Sheila paused, her gaze settling on the far entrance of the Phantom Lord guildhall.
Through the lens of Mahō Perception, the entire front gates were engulfed in a towering, dark crimson inferno.
She could perceive the natural flow of Ethernano and Magic Power radiating outward from Damian. Unlike Albion—who had only just unlocked the sensation and could barely map out a few meters—Sheila's perception extended across the entire compound.
To her, it was as effortless as breathing. A byproduct of decades spent mastering her craft.
'He isn't using a spell', Sheila observed quietly. 'Nor is he attempting to suppress his presence. He is simply letting his energy overflow.'
Damian was an elemental Mage specializing in Fire Mahō—a Caster-type attribute that converted raw Ethernano into heat and combustion. Because it was one of the four foundational elemental attributes, it was widely studied, resulting in countless variations across the world.'
That wide spectrum of application was precisely why Sheila knew Damian had no true intention of killing Gajeel. Had he wished the boy dead, the conflict would have concluded in seconds.
'He merely wishes to convince Gajeel that his death is imminent', she thought. 'A mental punishment. A harsh one, but deliberate.'
Scanning deeper through the ambient Magic Power, her perception glances over the distinct signatures of every Mage within the area. That was how she knew something had occurred regarding Gajeel.
Pulling the Gravois Core from her coat, Sheila activated its inherent floating Magic. She rose smoothly into the air, gliding toward the guildhall while carefully cloaking her own magical signature.
Meanwhile, deep within the flooded stone corridors of the lower levels, Juvia and Albion walked side-by-side.
Juvia had just finished relaying everything she knew about Gajeel. It wasn't much. She had joined Phantom Lord only a year prior, and Gajeel was already an established member. She didn't know the classification of his magic, nor that it belonged to the ancient Lost Magic category.
She did, however, know what it could do.
From their earlier clash, she had saw three distinct spells. More bizarrely, she had witnessed him consuming raw iron to recover his strength—a phenomenon that defied standard magical logic. She also explained his primary motivation: Gajeel was searching for a giant metal dragon. He claimed the creature had raised him as a parent.
Juvia had once dismissed dragons as mere bed-time fables. After facing Gajeel, she was no longer so certain. She mentioned he called himself an "Iron Dragon Slayer," though she treated the phrase more as a title than a literal truth.
Albion absorbed the information in silence. He remained quiet for several seconds, his eyes fixed on the stone floor.
"I don't understand one thing," Albion said softly.
Juvia glanced at him. "What?"
"Gajeel."
Her face darkened slightly. "What about him?"
"He has defeated several Phantom Lord wizards," Albion noted, his tone calm and analytical. "You have seen it. So have I. Yet this guild is considered one of the strongest in the country. Even its minor members should possess more skill than a child."
Juvia stared at him for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. "You're overestimating those fights."
Albion tilted his head. "Am I?"
"Phantom Lord has an unspoken rule regarding internal disputes," Juvia explained smoothly. "You aren't forbidden from fighting, but you are expected to maintain restraint. You don't unleash high-tier spells that risk destroying the structural integrity of the hall."
She gestured toward the damp stone walls surrounding them.
"Consider our fight. We flooded an entire corridor and collapsed a wall. Imagine if every argument inside the guild ended like that."
Albion's eyes narrowed slightly. "They restrict their magic."
"Precisely," Juvia crossed her arms. "The fights you saw weren't magical duels. They were physical brawls. The older wizards don't use their full arsenal. And most of them don't take a nine-year-old seriously."
She paused, her expression solemn. "Which is a mistake."
She recalled Gajeel's ruthless combat style in vivid detail.
"Gajeel excels in close-quarters combat. His magic is specifically tailored for it—Iron Dragon's Club, Iron Dragon's Spear. They are brutal, short-range weapons. Combined with his physical durability and his total lack of hesitation, he easily overwhelms anyone who isn't willing to use lethal force."
"Then his victories are not meaningless," Albion observed.
"No," Juvia replied instantly. "They're real. Gajeel is strong. But they are misleading."
"Why doesn't anyone fight him properly?"
Juvia shrugged gently. "It's a guild. They aren't trying to murder him. And none of them expect a child to be capable of beating them."
"His reputation is a product of his environment," Albion stated plainly.
"Yes." Juvia looked down at the plush seal tucked beneath her arm. "He isn't weak, Albion. He's just surrounded by people who are much stronger than he realizes."
Albion's eyes widened fractionally. "Then that means—"
"His strength is real," Juvia finished. "But if you want to gauge how strong he actually is, don't look at the men he knocked down in the tavern."
She looked back down the dark hallway.
"Look at the people who actually fought him without holding back."
"Damian," Albion said.
"And me." Juvia paused, rolling her shoulders with a quiet groan. "I am the oldest here, which means I'm responsible for us. Since my punishment is complete, I'd prefer to leave this hallway. I'm tired."
She glanced toward the exit. "We can head to Sheila's clinic. I usually sleep there. You can stay as well."
She began to walk, but Albion's voice stopped her.
"Before we leave," Albion said, "there is something I need to confirm."
Juvia turned back, raising an eyebrow as she watched him roll up his left hoodie sleeve.
"What are you doing?"
Albion stared down at his bare forearm, his expression completely blank. "Juvia. If I lose consciousness, please carry me."
'I should have done this earlier', he thought rationally. 'This is far better than breaking an arm.'
Before Juvia could process his request, Albion brought his left hand to his mouth—and bit down with force.
The taste of iron hit first—thick, warm, and metallic on his tongue—before the pain fully registered.
He didn't hesitate. He drove his teeth deep into the web of flesh between his thumb and index finger, grinding down through skin and muscle until his jaw hit resistance. Blood welled around his lips, pouring down his wrist in a dark stream.
With a sharp, guttural growl, he yanked his head back, tearing away a jagged strip of his own flesh.He spat the blood onto the stone floor, his pulse hammering against his ribs.
"What are you doing?!" Juvia demanded, her quiet composure breaking into genuine shock.
Albion offered her a brief, strained look. "Stay back. I know what I am doing."
He brought his mouth down to his forearm and bit down again.
The moment his teeth sank deeper, his nervous system shattered. Severed nerve endings flared all at once. A ragged, breathless scream tore from his throat, echoing off the stone walls.
He dropped to his knees, clutching his bleeding arm as his back arched violently. The pain was absolute—a blinding white noise that swallowed his vision, feeling like liquid fire pumped directly into his marrow. His fingers curled into tight, rigid claws.
"Are you crazy?!" Juvia yelled, stepping forward. "You're going to pass out from blood loss!"
Ignoring the pain, Albion commanded himself internally, staring into the dark stone floor.
'Focus on the flow.'
He was no fool. He needed to understand how his body's repair itself. When he healed after his fight with Gajeel, he hadn't understood the process. Did it consume stamina? Did it draw upon ambient Ethernano? Now that he possessed Mahō Perception, he could observe it directly.
His breathing turned into choked, involuntary gasps. Every second of rebuilding tissue forced another agonizing surge up his spine.
Inside the wound, the sensation shifted from burning to an intense, suffocating tension. His muscles coiled and knitted back together as if pulled by invisible thread. Beneath his bones, a deep, maddening itch flared—the sensation of living cells dividing at hyper-speed.
Albion thrashed slightly on the floor, pressing his forehead against the damp stone, forcing his mind to ignore the agony and focus entirely on his internal state.
'Sense it. Map the Ethernano.'
Slowly, the screams died down—not because the pain had subsided, but because he had no air left in his lungs. He lay on the ground, gasping frantically, his left arm trembling violently as the residual shocks of electricity washed out of his muscles.
"Albion..." Juvia knelt beside him, her eyes wide as she looked at his arm. "Your arm... the wounds..."
The deep gouges were gone. The torn skin had completely resealed, leaving smooth, unblemished pale flesh beneath the thick coat of fresh blood.
Albion lay flat on his back, his chest rising and falling heavily. "I understand now," he rasped quietly. "My body does not heal through normal biological functions. It uses Mahō."
His body constantly circulated a subtle baseline of Mahō through its cells, much like blood through the circulatory system. When he sustained injury, his body automatically redirected a portion of that circulating power directly to the damaged area. The Mahō acted as the energy and material necessary to reconstruct the damaged tissue.
"I didn't acquire this after my Ethernal Awakening," Albion muttered, staring at the ceiling. "I have always possessed it. The Awakening did not grant me the power... it gave me awareness."
He gave Juvia a faint, exhausted half-smile.
"It appears... I will be requiring that piggyback," he said softly. "My body... is somewhat special."