“Alrighty then,” Mal said, sliding a thick ledger across the counter and uncapping a pen with her thumb. “To get you registered, we just gotta run through some preliminary questions. Honestly, I doubt we’ll fill most of ’em in.”

  Her eye flicked briefly to the pendant at my chest.

  “You’ve got limited Excellia, which tells me your Status is new. And judging from your age, that means you’re from another manasphere entirely. So—” she offered a warm, tusked smile “—welcome to Aeterna.”

  “Ah, so the lad isn’t a noble bastard.” Rorin folded his arms, leaning in with blatant curiosity. “Then how’d he get a Sphere that early, eh?”

  Mal didn’t even look up from her ledger as she flicked a hand dismissively. “How should I know, you oaf?”

  Then her eye lowered, darkened slightly, and she added in a dangerously casual tone:

  “Besides, the rest of this is private. So get outta here before I tell your sister you were out drinking with Bettle again.”

  Rorin froze. Blinked once. Twice.

  “Welp! Tha’s my cue, lad! Good luck! Bye now!”

  He power-waddled out of the guild hall so fast his muddy beard almost left a trail.

  Mal sighed. “Every time,” she muttered before refocusing on me. “Alright, Morgan. Question one: planned combat capabilities?”

  “I… don’t know,” I admitted. “Back home wasn’t exactly peaceful, but I stayed far from violence. I knew the stories. And the aftermath. But I wasn’t involved in it.”

  She nodded, checked a box, and gave a low hum of understanding.

  “Would you be willing to take a full physical assessment? Helps us get a baseline for training recommendations. And—optional—you can let us compare what your other world had, just to see if there’s any crossover in skills or tactics.”

  “I don’t see why either would be a problem.”

  “Good.” Two more marks on the page. “Next question: how familiar are you with the roles of an adventuring party?”

  “Well…” I rubbed my chin. “If it’s anything like the stories from home, you usually have someone who deals damage—one or two of them. Someone who heals the wounded. Someone who blocks and protects and draws attention. And if there’s a fifth member, they’re usually a floater—someone who buffs allies and debuffs enemies.”

  Mal’s expression brightened. “Not bad. Pretty close, actually.”

  She tapped the ledger with her pen, each tap emphasizing a word.

  “Here, we classify them a little differently. Scouts, Sabres, Shields, Spellcasters, Saints, and Shikigami.”

  She lifted a thick finger for each one.

  “Scouts use high mobility and ranged weapons. Bowmen, throwers, javeliners, sling-users—quick and tricky sorts.”

  “Sabres are your melee fighters. Swords, axes, hammers, claws—anything up close and personal.”

  “Shields do what shields do. Tank hits, redirect aggro, bodyguard the others. They’re the backbone of a party.”

  “Spellcasters are your offensive magic types. Elemental, arcane, whatever. Lots of boom.”

  “Saints heal and protect. Defensive magic, barriers, cleansing, rejuvenation.”

  “And Shikigami…” She paused, her voice lowering just a little. “Those use curse magic. Hexes. Wards. Ritual impurities. Very specialized, very dangerous, and almost always bought with a cost.”

  She tapped her pen once more.

  “Your home’s stories weren’t far off the mark. The structures of danger tend to rhyme across worlds.”

  I nodded slowly. “So… what’s the actual difference between a Saint and a Shikigami? If they both give wards and rituals, what separates them?”

  Mal let out a long breath, the sound halfway between a sigh and a tired groan. “Honestly? Most people just don’t like Shikigami. There’s a… stigma. Folks get nervous around someone who can curse you with nothing but a doll, a desire, and an iron nail.” She lifted two fingers. “But the real distinction is twofold. First, their power source. Saints—generally speaking—draw blessings from a Divine. Clean. Sanctioned. Revered.”

  She lowered her hand, then raised it again in a different gesture. “Shikigami, though? They’re all technically haunted. Every single one. Possessed, overshadowed, partnered—pick your term. Usually by a ghost, which is where the name comes from. That alone is enough to make the general public keep a polite three-meter distance.”

  Mal scratched her cheek. “And second… Saints are supposed to be the gentler ones. Supposed.” Her expression flattened. “But I once watched a Saint kill someone by forcing their bones to grow so fast that their skull burst out of their own skin and their ribcage speared their heart. That was considered ‘righteous punishment.’”

  She shrugged, tone disturbingly casual. “Worst I’ve seen from a Shikigami was making someone blind, deaf, and numb before taking a sword and cutting their head clean off. Brutal? Sure. But clean. Efficient.”

  She spread her hands. “So who am I to judge? At the end of the day, magic is terrifying in every flavor.”

  Got it. Magic scary.

  As if that was something I didn’t already know.

  “Back to my questioning,” Mal said, flipping to the next page on her clipboard, “though these ones only show up because you’ve already awakened a SPHERE. So—first: what’s your core type?”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Uhh… spiders.”

  She gave a brisk nod and jotted that down without even blinking. Either she’d heard stranger, or this place had no ceiling for weird.

  “Next: would you be willing to allow others to enter your Sphere during training for mutual benefit?”

  “I… don’t see why not?” I shrugged. “Honestly, outside of the taxes, what does that even do?”

  Mal let out a low, weary groan. “Gods, you are green. And I don’t mean my skin tone, sweetheart.” She leaned an elbow on the counter, suddenly taking on the air of a tired teacher facing a very confused student. “Okay. So. A Sphere is essentially a traveling power spot—like a mobile shrine—connected directly to your personal mana channels. When someone enters your Sphere, they generate SP—Sphere Points—for you, the Sphere’s Master. You can use those points to upgrade or expand the Sphere.”

  She tapped the clipboard with her pen for emphasis. “In exchange, visitors pay either the Flat Fee—FF—or your chosen Tax Rate—TR. That payment also reinforces your Sphere’s power. So you’re getting two things: their mana resonance, and their money.”

  “Huh.” I blinked. “…So why doesn’t everyone just become a Sphere Master then?”

  Mal snorted. “Because holding both a Sphere and a Status tanks the efficiency of both. You only get about eighty-five percent of what each could’ve naturally developed on its own. Sure, you technically have two power sources—but neither one will grow as fast as someone who specializes.”

  She waggled her hand. “That said? Plenty of people swear the trade-off’s worth it. Twice the foundations, twice the options.”

  “Then what’s the real reason most don’t do it?”

  “Money,” she deadpanned. “Sphere creation costs a good chunk of Crowns. Not impossible for someone dedicated, but still pricey. Meanwhile? Statuses are free. They pop up naturally as you grow. So most folks stick with what doesn’t empty their wallet.”

  She clicked her pen shut. “Spheres are for the ambitious… or the reckless.”

  I tried not to take that last part personally.

  ***

  Alrighty. So—this is our training, and in your case, testing field.”

  Mal pushed open the rear door of the guildhouse and guided me outside.

  The space behind the building opened into a broad courtyard—wide, flat, and surprisingly clean, as if someone meticulously swept it every morning. Tall walls encircled the entire expanse, each one built from a stone the color of deep ocean shallows. Veins of darker blue shimmered beneath the surface, slowly pulsing like a heartbeat.

  I stared without realizing it.

  “That,” Mal said, catching my expression with a small grin, “is Magicyte. Magically infused natural ore. It reacts to spells, techniques, Excellia bursts—pretty much anything that isn’t just plain muscle.”

  She rapped her knuckles against the wall. A faint ripple of light ran across the stone, like disturbed water.

  “It won’t break unless someone really tries, but it does record impacts. Helps us study patterns, dispersion, control. Also keeps things from blowing up half the town.”

  I nodded slowly, impressed despite myself.

  Mal planted her hands on her hips. “Now, mind hanging around a bit? Alric should swing by once he’s done with his swordsman lesson. He’s the one who handles newbies with no declared combat path—so, you.”

  “The guy who teaches swordplay?” I asked.

  “Mhm. Don’t let that fool you though.” She smirked. “Good with more than just steel. Man’s a walking encyclopedia of practical violence.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be reassured or worried. Mal clearly found that amusing—one of her tusks peeked out behind a half-smile as she clapped my shoulder.

  “Relax, Tree-top. Alric doesn’t bite. Much.”

  She motioned toward a bench near the wall.

  “Sit tight. He’ll be along in a few.”

  And with that, we waited in the quiet hum of the Magicyte walls, the faint thrum of gathered mana vibrating in my spores.

  Soon, something approached—clanking, step by measured step. At first glance it was a suit of armor; at second glance, it was still a suit of armor. The plates moved with too much precision, too much ease, and in the gaps where I expected padding or cloth…there was nothing. Just hollow space.

  “Morgan, I presume?” the armor said, voice resonant but not metallic, more like someone speaking from the far end of a hallway. “I’m Alric. I’ll be cycling you through a variety of weapons to determine what role you’re best suited for.”

  The helmet inclined in a polite nod.

  I managed one in return.

  “Good. Stand up, please. I’ll take some quick measurements of your arms, legs, shoulders, and—” the helmet angled up slightly “—your branches. Structure plays a major role in weapon-based disciplines.”

  Before I could respond, he gently but firmly guided me upright. A strip of shimmering light unfurled between his gauntlets—like a measuring tape woven from fog.

  “Let’s see…” Alric hummed, sliding the phantasmal ribbon along my spine. “Just over two meters tall…”

  He lifted my arms outward one at a time, rotating them as if testing a hinge. His grip was careful but efficient—like a tailor who’d learned anatomy by dismantling monsters.

  “Mhm. That rules out a dagger… and a bow… definitely not a Scout,” he muttered, adjusting my elbows with the casual ease of a puppeteer.

  I felt like a life-sized action figure.

  “Alright,” Alric concluded, stepping back with a thoughtful rumble of metal, “I’m ruling out Scouts and Shields. You could use a greatshield, but those see little use—too heavy, too restrictive, and most novices don’t train enough stamina to keep from toppling over.”

  He ticked off the remaining options with a pointed gauntlet.

  “That leaves Sabres, Spellcasters, Saints, and Shikigami. I assume Mal explained the basics?”

  “Yes, but… wouldn’t I need a weapon either way?”

  Alric’s helmet bobbed. “Correct. My initial recommendation was a hatchet—short-range, rotating strike arcs, good for treefolk-born physique—but since Scouts and Shields are off the table, that’s no longer optimal.”

  He paused for emphasis.

  “My next recommendation is a cane.”

  I blinked. “A cane? Like… something old people use?”

  “Yes.” A simple, unamused answer. “A cane may look like a walking stick, but in combat it’s a lever, a focus, a pointer, a conduit, and a bludgeon. Most new adventurers underestimate it, forgetting who uses them best.”

  He raised a finger on a gauntlet for each.

  “Shikigami.

  Saints.

  Sabres.”

  The list made my stomach flutter.

  “So… you’re saying I’m not likely to be a Spellcaster?”

  “Honestly?” Alric tilted his entire upper torso, mimicking a shrug. “No. Your hands aren’t nimble enough for complex rune-weaving. Spellcasters rely on rapid glyphwork or disciplined conduction, and your build works against that. Which means…”

  A faint metallic chuckle echoed inside the armor.

  “You’re best suited for either Divine Magia—the path of Saints—or Haunted Magia—the path of Shikigami.”

  He leaned in slightly, hollow eye-slits glinting with a light that wasn’t entirely physical.

  “And between us, you already move like someone ghosts would find interesting.”