On the outskirts of the city, the roadside stalls that didn’t sell food had already closed early.
The closer they got to Suburb Street No. 7, the fewer pedestrians there were.
Sheffil found it strange.
This was Emerald Cold—the location of the continent’s top academy.
When he said it was quiet here before, he was only comparing it to the busier main streets near the academy.
Normally, this place still had far more foot traffic than most small cities.
But now, aside from a few drunks stumbling out of taverns and brushing past them, the wide street was completely deserted.
“Something feels off.”
Sheffil crouched down and whispered into Dorothy’s ear as she idly kicked a stone, her eyes lazily sweeping the surroundings.
“I’ve been sensing a hostile presence for a while. I think we’ve already stepped into the trap she’s set for us.”
“A trap?”
“Yeah. Just a hunch.”
Withdrawing his gaze, Sheffil continued, “It’s dinner time, yet we haven’t seen a single person.”
“I haven’t heard of any major city-wide events tonight either.”
“So, there are two possibilities. One, everyone on this street has vanished for some unknown reason…”
“And the other is that we’re the ones who’ve vanished, right?”
Dorothy picked up where Sheffil left off.
Her ruby-red eyes scanned the surroundings sharply as her right hand reached toward her waist.
A staff half her height appeared in midair, firmly gripped in her hand.
“Exactly.”
Sheffil gave a small nod.
“This entire district is probably under the control of that fake Sheffil by now.”
“I don’t know who she really is, but I still suggest you turn back and report this to the city guard.”
“If even you are only suggesting it, then why waste your breath?”
Dorothy cut him off and raised her staff high, chanting sacred runes with reverent focus.
Golden, green, gray, and black lights surged one after another around both of them.
With each layer of light, their auras grew stronger.
By the time the final color faded, even standing still, their magical pressure surpassed that of an average fourth-tier mage.
“Equipment Magic. Just learned it recently.”
Dorothy winked and grinned playfully as she lowered her staff.
Equipment Magic—as the name implied—was magic worn like armor or weapons.
It borrowed from the protective talisman techniques of the Red Summer Dynasty, inscribing temporary runes on the body to provide powerful buffs.
Like now, Dorothy had applied enchantments that enhanced strength, increased total mana capacity, sped up absorption and conversion of mana, and improved physical endurance and recovery.
Her entire body was covered in restorative runes—especially defensive ones.
As a frail-bodied mage, Dorothy had layered herself in a magical “onion armor” stacked with multiple tiers of defense and mana immunity runes.
Even if she took a direct hit from a commercially available sixth-tier explosive scroll, she was confident she wouldn’t lose a single strand of hair.
Of course, after enduring such a blast, that “onion armor” would likely be shredded.
“This is actually amazing. Nicely done, Dorothy.”
Sheffil looked surprised, feeling the surging magic within him.
Estimating his current power, he figured he could probably take down that Shaya guy from earlier with a single punch.
“This Equipment Magic is pretty powerful. How come I’ve never seen anyone use it before?”
“What do you mean this magic is powerful? Obviously I’m powerful, okay?”
Dorothy huffed with hands on her hips.
“The way I stack Equipment Magic isn’t the same as other people.”
“Besides, you’ve got ten-plus layers of third- and fourth-tier buffs on you right now.”
“The guys you fought before could barely manage one layer before running out of mana.”
“Unlike me, casting these spells is like sipping water.”
She gave Sheffil a smug look, as if lecturing a clueless fool.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re the best,” Sheffil sighed.
“I compliment you for once and you shoot straight to the moon.”
Seeing Dorothy’s nose practically tilt to the sky, Sheffil reached up, intending to ruffle her hair like he usually did to interrupt her bragging.
“…Huh? It’s hard?”
The moment his hand touched her head, Sheffil didn’t feel the familiar softness of hair.
Instead, it was like touching a chitin shell—smooth and firm.
Looking closer, he noticed faint golden lights glowing where he touched, runes slowly flowing across the surface.
“Heh! I knew you’d try to ruffle my hair again, so I added an extra rune on my head just for that.”
“Bet you didn’t see that coming, huh?”
Dorothy crossed her arms proudly, explaining her defense setup.
She now had full-body, all-direction, layered magical defense—someone like Sheffil had no chance of breaking through.
In fact, even though she often came off second-best during their playful bickering, in actual combat or sparring, Sheffil had never won a single round against her.
She never believed she needed Sheffil’s protection.
Quite the opposite—ever since they were kids, she’d always thought she was the one meant to protect him.
“Tch. Fine, I won’t touch you.”
“If you’re dead set on following me, then suit yourself.”
Sheffil turned his head away and strode forward.
A bit of irritation stirred in his heart—he’d gone so long without sparring with Dorothy that he’d almost forgotten she had always been stronger than him.
“Hehe, hm~hm♪”
Having scored a rare win over Sheffil, Dorothy was in high spirits, humming a tune and skipping happily behind him.