CHAPTER 785: 785: DIVINE GAME: CARD SWAP 34

Lightchaser scowled her way through the letter.

Why the hell was GodDraw77 sending her mail?

And calling it "important"? Important to herself, maybe.

This brat was getting better and better at spewing nonsense...

She tossed the letter into her spatial storage without a second glance, then handed off the package in her hand to the avian courier waiting before her. It wore a blue iris pinned to its chest—the symbol of Moonlight Marsh’s messengers, responsible for handling all communication between students and their families.

Once a student enrolled at Moonlight Marsh, external messaging was blocked. It was a strict security measure—meant to prevent potential threats from using student mail to sneak in influence or danger.

Any family contact had to go through the official messengers.

And it wasn’t free. Lightchaser passed the courier three gold coins.

...

Rita was in a fantastic mood today. For the first time ever, she made it into Class B for long-range combat!

All thanks to a D-rank Ice Arrow spell she had just learned—two whole seconds to charge a single arrow, but still, with her nimble footwork and evasive maneuvers, it was enough to squeeze her into the mid-tier group. She’d made it to the small-fry stir-fry table!

This afternoon she planned to attend a magic pattern class. Older students had said if you got good at it, you could etch runes into your palms and activate spells instantly.

She crossed the rope bridges between the towering tree-homes and made her way back to the dorm. Just as she landed outside her own treehouse, her eyes lit up at the package dangling from the mailbox.

It was from Lightchaser!

She sprinted forward, ripped the parcel down, and kicked open the door. By the time she stepped inside, she was already halfway through tearing it open.

Inside were two bags of candy and a notebook on close-combat techniques. On the last page was a full write-up of an A-rank skill—Sprint.

It was a footwork technique. Once mastered and integrated into one’s natural movements, it could help avoid danger through sheer muscle memory. When fully trained to A-rank, it would shift from an active skill to a passive one.

According to the description: Passively increases movement speed by 20% and dodge rate by 15%

.

Another skill that required self-discipline and time—but Rita loved it.

Just like she’d written in her letter: skills from Lightchaser just felt stronger somehow.

She admitted this might be a bit of a bias.

She stored the notebook away and pulled out one bag of candy. She planned to hang it outside Mistblade’s mailbox on her way to class.

Mistblade wasn’t really into sweets, but she loved the feeling of receiving little surprises. Rita knew that.

She also knew Mistblade missed her family more than she let on. She’d even asked Maple Syrup to quietly check on her family back in Gilane.

When Rita found out, she grabbed Mistblade’s hands and made her swear—swear—to never let Lightchaser know.

"She’d kick you out! And before that, she might chop off your tail and turn it into a specimen! Hang it next to the goblin’s! Just because you annoyed her!"

Mistblade nodded so hard she left afterimages. "That’s exactly what I was gonna say!!"

Fat Goose butted in, unimpressed. "I knew she was still that violent. You could come stay at my place instead. Only Rita’s officially her apprentice, right? You could move out, couldn’t you?"

But Mistblade refused without hesitation. Lightchaser might be terrifying, but she was also the one footing the bill for Mistblade’s food, clothes, and lodging.

Sure, the debt was massive—but she and Rita had already started working on ways to earn money. They believed that no matter how big it got, they’d repay it eventually.

Living with Lightchaser didn’t feel like she was freeloading. She could go out with Rita to work, study, eat... and if she got hungry at night, she could go downstairs and grab something from the kitchen. Neither Rita nor Lightchaser ever pretended to be polite about boundaries.

If they didn’t want her there, they’d just tell her.

There was no overthinking, no awkward tension, no wondering if she was a burden.

But staying with Fat Goose would be different. All those doubts and anxieties would pile up fast.

Fat Goose didn’t press the issue. Honestly, he already regretted bringing it up—he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed

to invite friends over yet.

The topic quickly passed.

The Flame Festival was held every year on October 10th, and students got a three-day holiday.

Rita and Mistblade planned to leave the evening of the 9th, after dinner at the academy. It was cheaper to eat on campus—and Lightchaser definitely wasn’t going to cook.

The very idea of Lightchaser, apron, cooking, and gentle smile in the same sentence sounded like the premise of a short horror story.

At dinner, Rita leaned across the table and asked Maple Syrup, who’d been unusually quiet all day, "What’s wrong? Are your parents coming? Wanna come hang out at our place for a few days?"

Maple Syrup shook her head. Her brow had been furrowed since morning. No one at the table looked more serious than she did. "No, they’re coming to see me."

Then, as if she wanted to kill the conversation, she drained her milk in one gulp and mumbled, "Happy Flame Festival," before walking off.

Fat Goose left soon after.

Mistblade murmured, "Maple Syrup’s changed a lot. She seems so heavy."

Rita didn’t think "heavy" was quite the right word. It was more like something closer to pain. The kind she’d seen often back at the Burrowbug Tavern.

But she didn’t want to dissect a friend’s suffering in public. Instead, she shifted the topic.

"You said I’d changed too, when we reunited after a few months apart."

"That’s different," Mistblade replied. She glanced around, then lowered her voice, "It’s not the same. Tree towers and swamps—you know what I mean?"

The swamp region was Mistblade’s most hated class area. She couldn’t fly, so every step had to be cautious. One wrong move and she’d be dragged into the muck. All the non-fliers hated classes held there.

Rita understood. Tree towers were full of life. Swamps dragged you down.

She shoved her favorite juice into Mistblade’s hand. "Drink up. When we leave tomorrow, let’s pick a cheaper ride."

Mistblade wrinkled her nose and pushed the cup back. "Ugh. No thanks. That stuff stunts your growth."

"...Says who?"

"You’ve been drinking it nonstop since school started. Maple Syrup and I both drink moo-moo milk. Results speak for themselves."

Back in Gilane, they were all the same height. Now Mistblade and Maple Syrup were both half a head taller.

"..." Rita grumbled and downed a glass of milk with a pinched nose.

...

On the day of the Flame Festival, Rita and Mistblade set out bright and early. Rita needed to grab more pumpkins before they went out of season—and to buy the Sacred Flame, a holiday essential.

Torch in hand, burning with white fire, Rita grumbled the whole way home.

"Why do we have to buy this? Why can’t we just keep the flame from last year and reuse it?"

"Because maintaining it would cost more than buying a hundred new flames."

She froze at the familiar voice and instinctively shoved the torch into Mistblade’s arms, bolting into the house.

There, on the sofa, was the tiny old lady.

Rita’s eyes widened. "I knew it was you!"

She charged across the room. "My skill!"

Lightchaser, lounging with a cup of coffee, casually said, "This is my teacher—Howl. Those skill books? She gave them to you."

The little owl was already halfway into a full-body tackle when Lightchaser added, "She wanted to hit you just now."

Howl chuckled, her eyes crinkled into two gentle slits by the sea of wrinkles on her face. She looked like the kindest grandma imaginable. "I noticed."

Something felt off.

Rita’s brow furrowed. She reached behind her and felt her backpack.

One bottle of wine—missing.

Rita: !!!

Alright, that’s it. I’m going down swinging!