some composure. "But above all, I'm still a diplomat—and I'm supposed to be the responsible adult," he said with exaggerated exasperation, "the parent figure who keeps his wayward children from blowing up the school or committing acts of international violence."

The trio burst into laughter despite themselves.

"It's not that I want to play the bad guy," Diko added theatrically, placing his hand dramatically on his forehead. "Life is simply an opera, and right now, I'm just another marionette dancing on the strings of interspecies politics."

He made a sweeping gesture toward the ceiling, as if addressing invisible puppeteers. "But one day," he said dramatically, eyes twinkling with mischief, "we'll all cut those strings and show those arrogant races that humanity isn't their inferior—we're their equals."

There was a thoughtful silence before Raymed finally spoke up with a grin. "Director… you have a flair for dramatics. Ever considered theater?"

Diko smirked. "Only every time I have to read an elven grievance letter."

Thalamik finally cracked a genuine smile. "You're alright, Director Diko. I'll lay low for real this time. Until we can politically move better."

The director huffed mock-offendedly. "Oh, please, spare me your pity compliments. Now get out of my office before someone suspects I'm actually nice. Go! Shoo!"

"Oh wait! Let's roleplay a bit," He said before canceling the soundproof barrier.

"Now, one more thing. Thalamik."

"Yes, Director?" If you feel the urge to dismember a classmate, imagine Hale looking over your shoulder. Then imagine me torching every family photo you own."

Thalamik blinked, genuinely startled that Diko knew his pressure point.

Raymed couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"Dismissed," Diko finished, waving them out.

"Try not to level any buildings on the way back to the dorms."

Thalamik, as he was about to exit, looked back at Diko.

WINK

Diko signalled.

Thalamik let out a sigh of relief. Turns out that part wasn't serious. Because Thalamik himself wouldn't know what he would do if that family picture were gone, he went outside and closed the doors.

Raymed broke it with a low whistle. "Survived without bloodshed. Progress. To be honest, he seems to be on our side, let's make sure to keep our end of the deal. I mean, you wouldn't want to spend sixty days apologizing, right?"

Thalamik began to scowl again, but softer around the edges. "Sixty days," he murmured, as if testing the number's weight. "Yeah, I better play nice so Diko can properly help me on that part."

Raymed grinned. "Great! Let's celebrate with cafeteria curry. I promise to stand between you and any elf who forgets basic manners."

Carmilla rolled her eyes but smiled. Thalamik managed the ghost of one.

"Oh yeah, I want to take Paimon's hilt later, kay?"

"Yeah, sure thing."

Together they started down the hall, three silhouettes framed against stained‑glass windows that cast overlapping hues—shadow, sunlight, and saintly gold—across the polished floor. For the first time since stepping onto Vanguard's grounds, they looked less like ticking time bombs and more like a team.

After the trio left his office, Diko rubbed his temples, relieved yet mentally exhausted. With a sigh, he reached for the crystal communicator, deciding it was best to immediately contact the elven representative and begin negotiations for Thalamik's amnesty.

The crystal glowed softly, shimmering before an elegant voice answered, calm yet unmistakably disdainful.

"Human Director Diko. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Diko cleared his throat, forcing politeness into his tone. "Representative Alura, good day. I wanted to discuss the matter involving one of our students, Thalamik, and perhaps arrange—"

"Ah, Thalamik," she interrupted smoothly, sounding oddly satisfied. "Yes, I have already been informed about the decision. Amnesty has already been granted."

Diko blinked in surprise, momentarily speechless. "Excuse me? Amnesty has...already been granted? By whom?"

But before the elf could reply, the connection fizzled sharply, static crackling violently. Diko tapped the crystal, frowning. "Representative Alura? Hello?"

The static settled slightly, but the previous voice had vanished. Instead, another presence filled the communication, distorted and distant—yet unmistakably powerful. The hairs on Diko's neck rose immediately.

"Director Diko of Vanguard Academy," a woman's voice said, low and chilling, almost amused. "How fascinating to speak to you personally."

Diko stiffened, immediately cautious. "Who is this? How did you intercept my call?"

The voice laughed softly, melodically—both elegant and terrifying at once. "Forgive my manners. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Zuatha Il Zikmel."

Diko's blood went cold, recognition and shock sweeping through him like ice water. Zuatha Il Zikmel? He knew that name all too well—the infamous elf leader behind the devastating raid on South Jaka City.

"Zuatha Il Zikmel," Diko repeated slowly, forcing composure into his voice. "To what do I owe this...unexpected interruption?"

"Oh, it's nothing much," Zuatha replied, her voice tinged with dark amusement. "I simply heard there's a human student named Thalamik enrolled at your prestigious Vanguard Academy. Quite the promising young man, isn't he?"

Diko swallowed thickly, mind racing. "Thalamik? What exactly do you know about him?"

She laughed again, light but unsettling. "Oh, Director, the entire elven court is abuzz with the news! Putting fifteen beastkin into your infirmary, traumatizing two elves, and earning a duel challenge from an Opache noble heir? Quite the accomplishment—for a mere puny human."

Diko's brows knitted, suspicion creeping into his voice. "Was it you who granted Thalamik this sudden amnesty?"

Another amused chuckle answered him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Diko felt a spike of irritation, despite his unease. "I certainly would. What interest could someone of your stature possibly have in a human student like him?"

The voice grew softer, almost conspiratorial. "Let's just say I've developed an interest in seeing what both of you are capable of. Thalamik is a particularly intriguing young man. I look forward to observing how you guide him from here."

Before Diko could respond further, Zuatha continued smoothly, voice deceptively casual, "Take care of your little prodigy, Director Diko. I'd hate for anything unfortunate to befall him before we've had a chance to properly... interact."

The crystal flared suddenly, cutting the communication sharply. Diko stared at the empty crystal in stunned silence, heart thundering.

"Zuatha Il Zikmel," he muttered, the name tasting bitter in his mouth. "Of all people..."

Then it hit him—the real reason behind Zuatha's intervention. If Thalamik were to be tasked with probation and go on a diplomatic journey to the Opache House, there would likely be chances that Zuatha herself might be forced to confront him personally, something she clearly wished to avoid.

In addition, Thalamik was one of the survivors of that day's South Jaka City Raid.

So does that mean...

A smile crept across Diko's lips—a slow, predatory smile.

"Hah," he chuckled, realization dawning fully. "Cowardly elf. You're scared of him, aren't you, Zuatha? Who would have guessed?"

He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming thoughtfully against his desk. "Your fear might just become humanity's strongest weapon. Thank you for the gift, Lady Zuatha. Stupid fool."

He laughed softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement and relief.

For the first time in days, Diko felt genuinely optimistic.

"You've just become the secret weapon in my arsenal," he whispered fondly, gazing up toward the ceiling.

***

Raymed's footsteps echoed softly through the shadowed halls of Vanguard Academy. It was now some time in the evening. Still processing the conversation in Diko's office, Raymed found himself wandering toward the eastern wing of the campus—the crafting district.

A rhythmic metallic clanging filled the air as he neared a squat stone building marked by a sign etched in runic script: "Dwargo Kors: Blade Works." A comforting warmth radiated from within, although it was accompanied by the smell of coal and iron.

Raymed pushed open the heavy wooden door, immediately engulfed by the thick heat of the forge.

"Close the blasted door, lad!" came Dwargo's rough voice from deep within the workshop. "You're lettin' out all my good heat!"

"Ah, sorry," Raymed said quickly, shutting the door behind him. 

Around the smithy, there are tools and unfinished blades lying scattered around, neatly chaotic.

At the heart of it all, Dwargo Kors stood, squat but powerfully built, his white short hair gleaming in the firelight. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing muscular arms covered in soot.

Dwargo turned, eyes brightening as he recognized his visitor. "Raymed! Oh, I see! Didn't think you'd bring it. Let's see the fragment."

Raymed carefully withdrew the bundle he'd carried since the encounter with Paimon in the border town not long ago. He placed it gingerly on the worktable and unwrapped it slowly, revealing the shard of Paimon's blade hilt., Its edges were jagged, pulsing with faint mana.

The dwarf's eyes widened, mouth agape, as he carefully took the fragment in calloused hands, examining it like a sacred relic. "By the...This is incredible!"

Raymed watched curiously. "Is it really that special?"

"Lad, this isn't just special—it's extraordinary," Dwargo breathed reverently, turning the shard carefully under the flickering forge light. His finger traced invisible lines along the fragment's intricate mana circuits. "This craftsmanship is comparable to a High-Human weapon's quality. See these tiny grooves? They're mana channels—runes structured into the metal itself. Only two races ever mastered this technique."

"High-Humans and Demonfolks?" Raymed echoed, puzzled.

Dwargo nodded eagerly, settling himself on a nearby stool. "Aye. Based on the known information... The High-Humans were an ancient race of warriors. Physically like us humans, but their bodies were natural conduits of mana, far stronger and more precise than any mage today. They crafted artifacts specifically to battle the Demonfolk in their homeland, matching demons blow-for-blow. Only High-Humans could stand toe-to-toe with Demonfolk, their sworn enemies."

Raymed's brow furrowed thoughtfully.

Memories flickered in his mind about Thalamik's recount of the first time he saw Paimon. She initially said that Thalamik and Carmilla were invaders from humankind.

Could the demons have mistaken ordinary humans for their ancient rivals, the high humans?

Was this why humans bore the brunt of demon aggression during the wars?

"Paimon," Raymed muttered, eyes distant, "when she first appeared, she thought Thalamik and Carmilla were aggressors. Could she have mistaken them for High-Humans?"

Dwargo's brows knitted together, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Demons haven't forgotten their old adversaries. Human territory suffered the most in the recent invasions—not just because they're weaker in mana than elves or demi-humans, but perhaps also because the demons still fear High-Human resurgence."

Raymed nodded slowly, absorbing this new insight. His mind swirled with questions, but Dwargo interrupted his thoughts, his voice brimming with excitement.

"Lad, can I keep this fragment for a bit? Study it, perhaps? I promise it'll be safe in my vault—and in return, I'll show you one of the artifacts from the academy's own sealed collection."

"I don't mind," Raymed shrugged, smiling at Dwargo's evident enthusiasm. "I'm not exactly using it myself."

Dwargo gently placed the shard down, suddenly thoughtful. His eyes widened as an idea struck him. "By the anvil's heart! Raymed, what if we created a Pseudo Artifact?"

Raymed tilted his head, confusion evident. "A what?"

Dwargo grabbed parchment and charcoal, sketching wildly. "A Pseudo Artifact—essentially, an imitation of High-Human artifacts! Using the rune logic from this fragment, we could replicate a fraction of its power. It wouldn't match the original—maybe only a tenth—but it would still vastly surpass ordinary weapons."

Raymed's curiosity grew, leaning closer. "Sounds impressive—and complicated."

Dwargo nodded fervently. "Aye, and costly too. Forging it requires immense mana infusion—far beyond what I normally handle. Mana packets are expensive, and my personal mana reserves won't suffice."

The dwarf paused, eyeing Raymed thoughtfully, then broke into a broad grin. "But you-you've got mana bursting out at the seams. Your raw power is exactly what we need."

Raymed raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Control isn't exactly my strong suit..." He remembered how he destroyed training dummies back in L'arc.

Dwargo chuckled deeply, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Perfect! We don't need finesse here—just power. I'll handle the precise rune inscription. You supply the mana. We meet regularly, infuse slowly, and craft ourselves a weapon strong enough to turn tides against future Demon Lord Envoys."

Raymed considered this seriously. The thought of wielding a blade capable of standing against the mightiest of demons resonated deeply. It felt fitting for Thalamik's controlled precision, Carmilla's sealing magic, and now a potential weapon forged through his uncontrolled yet abundant mana. Balance in chaos. Maybe this is the way for them to level up Mana Trinity.

Dwargo watched him closely, sensing the gravity of the decision. "I won't lie, lad—this could make a real difference. And I'll owe you deeply."

"I don't quite understand all your runes and circuits," Raymed finally said, determination igniting his eyes. "But if you promise to back me up when we face those Envoys again, then count me in."

Dwargo stood, extending a mighty, soot-covered hand. "Raymed, you've got my word. By the forge's flame, I'll stand beside you in battle. No smith worth his anvil ever breaks an oath."

Raymed firmly clasped Dwargo's hand, feeling a surge of camaraderie between them.

A subtle pulse of mana vibrated in the handshake, almost as if the world itself approved.

"Then it's a deal," Raymed said, grinning widely.

Dwargo laughed heartily, the forge flames crackling in approval behind them. "A deal indeed, lad! Together we'll forge artifacts!"

As Raymed stepped out of the smithy into the cooling evening air, the weight of recent tensions lifted slightly from his shoulders. Dwargo Kors's promise lingered warmly in his chest, a spark of hope amidst the uncertainties of Vanguard Academy.

While walking alone in the city near the academy...

"Indeed, it seems you are not human..."

 Suddenly, Raymed heard a voice again. The voice of someone he's sure to have heard before.

He was standing amongst the crowd of people, not knowing where to look.

"Don't fret. I mean no harm."

"Then show yourself."

Someone was standing amongst the crowd.

A woman was wearing a white outfit. Her face was covered by a hood, but some of her hair could be seen. She had blonde hair and green glowing eyes.

"Who are you?"

The woman stared as her face was still shrouded in shadow from her hood.