Inside a cramped storage room within the Westdel magic facility, cluttered with wooden shelves and an assortment of items, a lone figure moved between the piles of boxes. The room was packed tightly, with crystal balls, wands, books, and scrolls stuffed into every available space. Boxes were stacked high, nearly touching the ceiling, leaving only a narrow path for movement. The room's air felt stuffy, and though it could fit two or three people, the overwhelming amount of stored items made it a challenge for even one person to navigate.

In the midst of the chaos, a young female mage, dressed in a pristine white robe was trying to reach a box perched precariously on the top shelf. The robe, cinched at the waist with a golden belt, flowed elegantly down to her knees. Her hood was pulled over her light blonde hair, casting a soft shadow over her face, though her determined expression was visible. The simplicity of her attire made her seem less imposing, more like a scholar than a mage.

She stretched as far as her height would allow, standing on her tiptoes. Her hands grasped at the box, and she gave it a tug. But it was heavier than she anticipated. The weight of the small box caught her off guard, and before she could regain balance, she lost her footing and toppled backward.

"Kya...!" she yelped, a small, embarrassed cry escaping her lips as she fell to the floor. She landed hard on her rear, the boxes above crashing down in front of her, though thankfully missing her by inches.

"Tch..." she muttered, her voice full of frustration as she rubbed her sore behind. Her cheeks flushed with irritation, she stared at the pile of boxes that now obstructed the already narrow space. Clearly, her day wasn't going as planned, and the annoyance was beginning to show on her face.

Suddenly, from the entrance of the cluttered storage room, Sylvia stood, having been nearby when she heard the commotion.

"Hello," she called out, her tone friendly and concerned. "Are you alright?"

The female mage, still trying to recover from her fall, stammered shyly as she attempted to stand up. "Ah... I... I'm fine," she replied, though her voice carried a hint of embarrassment.

Unconvinced, Sylvia stepped into the cramped space and bent down, grabbing the young mage gently by the arm. She helped her up despite the mage's attempts to brush it off. The female mage, clearly flustered, pulled her hood further over her head, as if trying to hide her embarrassed expression.

"There you go," Sylvia said kindly after helping her to her feet. The young mage bowed slightly, mumbling a quiet thanks.

But then, something clicked in Sylvia's mind. She paused, her eyes narrowing as she bent slightly to get a better look at the girl beneath the hood. Then, with a sudden realization, her eyes widened in excitement. "Amabel, is that you?" Sylvia exclaimed, her voice full of surprise and joy.

The young mage, who had been trying to regain her composure, was equally startled. She raised her head, studying Sylvia's face more closely. Upon recognition, her voice came out in a shocked whisper, "Senior?"

Sylvia grinned, her face lighting up with happiness. Without hesitation, she pulled Amabel into a tight hug. "It's really you!" she said, her voice filled with warmth and nostalgia.

Amabel, still processing the sudden turn of events, remained in shock but allowed herself to be hugged. Slowly, a soft smile crept onto her face as she realized she had reunited with someone from her past.

Still within the magic research facility, in a modest meeting hall furnished with several long banquet tables and wooden stools, the sun peeked through a few small arched windows along one side of the wall. Above the wooden ceiling hung a modest round iron chandelier, casting a soft glow over the room. A few mages sat scattered across the hall—some deep in conversation, others absorbed in books.

In the far corner of the room, at one of the tables, Sylvia and Amabel sat together. Sylvia's eyes gleamed with excitement as she started the conversation. "How long has it been? Twelve, thirteen years?" Her voice was filled with nostalgia and joy.

Amabel, sitting opposite her and still with her hood drawn up, answered softly, "I think... it's thirteen years."

Sylvia's eyes widened in amazement. "That long?" she echoed, almost in disbelief. "It feels just like yesterday we met. Time really flies by, doesn't it?"

Amabel smiled warmly and gave a slight nod, sharing the same sense of wonder. She glanced down shyly, clearly still a little flustered by the unexpected reunion, but she couldn't hide the happiness in her eyes.

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Sylvia and Amabel had once studied together at the same primary magic academy. Sylvia, being two years older, had always looked out for Amabel, treating her like a little sister.

"Remember the time we came across that slime nest?" Sylvia said with a playful smile forming on her lips. "We were so scared, thinking we were in danger!"

Amabel's face softened, and a quiet giggle escaped her. "Yes... I remember," she replied, her voice softer but filled with shared amusement.

Sylvia laughed heartily, the memory clearly vivid in her mind. "A slime! Can you imagine? And it was just a green horn! We really thought they could harm us!"

Both of them chuckled for a moment, caught in the nostalgia. Slimes, though classified as monsters, were among the weakest creatures in the magical world. The green horn slimes, in particular, were harmless and usually avoided humans, unlike the more aggressive red horn slimes that posed a real threat to beginner mages. Their fear back then now seemed absurd, and they both found humor in the memory.

As the laughter faded, Amabel, now more relaxed, asked, "So, what are you doing here in the magic research facility? I thought you were stationed in the main city."

Sylvia leaned back slightly, a casual smile on her face. "Oh, I'm here with Sir Francis and severel other guardsmen. We were tasked with delivering the mother crystal to the facility."

Amabel's eyes widened in surprise. "So it was you who arrived during the midnight hour with the crystal? I heard about that."

Sylvia nodded, shaking her head slightly in recollection. "Yep, that was us. And trust me, it wasn't a pleasant journey."

Amabel leaned in eagerly, her curiosity piqued. "They said your group was hit by a storm and attacked by witches. Is that true?"

Sylvia exhaled deeply, her expression darkening for a moment. "It's true, all of it. Those wretched witches were after the mother crystal," she said, her voice edged with annoyance. "They almost succeeded too, but then... something unexpected happened."

Amabel listened intently, her eyes widening with interest.

Sylvia's expression darkened as she recalled the events. "A burst of extraordinary magic energy came out of nowhere, dispersing the storm—one I'm certain was conjured by the witches" (she refer to the storm). She paused for a moment before continuing, her tone shifting to something more prideful. "After that, we managed to gain the upper hand and won."

Amabel's eyes gleamed with admiration as she looked at Sylvia, the senior mage she'd always looked up to.

Sylvia, noticing the admiration, smiled and asked, "So, how about you? What are you doing here?"

Amabel brightened up and replied, "After I finished my studies at the primary magic academy, I enrolled in Rothrosia Magic Academy. Then I registered for the Royal Mage Exam, which I passed. I chose to serve as a magic researcher here at Westdel."

Sylvia's eyes widened in shock. She could hardly believe her junior mage had passed the Royal Mage Exam—an exam she herself hadn't yet conquered. A weak grunt escaped her, and she lowered her head, sulking. "I haven't passed the exam yet," she muttered, her voice almost childlike, as if jealous of a friend's new toy.

Amabel, feeling guilty and conflicted, muttered, "Eh..." She quickly tried to console Sylvia. "But, but I've never even been in a real magic battle before! And to think that you fought and won against witches—that's far more impressive than anything I've done." Her tone was genuinely encouraging.

Sylvia, still sulking but trying to perk up, replied with a half-hearted grin. "Well, next time I'll definitely pass the exam," she said, clenching her fist with a determined expression.

Amabel mirrored the gesture, her eyes shining with sincerity. "I'm sure you will!"

The tension dissolved into laughter as they shared the moment together, their reunion filling the hall with warmth and lively conversation. The meeting hall, with its cozy atmosphere, now felt brighter as the two old friends enjoyed their unexpected encounter.

...

Outside the magic research facility, along the main road that led to Westdel's exit, Sir Francis stood near the main guard post, engaged in conversation with several guardsmen. Among them was a high-ranking officer—the chief of the guard at Westdel. Sir Francis, with a firm but polite tone, inquired about the retrieval of the injured guardsmen who had accompanied him from the main city and were left behind at the abandoned settlement after the battle with the witches.

"How many men did you send?" Sir Francis asked, his posture resolute.

The chief of the guard, a stout man with a gruff voice, responded, "I sent a wagon, enough to hold six to eight people, along with a few of my men. We also packed some medical supplies and food for the journey."

Sir Francis nodded in approval, his expression softening as he replied, "Thank you. That should suffice."

The chief guard excused himself, heading back to his post, and Sir Francis, feeling relieved, let out a quiet sigh. His mind wandered to the thought of visiting the nearest tavern, a welcome distraction after the long journey and tense encounters. He decided he would stop by before returning to the magic research facility.

With his decision made, he adjusted his sword by his side and began walking down the road, the thought of a warm drink and a moment of peace easing his tense demeanor as the day unfolded ahead of him.

Just as Sir Francis turned toward the direction of the tavern, a voice called out to him from behind.

"Sir Francis!" It was a servant from the magic research facility, panting heavily, clearly having rushed to catch up with him.

Sir Francis paused, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. "What is it?"

The servant, catching his breath, straightened up and quickly said, "Master Frode is looking for you, sir. He requests that you meet with him immediately."

The weight of the words settled on Sir Francis. He sensed that this was no ordinary request; something urgent must have come up. Without hesitation, he nodded. "Lead the way," he said firmly, his thoughts of visiting the tavern quickly fading as duty called.

The servant bowed slightly and turned, leading the way back toward the facility. Sir Francis followed without delay, his steps swift and purposeful, readying himself for whatever awaited him.