"Now then, on to the main topic," Sia announced, her voice slicing through the casual chatter like a blade. The room quieted. The three seated across from her exchanged a glance and nodded, deciding who would speak first.
After every major expedition, it was routine—the young mages had to report directly to Sia. Every detail mattered. Every encounter, every wound, every hesitation on the battlefield—it all served as fuel for growth.
Sara adjusted her posture, her tone crisp and clear. "Since the beginning of last month, we've entered the Beast Rims five times. Our most recent mission was just two days ago—targeting a herd of Strokedeers. It was relatively straightforward. I led the charge, Lucius handled support and improvisation like always, and Lavya covered us. We avoided major injuries, thanks mostly to him."
Sia nodded slowly, her eyes scanning the trio with a quiet pride that rarely surfaced in words.
"It seems you've grown—not just stronger, but sharper. And I'm glad to see the guild missions are pushing you in the right direction. Anything else worth noting?"
They all shook their heads. Strokedeers weren't combat beasts—they excelled at sensing danger and fleeing. This hunt was more about learning how to corner elusive prey, preparing the mages for the day they'd face mana-sensitive predators that didn't run—but fought back with terrifying power.
"There is… one minor issue." Lucius leaned back slightly, his voice casual, but his eyes flicked toward Lavya.
Sia turned to him, brows raised with mild curiosity. Lavya opened his mouth to speak—but she raised a hand, halting him. "Let him finish first."
Lavya stiffened but said nothing. His gaze darted between Sia and Lucius, jaw clenched in quiet resistance.
Lucius didn't bother dragging it out. "It's the same as before. Lavya still refuses to invest time in close-quarters training."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward—but heavy. Familiar. Like an old wound no one wanted to poke at, yet couldn't ignore.
Finally, Lavya exhaled and spoke, voice low but unwavering.
"I'm Lavya. Eighteen. A B-rank elemental mage with flame affinity. My Spellcaster class gives me precision and range. I can burn a man down before he takes a step toward me. So why exactly should I waste time learning to swing a blade like a barbarian?"
Lucius had heard it before, word for word with minor variations. But he stayed quiet. He knew that any counter, no matter how valid, would only sound like condescension coming from someone younger than Lavya.
Sia's expression didn't shift. She looked tired, was tired, not physically, but emotionally—like a teacher forced to repeat the same lesson to a stubborn student who could excel… but chose not to.
She finally broke the silence. "Lavya. Define this word for me: 'Versatility.'"
He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden prompt—but he recovered quickly. He wasn't the type to back down from a challenge, even a verbal one.
"An all-rounder. Someone adaptable, resilient, and flexible in combat. Someone like—" his eyes briefly flicked to Lucius "—him."
Lucius raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, 'Such Self-awareness? This guy?' Yet he said nothing.
Sia gave a short, approving nod. "Correct. Three times over, in fact. You're special, Lavya. At eighteen, you're inches from A-rank. Your command over fire puts even senior spellcasters to shame. Your precision is rare."
She paused, then leaned forward, voice softer now—but firmer too.
"But talent without adaptability is a sword with no edge. One unexpected variable, one close-range opponent immune to flame, and you become a liability. Your enemies won't care about your class, Lavya. They'll exploit your blind spots, the same way beasts do when they sense weakness."
Lavya didn't respond immediately. His fingers twitched against the armrest. For a moment, it looked like he might argue again—but his gaze fell to the floor, then rose to meet Lucius's and Sia's in intervals, more thoughtful than defensive.
Sia didn't push further. She let the silence say the rest.
"Even though Spellcaster is a false class," Lucius said, picking up where Sia had left off. His voice was calm—too calm.
Sia's eyes narrowed. She shot him a glare meant to silence him, but Lucius didn't flinch. He'd said what he meant.
Lavya turned toward him, frowning. "What do you mean by false class?"
Lucius tilted his head slightly. "Are you sure you want to know? The truth might just shatter that noble pedestal you're clinging to."
Now visibly irritated, Lavya snapped, "I asked a question. Answer it."
Sia reached out, placing a hand on Lavya's wrist, silently urging restraint—but Lucius was already too far in. He leaned forward.
"Think carefully. You can create, twist, and command your flames with frightening precision. You reshape them mid-battle. You rain destruction from a distance. That's why they call you a Spellcaster.
But what about the ones who can't manifest their element externally as easily? The ones who fight up close, with blades, fists, and instincts—are they lesser?
Here's the problem: Elemental mages who excel at close combat aren't granted a 'class.' Why? Just look at Sara. She fights using icy winds to enhance her agility and strikes. She can switch to ranged bombardments in a heartbeat, yet no one calls her a Spellcaster—because her style leans toward melee.
He paused, letting the logic simmer.
"See what I'm saying?" His hands moved as he spoke, sharp and articulate, each gesture driving the point home.
Lavya stayed silent, processing.
Lucius pressed on. "Let's compare you and Sia for a moment." He turned to her. "Permission?"
Sia gave a small nod, folding her arms, intrigued.
"Sia was once an Elemental Knight. Before her core injury, she could cast mid to long-range spells too. She wasn't limited by capability—she simply preferred close combat. And because of that, despite her power, no one ever called her a Spellcaster. Meanwhile, you're praised and glorified—an A-rank candidate—because your style matches the narrative nobles want to push. That ranged is superior. That vanguards are just shields."
His voice sharpened now. "You're not called special because of what you can do—you're called special because of how you do it. Because the system is biased toward those who stand back and spam spells while others bleed for them."
The room fell completely still.
Lucius didn't stop.
"I believe the concept of 'Spellcasters' was created by the elite—to elevate themselves above their protectors. To distance themselves from the knights they secretly look down upon, while maintaining the illusion of superiority. It's politics disguised as classification."
He locked eyes with Lavya.
"Put two A-rank mages on equal footing—one Spellcaster, one Elemental Knight—and the odds favor the knight. Sixty-five to thirty-five. You know why? Because they respect the mage's craft and train to counter it. Meanwhile, the mage refuses to touch close-combat—because pride tells them it's beneath them."
There was a long pause.
Even Sia and Sara were quietly absorbing every word, eyes fixed on Lucius.
Lavya finally broke the silence. His voice had lost its earlier heat, replaced now by genuine curiosity. "How can you be so sure that an Elemental Knight would beat me?"
Lucius smiled.
"Sia already told you why. You just didn't hear it the first time."
Lavya blinked—then realization struck like lightning.
"Versatility," he muttered aloud.
Lucius nodded. "Exactly. We reinforce our bodies with mana. Our endurance, agility, and stamina—it's unnatural. You'll run out of mana after throwing your best spells. Us? We'll just keep dodging and waiting. And once your fuel runs dry…" He shrugged. "It's over."
He didn't hide his smirk. A part of him hoped it would sting.
Lavya's expression dropped, a mix of frustration and reflection.
Lucius softened. "You have a gift, Lav. No one denies that. But don't let pride blind you to its limits. Ranged magic is powerful, but it's not complete. Don't ignore the paths you haven't walked. Be versatile. Be unpredictable. Because only those who overprepare have a real shot at surviving an uncertain future."
Sia chimed in softly. "Exactly. Even though Lucius is a Left Dominator, he still refines his ranged fundamentals every week. He knows not to rely on a single strength."
Lavya remained silent. He stood slowly, eyes distant, and excused himself without another word, stepping out into the garden for air.
Lucius watched him go, then turned to Sara. "Did I go too far?"
Sara shook her head gently. "No. He needed to hear it. If not now, then later—but later would've wasted time he won't get back."
Lucius nodded quietly.
"Thanks," he murmured—and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and on her lips.