Chapter 3: The Gravity Paragon
Marshall's hand remained extended.
For several seconds, Lyra simply stared.
This was not how she had imagined meeting him.
Not atop a fortress wall.
Not during a battle.
Not surrounded by cheering adventurers.
Instead, he stood at the edge of Velkaris wearing simple clothes and smiling like an ordinary traveler.
Lyra quickly recovered and shook his hand.
His grip was firm.
Normal.
Human.
Which somehow felt stranger than anything else.
"You're really Marshall."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Marshall laughed.
"I get that surprisingly often."
Lyra immediately regretted speaking.
Marshall seemed amused rather than offended.
"Come."
He gestured toward a narrow path leading deeper into the outer forest.
"We have a lot to discuss."
Lyra followed.
At first neither spoke.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
Marshall simply seemed content to walk.
As they traveled, Lyra noticed something strange.
The forest reacted to him.
Not visibly.
Subtly.
Birds remained silent.
Small creatures hid.
Even the oppressive atmosphere of Velkaris seemed less aggressive near him.
The realization unsettled her.
The stories hadn't exaggerated.
Marshall truly belonged here.
Eventually he glanced at her.
"So."
Lyra immediately straightened.
"So?"
"You're shorter than I expected."
She stared.
Marshall grinned.
"I had to say something."
For a moment she wasn't sure how to respond.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.
A small laugh.
But genuine.
Marshall smiled.
"There it is."
"What?"
"A sense of humor."
The conversation flowed more naturally after that.
Marshall asked about her journey.
Her training.
Her experiences in the guild.
Nothing felt forced.
Nothing felt rehearsed.
He spoke to her like an equal.
That alone felt bizarre.
Most powerful adventurers barely acknowledged her existence.
Marshall listened.
Actually listened.
When she described her training routines, he asked questions.
When she discussed combat techniques, he seemed interested.
When she mentioned her daily mana circulation exercises, he asked for details.
How many cycles.
How long she maintained them.
How often she pushed her control to exhaustion.
When she spoke about studying spell theory and magical texts, he listened just as closely.
By the time they reached a ruined stone overlook, Lyra had almost forgotten she was speaking to one of the strongest humans alive.
Almost.
Then Marshall stopped.
"Show me."
Lyra blinked.
"What?"
"Your mana."
The request immediately made her nervous.
"My mana?"
Marshall nodded.
"Please."
Lyra hesitated.
Then extended a hand.
A faint stream of mana gathered above her palm.
The spell was basic.
One of the first exercises taught to apprentice mages.
A simple Mana Light.
The small orb glowed weakly.
Pathetically.
Level 6 mana.
Marshall studied it carefully.
His expression remained neutral.
Then he stepped forward.
"Again."
Lyra frowned but obeyed.
This time she pushed more mana into the spell.
The orb brightened slightly.
Still weak.
Still unimpressive.
Marshall continued watching.
Then he reached out.
Not touching the spell.
Not touching her.
Simply observing.
Several moments passed.
Then he nodded.
"Interesting."
Lyra lowered the spell.
"What is?"
Marshall looked directly at her.
"Your mana is exactly as bad as everyone says."
The statement hit harder than expected.
Marshall immediately raised a hand.
"Your mana."
Not you.
The distinction mattered.
A little.
Lyra crossed her arms.
"That's comforting."
"I wasn't trying to comfort you."
At least he was honest.
Marshall began walking again.
"This is why I wanted to meet you."
Now she was confused.
"My weak mana?"
"No."
Marshall pointed at her.
"Everything else."
Lyra followed him through the ruins.
The forest grew quieter.
More ancient.
Broken walls emerged from the undergrowth.
Pieces of forgotten roads appeared between the roots.
The deeper they walked, the more obvious the scars of the ancient war became.
Then Marshall stopped again.
Without warning he picked up a large stone.
The boulder was roughly the size of a horse.
Far too heavy for an ordinary person.
Marshall tossed it toward her.
Lyra barely caught it.
The impact nearly knocked her backward.
"What are you doing?"
Marshall ignored the question.
Instead he stared.
Watching.
Observing.
Analyzing.
Eventually he smiled.
"There it is."
Lyra carefully lowered the boulder.
"There what is?"
Marshall folded his arms.
"You're strong."
She blinked.
"What?"
"Physically."
The answer made even less sense.
"I'm a mage."
"You trained like a soldier."
Marshall corrected immediately.
Then he continued.
"Garron has been talking about you for years."
Lyra froze.
"What?"
Marshall laughed.
"Not always positively."
That sounded more believable.
"He kept mentioning a woman who trained every morning."
"Every evening."
"Every spare moment."
Marshall's expression became thoughtful.
"A woman who refused to quit."
The words felt strangely personal.
Marshall continued.
"I became curious."
He stepped closer.
"Most Level 6 mages give up."
"Some become merchants."
"Others become craftsmen."
"Most eventually accept reality."
His gaze sharpened.
"You didn't."
Lyra remained silent.
Marshall pointed toward her shoulders.
Then her arms.
Then her stance.
"You didn't just train your body."
He pointed toward her chest.
"You spent years performing mana circulations."
"Every day."
"Even though they barely increased your level."
Lyra's eyes widened slightly.
Marshall noticed.
"Garron mentioned that too."
His expression grew more serious.
"You studied magic theory long after most people would have stopped."
"You refined your spellcasting."
"You practiced combat techniques."
"You learned how to fight with what little mana you had."
He shook his head.
"Most people see your level and assume you were wasting your time."
His gaze locked onto hers.
"I don't."
Marshall pointed toward her shoulders again.
Then her arms.
Then finally toward her head.
"Your body adapted."
"Your mana control adapted."
"Your knowledge adapted."
The words confused her.
"What does that mean?"
Marshall smiled.
"It means you've accidentally spent years creating something unusual."
The Paragon crouched and drew several circles in the dirt.
A simple diagram.
Human body.
Mana core.
Mana pathways.
"Most mages strengthen mana first."
He tapped the center circle.
"The body adapts afterward."
Then he tapped the outer circle.
"You did the opposite."
Lyra watched carefully.
Marshall continued.
"Your mana remained weak."
"Your body didn't."
He tapped the pathways.
"And neither did your control."
Another tap.
"Or your understanding."
The realization slowly formed.
Marshall nodded.
"Exactly."
He stood.
"I'd estimate your body could tolerate mana pressure equivalent to someone around Level 50."
He pointed toward the diagram.
"And your mana control is far beyond what a Level 6 should possess."
Lyra stared.
Then laughed.
A nervous laugh.
"That's impossible."
"It shouldn't be possible."
Marshall agreed.
"Yet here we are."
The statement silenced her.
For several moments neither spoke.
The wind moved through the ancient trees.
Far away, something roared.
Velkaris answered with silence.
Then Marshall's expression changed.
Subtly.
The casual conversation disappeared.
Not entirely.
Just enough for Lyra to realize they were approaching the reason she had been summoned.
"I've spent years studying Velkaris."
His voice became quieter.
More focused.
"The ancient war."
"The Demon King."
"The ruins."
"The relics."
Lyra listened carefully.
Marshall looked toward the distant forest.
Toward something hidden deeper within it.
"I believe humanity is trapped."
The statement surprised her.
"What?"
Marshall folded his arms.
"The Level 75 ceiling."
His gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
"For thousands of years, humanity has accepted it."
"The absolute limit."
"The final destination."
His voice carried frustration now.
As though the subject genuinely bothered him.
"But why?"
Lyra blinked.
Marshall continued.
"The Demon Realm reaches Level 100."
"The Demon King reached Level 100."
"The laws of reality clearly allow it."
His eyes narrowed.
"So why not us?"
For the first time, Lyra saw something behind Marshall's calm demeanor.
Obsession.
Not unhealthy.
Not yet.
But powerful.
Focused.
Driven.
Marshall looked back at her.
"What if humanity could create more Paragons?"
The question hung in the air.
"What if Level 75 wasn't the end?"
Lyra remained silent.
Marshall took another step forward.
"What if effort mattered more than talent?"
That finally got her attention.
His voice softened.
"What if people like you were rewarded instead of ignored?"
The words struck deeper than she expected.
Because they targeted a wound she carried every day.
Marshall saw it.
Of course he did.
The Paragon smiled.
Not mockingly.
Not arrogantly.
Genuinely.
"That's why I asked you here."
And for the first time since meeting him, Lyra felt something dangerous.
Hope.
Real hope.
The kind she had spent years trying to kill.