Gakusen Toshi Asterisk - Volume 13 - Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6 
THE PRELIMINARIES III 
Even among Seidoukan Academy’s Orga Luxes, the Serpent Blade Ororomunt was known for being especially dangerous to wield and was commonly referred to as the Cursed Sword. The weapon’s brilliant fang-like blade, constantly expanding and contracting like a bellows, possessed a poison that could render its victims delirious with even the slightest scratch. But more than that, its most dangerous quality was unmistakably the cost of using it. 
Upon activating it, its user would be assailed by an irresistible drug-like euphoria, to such an extent that its previous wielders had each become so dependent on it that they had taken to using it even outside of battle. However, while activated, it would eat away at its user’s prana little by little, until finally devouring them completely and reducing them to a completely weakened state. 
Moreover, while its former users could recover if they stayed away from the weapon for a long enough time, most of them, unable to resist the pull of their dependency on it, sought it out once again, attacking its new user and snatching it away for themselves—this state of affairs wasn’t helped by the fact that the Orga Lux could achieve a high compatibility rating with almost anyone, and so it was hardly ever without a user. It was often said that the first curse to befall each new user of the Serpent Blade Ororomunt was the need to defeat its previous wielder. 
Its current user, Seidoukan Academy’s third-ranked fighter Feardorcha O’Neill, the Ringed Serpent King, Cuélebre, had held on to that Cursed Sword for close to four years now and had yet to be defeated by it. 
“Keh… Talk about a downer,” Feardorcha said vacantly as he brushed back his long chestnut-colored hair. He was unhealthily gaunt, his eyes alone blazing with intensity. 
The Serpent Blade Ororomunt’s cost came in two forms—an overwhelmingly uplifting sense of exaltation or a deep, quiet sense of rapture—but there was no way of telling which it would be at any given occasion until the weapon was activated. 
“…Ah, today’s another wonderful day, Ororomunt.” Feardorcha sighed, his eyes narrowing as the dry, rasping sound emanating from its glowing blade enveloped him. 
Of course, one’s affinity with an Orga Lux couldn’t be measured by their compatibility rating alone. Just as with the relationship that Seidoukan Academy’s Claudia Enfield had with the Pan-Dora, or Gallardworth’s former Pendragon, Ernest Fairclough, had with the Lei-Glems, especially proficient users of any Orga Lux had their own little tricks for dealing with their concomitant costs. Feardorcha was no exception on that front. 
And that was because he knew: The Serpent Blade Ororomunt was simply lonely. It merely sought to develop a bond with its user and hold on to that bond at any price. 
That was why he could immerse himself in that sense of euphoria without drowning. And he regulated his usage of it, setting daily limits on how long he allowed himself to bathe in its warmth. By doing so, he could remain close to the Orga Lux for as long as possible. Because Feardorcha O’Neill loved the Ororomunt—just as the Ororomunt loved him. 
“Keh-heh-heh-heh! Oh dear, how splendid! And here I was thinking I’d have to wait a bit longer before facing an Orga Lux!” called out the woman standing across the stage, staring back at him with an ominous smile. His opponent, dressed in a white Allekant lab coat, was long-limbed with a thin build, her upturned eyes peeking through her chunky glasses, and was wearing some kind of device that resembled a pair of headphones over her shoulder-length hair. 
Her name, if he remembered correctly, was— 
“And here we are, about to get underway! Zaharoula, isn’t Contestant Rowlands part of Allekant’s research class? What should we expect from her in this contest against the Serpent Blade Ororomunt?” 
“Among meteoric engineering researchers, Magnum Opus is something of a prodigy. But I have to admit, I wouldn’t have expected her to have entered the tournament herself like this…” 
Right. Rowlands. Hilda Jane Rowlands. 
Feardorcha had done some basic research into his opponent, and she did indeed seem to be more of a researcher than a fighter. She was even the top of some faction called Tenorio or something like that. It wasn’t unheard of for members of Allekant’s research classes to enter the Festa—Team Androcles at the last Gryps was one such example—but at the very least, Hilda didn’t seem to have any such experience in real-life combat. 
But— 
“…Whatever.” 
—he didn’t have any real interest in her. 
Or perhaps more precisely, Feardorcha had no real interest in anything except the Ororomunt. The only real thoughts occupying his head were his need to win this tournament and using his wish to claim the Ororomunt for his own. 
No matter who his opponent was, all it would take would be one strike of the Serpent Blade, and the battle would be won. After all, his Orga Lux, with its ever-changing form, was capable of striking from any angle from a full 360 degrees and so could slip through the defenses of even the most proficient foe. 
“Ah, it looks like the Skill Installation Device still hasn’t been properly configured. I suppose I’ll have to use its lowest power level,” Hilda seemed to murmur to herself as she tapped the headphone-like device on her head, her demeanor betraying no hint of nervousness. 
“Lindvolus Block 1, Round 1, Match 3—begin!” 
As with so many things, victory would go to the one who made the first move. 
Feardorcha swung his arm downward—and the Ororomunt, following his will, writhed like its namesake, its body of brilliant shards of light bending back and forth as it swooped toward Hilda. Its speed was such that an average fighter probably wouldn’t have even been able to catch sight of the oncoming strike. 
However— 
“Hmm…?” 
The tip of the blade came to a sudden stop above her head, perched as if in wait. 
Feardorcha, however, had given it no such order. Confusion emanated from the Serpent Blade gripped tightly in his hand. But no matter how many times he tried to call it back, it wouldn’t move. Some kind of unseen power must have been holding it in place. 
“Keh-heh-heh-heh! Yes, yes! Just as I thought, this level of Orga Lux is no bother at all!” 
Hilda hadn’t moved at all. She merely continued to stand there, her arms drooping in front of her, her pointed teeth peeking through that strangely unsettling grin of hers. 
“Wh-what’s this?! Why would Contestant O’Neill halt his attack…?” 
“How stupid are you?! Look closely! You’re a Genestella, too—you should be able to see what just happened!” 
It only took a second more after Zaharoula’s outburst for Feardorcha to realize it for himself. 
“Wh-what…? That’s…” 
“Keh-heh-heh-heh!” 
A huge amount of prana had begun to swell up from Hilda’s body—so much so that it was hard to believe she was even human. Indeed, the only time Feardorcha had ever seen such power before was in the form of that monster Orphelia Landlufen… 
“Huh?! Whoa! Sh-she really is! Er, um, what’s going on here…?” 
“It’s been converted into an almost impossible amount of mana. In other words—Hilda Jane Rowlands is a Strega. There’s no mistaking that.” 
“B-but we don’t have any data on that…” 
Feardorcha shared in Mico’s confusion. 
Hilda simply couldn’t have been a Strega. While it was common knowledge that not all Strega and Dantes were recorded in the various national registries, it was another thing entirely for someone to successfully hide that fact all the way up to their participation in the Festa. 
And yet, there was no mistaking that she was managing to hold the Ororomunt at bay using a Strega ability. Even so, as a general principle, the abilities of Stregas and Dantes were no match for the power of an Orga Lux. If, for example, someone with the ability to cast fire was to go head-to-head with an Orga Lux possessing the same powers, they would undoubtedly lose. That was an unwritten law of nature. 
Of course, depending on the circumstances, it wouldn’t be impossible for such an individual to repel or evade an attack—but even so, there should have been no way that Hilda could have managed to overpower the Serpent Blade’s movements the way she was doing now. 
“What kind of ability is that? Wind? A magnetic field? No, hold on a second…” Zaharoula’s voice trembled in disbelief. 
The audience must have caught on to the unusual situation also, as an uneasy murmur began to spread through the galleries. 
“Well, then… Let’s continue.” Hilda, ignoring the stunned disbelief of everyone watching, began to raise her arms. 
All of a sudden, Feardorcha was sent flying backward by some tremendous burst of strength. 
“Guh?!” 
As he tumbled along the ground, he caught sight of Hilda raising her arms once more. 
This is bad…! 
He leaped to his feet—and at that moment, a network of fissures tore through the ground almost exactly where he would have come to a stop, some unseen force apparently bearing down on it. 
I guess this means it can be dodged, so that ability probably doesn’t directly affect its target… 
As he wiped away the cold sweat building at his brow, Feardorcha set to analyzing his opponent’s ability. 
“Impressive! I can see how you made it to third place! Yes, a very fine reaction… Or perhaps my follow-through was a little late? Yes, that’s probably it. Keh-heh-heh-heh! I suppose I’m still not quite used to it!” 
With Hilda seemingly talking to herself once more, Feardorcha took advantage of that momentary opening to run back to retrieve the Ororomunt. 
“Oops!” 
Hilda swung her arm downward once more, but a top-ranked fighter like Feardorcha wasn’t about to let himself fall victim to the same trick yet again. He deftly stepped aside, dodging that unseen something, before twisting his lips in a grin. “Don’t underestimate the Ororomunt and me…” 
“Oh?” 
“Burst!” Feardorcha ordered his weapon, still frozen midair, as he reached out to grasp it. 
At that instant, the countless shards of light that comprised its blade suddenly exploded, scattering toward Hilda with great speed. 
“Huh?” 
It was like a land mine exploding in the air, sending an expanding wave of light flying in Hilda’s direction. There should have been no avoiding it. 
At first, she seemed to have used the ability of hers to defend herself, but on closer inspection, her body was covered with small lacerations. 
For the Ororomunt, that was enough. 
“Oh…? Oh dear…! This won’t do at all. I see, I see. So this is the Ororomunt’s poison…” She fell to her feet with a groan, raising a hand to her forehead. 
The Ororomunt’s poison took immediate effect. It brought on dizziness and fatigue without delay, making it all but impossible for one to focus their prana in an attempt to fight it off. For Stregas and Dantes in particular, it meant certain defeat. 
Until now still frozen in the air, the Ororomunt fell to the ground with a thud, freed from Hilda’s ability. New scales had already begun to form on its blade. 
“Oh my, how splendid! You can even control that Orga Lux of yours remotely! Your compatibility rating—no, your bond with it—is beyond impressive! Oh, oh, everything’s spinning around in circles! What an experience! Keh-heh-heh-heh!” Sweat building on her brow, Hilda broke out into a pained laugh. 
Judging by her reaction, she clearly had more than just a few screws loose. 
“Whatever. Once I break that school crest of yours, it’ll be over,” Feardorcha replied with a lack of concern as he went to retrieve his weapon, when— 
“Ah, that won’t do. No, not at all. We still have to run another experiment.” 
“—!” 
At that moment, he stopped dead in his tracks, bumping up against what felt like an invisible wall. 
“What the…?” 
To Feardorcha’s astonishment, Hilda, sitting cross-legged on the ground, flashed him her sharp, pointed teeth. 
“Neh-heh-heh-heh! You’ll have to forgive me—it’s difficult to stand up right now. I can’t seem to focus my prana, either… So this is just a rough estimation of it.” 
The young man felt along the edge of the invisible wall, hoping to find an opening—but as hard to believe as it was, it seemed to cut across the entire stage. 
“Now then, be good and watch. Yes, this should keep you entertained. You are about to witness a historic moment. Keh-heh-heh-heh!” 
“…What are you playing at?” 
As Feardorcha glared across the stage at her, Hilda, still grinning at him like a demon, raised her right hand into the air, then let it fall. 
At that moment, the Ororomunt let out a violent shriek, before sinking to the ground before his eyes, its urm-manadite core letting out a piercing wail of anguish that cut across the stage. 
“Wha—?! S-stop!” Feardorcha cried out in alarm. 
Hilda, however, paid him no heed. “Now, then. Time for the main event.” 
Next, she made her right hand into a fist as if to channel her power—and with a horrendous snapping sound, row upon row of fissures began to run down the glowing length of the Ororomunt. 
“No!” 
The cracks continued to run farther down the blade of the weapon, engulfing one glowing scale after the next, speeding up as they approached its base. 
“S-stop it! Stop!” 
Feardorcha beat repeatedly against the invisible wall blocking him with his fists, but it wouldn’t give an inch. 
“Staaaaaaahp!” 
A joyous glint shone in Hilda’s eyes. “Keh-heh-heh-heh! Now, to wrap things up!” 
No sooner did she finish speaking than the wave of destruction reached the Ororomunt’s hilt—shattering even its urm-manadite core. 
“…!” 
Feardorcha, his eyes frozen wide in shock, fell silently to his knees. 
“This can’t be happening… Ororomunt…” 
“Sh-she’s destroyed the urm-manadite core?! How is that even possible?!” 
“It has been known to happen when two Orga Luxes clash with each other, but even so…it’s exceedingly rare. Even when the Ser Veresta directly attacked the Gravisheath at the last Phoenix, the exterior may have been destroyed, but the urm-manadite core was left intact. But then again, urm-manadite is incredibly durable. For a Strega to be able to destroy it using nothing but her personal abilities is unheard of.” 
The two continued chattering, but neither analysis nor commentary could reach Feardorcha. 
“Ahhh… Arrgh… Ahhg…!” 
Tears ran down his face, his wailing growing louder with each sob. 
“Yes, yes, as I expected. Thank you for your assistance…er, what did you say your name was again? Ah well. Farewell!” 
Hilda’s voice seemed to reach Feardorcha from behind a thick curtain—and with that, he lost consciousness. 
“I suppose congratulations are due, no?” 
Hilda, making her way down the dark corridor to her prep room following her winner’s interview, came to a stop at the sight of the two figures waiting for her. One she knew well, the other she had never seen before. 
“Neh-heh-heh-heh! No, not at all, you should save that sentiment for later—for after I’ve taken the championship!” 
The first of the women, the one she knew—Ernesta Kühne—flashed her a wide smile. “You’re as brimming with confidence as ever.” She laughed. “You look a bit shaky right now, though… But I suppose that isn’t new for you?” 
“I analyzed the data on that Orga Lux prior to the match, of course, and prepared an antidote accordingly. Although, I must say, it was stronger than I expected.” 
She realized now that it had been a mistake to attempt to absorb that attack. If the device she had prepared to wear over her head had been working as designed, she would have been able to withstand it without any negative consequences—but as she was now, she was in bad shape. She had made a few minor adjustments a short time ago to stabilize its output, but she would have to perfect it before the next bout. 
“Did you come here to observe my debut in the arena? You’ll have to share your impressions with me.” 
At this, Ernesta’s smile vanished completely. “That ability of yours…is strength itself, no?” 
“Indeed! Yes, your discernment is as clear as usual! I’ve always thought the abilities of Stregas and Dantes to be more than a little unfair, what with their using powers like fire and lightning and the like. So this is probably a manifestation of my sensibilities in that regard.” 
Hilda’s newfound Strega ability was simply that—being able to manipulate power itself. It resembled telekinesis at a broad level, but that similarity was only skin-deep. 
“…So that makes you the second artificial Strega, after Orphelia Landlufen. If congratulations are in order, I suppose that’s what we should be praising.” 
“Keh-heh-heh-heh! In that case, there’s no need to hold back!” 
She had been able to successfully restart her Hercules Project, with its goal of creating artificial Genestella, and it had already gone off without a hitch to produce the strongest Strega in history. On top of that, her second experiment, using herself as the test subject, had been a complete success—although, strictly speaking, she had always been a Genestella, and so she had merely transformed herself into a Strega. As such, the next stage would require using an average person as the test subject. 
That was why she had entered the Lindvolus—so she could use her wish to remove the fetters that Ayato Amagiri had placed upon her and regain her freedom. 
“In that case, why didn’t you mention any of that during your interview?” Ernesta asked. 
Indeed, Hilda hadn’t even touched upon the Hercules Project in her winner’s interview and had deflected even those questions that related to her own powers. 
“It’s still too early, of course. I’ll reveal everything in due time, once I have proof that the new phase of the project surpasses the last one.” 
“…You mean once you’ve defeated Orphelia Landlufen?” 
“Indeed. If I’m to win this tournament, that’s one obstacle that will have to be removed!” 
“You really are brimming with confidence!” Ernesta laughed. 
“Keh-heh-heh-heh! Perhaps a little.” 
Before restarting the Hercules Project, Orphelia Landlufen had been her only success—but at the same time, that success had been an irregularity she’d been unable to reproduce. 
Now, however, the situation had changed. 
Now she herself was the ultimate success, proving once and for all that the process was indeed reproducible. 
“Hmph! Lena’s the one who’s going to win!” exclaimed the young girl hiding in Ernesta’s shadow, puffing out her cheeks. 
“Dear me… And who might this be?” 
“Autonomous Puppet Prototype LN-T, Lenaty. She’s going to win the Lindvolus as my substitute.” 
“Oh? Indeed!” 
Ernesta and Hilda stood facing each other for a short moment, each staring at the other with an unyielding smile. 
Ernesta was the only person whose talent Hilda was willing to acknowledge as equal to her own. Allekant’s research classes may have served as breeding grounds for the incompetent, but Ernesta was different—Ernesta, she was willing to admit, was a genius. Indeed, while her autonomous puppets Ardy and Rimcy that she had used in the Phoenix were still rough around the edges, they were undeniably filled with promise. The technology required to control urm-manadite using artificial intelligence seemed to be taking a different approach to enter the same domain that she herself was beginning to wade into. 
“She must be quite the performer, if you’re willing to talk like that. Do let me take a look.” 
Hilda couldn’t help but be intrigued by Ernesta’s most recent creation. However, when she tried to cup her hand below Lenaty’s cheek to lift her face, the small figure slapped her away. 
“Gross! Don’t touch Lena!” Lenaty growled, almost like a threatened animal. 
“Oh my, it appears that she doesn’t quite like me. Well, I can’t say that children or animals have ever really liked me… But to think that even the likes of a mere doll would feel that way…” 
“Lena isn’t a doll!” 
With that, Lenaty’s eyes seemed to change color, and a huge sword-shaped Lux manifested in her right hand. It was remarkably ill-proportioned compared to her small body—the hilt alone seemed to be almost half as long as she was tall. 
“Mom, can I break her?” 
The glowing blade, easily exceeding two meters in length, was too large even to fit inside the narrow corridor, its tip jutting into the far wall. 
“Oh? Judging by the structure surrounding the core, that does appear to be Camilla Pareto’s work. Although, that’s a very daring design for her…” 
“Yargh!” 
Before Hilda could finish speaking, Lenaty brought her oversized blade crashing through the wall. Unworried, Hilda used her power to hold it back—or so she thought. 
“Oh?” 
The wide slash did, in fact, come to a stop, but then— 
“Yarrrrrrrrgh!” Lenaty cried, shaking her off. 
Hilda quickly leaped backward but only barely prevented the tip of that long blade from slicing clean though her. As it was, the hem of her lab coat fell softly to the ground. 
“This is a surprise! What power! Or rather, what urm-manadite! I take it there are multiple cores installed in her?” 
“I wonder?” Ernesta replied with an overly broad smile. 
“But she isn’t very disciplined, now, is she?” 
“That hurts, hearing you say that… But I guess it can’t be helped. I have to agree with her. You are a bit gross.” 
“Keh-heh-heh-heh! What a nasty thing to say. I am used to it, though,” Hilda answered, still staring down at Lenaty. 
It had been bothering her for a while now—there was something incongruous about the puppet’s behavior. 
Ernesta wrapped her arms around her puppet from behind. 
“Mommm! Let me gooo!” 
“Now, now, be patient, Lenaty. You have a match soon. You don’t want to waste your energy here, do you?” Ernesta remonstrated. 
“No! I wanna break herrr!” Lenaty whined, tantrum-esque. 
As she stared down at her, Hilda found herself struck by an idea. 
“Ha-ha…! Don’t tell me, Ernesta…” 
“Huh? What are you talking about?” 

 

“This child isn’t under your control, is she?” Hilda asked. 
At this, Ernesta broke out into a genuine smile, completely different from the expression she had been showing up till now. “Heh… You’ve got a good eye. I guess that’s why they call you Magnum Opus.” 
“Oh? It’s just instinct. It merely occurred to me that it’s the kind of thing you would do.” 
“Indeed. I didn’t create Lenaty to follow my orders. No, she’s not designed to follow anyone’s orders. I made her to think for herself, to decide for herself, and to grow by herself. And of course, I haven’t built in any restraining functions, either.” Ernesta paused there, patting Lenaty lovingly on the head, before continuing softly: “I mean, what would be the point? Even if she had the ability to act freely, if she had to abide by some kind of restraining system, she would still be a machine. But my puppets are more than that.” 
“Keh-heh-heh-heh! This might sound strange coming from me…but you really are mad, Ernesta. That doll of yours could kill you at any moment. It could make its way into the galleries and massacre everyone. And you’re not going to take any responsibility for that?” 
“Lena would never do that!” the puppet responded, clearly offended. 
Hilda, however, paid her no heed. “Ah, but how…how splendidly wonderful! Yes, very impressive, very impressive! You really are just like me!” 
That was Ernesta Kühne’s true nature. 
That was Ernesta Kühne’s madness. 
There was a world beyond the current era waiting for them to reach out and touch—and it seemed that Hilda wasn’t alone in peering into it. 
“Heh-heh! I don’t want to be lumped in with you… But well, I can’t deny it. Anyway…” Ernesta paused there, narrowing her eyes. “How exactly did you avoid Lenaty’s attack just now?” 
“Ah…?” 
“You may be a Genestella, but you’ve never even tried to train your body before, am I right? No one who enters the Lindvolus without any training should be able to avoid Lenaty’s attacks.” 
Yes, Ernesta truly was insightful. 
She tapped her fingers against her head before continuing, her tone of voice deathly cold: “Those giant headphones of yours—they’re from the Skill Installation Project, aren’t they?” 
“How discerning of you! Yes, indeed they are. I was, after all, assisting in that project during my time away from my real work. So I had one of my juniors working there put some of the technology born from it to use.” 
“In other words, you stole it.” 
“What a shameful thing to say. I’m the one who made that project bear anything of practical use. This is just compensation for my efforts.” 
The Skill Installation Project was originally designed to copy fighting data and techniques from the second-generation Master Swordsman Gilbert Premelin, formerly of Allekant Académie’s practical class, to other fighters. In theory, it should have been possible to mass-produce fighters with Premelin’s repertoire of techniques, but the subjects were unable to properly process everything and ended up becoming highly psychologically volatile. Eventually, it reached a state where one such subject murdered an innocent bystander. 
“Although, I have to say, I doubt that frail body of yours is up to employing our master swordsman’s skills.” 
“We’re quite alike in that regard, aren’t we? Something tells me that you’ve never wasted your time working on your body, either. No?” 
“Hmm, unlike you, I’ve got a bit of flesh on my bones.” 
“…And precisely what is that supposed to mean?” 
But even Hilda could see that they were losing sight of their main topic. 
“Well anyway, physical restructuring is our specialty at Tenorio. It just so happens that I have undergone some amount of tempering, and as unpleasant and as hastily done as it was, this body of mine can replicate Premelin’s movements without causing any undue damage.” 
“Oh? A remodeled body based on Tenorio’s processes? That must be something.” 
“Indeed. I’m a veritable Übermensch. Keh-heh-heh-heh!” 
With the overwhelming Strega abilities she had received from the Hercules Project, and with Premelin’s fighting prowess from the Skill Installation Project, she really was insurmountable. 
“…A posteriori talent surpasses a priori gifts. That’s your motto over at Tenorio, isn’t it?” 
“Oh, you have a good memory. Precisely.” 
The world was unbalanced and unfair. 
Whether a Genestella, whether a Strega or Dante, whether one was endowed with physical strength, agility, or beauty, from the very moment they were born, people were always being measured against others—and out of that measuring process, a select few truly outstanding individuals would rise to the top, and the vast majority would be left without. And yet, it was the latter group, the majority, on whom the wheels of society turned. It was a truly deplorable state of affairs. 
If that powerless, unenlightened majority could be pulled up, then there was hope that this vulgar world of theirs could be brightened somewhat. 
That was Tenorio’s guiding principle. 
“Well, I have no desire to discuss your dogma,” Ernesta said. “However…it will be me—and Lenaty—who will win this tournament. I promise you that.” 
“Keh-heh-heh-heh! In that case, let’s settle this on the stage…! Ah, if only.” 
“…If only?” 
“No, I just don’t feel like striking down that child of yours right now.” 
Both she and Lenaty would no doubt make it through the preliminaries—Hilda had no doubt about that. 
However— 
“Ha-ha, is that your fabled intuition speaking?” 
“Indeed, something like that,” Hilda answered plainly. 
Ernesta’s shoulders trembled with amusement. “You really are a pain to deal with. I suppose I’ve always known that.” 
“Keh-heh-heh-heh! I’m sure our good friend Shuuma would prefer it if we didn’t end up fighting each other… But I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see, no? Let’s do our best, the both of us.” 
“Yes. For the Académie.” 
“Indeed. For Allekant.” 
And with those feigned words of encouragement, the two parted ways. 
Neither was yet to know that it would be the last time they would meet face-to-face at the Sirius Dome. 
 
Meanwhile, the first match of Block N’s third round was underway. 

“Haah… Haah…” 
“Impressive, Priscilla. I saw how you fought in the Phoenix…and to be honest, I never thought you’d be able to become quite this strong,” Sylvia said as she reconfigured her favorite Lux, the bayonet-shaped Fólkvangr, into firing mode. 
“Th-thank you…! You’re incredible, too, Sylvia…! You haven’t even played one of your songs yet…!” 
Standing in the center of the stage, Priscilla was supporting herself with her club, her breath faint and ragged. Even so, her fighting spirit lived on in her eyes. 
And that was in spite of being continuously under fire right from the beginning of the match. 
“Sorry. I’m not trying to make light of you or anything, and I’m definitely not trying to go easy on you… But I’d rather not show my hand yet.” 
In tag team battles, it wasn’t necessarily disastrous to reveal one’s trump card early, as most battles hinged on a player’s ability to coordinate with their partner or team. In the Lindvolus, however, that logic didn’t apply. If you ended up getting stuck with a bad opponent, there was no taking back what you had already revealed. Not even Sylvia, with her unusually powerful all-around abilities, was an exception to that rule. 
“There’s no need to apologize! I’m just sorry about my own lack of skill…!” 
Priscilla paused there, catching her breath and readying her club. 
Priscilla Urzaiz was the former tag partner and younger sister of Irene Urzaiz, Le Wolfe’s famed Lamilexia—and on top of that, an extremely rare class of regenerative. 
That said, at the Phoenix, she had merely been there to support Irene, giving her blood to the point of exhaustion to feed Irene’s Orga Lux, the Gravisheath. 
Two and a half years had passed since then. It was certainly enough time for someone to change, but too short for them to become as strong as she had. 
Or at least, it should have been. 
“I’m coming, Priscilla!” 
“Yes!” 
Sylvia drew closer to her opponent, firing off a continuous bombardment as cover. Her shots were aimed directly at her foe’s vital points and school crest, but Priscilla deflected each and every one with the help of her club. In the meantime, Sylvia, having circled around her right-hand side, let loose a further barrage at point-blank range, but Priscilla used her club as a brace to leap over her head, landing safely on the ground behind her and delivering a pointed strike of her own. Sylvia wasted no time before shifting the Fólkvangr into slashing mode and moving to counter. 
She’s… She’s already got a first-class defense… 
Even though Priscilla’s attacks hadn’t managed to deal a significant blow, it was hard to believe that she could have developed such skilled defensive techniques without already having put in considerable effort—and even then, it was still unbelievable given the amount of time she’d had to develop herself. On top of that, without a masterful teacher… 
“I see. So did you study at the Liangshan?” Sylvia whispered as she brought the Fólkvangr down upon her. 
“Ngh!” Priscilla caught the blow with her own weapon, but her expression appeared startled. 
By the looks of it, Sylvia had guessed right. 
“…You know about it?” 
“Well, I am a student council president.” Sylvia smiled, her face drawing close to Priscilla’s as they locked weapons. 
“Erg!” Priscilla pulled away, leaping backward to put some distance between them both. “I… I was only allowed to go there because of my sister. I don’t have much in the way of results to show for it.” 
“Results?” 
“Miss Xinglou ranks all the students at the Liangshan according to her own system. But given that I’m only ranked as teibu, I must have fallen short. Strictly speaking, we only know our own positions in the ranking. I haven’t met any of the others, and I don’t even know how they are. Except for my sister, of course.” 
“Oh…? How interesting. But are you sure it’s okay to tell me all this? Isn’t it supposed to be a secret?” 
“According to Xinglou, we’re free to reveal whatever we want now that the tournament is underway. Not that I really know any more than that, though,” Priscilla said, readying her club once more. 
It looked like she wanted to keep going. 
Sylvia should have expected as much. If Priscilla had been trained by Xinglou, she wouldn’t allow herself to give up just because her opponent was stronger. 
In that case… I guess I don’t have much choice but to overpower her. 
She let out a deep sigh, opening her eyes wide. 
“Run, run! Let’s tear down our walls; let’s surpass ourselves! Run, run!” 
As her powerful voice echoed across the stage, the massive crowds’ level of enthusiasm suddenly skyrocketed. It didn’t matter whether it was a match or a live concert, Sylvia never tired of this moment. 
“Your song…!” Priscilla’s expression became suddenly more severe. 
Sylvia’s songs were capable of producing close to any effect—the one notable exception being that they couldn’t heal injuries. 
However, they weren’t all-powerful, and there were, of course, limitations. To begin with, each song had only one fixed effect. Second, she had to compose all those songs designed to manifest specific abilities by herself, and that included writing the lyrics. 
On top of that, her abilities were extremely sensitive—even one wrong word or one off note could be enough to change the produced effects completely. 
Moreover, the stronger the effect produced, the more prana it consumed. For example, if she was to try to replicate the strength of the Stjarnagarm’s commander, Helga Lindwall, she would undoubtedly burn through her reserves in no time at all. 
And finally, the effects of her songs corresponded to their overall length. Those effects wouldn’t dissipate if she was to stop singing partway through, but their efficacy would be greatly diminished. 
“If thoughts alone can’t reach you, if wishes alone aren’t enough, then I’ll go beyond my limits, I’ll keep pushing on!” 
She could feel the power gushing up from within her. 
Still singing, Sylvia leaped forward, slashing upward at her opponent from directly in front. 
“Guh…!” 
Priscilla managed to dodge it by a hair’s breadth, but Sylvia didn’t waste a second before following through with a ferocious sequence of additional strikes. 
This was the latest version of one of her standard musical numbers, updated and improved to further increase her strength. As she was now, she suspected that she would be able to stand toe to toe even against Ayato fighting unencumbered by those seals that had been placed upon him. 
She spun the Fólkvangr through the air, weaving together a complex chain of upper, mid, and lower strikes. 
However— 
“I—I won’t give up…!” 
Somehow, Priscilla was managing to withstand the full intensity of her onslaught. 
She swung her club desperately, at times dodging, at times meeting the oncoming blows, at times pushing them away, frantically adapting to Sylvia’s rapid assault. 
No—strictly speaking, she wasn’t managing to deflect every single blow. Those that did reach their target left deep, glaring wounds. 
Those wounds, however, disappeared almost instantaneously. 
I see… Her defense is already impressive, but combined with her regenerative ability, it really is exceptional. 
Without relaxing her assault, Sylvia took in the situation. From what she could see, Priscilla wasn’t simply failing to deflect certain attacks—rather, she was selectively focusing on protecting her vitals and her school crest. In that case, it was probably fair to say that she was managing to see through her moves. But even so, even regenerating her wounds, she would have to have been in pain. 
Sylvia pulled back for a split second, before putting all her strength into yet another set of strikes—but this time, Priscilla managed to ward off each and every one, preventing her from making a direct hit. 
“Haah…! Haah…!” 
“…I’m impressed, Priscilla,” Sylvia stated as she caught her breath, her song finished. “Do you have a wish you’re fighting for?” 
Her opponent, however, shook her head, flashing a brave smile. “No, I just want to show my sister how strong I’ve become… I knew from the very beginning that I was no match for you, Sylvia. But if I were to give up, that would mean I haven’t grown at all!” 
“I see… That reminds me, you did say you can’t rely on her to protect you forever. And it looks like you’re as good as your word… I think you’re incredible.” 
Priscilla stared back at her blankly. “Huh…? H-how do you…? Have we met somewhere before…?” 
“Ah, so you didn’t recognize me, after all. It was at the school fair last year, with Ayato.” 
“A… Ah!” Priscilla exclaimed in shock, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. 
Yes, this wasn’t the first time the two had come face-to-face. At last year’s school fair, Sylvia had gone with Ayato to visit Asterisk’s other schools and had stopped for lunch at a small stall that Priscilla had been operating at Le Wolfe. 
Of course, she had been disguised at the time, and judging by her reaction, Priscilla hadn’t seen through that. 
“S-so that was you…? What a surprise!” 
“Hee-hee, thanks again. Your paella was delicious.” 
“Thank you… Now you’ve given me another reason not to give up!” Priscilla declared with a bold smile as she brought her club down once more. 
“Oh? Is that a declaration of war, then?” 
Even back then, Priscilla had seemed to be harboring more than just gratitude toward Ayato. The last thing Sylvia wanted was to make yet another rival, but she also knew that she had no right to attempt to dissuade her. 
Priscilla, however, still grasping her weapon, fidgeted nervously. “Th-that’s not it!” she sputtered in denial. “I’m just… I’m grateful to him. Because he saved my sister—and me, too.” 
“…I see,” Sylvia replied. 
“Let’s leave it at that,” she added under her breath. 
“In that case, you’d better be ready! I’m going to go all out!” 
Given how determined her opponent was, it wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t respond in kind. 
“Please!” Priscilla responded, lifting her club over her head and bending her knees. 
Sylvia recognized it immediately for what it was—one of Jie Long’s defensive postures. Her defensive skills truly were impressive. 
In that case, she would simply have to smash her way through. 
“Rarghhhhhhhhhh!” Sylvia cried out, lunging forward and striking at her opponent’s school crest. 
“Here!” Priscilla, as if expecting this move, parried with her club. 
Then, after raising her weapon to push the Fólkvangr out of her way, she tightened her grip and thrust toward Sylvia’s own school crest. 
It was an all-or-nothing counter, in which she had put all her energy. 
“No way!” 
Sylvia, having anticipated this possibility, had already switched the Fólkvangr over into its firing mode. She leaped backward in order to avoid Priscilla’s counter, pivoted her Lux around in a full revolution, and pulled the trigger. 
“Arghhhhh!” 
The bullet of light that shot out from its muzzle made direct contact with her twin-bladed school crest, the impact powerful enough to send Priscilla falling backward. 
“End of battle! Winner: Sylvia Lyyneheym!” 
“Phew…” 
If there was ever going to be a chance to break through Priscilla’s complete and utter devotion to her defense, it would be in the midst of one of her counters. It had all depended on the right timing, but fortunately for Sylvia, she had managed to deliver the perfect blow. 
“Ow…” Priscilla rose to her feet with a grimace, before fixing her with a tender smile. “You win… Please, do your best in the main tournament.” 
“Thank you, Priscilla. Actually…there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while now.” 
“Huh? Wh-what do you mean?” 
“…Do you think you could teach me how to make your paella? The one from the school fair?” 
Priscilla seemed taken aback for a second at this request, but it wasn’t long until her expression became one of delight. “Yes, of course!” 
 
“End of battle! Winner: Noelle Messmer!” 
In the student council room at Saint Gallardworth Academy, the student council president, Elliot Forster, let out a sigh of relief. On the other side of the air-window, the young woman with bangs so long that they almost completely covered her eyes clenched her fist in delight. 
“Good grief. She’s made it all the way into the main tournament…” 
Elliot had, of course, wanted to go to the venue to support Noelle in person, but there was so much work that needed to be done. He was ashamed of himself for having failed to attend her match for such a pathetic reason, but he could see no way out of his current situation. 
In any event, Noelle’s victory had been all but assured even without his attending. While her position in the academy’s rankings remained unchanged, she was now so strong that she would probably be able to hold her own against even the school’s first- and second-ranked fighters. As ashamed as it made him feel, he knew also that without the Lei-Glems, she would undoubtedly be beyond his level of ability also. 
It pained him just to think that this was all the result of the Ban’yuu Tenra’s guidance. 
“Geez… That’s the real problem here.” 
He let out a deep sigh before shrinking the air-window displaying the live feed from Noelle’s match and then turning to the one beside it. 
Projected there, the next match featuring another of Gallardworth’s fighters was already underway at the Procyon Dome. 
“And now we have…Floberge, by the looks of it. I suppose that’s one of the better alternatives—although, the sooner someone beats him, the better it will be for all of us…” 
That kind of statement wasn’t particularly becoming of the academy’s student council president, but Elliot had his reasons. 
They were a taboo subject at Gallardworth. From what he could tell, the academy’s upper management had forced them to enter the tournament against their will. 
Perhaps he was merely anxious about Noelle. He had tried to dissuade her from entering as much as he could, but he was unable to overturn her decision. 
As much as it vexed him to admit it, if Ernest were still student council president, the upper management wouldn’t have had the audacity to attempt something so dangerous. It was painful, being continuously reminded of just how little they thought of him. 
“It’s one headache after another…” 
He leaned forward over his desk, resting his chin in his hands as he scowled at the young man presented in the air-window. 
At the very least, he prayed that the match would end without incident. 
“…What the hell’s that? Do you even want to be here?” 
The petite black-haired young woman—Le Wolfe Black Institute’s ninth-ranked fighter, the Sand Dragon, Roswitha Dietze, alias Amphisbaena—snorted in derision. In her hands she gripped a small hammer-shaped Orga Lux—the Typhon Ankh—capable of manipulating sand. 
There was something unbelievably strange about the man standing across from her. 
He had a tall, slender figure, with well-proportioned facial features, but his mouth was hidden behind a black leather mask, and the hair stretching all the way down his back was a mix of the colors of the rainbow—or rather, a complex mix of every color imaginable. 
There was no doubting that Le Wolfe had a considerable number of oddities within its ranks, but Roswitha found it hard to believe that Gallardworth, normally so fastidious about order and regularity, could be home to such an idiosyncratic individual. 
And they call him the Black Knight… Who are they trying to kid? 
Since students participating in the Festa were listed according to the name recorded in their respective school’s records, there were those, especially from Queenvale, who in effect entered under an alias. But that meant that the guy in front of her normally went by the name of the Black Knight. And to top it off, he was from Gallardworth. It all felt like some kind of bad joke. 
This Black Knight was wielding a typical broadsword-shaped Lux, but even though the match had already gotten underway, he showed no indication of using it to launch an attack. All he did was casually dodge every strike that she attempted to throw at him. It didn’t even look like he was interested in fighting at all. 
“Do I want to be here…? Hmm, I wonder. If I had to say one way or the other, then probably not,” came the knight’s muffled voice as he shrugged. 
“The hell? Are you screwing with me? Go and withdraw, then!” 
Brandishing the Ankh, she glanced upward—and all of a sudden, the ground at their feet burst into an explosion of sand, out of which three gigantic wolflike figures descended upon her opponent. 
“I would very much like to, but unfortunately, this was the majority decision,” he continued as he dodged each lunge of their fangs and claws. “Having said that, I don’t take pleasure in this kind of savagery. Some of the others are more suitable to this than I am… But we don’t always get what we want in life.” 
He was clearly joking around, but she couldn’t deny that he had skill. 
In fact, he had dealt the finishing blow to his opponents in the first and second rounds practically at the very beginning of each match. The only thing that bothered Roswitha was that he had used different weapons and battle styles in all his matches up till now. 
In the first round, he had wielded several gun-type Luxes in a flashy, overly dramatic manner, while in the second round, he had used a conventional sword-type Lux and cut his opponent down from below. This was his first time ever entering in the Festa, and there were no records of him participating in any official ranking matches, so there was no other data that Roswitha could use to go on and, of course, no video recordings. But if he was as strong as he seemed to be, there should have at least been rumors going around, no matter how weird he was. And yet—nothing. 
“Um… Hey, Chitose. Just what do you think the Black Knight’s trying to accomplish right now?” 
“I wonder… His battle style is completely different compared to his last two matches… I give up. It makes no sense to me.” 
By the sound of it, not even the announcer or commentator knew what to make of him. 
“Ah, indeed. Why don’t you withdraw, Miss? That would save both of us from having to see this pointless contest through,” the knight suggested. 
Judging by the sincerity in his voice, he was being serious. 
“!” 
That was when Roswitha snapped. 
She had always been short-tempered, always faster to jump to action than to words. Nor was she the kind of person to feel any sense of obligation toward exercising self-restraint. 
So she poured her prana into her weapon, and a giant arm of sand easily more than fifteen feet in height rose up from the earth. 
“Die!” 
“Oh dear. And I thought it was a good idea…” 
The huge arm of sand dived down toward the Black Knight’s head in an attempt to crush him as he fought to evade the attacks of her sand wolves. 
Even so, his speed was such that he managed to dodge every one of those oncoming strikes. 
“Oh…?” 
The great fist, having slammed into the ground, was beginning to collapse back into a mountain of sand—but from that huge mound emerged innumerable snakelike creatures that snared themselves around his legs. 
The Black Knight was unable to escape those serpents emerging at his feet. 
“Heh!” Roswitha flashed her opponent, bound now hand and foot, a triumphant grin. “Now that’s more like it!” 
“That was careless of me… Well then, I suppose that I am in a bind.” 
Her opponent’s unflagging sense of enigma was still grating on her, but she wouldn’t have to suffer it much longer. 
“Time to finish this. Be ready!” 
“I should urge you not to do that… Although, it may already be too late. Very well. Be aware, however, that I won’t be me anymore, and there’s no telling just how savage I’ll become.” 
Roswitha had no idea what her opponent was trying to say by the end of that, nor did she particularly care to. She lifted the Ankh into position, ready to deal the finishing blow, when— 
“Eh…?” 
A black, mud-like liquid suddenly erupted out of nowhere, enveloping the Black Knight and consuming in a heartbeat the sand serpents that bound him. 
“H-hey, what are you…?!” 
She watched as her opponent raised his arms to shield his eyes from the raging sand, and then, still enveloped in that jet-black mud, he bowed his head. Before her eyes, that fluid hardened, covering his body like a suit of armor. From the section that covered his head, two twisted horns sprouted, making the whole combination look for all the world like some kind of ungodly blending of a Western suit of armor and a living, breathing demon. 
Looking at him now, Roswitha finally understood why people called him the Black Knight. 
“Eh, so you’re a Dante! That just proves you’re no match for me, then!” 
Given that she had felt a sudden surge of mana emanating out from him, there could be no mistaking that he was indeed a Dante. The only unusual thing about it was that she had sensed several sources of prana, all overlapping at the exact same moment. She had never sensed such a thing before, but she didn’t have time to stop and wonder about it. 
At that moment, the Black Knight let out a deep, terrible war cry: 
“Hraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” 
She froze in place at the sound of that bestial howl, itself completely devoid of reason or sensibility. 
“Wh-what the hell?! Don’t startle me like that!” 
The Black Knight, however, merely turned his face toward her without responding. 
“Eep…!” 
The two eyes staring back at her through that jet-black helmet were filled with madness. Roswitha knew it immediately—almost painfully so. 
What she was facing now was completely different from her opponent of a moment ago. Standing in front of her was something unknown, something nauseatingly dangerous. 
“Ugh…! Now I’ve done it…!” 
But even so, Roswitha’s innate sense of determination took control. 
With a wave of the Ankh, the three sand wolves still surrounding the Black Knight lunged toward him all at once. They may have been composed of sand, but their fangs were powerful enough to rend through tempered steel. Even if her opponent was fully armored, she could still be confident of victory. 
However— 
The Black Knight seemed to pay little heed to her minions as they tore into his neck, his left arm, and his right leg all at the same time. He merely brandished his huge sword and casually brushed them off one by one. The sword, similarly coated in a glistening layer of that black mud-like substance, effortlessly cut through the sand summons, reducing them all to piles of dirt. 
And then, slowly, he began to approach her. 
“Th-that’s…!” 
Panicked, Roswitha hurried to manipulate the sand at her feet to produce hundreds of pointed spears. 
“Go!” 
With that, those spears all flew toward the Black Knight, poised to skewer him through—when they all rebounded feebly off his armor, collapsing back into loose particles. 
“Wh-what the…? That’s… What the hell is that?!” 
Stregas and Dantes capable of producing means of shielding themselves weren’t uncommon—perhaps most famous among them was Gallardworth’s Brightwen, who had competed in the Phoenix, while the Strega who had defeated him, Seidoukan’s Glühen Rose, had also been able to create a shield of raw flames. 
However, shields and armor produced by one’s abilities didn’t tend to be particularly durable, and they should have been absolutely incapable of deflecting the attacks of an Orga Lux. 
It should have been impossible. 
But that was what he was doing. 
“What the hell is that?! Tell me!” 
Roswitha poured every last ounce of her prana into the Typhon Ankh, summoning up blades, axes, and even a towering dragon figure all composed of sand, but nothing she did was enough to stop the Black Knight’s indomitable approach. All it took was one swing of his sword to dispel whatever she threw at him. 
He continued to draw nearer, slowly and steadily. 
“Ngh…!” 
When at last she realized that she had no choice but to retreat and turned her back to her opponent— 
“Graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!” 
—with a terrible roar, the Black Knight’s blade flickered through the air. 
“Aaagh!” She cried out in agony as blood splattered from both her legs. She collapsed onto the ground, her face contorted in pain. All she could do was turn her head around to her attacker, only to see him towering over her. 
With the light hidden behind him, that towering figure with his great sword raised over his head looked like none other than the devil himself. 
“Yeek…!” 
More than the pain, it was her sense of terror that won over. 
Her thoughts were all over the place, but she knew that she had to get away, somehow, somewhere… Unable to stand, she pulled herself across the ground with her hands, possessed by only a single thought—that she had to escape, even if only a little, from this demonic creature. 
“Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” 
But with a howl ringing with the sound of pure madness, the Black Knight shoved his blade deep into her back. 
“How could…?!” Elliot, watching the match from his office, slammed his hand down on his desk in shock. 
He had been afraid that something like this might happen. 
And yet, despite his apprehensions, he had been unable to do anything to stop it. He was ashamed at his complete and total lack of power. 
“To stab an opponent who’s lost their will to fight in the back like that…” 
He clenched his jaw in apprehension, unable to shift his gaze away from the image projected in the air-window. He was only able to breathe a sigh of relief when he discovered that the blow had missed her vital organs. A medical team would no doubt already be en route to her, and so long as they got her to the hospital in time, her life wouldn’t be in danger. Genestella had a comparatively stronger life force than most average people, and their bodies were similarly more durable. 
That didn’t mean, however, that the Black Knight’s conduct could be excused. What he had just done was very likely a violation of the Stella Carta, and if there was any justice, he would be unable to escape punishment. Nor would Gallardworth itself be able to escape censure. On top of that, Elliot himself would no doubt be called to provide an explanation. 
“But how do I explain this…?” 
How could one explain that the Black Knight—a Dante possessed of multiple personalities—trained in secrecy at Gallardworth? 
They were twenty in total, those personalities changing places practically every single day. Given that it was close to impossible to recognize them all individually, it seemed that they had collectively been given the appellation of Black Knight for convenience’s sake. Elliot had no idea who had first thought of the title, but he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly they had been thinking. Although, from what he knew, those personalities themselves seemed to be rather taken by it. 
The Black Knight was normally kept in isolation and never came into contact with the general student population—the student council included. The general student body probably hadn’t even known about the knight’s very existence until “they” had been entered into the tournament. “They” were under the direct supervision of Sinodomius and the academy’s upper management. 
As for why the upper management tolerated such a burdensome student, no doubt management was interested only in his extraordinary abilities. 
All of those twenty personalities were Dantes in their own right, and in critical situations, their thoughts would become entangled, as would their respective abilities. At such moments, when that combined ability was brought to the fore, they would become utterly ferocious, and if they were in the heat of battle, they wouldn’t give up on their attack until their foe was left completely incapacitated. 
That ability was referred to only as invincibility. 
The jet-black armor produced by the blending of those numerous abilities boasted incredible defensive properties and could deflect even the attacks of Orga Luxes—as indeed had happened just a short moment prior. 
While Elliot couldn’t say whether that armor would be effective against one of the Four Colored Runeswords, it was at the very least on par with that defensive barrier that had been employed by Allekant’s autonomous puppet Ardy during the Phoenix. 
“Argh… In any event, I had better see how the management wants to handle this.” 
But of course, it would be he himself who would bear the full brunt of criticism for this incident. 
He would have to provide some sort of explanation in order to minimize the inevitable penalty, but it wasn’t up to him to decide just how much to reveal. 
“This year’s Lindvolus really is out of control…” 
Grasping his throbbing head in one hand, he opened a direct line to the upper management.