[Flashback: Several Days Ago — Japan]

  The interior of the ramen shop was less a restaurant and more a sanctuary of aggressive, sensory violence. The air was not merely warm; it was thick, humid, and heavy, saturated with the cloying, savory scent of emulsified pork bone broth that had been boiling for three days straight. Garlic oil hung in the atmosphere like a physical curtain, clinging to hair and clothes.

  Against this backdrop, the sound system waged war on the eardrums. German Industrial Metal blasted from grease-coated speakers, the mechanical, rhythmic thumping of the bass vibrating the very foundations of the shop. The plastic chopstick holders on the counter rattled in time with the music, a constant, jittering percussion against the worn wood.

  Clack. Claval set her ceramic bowl down on the counter. The sound was definitive, cutting through the wall of noise. The bowl was pristine. She had drained every drop, leaving only a few glistening constellations of golden fat clinging to the black ceramic rim.

  "Thanks for the meal!" Her voice was bright, piercing the gloom of the shop. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, her skin flushed a healthy, vibrant pink from the intense heat of the soup. Her silver hair, usually so ethereal, clung slightly to her neck, sliding like liquid silk over her shoulder as she leaned back on the wobbly stool. She exhaled a long, white puff of breath—a sigh of pure, caloric satisfaction that seemed to release all the tension from her small frame.

  Across the counter, the Returnee paused in his eternal labor. He wiped his hands on a navy apron that was stiff with starch and the stains of a thousand meals. He looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. It was a rare, crooked smirk, buried deep beneath trenches of wrinkles carved by wars in another dimension.

  "So?" he asked, his voice rough, scraping like gravel against concrete. He gestured to the empty bowl with a dripping ladle. "How was the new flavor? I dialed back the sodium and increased the bone marrow density this time. Tried to give it more... body."

  "I love it! It’s incredible," Claval declared, her hands animating her words. "It feels like pure energy is welling up from the bottom of my stomach! It’s heavy, but in a good way. Like I’m being recharged." She puffed out her chest, her eyes sparkling with a genuine, childlike delight that seemed out of place in the gritty shop.

  Claval tapped her fingertips against the wood, a happy, erratic rhythm. But then, the tapping slowed. Then it stopped completely. The light in her eyes didn't go out, but it dimmed, obscured by a sudden passing shadow of realization. Her hand drifted from the counter to her stomach, pressing against the her wear.

  "But..." Her voice dropped, losing its bounce.

  The atmosphere in the shop shifted instantly. The casual warmth evaporated, replaced by a cold, sharp tension. The Returnee’s hands froze mid-motion. The flickering fluorescent light overhead seemed to cast deeper, harsher shadows into the hollows of his weathered face, turning his eyes into dark pools of memory.

  "So... you have it too, huh...?" He looked at her—really looked at her—stripping away the image of the cheerful girl to see the anomaly beneath.

  A heavy silence settled over them, suffocating even the roar of the heavy metal music. It was the crushing pressure of a shared, tragic secret, a weight that bent the air between them.

  "It’s hereditary," The Returnee said quietly, his voice barely audible over the bubbling stock. "Your mother... Yuki... she suffered from the same condition." He turned back to his pots, tapping the lid with the ladle. Ting. Ting. The sound was lonely.

  Claval’s fingers tightened on her lap. She bunched the fabric of her skirt until her knuckles turned white, anchoring herself against the sudden emotional vertigo.

  "In that world—in the high-density mana zones—it was a fatal defect. Though..." He paused, staring into the rising steam as if it were a window to the past. "The region we lived in was relatively safe. And your father... he knew." The Returnee’s voice softened, losing its gravelly edge. "He used to say, 'I will protect Yuki, even if it costs me my life.'"

  Claval’s face twisted. The mention of her parents was a precision strike to her heart, reopening wounds she usually kept armored under a smile. She bit her lip, forcing herself to listen, forcing herself to breathe.

  "It might be too late to say this, girl. But... you could live here." The Returnee sighed. He leaned over the counter, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that cut through the guitar riffs. "In the Real World. On Earth. The mana density here is near zero. You wouldn't have to fight monsters. You wouldn't have to be a symbol in other world." He looked her in the eye. "You could live a normal life." He gestured vaguely with a calloused hand—to the grease-stained walls, to the rainy street outside, to the mundane world of salarymen and students.

  Claval looked down at her hands. A normal life. No blood. No pain. A life where she could just be a girl who liked ramen. A life where she could stay near Yu, safe and sound, watching TV on a lazy Sunday.

  For a moment, the temptation hung in the air, sweet and heavy. But then, she raised her head. The hesitation evaporated. Her eyes burned with an unwavering, diamond-hard light that seemed to cut the humidity of the room.

  "Thank you. That sounds nice," she said. Her voice was soft, but her smile was made of steel. "But... I am Claval. The Goddess of Avlas. I do not run."

  At her declaration, the Returnee’s eyes widened. The worry in his face melted away, replaced by a crinkling at the corners of his eyes—a look of profound, heartbreaking respect.

  "I see... You really are their adventurer." He nodded once, sharp and decisive. "Then, I’ll give you my best work." He thrust his right hand across the counter. It was a hand that had held swords, built homes, and cooked thousands of meals. It was a map of scars and calluses.

  "Take me your hand." The Returnee’s tone shifted. The shopkeeper was gone; the Commander stood in his place. Claval hesitated for only a heartbeat before placing her small hand onto his rough palm. Zzzzt. The air trembled with a sound like tearing silk.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  It wasn't a sparkle. It was a surge. The [Anti-Mana Inscriptions] carved beneath the Returnee's skin flared to life, glowing neon purple through his flesh. The light crawled from his arm to hers, invasive and bright. Purple light burst from Claval’s body, shimmering around her silhouette like a heat haze.

  "What...!" She squinted against the brilliance. It wasn't painful, but it was overwhelming. It felt like hot water rushing into her veins, displacing her blood, filling every empty space in her soul with a buzzing, electric pressure. It was the sensation of being rewritten.

  "Think of it as... insurance," the Returnee muttered as the light faded, drowning out his own worry with the clang of a ladle against the pot.

  ?

  [Present: Lord’s Manor of Avlas, at balcony]

  Night had fallen over the territory of Avlas. The wind whipped at the heavy velvet curtains of the Lord's manor, snapping them like flags against the stone pillars. Below, the lights of the city twinkled like fallen stars, oblivious to the tension above.

  From this point, their conversation—seemingly private—was being broadcast live to millions via the EWS.

  "I wonder what that black hemisphere is," the Lord muttered, swirling the crimson wine in his glass. He gazed at the ominous structure that marred the landscape, a void in the world. "It’s an eyesore."

  "Well, I have nothing but a bad feeling about it. It smells like ancient, rotting magic." The King, lounging in an ornate chair with his boots propped disrespectfully up on the railing, shrugged with feigned nonchalance.

  "By the way," the King continued, his tone light but his eyes sharp as flint. "Did you know? Claval-chan can barely use magic. It’s not that she lacks power—she isn't loved by mana."

  "Ah. Mana doesn't listen to her orders?" The Lord nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

  "Exactly. That’s why her equipment is rigged with support arrays. Every piece of armor, every buckle, is designed to force the mana to work." The King grinned, a feral expression. "However... if a common adventurer wore her kit, the mana overload would kill them instantly. They would explode. She is absurdly durable."

  "And that National Treasure sword," the Lord added.

  "It’s happier being swung by her than gathering dust in a museum vault." The King answered.

  Across the dimensional divide, the EWS comment section was scrolling rapidly, a digital waterfall of text debating the revelation.

  "Equipment cheat?"

  "Wait, so she’s just buffed by gear?"

  "No talent implies she’s just a meat shield?"

  "That explains why she never casts spells."

  But the casual atmosphere shattered when the heavy double doors burst open. A messenger rushed onto the balcony, dropping to one knee, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his nose onto the cold stone.

  "Report! Claval has... she has entered the black structure!" The messenger said.

  "Alone?" The King’s voice sharpened instantly, the playfulness vanishing like smoke.

  "No, Your Majesty. She went with one other person. An acquaintance she referred to as... Yu." The messenger hesitated, swallowing hard.

  A brief silence hung in the cool night air. The wind howled. And then—the internet broke.

  "YOU?? Yu??"

  "Wait, did he just say YU?"

  "His real name dropped an ago EWS official stream!"

  "He went in with Claval!?"

  "So he DOES exist! The boy is REAL!"

  A torrent of comments covered the screen like a meteor shower. The text scrolled so fast it blurred into a beam of pure white noise. The EWS platform groaned under the traffic spike. The urban legend was over. The boy named Yu was real, and he was walking into the abyss.

  ?

  [Flashback: Several Days Ago — Japan]

  "I spent years researching mana theory," the Returnee had said, his voice cutting through the steam of the ramen shop. "Simply put, casting magic is asking mana to 'please do this.' It's a negotiation. But for you..." He pointed a chopstick at her chest. "The mana ignores your request."

  "So I'm hated?" Claval frowned, looking hurt.

  "No." The Returnee shook his head firmly. "You are loved too much. Instead of obeying you, the mana wants to be with you. It enters you. It saturates your cells. That’s why you’re so tough. Your body is denser than steel." He looked at her hand, the one he had just held, tracing the invisible lines of the inscription he had passed to her. "This technique converts that saturation. It turns the mana drowning you into life force. But be warned..."

  "Once this activates... there is no going back. You will become a creature that consumes mana to survive. You will never be able to live in the Real World again. The air here is too thin for you. You will suffocate." The Returnee’s eyes bored into hers, pleading.

  ?

  [Present: The Pocket Dimension]

  The pocket dimension was silent, save for the low, nauseating hum of unstable space. On the shattered, blood-stained floor, a faint moan leaked into the heavy air.

  "...Nn..." Claval’s eyelids fluttered. Slowly, painfully, they opened. The deadly, wax-like pallor of her skin began to recede, replaced not by the pink of blood, but by a supernatural, luminescent flush.

  "Claval...!" Yu, kneeling in the pool of Claval’s blood, gasped, his hands slick with red.

  At that moment, her body ignited. VWUM. It wasn't fire. It was a soft, pulsating Violet Glow.

  "What... is this light?" Roa, whose hands were still hovering over Claval’s chest to trait [Holy Glory,] cried out in shock and pulled back as if burned. It wasn't external magic. It was coming from inside.

  Light pulsed from deep within Claval’s chest, beating like a second, rhythmic heart. It reached out, grabbing the torn edges of her flesh and knitting them together at a speed that defied logic. The crushed organs didn't just heal; they rewove themselves from pure energy.

  "It’s faster than [Holy Glory]...!" Roa’s voice shook with disbelief, her eyes wide. "This isn't healing. It's... reconstruction."

  "Don’t move! You’re still wounded...!" Yu tried to hold Claval still, his hands trembling violently.

  "Claval’s lost too much blood," Roa warned, panic rising. "Normally, she would be—"

  "Blood? It’s okay, Yu." But Claval smiled. It was a faint, fragile smile, but her eyes were clear. She shook her head slowly. "I don't need it anymore. I’m circulating mana instead... It’s enough." She placed a hand over her own chest, where the violet light burned brightest, sealing the skin over her new core.

  The realization hit her then. The Returnee’s warning echoed in her mind, clearer than the reality around her. You can never live in the Real World. By activating this power, she had rewritten her own biology. She could never go back to Japan. She could never eat at that ramen shop again. She could never live in Yu’s house, watching TV on a lazy Sunday. She had traded her future with him for the power to fight for him.

  "I see..." Claval whispered to herself. She slowly sat up. Purple sparks snapped and crackled around her body like static electricity, burning the air. Though a dark red scar remained on her chest, her eyes harbored a fierce, undeniable light—the light of a spirit born for war. "Thank you," she said. Her voice trembled, not with pain, but with an overwhelming, bittersweet gratitude.

  "...Grandpa!" She looked at her hands, glowing with the power he had given her. Wrapped in the violet aura, she looked exactly like the Goddess of War she claimed to be.

  Thanks for reading! This marks the end of Arc 8. Arc 9 begins next!

  As we approach the climax, I want to ensure every chapter is delivered with the highest quality possible. To do this, I will be shifting the release schedule to Monday, Wednesday, and Friday starting from Chapter 81. Thank you for your understanding and support!

  The real story begins from the next chapter...