"Level 7."
The words hit the table like a heavy rock.
Brielle, the Archer, and the Mage completely froze.
Back in their home country, Level 5 was the absolute, undisputed peak of human strength. It was the ceiling of the world.
Hearing someone casually introduce herself as a Level 7 made their brains stop working for a second.
The Archer accidentally dropped her spoon against her saucer with a loud clink.
Brielle stared with her mouth hanging wide open, while the Mage swallowed hard, suddenly feeling terrified of the polite, fragile-looking elf pouring their tea.
Elen stared at her teacup, completely intimidated by the elf's alias. The Perpetual Saint.
Having an official Adventurer's nickname was a massive honor. It meant the Adventurer's Association completely acknowledged your strength. Even Elen, a talented Level 4 Healer, did not have a nickname yet. Out of their entire five-girl party, only Aria had one.
Hearing that this young-looking elf was a Level 7 with an alias made Elen realize just how huge the power gap really was in the Imperial Capital.
Meanwhile, Aria was still sitting rigidly, her hands resting on her lap to keep them from shaking. She was still reeling from the horror of what she had almost done to Brielle.
But the exact moment Celia said the words 'Level 7', Aria's brain forcibly shifted gears. It was a survival reflex. Her ingrained competitive instincts aggressively flared up, temporarily pushing her guilt aside to assess the big threat sitting right in front of her.
Level 7, Aria thought, her grip tightening on her warm teacup. That is a wide two-level gap. But... she is a healer. She is a support class, not a frontline combat type like me.
Aria's eyes darted over Celia's slender, delicate arms and clean white robes. Her pride as a Sword Prodigy kicked in.
If we actually fought one-on-one, could I beat her? A Level 5 swordsman against a Level 7 healer?
Back home, the answer was obvious. The level of a Healer simply didn't matter in a duel. Healers were pure support units. They didn't have offensive magic, and they didn't train with blades. In a real combat simulation, a swordsman just needed to close the distance. One quick dash, one swing, and the fragile Healer in the backline is dead before they could even finish chanting a healing spell. That was the absolute common sense of the world.
But as Aria stared at the elf, a cold bead of sweat rolled down the back of her neck. Her finely tuned warrior instincts were screaming a warning.
Celia was smiling and completely unarmed. But the way she sat wasn't just balanced; her center of gravity was perfectly anchored to the floor.
Aria closely watched the elf's tiny, casual movements as she poured the tea. There was absolutely zero wasted energy. Her shoulders didn't shift.
Her breathing never changed its steady rhythm. Even the way her eyes casually blinked and tracked the room felt too perfectly timed.
Aria tried to mentally simulate a sword strike.
At first glance, the Healer was completely exposed. Her neck, her chest, her blind spots—she had a dozen fatal openings.
But the longer Aria stared at her, the colder her blood ran.
Are those really openings? Aria thought, her eyes narrowing. Or is she leaving them wide open on purpose?
If Aria dashed for the exposed neck, the elf's perfectly anchored center of gravity could easily let her pivot and slip away.
It could be bait. But what if it isn't? What if she is just sitting normally?
Aria's mind spun in circles. Every time she pictured herself swinging her sword, she imagined a deadly counterattack that might or might not actually be there.
It felt like she was trapped in an intense, exhausting mind game of swordplay, and neither of them had even drawn a weapon.
I don't know anymore, Aria finally admitted to herself, forcing her racing thoughts to stop.
The elf simply didn't have the careless posture of a backline support hiding behind a tank. Every single casual movement she made was so incredibly natural and precise that it actually felt weird. She carried the quiet, heavy presence of a frontline veteran who survived close-quarters ambushes by luring enemies in.
The elf had absolutely zero killing intent, but Aria got a terrifying, gut-wrenching feeling. If she actually drew her sword and dashed forward, she suddenly wasn't sure if her blade would even reach the healer. There was an unsettling, hidden weight behind this fragile-looking girl that made the outcome of a real fight entirely impossible to guess.
Shaking off the heavy tension, Aria took a slow breath and forced her mind back to reality. She had been so entirely distracted by the terrifying level gap and the invisible sword fight in her head that she had almost ignored the most glaring, impossible detail sitting right in front of her.
An elf? Aria thought, her mind spinning all over again. An elf is actually a member of a party led by a human?
Seeing an elf walking around a human city was already incredibly rare. But seeing one operating as a subordinate in a human's party? That was completely unheard of.
Elves were naturally proud, arrogant creatures. They lived for thousands of years. They looked down on humans, viewing them as fragile, short-lived creatures who died in the blink of an eye.
Aria had heard plenty of stories from veteran Adventurers back home about how bad an elf's attitude could be.
But this elf was completely different. She was kind, soft-spoken, and incredibly polite.
The veterans back in Aethelgard always said the same thing: If a proud elf actually accepts joining an Adventurer's party with humans, there are only two possible reasons.
The first reason is that the elf demands to be the absolute leader.
The second reason is that the elf is entirely willing to dedicate their entire lifespan to the human leader.
Looking at Celia's gentle smile when she mentioned Kian's name, Aria instantly knew which reason it was.
Kian Astor, the hero of our village, the person who saved me, had effortlessly made a proud elf bow to him. I realized that the sheer scale of his existence is just beyond my imagination.
As Elen and Aria were lost in their own thoughts, Celia folded her hands on the table and spoke again.
"I heard your stories from the Vice Master," Celia said, her long, pointed ears twitching slightly. "You came from a very faraway country just to see Kian. I am so sorry for what happened at the desk. We really can't do anything about his schedule right now. He is... currently busy. But to make up for your troubles, maybe I can offer a compromise."
Elen snapped out of her daze. "A compromise?"
"Yes," Celia nodded. "I cannot help you secure an appointment to see him. But I can tell you a story about Kian. I have enough time to tell exactly one story before I need to return to my duties. So, what do you want to hear? Do you want to hear about his childhood days, or do you want to hear the stories of him fighting in the deep dungeons?"
The heavy, intimidating Aura presence of a Level 7 elf instantly vanished from Aria's mind. The exact moment a story about her hero was offered, her tense warrior mindset completely evaporated. Her large green eyes practically sparkled with pure, uncontained excitement.
"I want to hear the story of his childhood!" Aria said eagerly, leaning across the table.
Elen let out a long, exhausted sigh and covered her face with her hand.
Whenever Kian Astor's name was brought up during their free time back in the village, Aria would constantly brag about the time he saved her. She had told the story of the silver pendant to the villagers, the local knights, and their fellow Adventurers hundreds of times.
Elen could already guess exactly what was going to happen. If Celia told a brand new story about his childhood, Aria would memorize it immediately. She would definitely repeat this new story endlessly to everyone she met if they ever traveled back to their home country.
"Childhood stories are boring!" Brielle suddenly interrupted.
The Thief had also completely forgotten the terrifying fact that her best friend had almost chopped her in half just five minutes ago. Aria's ridiculous fangirl behavior had completely ruined the serious mood.
"I want to hear something exciting," Brielle declared, resting her chin on her hands. "Since you are only going to tell us one single story, I want to hear the story of how he became a Level 8."
The moment Brielle said those words, the other four girls at the table instantly tensed up.
Elen, the Archer, the Mage, and even Aria leaned in closer. They all suddenly wanted to hear it too
Every single Adventurer in the world dreamed of reaching Level 8, but only a tiny handful of absolute monsters were ever able to reach that terrifying height.
They wanted to know exactly how he achieved it. The girls were completely hooked, staring at the elf without blinking.
Celia looked at their intense, eager faces. She could see they were not going to take no for an answer. She offered a soft, knowing smile and picked up her teacup.
"Very well," Celia said quietly, her voice drawing them all in. "I am going to tell you the story of how 'Thousand Strings' became a Level 8 Adventurer. The peak level in the Imperial Capital. A rank that is simply not achievable by normal people."