A Modern Compendium of Imaginary Magic Woven with Love, Chapter 2 Section 5: Effort and Talent, Possibility and Its Expansion

Note:
This story was originally written in Japanese and has been translated into English using OpenAI's ChatGPT.

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　"Here it is."

　The four of them now stood in an alleyway off Scatche Street, at a location Hannah had described. Just as she had said, a narrow stone staircase led from the lower alley to the upper street. Counting from the bottom, it indeed had thirty-five steps. The upper street was lined with old, clustered apartment buildings, but at first glance, there was no sign of any storefront.

　It seemed they needed to follow the magical code to access their destination.

　"Alright, let’s do exactly as Hannah instructed!"

　At Warlock’s words, the four began climbing the steps. Though the staircase was narrow, a strange crack ran down the center, splitting each step into two distinct halves. If Hannah's instructions were correct, they had to ascend via the left side first.

　Counting carefully as they climbed, they confirmed there were exactly thirty-five steps. Next, they descended along the left side. Again, they counted and found thirty-five steps—as expected.

　Then, Hannah had said to ascend the left side once more.

　As they reached the middle of the staircase, a strange chill brushed against their skin, unnatural for late summer. Soon, they arrived at the upper street.

　Now came the crucial part. The next step was to descend along the right side of the staircase. And, as Hannah had emphasized, they had to count the steps carefully.

　Following her instructions, they counted as they descended.

　One, two, three…

　By the time they reached the bottom, they exchanged tense glances.

　"Thirty-six steps!"

　A deeper chill crept over them, stronger than before. A faint mist had begun to settle around them.

　"We should be close now," Warlock remarked.

　The four of them tensed.

　"Feels like we've been dealing with stuff like this a lot lately," Wizard muttered.

　Sorcerer, however, seemed intrigued, her golden eyes gleaming with fascination.

　"Let's go!"

　Necromancer took the lead.

　As they climbed the steps again, the chill worsened. No longer just cool—it was genuinely cold.

　"Damn, it's freezing," Wizard grumbled.

　The mist thickened. Their surroundings blurred, and the steps beneath their feet became harder to distinguish. The upper street was now completely engulfed in white fog, obscuring whatever lay ahead.

　Still, they pressed on until they finally reached the top.

　The moment they stepped onto the street, a profound silence wrapped around them.

　Scatche Street was a run-down district, but due to its warehouses, it still had a fair amount of foot traffic—voices and activity were never completely absent.

　But now—nothing.

　Not a sound.

　The four carefully scanned their surroundings.

　"There it is," Sorcerer said.

　Above a door, a small plaque read:

　"P.A.C. Store."

　"This must be the place," Necromancer confirmed.

　"Everyone ready? We're going in."

　Warlock grasped the doorknob.

　"Always ready," Wizard declared confidently.

　Was it a push door? Or pull?

　She hesitated for a moment, then decided to try pulling—just as she had done when she first visited Arkham.

　With a quiet click, the latch released, and, surprisingly smooth, the wooden door swung open.

　＊　＊　＊

　The store’s interior was illuminated by a pale, eerie indirect light. It was much more spacious inside than it appeared from the outside—perhaps as large as a small competition field. This vast emptiness added an unsettling atmosphere to the space. No doubt, like Arkham, the interior had been magically expanded.

　Rows of shelves lined the perimeter, filled to the brim with dubious-looking items. The four split into pairs and began exploring the store. There were shriveled black skeletal remains, vials filled with ominously glowing magical liquid, clothing, accessories, and what appeared to be enchanted stones—though likely counterfeit. Rather than a sense of mysticism, the place exuded an unsettling aura. Compared to Arkham, it was clear that the quality of the items here belonged to an entirely different, lower tier.

　What stood out the most was a dedicated section featuring the newly emerging Alchemic Firearms and their corresponding ammunition, Arcane Bullets. The selection was extensive, making it obvious that this was the store’s primary attraction. The variety of bullets was particularly impressive, ranging from standard alchemic rounds to rare Silver Arcane Bullets and even Infernal Iron Bullets. The entire display had the air of an illegal arms dealer’s warehouse.

　“I found it!” Wizard whispered.

　The other three quickly gathered around. Where she pointed, inside a display case, was an exact replica of the Crystal Skull—identical to the fake they had encountered before.

　“This confirms it.”

　“Now we just need to find the Kelendus’ Poison.”

　As Wizard and Sorcerer spoke, the store’s dim, eerie lighting suddenly flared to full brightness.

　“Welcome. Looking for something?”

　A voice, unfamiliar and laced with an unsettling, oily smoothness, echoed from deep within the cavernous store. Moments later, its owner appeared—a gaunt man, seemingly in his early thirties, wearing a sinister pitch-black robe. His unsteady gait resembled that of a drunken man as he lazily approached them.

　“Welcome to P.A.C. Store. What can I interest you in today?”

　The moment he spoke, Wizard instinctively tensed, nearly lunging at him before Sorcerer restrained her. The four of them now faced the man directly.

　“We’re looking for Kelendus’ Poison. Do you have any in stock?”

　Necromancer addressed him smoothly.

　“Oh, indeed we do,” the man replied with a smirk. “Though, I must say, you all look rather tense—especially the young blonde lady there. So quick to anger, aren’t we? You must be terribly stressed. That very item would be the perfect solution for you.”

　His grin widened as he motioned for them to follow him.

　“This way, if you please.”

　In the center of the store stood a massive display table, and atop it, arranged as if it were the store’s grand prize, sat the Kelendus’ Poison.

　“And how much would you like?”

　His silky voice inquired.

　“All of it.”

　Warlock’s voice was resolute.

　“My, my. Now that’s quite the generous purchase. Very well! I shall be delighted to sell you the entire stock on this display.”

　“That’s not what I meant.”

　Warlock’s voice sharpened.

　“Oh? Then what exactly do you mean?”

　“Every last trace of it. Every bottle, every residue of its ingredients—everything. I want it all gone.”

　“Ah… I see. That’s what this is about.”

　The man’s tone subtly shifted.

　“You wouldn’t happen to be from the Academy’s Security Enforcement Unit, would you? You do seem a bit young for that sort of role.”

　“We’re not.”

　“Then, if I may ask—what exactly is your reason for such a request?”

　“It’s for a friend,” Warlock answered coldly. “And perhaps also to shut that irritating mouth of yours.”

　“Ah, I see, I see. Well now, since this is business, I’m afraid I must extend the appropriate hospitality to those who would interfere with it.”

　With that, the man turned toward the back of the store and let out a sharp whistle.

　At that signal, seven men—clearly hired enforcers—emerged from the shadows.

　“Dispose of them!”

　His voice now dripped with malice.

　The assailants charged forward, but the four had anticipated this from the start. Each of them instinctively spread out, assuming battle stances.

　The men unsheathed their weapons.

　“Looks like they’re not magic users!” Sorcerer noted. “In that case—”

　Without hesitation, she began her incantation.

　“O spirits of water and ice, grant my hands the power to unleash frozen projectiles! Ice Shards: Ice Balls!”

　As expected from a prodigy, her spell unleashed an overwhelming barrage—nearly twenty ice shards, each striking with pinpoint precision. Two of the attackers were battered by the relentless hail, their bodies crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

　“Not bad!” Wizard smirked. “Guess it’s my turn. I take it we don’t need to hold back in this dump, right?”

　With that, she launched into her own incantation.

　“O spirits of storm and ice, coalesce into storm clouds at my command! Shake the air, stir the winds, and unleash a cyclone upon my foes! Tornado!”

　A violent cyclone tore through the store, upending shelves and sending goods flying in all directions. A deafening crash resounded as shattered merchandise scattered across the floor.

　The vortex then engulfed two of the remaining enforcers, lifting them before violently slamming them into opposite walls. They slumped to the ground, motionless.

　Only three left.

　Meanwhile, the man who had summoned them cowered behind the farthest counter.

　“We can’t fall behind now!” Warlock declared.

　“O spirits of water and ice, corrupt these waters into poison! Let the mist spread and consume my foes! Poison Cloud!”

　From her hands, a toxic green mist billowed outward, enveloping the remaining men. At first, they swung their weapons wildly, trying to disperse the fog, but soon their movements grew sluggish. One by one, they collapsed, writhing in agony.

　“That’s about it,” Warlock muttered, satisfied.

　“O lingering souls of the departed, hear my call! Enter into contract with me! If you answer my summons, I shall grant you form within this world once more! Summon of Ghosts!”

　As her incantation concluded, Necromancer summoned a host of spectral figures, which swiftly surrounded the man cowering behind the counter, cutting off his escape.

　“Useless bastards,” the man growled under his breath.

　The four closed in on him.

　“Now, hand over every last bottle of the Kelendus’ Poison,” Warlock demanded.

　“And be quick about it, unless you want—” Wizard took a menacing step forward.

　“Ha… don’t think this is over just yet.”

　The man’s sneer returned.

　“What are you planning now?”

　“Heh… this.”

　With that, he began chanting.

　“O cursed ones, gather before me! Use your tainted power to eradicate my enemies! Summon of P.A.C.!”

　Countless overlapping magic circles materialized on the floor. From each one, grotesque, shadow-clad figures began to rise, their ominous presence suffocating the air.

　Warlock and Necromancer recognized them immediately. The real problem was the sheer number—at least thirty of them.

　The four quickly distanced themselves from the encroaching swarm. Their enemy now resembled a small army.

　“Heh, what’s the matter, ladies? You seemed so confident earlier,” the man taunted.

　The shadowy figures advanced, step by step.

　“The tables have turned!”

　And indeed, they had.

　Though they hadn’t exhausted much magic in the previous battle, facing such a horde all at once was an impossible feat. The store’s excessive space made escape just as difficult. As they held their ground, the overwhelming numbers forced them further into a corner, cutting off their retreat.

　They were trapped.

　There was no escape.

　Just as they steeled themselves for the worst—

　It happened.

　"O spirits that govern water and ice, I am your devoted protector. Grant my hands a multitude of blades. Let the ice swords encircle the sky and mete out divine retribution upon those who stand against you! Annihilate them—Squall of Ice-Swords!"

　Bathed in a radiant light, Sorcerer raised both hands, and in that instant, an overwhelming number of ice blades formed around her. Then, like a torrential downpour, the frozen swords rained upon the monstrous horde, slicing through them mercilessly. Within that storm of destruction, the smirking storekeeper, too, was torn apart, his life extinguished.

　Silence returned to the room.

　“…That was insane.”

　Wizard’s crimson eyes widened as far as they could go, round with disbelief. Warlock and Necromancer, too, could not hide their astonishment.

　The silver-haired prodigy stood motionless, the lingering remnants of her unleashed magic still radiating from her form.

　"That was a high-tier spell, wasn't it?"

　"And not just that—an advanced large-scale attack spell."

　Warlock and Necromancer exchanged glances. Wizard, for her part, was simply standing there, mouth agape. The fact that Sorcerer, at only a sixth-year in the elementary division, had flawlessly executed a large-scale, high-tier spell confirmed beyond doubt—her genius was no exaggeration.

　"Give me a break," Wizard muttered.

　"Seriously, what the hell are you? How can you do something like that?!"

　"It's my special move," Sorcerer replied coolly, though her voice carried a warmth of familiarity. "Next time, I’ll use it for you."

　"Nah, no thanks…" Wizard groaned. "You're seriously a damn genius…"

　For once, her usual bravado was completely silenced.

　Regardless, the four had survived the ordeal. The sheer impact of what had just happened left an awkward atmosphere hanging in the air, but soon they remembered their original objective.

　"We need to take the Kelendus’ Poison back."

　Warlock’s voice brought them back to reality.

　"Agreed."

　Necromancer nodded.

　Thanks to Wizard’s tornado and Sorcerer’s ice blades, the store was a complete wreck, but fortunately, they located the Kelendus’ Poison with ease.

　"Let’s just take every last one we can find."

　"Good idea."

　The four gathered every scattered vial and package of the toxin, consolidating them into a single large bundle.

　"Alright, let’s head straight to Arkham from here."

　Everyone agreed with Warlock’s suggestion, and they left behind the chaotic remains of the forbidden artifact shop.

　The exact method of returning was unclear, but simply descending the staircase from the left side returned the temperature to normal, and the dense mist quickly dissipated. It seemed that retracing their steps in perfect reverse order wasn’t necessary after all.

　From there, they made their way to Martin Street, then, as always, followed M.A.R.C.S. toward Arkham.

　＊　＊　＊

　Today's door was a push-open type. That meant that, as usual, the four of them were greeted at Arkham's counter by boy Akina.

　"Welcome back. It seems you successfully obtained the Kelendus’ Poison."

　Wizard and Sorcerer, seeing his form for the first time, were utterly confused. It was an expected reaction. Necromancer gave them a quick explanation of the situation.

　"Yeah, we got it. Here."

　Warlock opened the bundle and handed Akina the Kelendus’ Poison.

　"Yes, this is it. With this, I can prepare the antidote. Please wait a moment—I’ll make an initial batch right away. As for the rest, I'll keep a stock here, so you'll need to come back regularly to purchase more."

　With that, Akina disappeared into the kitchen-like area behind the counter, moving with his usual brisk efficiency. Since it seemed like it would take a while, the four of them decided to browse the shop. Wizard and Sorcerer were fascinated, their eyes darting around curiously. Based on past experience, Warlock strictly warned them not to touch or wear anything—merely looking was fine. The items in this shop were dangerous enough to warrant such caution.

　About thirty minutes passed. As they each explored the store according to their own interests, Akina reappeared behind the counter.

　"Thanks for waiting!"

　Hearing his voice, all four of them gathered around.

　"This is the antidote. Administer it three times a day—morning, noon, and night—without missing a dose. At first, the antidote itself has side effects: heightened anxiety, nausea, and general discomfort. However, those symptoms will subside as the body adjusts. Under no circumstances should she stop taking it on her own."

　"I understand," Sorcerer replied, taking the vial from him.

　"The most important thing," Akina continued, "is that she doesn't reject her current self. She needs to embrace the future and face treatment with a sense of hope. This is the most difficult part—not because of the limitations of the medicine, but because many fail at this step. She’ll need all of your support."

　"Yeah, yeah, leave it to us," Wizard responded confidently.

　Sorcerer, on the other hand, wore a determined expression.

　"By the way..." Necromancer spoke up.

　"Akina, have you ever heard of a summoning spell called P.A.C.?"

　"P.A.C.? I see. So, the place where you obtained this was P.A.C. Store, wasn't it?"

　It seemed Akina was familiar with the shop.

　"It turns out that store is part of a black-market artifact chain, operated by a certain organization to generate funding. We’re still investigating the details, but it's clear that they're a troublesome bunch. That said… based on what you've told me, it looks like you all just wiped out their headquarters today. They'll probably lie low for a while. Both I and that person will be keeping an eye on things.

　"As for the P.A.C. summoning spell—did you actually see what was summoned?"

　"Uh… yeah, no. This genius here completely obliterated them before we got a good look," Wizard muttered, gesturing toward Sorcerer.

　"I see… well, for now, think of it as a spell that summons a unique type of undead horde. You’ll likely encounter others using it in the future."

　"Oh, come on! You’re telling me we have to keep fighting those things? No thanks!"

　Wizard groaned, looking genuinely exasperated.

　"My summoned undead are different, aren't they?" Necromancer asked.

　"Yes, quite different…" Akina hesitated for a moment before continuing.

　"There are certain reasons I can’t explain it fully right now, but they’re not ordinary undead. The fact that water and ice magic worked so well should have been a clue."

　That was true. Whether they had rotting bodies or not, undead were typically resistant to water and ice magic. Even annihilation spells sometimes failed to fully eradicate them, leading to casualties. However, today, Sorcerer's water and ice magic had worked exceptionally well against the enemy.

　"For now, just think of them as undead—but closer to human in nature. When the time comes, I’ll explain properly.

　"But enough of that. Would you all care for some tea?"

　"In that case, I’ll have Einstron’s Blood Tears today," Warlock said.

　"I’ll take the same," Necromancer added.

　"No clue what that is, so just give us the same," Wizard said, speaking for herself and Sorcerer.

　"Please," Sorcerer nodded.

　"Four Einstron’s Blood Tears, then. Please wait a moment."

　With a casual "Heave-ho," Akina carried out a tray with tea and returned from the back.

　"Here you are—Einstron’s Blood Tears."

　"Oh, wow… what a beautiful tea. I’ve never seen anything like it," Sorcerer said, gazing intently at the pot.

　The four of them, along with Akina, spent some time around the counter, chatting lightheartedly. It was a moment so peaceful that they forgot the passage of time.

　After retracing M.A.R.C.S. in reverse, the four returned to the academy gates and immediately headed to Liz’s room. There, they gave Hanna her medicine and stayed by her side through the night.

　The night sky stretched high and vast, cloaked in a tapestry of brilliant stars. The breeze, which had once held the warmth of late summer, now carried the crisp breath of autumn. Though the heat still lingered, the seasonal shift was undeniable.

　Throughout the night, the lively chatter and laughter of the group continued, marking the transition between summer’s end and the arrival of autumn.

　＊　＊　＊

　Following that night, Hanna was officially admitted to the academy’s medical facility, under the cover story of her "chronic illness worsening."

　Her primary caretakers? Necromancer—and, shockingly, Liz. It seemed Liz had volunteered for the role herself.

　Hanna diligently took her medicine every day, and gradually, a sense of calm and stability began to return to her.

　＊　＊　＊

　Now, shifting the scene—today is the day of the All-Academy Magic Mock Battle Tournament.

　In the end, this year’s sixth-year students—both from the Sorcerer and Wizard disciplines—had declined to participate in the championship. Instead, they were in the stands, enthusiastically cheering as they watched the dynamic battles unfold before them.

　The lower elementary and early middle school students' mock battles mostly involved just walking or running around the field. However, once the upper middle school and high school students took the stage, spectacular aerial battles erupted, turning the event into a breathtaking spectacle. The high school seniors' aerial battles were especially popular—whenever such duels commenced, the entire stadium trembled with excitement. Their spells were refined, their tactics honed, and their clashes delivered thrilling, unforgettable displays.

　Watching these fierce competitions from the stands were Wizard and Sorcerer, along with Liz and Hannah, all seated together, fully engrossed in the action.

　“Never thought I’d end up sitting next to you, watching this tournament together,” Wizard muttered.

　“Indeed,” Sorcerer replied with a small smile. “We were always at each other’s throats.”

　“Yeah, don’t remind me. Seriously—I’m sorry.”

　“Hehe, I was just teasing.”

　“But still, talent is really something else. A sixth-year elementary student pulling off a high-tier large-scale group attack spell… I gotta admit, that’s insane. I can’t compete with that.”

　“That’s not true,” Sorcerer said. “When you used Raphael’s spell, I was truly shocked. Most people wouldn’t even bother studying outside their own discipline—it’s tedious, difficult, and unconventional. Now I understand why people call you ‘The Hardworking One.’ Hard work really does expand the boundaries of possibility!”

　As Wizard and Sorcerer chatted and exchanged praises, Liz and Hannah sat side by side, their gazes locked onto the high school mock battles playing out before them.

　Beside Hannah, a small vial of medicine rested on the seat. She was still faithfully keeping up with her treatment. That vial, bathed in the golden light of autumn, shimmered with a subtle yet undeniable radiance—a quiet testament to her determination to complete her recovery and embrace a new life.

　The cheers and energy of the tournament never ceased. Yet, the breeze that swept through the stadium had already taken on the hues of autumn.

　Summer had ended—a new season was beginning.