The journey through the Spirit Land drew to a close within a strange dream. It all began with the grimoire handed to him by Riveria. This costly reward had a chance of opening a magic slot, allowing the wielder to learn new spells. The moment Bell opened the book, he found himself plunged into a dream.
Before his eyes lay a lake, shrouded in thick mist. The water and sky blended into one, and all was silent.
As he snapped back to reality, Bell realized he was seated in a solitary boat. An indistinct figure stood at the bow, rowing with an oar.
"What is magic?" The shadow asked.
Its voice was both familiar and strange, and as it spoke, the boat began to glide forward. The boat sliced through the thick fog, and what had been a blank expanse of mist gradually took shape, transforming into a scene from his memory.
"Grandpa, can I learn magic like this too?" Young Bell asked, holding a hand-drawn fairy tale in his hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
"You can learn techniques, patience, resilience, but right now, no matter what, you cannot learn magic." His grandfather replied.
"What about later?"
"Later? I don't know. Magic is a matter of fate, of experience, the trajectory of life." His grandfather's words were always philosophical, difficult to understand.
"If you want to learn it, find yourself a good woman. That's how men grow."
"So the more girls I meet, the more magic I'll learn?"
"Hahaha! Well said, Bell! That's the spirit!"
His grandfather's laughter drifted away with the mist.
Soon after, the sound of clashing swords filled the air. Day after day, year after year, that crisp, metallic sound echoed endlessly through the fog. The long, monotonous landscape sped by as silver spears rained down.
"What is magic?" The figure ahead asked again.
The spear's tip cut through the blood-red light, drawing a cry from the girl (Heith). Magic is speed—faster than anyone, swifter than any being. It is the ability to carry her away from the nightmare before the cry even reaches the air.
"Is that all it is?"
A mercenary's bull-like charge appeared through the mist. No openings, no retreat. The scar left by the Minotaur's wound held his gaze. His voice, rough and hoarse, seemed to speak: Some battles can only be won through direct confrontation. Magic is the power to withstand formidable foes, the means to break through adversity.
"I've heard all this before."
In the next instant, a song echoed across the silent lake. The Dea Saint's healing song stirred ripples in the water. If this is magic, it should protect this song of love.
"Haven't you already done that?" The voice echoed back.
A wave of monsters rose from the lake, cutting through the mist, surging past the boat, and charging toward the rear. Beyond the sea of claws, Airmid stood, protecting the potion, her body covered in wounds. Magic is not just about protection; it should heal the maiden too.
"You can barely save yourself, and yet you still worry about others?" The figure's words faded as the wave receded.
In its place, a terrifying Viola appeared, its gaping mouth dripping with blood. Its massive form swallowed the mist, thrusting malice toward the small boat. Above its tendrils stood a remnant of Evilus, holding a cursed steel blade.
Darkness and terror intertwined, fully masking the sharp killing intent lurking deep within the thick fog. Had it been the wind of that girl (Ais), it surely would have parted the mist and exposed the source of the malice. That is what magic should be.
"Conflict never ceases, malice never ends. Even if some are blown away, new ones will only be born."
It was like the words spoken aloud.
No matter how fierce the wind blows, the mist stretches on endlessly. One vile figure after another keeps emerging. The Soma Familia, who severed the bodies of Killer Ants and disguised their comrades as monsters to slaughter. The familia who abandoned Laurier, orchestrating and executing the monster's sacrifice. The casino owner who lured women with gambling as bait, then trafficked them. The remnants of Evilus, consumed by hatred for the goddess Astraea, seeking vengeance.
These distinct evils coalesce into a colossal beast, blocking the small boat's path.
Magic is merely a tool. It should distinguish between good and evil, illuminating the path ahead. Punish the wicked in the name of the goddess of justice. Rescue the suffering with benevolence. Discern who stands as ally, who as foe.
"What good does that do? Some monsters cannot be defeated. Some tragedies cannot be avoided."
...
Beyond the lake stained with black mist, within a clear, tranquil white haze, the Minotaur raised his axe, roaring loudly. Unlike the killing intent of before, it felt more like a death cry.
What is justice? What is evil?
It has nothing to do with the stance of humans versus monsters, nothing to do with race or Dungeon. That roar acknowledging his opponent seemed to foretell a tragedy awaiting the youth ahead.
Wasn't Magic meant for this very purpose? To lead everyone to a future free of tragedy and tears.
"You're too greedy."
"The world is cruel. Trying to save everything will only make you lose what you already have."
No. Absolutely not. Because they were by his side.
...
Amid Bell's rebuttal, the girls' figures materialized within the mist. Slim swords and wooden blades danced together—Ryuu and Ais's teachings were now deeply ingrained. The Wind Magic Sword (Cecil) whistled wind arrows, while the Dia Fratel (Airmid) was never divided. The invisible Laurier raced without pause, and the bashful Lefiya shot dazzling light arrows.
Within the mist, the War Game of the past was replayed. The girls were not merely those he sought to protect, but also the strength that marched forward alongside him. Fateful encounter, yearning, growth. They were his own magic.
"Seems you've got a clue, huh."
The figure smiled softly.
...
The lake stretched beyond sight, yet the mist met its end. Emerald-green hair danced in the wind. Riveria stood within a vast magic circle, gazing expectantly ahead.
[Alf Regina].
According to her, this skill not only amplifies her kin's magic but also absorbs the mana they expend, converting it into magic energy for her own use.
Magic is not just about herself; it is also about bonds and fateful encounters.
"The road ahead stretches long. Tell me, what is magic in your heart?"
The answer had already been decided.
Myself and them.
Adventures and fateful encounters.
Heroes and harems.
That is what magic is.
"Well said, as expected of Bell Cranel."
The figure turned, bearing the exact same face as the youth.
"This is the magic in 'my' heart!"
The figure smiled softly, uttering the final words.
"Take it, hero."
"This is the magic that belongs to you."
...
The dream expanded, the thick fog dissipating. Without realizing when, Bell found himself standing where the figure had been. The oar in his hand had transformed into a ship's wheel. The solitary boat behind him had become a great vessel. The lake merged with the sea, setting sail toward the distant horizon.
Realizing this, Bell awoke.
[Bell Cranel]
Magic: Argo's Ship
Grants magic
Light Attribute
Depending on the incantation, it significantly increases speed or strength.
The effect changes based on the person the user is teamed with (strength and level of affection are related; it cannot absorb malice).