"Oh, is that so? Well, they certainly have remarkable composure. I wouldn't be able to. You might end up being the only student I've taught in my two hundred years who failed the preliminary test. Thank heavens, my reputation is ruined. Even if I've instructed ten geniuses like Sino, having just one student like you would be enough to destroy it all."

Sino—she was the genius girl standing nearby.

From afar, Angel watched as the genius girl gleefully boasted to her friends. He let out a helpless sigh, then silently slung his bow and arrows over his shoulder and trudged back.

"Hey, wait a moment." The coach called out to Angel again.

Turning back, Angel saw the coach extend a pendant toward him.

It was a pendant made from an arrowhead, dark green and polished to an almost oily sheen.

"Take it. This is your graduation gift. Every one of my students gets one. Even though you technically aren't graduating under my watch, I feel you should still have one. It's supposed to bring you good luck in the preliminary test... or maybe it won't bring you anything at all. Yeah, that's about it—just some damned superstition."

Angel silently took the pendant, bowed deeply to his coach, then turned around and continued walking.

Dawn at the edge of the sacred tree—sunlight filtered weakly through the massive canopy, leaving patches of dappled light across the city.

Birds chirped, elves sang.

In the bustling streets, a young elf walked forlornly, as if the entire world had nothing to do with him.

Or perhaps... he had nothing to do with the world?

In any case, that's the sentiment—the kind of crushing despondence that could frighten anyone.

As he passed the gates of the Magic Academy, he heard waves of exclamations rising from within. He stopped involuntarily in his tracks and stared blankly.

It was a place so unlike any other building around it.

Elsewhere, people carved out hollows in the roots of the sacred tree to live within them, but here, the roots were hewn and sculpted into architectural forms. There was a main building, auxiliary wings, and a sprawling plaza—all so strikingly unique.

Standing silently for a moment, Angel watched until someone emerged from the gate. He quickly averted his gaze and hurried away.

Around the corner, not far off, a few minstrel poets were strumming guitars and singing. He faintly heard their lyrics: "Poor Angel, he yearns for magic, he loves magic dearly. Yet, he has a brother named Andrew, and his parents have forbidden him from learning magic. What is the meaning of life? Poor Angel, where lies your path in this world?"

Angel could only quicken his pace, hoping to leave the song behind. But no matter how fast he walked, the melody remained in his ears.

Perhaps those minstrels were hiding at the street corner, or standing on some high spot, or perched on a balcony, or maybe at a low hollow gazing upward. In essence, they were everywhere.

"Ah... Ah~~! Ah~~! Poor Angel, he detests archery, nor does he have the talent for it. Alas, he can only pick up the longbow and struggle in torment, only fire each arrow in restrained anguish. What is the meaning of life? Poor Angel, where lies your path in this world? What is the meaning of life? Poor Angel, where lies your path in this world? Why must it be so painful?"

When Angel finally couldn't bear it any longer and walked toward them, they vanished without a trace, as though they'd never existed. He was left standing all alone.

Raising his head, he suddenly noticed Jones standing high atop the "Water Drop"—gazing down at him.

Their eyes met silently.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.