Gakusen Toshi Asterisk - Volume 14 - Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 
ROUND FIVE IV 
It was a quiet, pastoral, and if one was being unflattering, somewhat run-down town. Strictly speaking, it was more village than town—the ruins of a provincial city largely forgotten due to the excesses of centralization, the very image of a community of mostly abandoned homes held on to only by those with nowhere else to turn. 
Sylvia Lyyneheym had been born in this small settlement nestled deep in the mountains. 
There were several dozen residents in total. Most lived their lives self-sufficiently, without any distinctive qualities, but if there was one thing that stood out about them, it would have to be their pious observance of the teachings of God. That wasn’t to say they were in any way cultlike. Worship and prayer, and upholding the commandments of their Lord, helped them to alleviate their poverty. In a world dominated by the integrated enterprise foundations, theirs was a remarkably honest community. 
When she was young, Sylvia had been the only child to live in that town, and the only Genestella, too. And yet in spite of that, her neighbors had never made her feel isolated or excluded. They were good people, but they were also cowardly. 
Even from her earliest days, she had known she was different from the others. As an only daughter, her parents showered her with love and affection, but there was always an invisible wall standing between her and them. It appeared to her at times for the briefest of moments, such as when she pulled her father’s arm a little too strongly or inadvertently applied too much force to the tableware. And because of that, she grew passive and distant, often withdrawing inward and shutting herself away in her room. 
It was on one such rainy day, when she had been reading to herself in solitude, that she heard a strange melody emanating from outside, mixed with the sound of the rain. She felt a strange stirring in her chest that she had never before experienced, and when she pulled back the curtain over her window, she caught sight of a young woman humming to herself beneath the eaves of her house. 
“Well, aren’t you a sweet little face. I hope you don’t mind if I wait out the storm here?” 
The woman flashed her a soft, gentle smile. It was as if, in that ashen town, only her warm expression was rich with color. Taken by surprise, Sylvia quickly dragged the curtain shut—but for some reason she couldn’t understand, her heart wouldn’t stop racing. 
That was Sylvia’s first meeting with Ursula Svend. 
Ever since that day, the unnamed song at the back of her heart continued to flow out. 
That precious, refreshing song that she had heard amid the rain. 
Now, in the Procyon Dome: 
“I’ve got a good chance—or at least, I think I do.” 
The woman with long black hair, noble features, and an exotically tanned complexion (shown by revealing clothes) glared across the stage at her. She was shrouded in a mysterious ambiance, carrying a richly proportioned body and slender limbs, as well as a myriad of elaborate, glistening accessories. 
Sylvia’s opponent was the second-highest-ranked fighter at Queenvale Academy for Young Ladies, Neithnefer, the Goddess of Dance, alias Hathor. Not only was she renowned as the world’s greatest dancer, but she was also a top-class martial artist on the level of Jie Long’s greatest warriors. The fact that she was second to Sylvia and Rusalka in name recognition could be largely attributed to her strict avoidance of the media—in fact, the Festa was one of very few occasions when she appeared in public. 
“Oh? I didn’t want to fight you if it could be avoided, though…,” Sylvia answered, activating the Fólkvangr. 
Sylvia knew that Neithnefer, aka Nefer, disliked her, but as the academy’s first- and second-ranked fighters, respectively, they were well acquainted. 
“Petra must be so disappointed right now, about to see her two top students destroy one another. That was pretty bad luck, I think.” 
“The academy is of no concern to us here,” Nefer replied coldly. “This is all about deciding who gets to fight Orphelia Landlufen.” 
Indeed, there was every possibility that whoever won this match would face Orphelia in the next round. 
Of course, the eighth match hadn’t yet gotten under way, and it wasn’t impossible that Orphelia would lose. Nonetheless… 
“Are you really so hungry for revenge?” Sylvia asked. “Although I can’t say I don’t understand how you feel…” 
In the previous Lindvolus, Sylvia had lost to Orphelia in the championship match, just as Nefer had lost to her two cycles ago. Both of them had publicly vowed they’d win against her this time. 
“Don’t confuse the two of us. Unlike you, I’m not looking to face her again just to avenge my defeat,” Nefer said sternly. 
“Oh? Then why?” 
“Because I can’t forgive her. I’ve never been more humiliated in my life.” 
“…Because she beat you?” 
“Because my dance failed to reach her heart!” 
Sylvia found herself swallowing her breath at the power of the emotion that surged through those words. 
“Back then…all I wanted to do was touch her heart, even with the faintest ripple. It didn’t matter that I lost. I didn’t care about that. I knew right from the beginning that we were poles apart in strength. Our abilities weren’t suited to one another. But at the very least…I wanted to reach past that nihilism of hers and touch her soul!” 
“Ah… I think I understand.” 
Even now, it would no doubt be all but impossible for Nefer to win against Orphelia Landlufen. She wasn’t a Strega, and wielded neither Orga Lux nor regular Lux but used in battle only the flesh and blood of her own body. She possessed no techniques that would allow her to defend herself against Orphelia’s poison, and she would never be able to get close enough to land an attack of her own. It wasn’t just that she specialized in close combat—her unique abilities simply weren’t suited to facing those of her would-be opponent. 
And yet, Sylvia finally understood just why Nefer had put so much into reaching such an unbeatable foe. 
It was her pride as an artist. 
“I’m afraid I can’t afford to surrender here. It’s for a different reason, but I need to fight her again, too.” 
Sylvia’s drive to win against Orphelia wasn’t as noble as Nefer’s. She simply couldn’t stomach her defeat at their last encounter, and she hoped by winning this time to reach ever greater heights. 
“That’s fine. I never asked you to surrender. It doesn’t matter whether or not I defeat her, but I won’t lose to you.” 
“I am higher in rank than you, though, remember…?” 
“Then prove that you’ve earned that position.” 
Sylvia and Nefer may have occupied neighboring positions in Queenvale’s rankings, but they had never fought a match against one another. 
“If that’s what you want. Just don’t blame me if you lose.” 
The two of them glowered across the stage at one another, before turning around simultaneously and falling back to their respective starting positions. 
“I’ve got no idea what our two contestants were just talking about, but look at those sparks fly!” 
“Well, they are the top two fighters at the same school. There could be all kinds of things going on between them.” 
The announcer and commentator clearly didn’t know what they were talking about, but Sylvia paid them no mind as she switched the Fólkvangr to firing mode. 
“Round 5, Match 7—begin!” 
Firing a burst of glowing bullets, Sylvia fell back. 
Given that Nefer’s techniques were exclusive to close combat, the first thing she had to do was put as much distance as possible between herself and her opponent. She could then use the breathing space that offered her to activate her abilities and proceed to the next stage of her strategy. 
Or at least, that would be nice, but it probably won’t go that smoothly… 
As perhaps should have been expected, Nefer deftly dodged each of her attacks, rapidly drawing ever closer. Her motions were almost unbelievably fast, but more troubling than their pure speed was the fact that Sylvia couldn’t read her next moves at all. No matter how many shots Sylvia took, no matter how accurate her aim, her opponent continued to let each and every one of them fly right past her. Nefer, however, wasn’t feinting—rather, her movements adhered to their own laws, based on her own inner rhythm. 
For that reason, they were clearly far from optimal for her opponents, roundabout and illogical in a way that made it impossible to predict what she might do next. 
“Let’s tear down our walls! Let’s surpass ourselves!” 
Still falling back, Sylvia began one of her regular songs designed to boost her physical strength. The question was what to do next—use her increased strength to avoid all attacks by leaping high into the air, or use her support abilities to narrow down the number of options available to her opponent. 
“Hup!” 
Wha—?! 
At that moment, however, Nefer leaped into her range, and Sylvia failed to properly avoid the oncoming roundhouse kick. 
“Gah…!” 
The tip of the other girl’s shoe dug into her left shoulder. But just as quickly, Nefer spun around, lashing out once more to the sound of a cool, chimelike jingling from the accessories that garbed her legs. This time, however, Sylvia managed to catch the blow with the Fólkvangr—but it was a heavy strike that reverberated all the way into the core of her body. 
Sylvia didn’t need to be told that she was no match for her opponent at this range. 
She hustled backward in an attempt to regain some distance, but Nefer merely continued to push forward, matching her step for step. 
How can she…?! No, maybe my ability isn’t strong enough…?! 
With her songs, she could boost her physical strength to a level similar to that of Ayato or Xiaohui. As skilled as her opponent might be, she shouldn’t have been able to compete with that. By all rights, she shouldn’t have even been able to keep up with her. 
“You’ve got a long way to go, Sylvia!” 
Nefer’s outstretched palm drew one long arc after another through the air, tearing through Sylvia’s uniform and skin, leaving her with no alternative but to pull her arms close to protect her chest as the strikes kept coming. 
“Urgh…!” 
Grimacing in pain, she pulled back as far as she could to fire point-blank with the Fólkvangr, but— 
“No such luck!” Nefer crowed. 
—despite her best efforts, her opponent managed somehow to evade even that. 
How can she dodge them at this distance…! Argh! 
The attempt, however, had given her an opportunity to fall back that she couldn’t ignore. 
“Soar through the heavens, O wings of determination! One day I will lead you to the other side of tomorrow!” 
As Sylvia sang, a pair of luminescent wings sprouted from her back. It was the same kind of ability as Julis’s Strelitzia technique, but unlike that move, which was based fundamentally on a motif of flowers and flames, Sylvia’s allowed greater mobility—or at least, it should have. 
“Too slow!” 
Before she could rise, Nefer leaped toward her, twisting through the air and launching an unexpected drop kick. Sylvia rushed to avoid it, but far from increasing her speed, she lost her balance and suffered a direct hit. 
“Hyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” 
Knocked down, she managed to prevent herself from enduring too awkward a landing, but she couldn’t stop her wings of light from being extinguished. 
“What’s wrong, Sylvia? Aren’t your songs working?” 
Nefer, landing a short distance away, flashed her a suggestive grin. 
“…What did you do to me?” 
Unlike her opponent, Sylvia worked to maintain her calm as she gazed across the way. 
Her abilities weren’t having the effect they should—a first for her. She couldn’t tell whether it was the result of a Strega ability or an Orga Lux, but in either case, Nefer didn’t seem to be the one behind it. 
“I haven’t done anything. If there’s a problem, it’s with you alone.” 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” 
“Ah… This is what I meant when I said you’ve got a long way to go. You haven’t even realized that your rhythm is off.” 
“Wha—?!” 
Sylvia couldn’t hide her shock. 
Her abilities certainly were extremely delicate when it came to such details—to the extent that if her rhythm or pitch was off by even a fraction, it could have a dramatic impact on their effectiveness. 
That said, Sylvia had absolute confidence in her singing ability. She was more than capable of singing her songs in the heat of battle without letting the situation affect her performance. Even she would admit that she was rather unusual in that regard—no matter how fierce her movements or how dizzying the changes in the situation, her mind would always remain unperturbed. That wasn’t something that could be pulled off without the necessary skill or determination. So-called universal abilities like her singing were the result of lifelong study and effort, and she had implicit confidence in her all-but-instinctive ability to hit the right notes. 
And yet— 
“If you don’t believe me, just give it a shot!” Nefer declared, launching toward her once more. 
“I don’t need you to tell me that!” 
Sylvia reconfigured the Fólkvangr to its sword mode, took a deep breath, and began to let loose with her next song. 
“Let’s tear down our— Huh?!” 
She could tell something was wrong just with the first measure. 
As Nefer had said, her rhythm was indeed ever so slightly off. 
But why…? I’m being particularly careful, and yet… 
At that instant, Nefer’s dance moved effortlessly into a chain of consecutive kicks aimed right for her. Sylvia fought to hold her off with the Fólkvangr as she probed her own mind for an explanation, but her opponent wasn’t about to let her stop and think. 
Nefer’s attacks were elegant, dynamic, dazzling—every one of her movements and gestures, from her fingertips all the way down to her feet, everything flowing, everything mesmerizing. For her, there was no difference between the arena and the dancing stage—they were both merely places for her to showcase her talents. 
Nefer’s dance was said to appeal to people’s basest, most primal instincts—and even Sylvia had to admit she was being irresistibly drawn into it. 
“That’s it!” 
Sylvia cursed her carelessness while at the same time finding herself truly awed by just what the tanned beauty dancing in front of her had managed to accomplish. 
“Oh? So you’ve finally realized it…” 
With each flourish of her body, with each clear sound that emanated from her glistening accessories, Nefer’s fists came flying at seemingly irregular, unpredictable trajectories. Sylvia’s physical skills and abilities being what they were right now, countering all the blows was proving to be more than she could handle. She could afford to prioritize protecting only her school crest, forced to ignore her other strikes as she raced to find a way to shake her opponent off. 

 

“Guh…!” 
“Hyup!” 
At that moment, however, Nefer used her momentum to swing around, delicately spinning backward across the stage to put some distance between them. 
“Phew…” 
Sylvia let out a sigh of relief before calmly surveying the situation. 
She had been forced to endure more attacks than she could count, but fortunately, she hadn’t suffered too much damage. That said, it was clear to her what the outcome would be if the match were to be prolonged at close range. She had to restore her Strega abilities to their full strength, to regain control over her songs. 
But she understood now just how difficult that would be. And the reason for that was simple—just as her opponent had said, the cause lay with Sylvia herself. 
“I’m impressed, Nefer. That dance of yours really is enthralling… It pulls you in, whether you want it to or not.” 
“Naturally. All those who look upon my dance—old or young, man or woman, of all languages and cultures—so long as they’re human, they can’t resist it. Whether they like it or not, it’s impossible to escape. I still hadn’t perfected it last time, but now, even Orphelia Landlufen won’t be able to help but be charmed by it.” Nefer’s voice was filled with absolute confidence. 
What was most astonishing about her dance was that, strictly speaking, it wasn’t like a Strega or Dante ability, or even the power of an Orga Lux. Rather, she achieved that effect using nothing more than her physical body. 
Of course, as enthralling as it was, it didn’t leave those who watched it completely powerless. Sylvia suspected that it interfered with the precise timing of its victims’ breathing and momentum, thereby throwing them off when it mattered most. That was all. But in the kind of close-combat fighting she specialized in, that was enough. 
Most troubling for Sylvia herself was the fact that it was able to disturb her rhythm. She found herself being pulled into Nefer’s tempo completely unconsciously, and that in turn meant that her songs couldn’t take their full effect. 
“Heh-heh, it looks like it’s particularly effective against you. I’m honored to be recognized by the world’s most popular diva!” Nefer mocked as she leaped into the air, rotating her body like a spinning top as she launched into another flurry of repeated kicks. 
“Oh, it’s nothing new! I’ve always recognized your skills!” Sylvia bent backward to avoid the attack, but her opponent, landing safely on the ground, pushed on, tripping her over with another follow-up kick. Unable to dodge the blow, Sylvia caught herself on the ground with both hands, bounding up with a powerful handstand. “Though I suppose I should thank you, too! For recognizing me as a diva!” 
“I’ve said this over and over, but I don’t like you! Your songs, though, are another matter!” Nefer pushed once more against Sylvia’s Fólkvangr, throwing her backward. Next, she began to lay into another kick—but before she could reach her target, Sylvia, one step ahead of her, switched her Lux over to shooting mode and held her back with a burst of glowing bullets. 
“Tch!” 
With her opponent having given up her pursuit, Sylvia landed softly on the ground, returning the Fólkvangr to her defensive posture. 
“…What have I ever done to you to make you hate me so much?” 
“We’re opposites, you and I. We aren’t compatible.” 
“Opposites…?” 
That was too abstract for Sylvia to fully grasp, but even so, she couldn’t say she didn’t sympathize. For Nefer, dance was an expression of her innermost soul. That was how she could appeal to the deepest instincts of those who watched her. But it was a lonely path to travel. 
For Sylvia, on the other hand, song was merely a means to an end. It was the only way she had of grasping the freedom she desired so she could convey her existence to the world. To that end, she constantly polished her lyrics and art and never stopped working on broadening her knowledge. 
“Hmph. We’re not here to talk. Let’s finish this.” And with that, Nefer began to strike a new rhythm with her feet. 
At first, it was as delicate as a heartbeat, but it gradually picked up pace, becoming fiercer, faster, until in no time at all, her whole body was in motion. 
“Wow…” 
It wasn’t long before Sylvia could see the music. With Nefer’s every movement, nonexistent instruments reverberated around her, their pitch and timbre increasing in intensity, climbing ever higher in an inescapable crescendo. No doubt everyone in the audience found themselves caught up in that dance, too. 
This is going to be a problem… 
The overwhelming rhythm was filled with such emotion that it was impossible to pull away from it. Even if she were to close her eyes and block her ears, the movements would still be conveyed to her through minute vibrations in the air. Did she have anything in her inventory, Sylvia couldn’t help but wonder, that could withstand this onslaught? 
But no, that wouldn’t help here. It wasn’t her songs that were the problem. As Nefer had said, it was the singer herself who still needed development. 
What good does it do to be the world’s most popular singer if I can’t even do this…?! 
She cursed her inability, bracing herself with the Fólkvangr for her opponent’s next strike. Now wasn’t the time for regret or introspection. She had to do whatever she could, even if she was at an impossible disadvantage. 
But then, at that very moment, a nostalgic, refreshing melody welled up from the depths of her chest. 
It was the song she had listened to as a young child, the song that had come to form a bridge between herself and the outside world. 
It was only fragmentary, and she didn’t even know its name, but it was definitely that song. 
“…Ursula,” she remembered, the name slipping from her lips. 
Her songs possessed deep meaning. 
Familiar faces flashed across her vision one after another: Ursula and Petra, everyone in Rusalka, Minato, and Ayato, too. 
“Run, run! Let’s tear down our walls! Let’s surpass ourselves! Run, run!” 
Sylvia began to sing, her voice echoing across the stage. 
“…Tch!” 
Nefer’s eyes opened wide in surprise, but it wasn’t long until she broke into a fearless grin. 
The very next moment, she increased her tempo with her feet, hurtling toward Sylvia, buoyed by her intensifying dance. 
“Merua Lacasa!” 
“If thoughts alone can’t reach you, if wishes alone aren’t enough—” 
Sylvia, however, continued to sing, her song boosting her physical abilities as far as they would go. 
With a sudden flash, Nefer’s fist and Sylvia’s Fólkvangr collided, the two of them practically switching places. 
“—then I’ll go beyond my limits. I’ll keep pushing on!” 
Her perfect voice reverberated throughout the arena, when— 
“Neithnefer, crest broken.” 
“End of battle! Winner: Sylvia Lyyneheym!” 
The automated voice began to ring out as if in accompaniment but was quickly drowned out by the roaring cheers of the audience. 
“Phew…” 
Before she knew it, Sylvia found herself sinking to the ground, letting out a tired sigh. 
She had never before felt so drained after only one song. 
“Just how did you get your rhythm back…?” Nefer asked, her expression sullen. 
“I didn’t. I mean, it was far from perfect, right?” 

She had resolved to use this new song of hers back in the last match, but even then, her pitch and timing hadn’t been as good as they could have been. If everything were to go perfectly in the future, the effects of the song on her physical strength would no doubt be more than double what they had been this time. 
“I remembered something, is all: My songs aren’t just a means to an end… I’ve always used them to forge bonds with others. So I wasn’t fighting against your rhythm, Nefer; I accepted it… Well, not completely, I’ll admit, but still.” 
Sylvia flashed Nefer a strained smile, but her defeated opponent remained as stern as ever. 
“I see… I suppose we really aren’t compatible after all.” 
And with that, she turned her back on Sylvia, heading toward the gate. 
“Wait, Nefer!” the singer called out behind her. “Thank you. I feel like I’ve been able to take the next step forward now, thanks to you. It isn’t certain yet whether Orphelia will be my next opponent…but if she is, I’d like you to watch.” 
The dancer came to a stop, standing in silence for a long moment, before finally responding: 
“Very well. I’ll see just how far you can go.” 
She departed the stage with those brusque words, not once looking back. 
 
The chestnut brunette lay staring up at the ceiling from atop her bed. 
How long, she wondered, had it been since she was first brought to this facility? A few months…? No, more like half a year. Completely cut off from the outside world, she had no way to accurately measure the passage of time. At first, she had tried to count the number of meals brought to her, but there were times when she went without due to the numerous tests she was subjected to, and others when she found herself sleeping for long periods as a side effect of the medicine they gave her, so she had long since lost track. 
She had been given a nondescript private room, but for someone who had grown up in an orphanage living shoulder to shoulder with more people than she could count, she had more space now than she knew what to do with. She took three meals a day, and apart from not being able to leave her room, her life wasn’t particularly difficult. For someone whose rights had been completely sold off, her treatment was better than might have been expected. If there was anything to complain about, it was the sheer monotony of her surroundings—she didn’t have so much as a single flower to decorate her room. 
She had decided that no matter what happened to her, she would have no regrets. When she had learned that the orphanage’s debts had become so vast that some of the children would be taken as payment, she had put her own name forward. After all, she couldn’t let any of the younger children be taken, and those older than herself had already begun to earn money to contribute to the others. All she knew how to do, though, was take care of the flowers and plants. And so, she had reasoned, it wouldn’t be a huge burden on everyone else if she were to disappear. 
“I do wish I’d been able to say good-bye to her, though…” 
The face of her best friend, the naive young tomboy who often came to play with her at the orphanage, floated before her eyes. Whenever she found herself drifting off into her thoughts to pass the time, what came to mind wasn’t the other children at the orphanage or the sisters who ran it, but rather her rose-haired friend. She may have been clumsy and stubborn, but she was also gentler and more earnest than anyone the chestnut brunette had ever met and would undoubtedly be consumed with sadness and rage by her disappearance. If she’d had even a few minutes before she’d left, she would have said something to soothe her friend. But now all she could do was pray that she had forgotten her and was living a healthy, peaceful life of her own. 
After all, the girl knew she would never be able to leave this place. When she had first been brought to this facility, there had been many other children like herself. She didn’t have direct contact with anyone else, but when she had been taken to other areas for tests and the like, she had always caught sight of others who looked to be in the same situation she was. 
Recently, however, their number seemed to have decreased. Perhaps, she thought, the fact that her own tests and exams were becoming more frequent was a sign that there were fewer children available to them, no other subjects. But there was no way of knowing what had happened to them. 
Besides, she would probably be joining them herself before long. 
Just as her thoughts had taken her to that dark place, an air-window opened by the side of her room, and a voice devoid of emotion sounded through the room’s speakers: “Number Sixty-Six. Step outside.” 
“…Yes.” 
She sat up as instructed and stepped down from the bed. It was impossible to know when she would be called on. Sometimes they woke her up in the middle of the night, so today wasn’t too bad. 
Outside the room, she was met by several young women dressed in white lab coats who worked for the facility. 
“We’re transferring you. Follow me,” one of them said curtly, before leading the way. 
The girl followed the woman as ordered, but it wasn’t long before they entered an unfamiliar section of the facility. 
“You said I’m being transferred…but where?” she asked nervously, but there was no response. 
Eventually, they came to a large door, beyond which was what looked like an airfield with a small airship in its center. 
It was her first time outside in she didn’t know how long, and the chill air cut to her bones. It looked like winter. The skies were overcast, the cold, blustery wind disheveling her hair. 
And then— 
A young woman standing in front of the airship, of a similar age to the staff who had led her out here, flashed her a grin full of sharp, pointed teeth. 
“Kee-hee-hee-hee! Congratulations, Orphelia Landlufen! You have been chosen! By me! Come along, now! We’re going to my little fortress in Geneva… Now, to open the door to progress!” 
At the Sirius Dome— 
“Making her way through the east gate is Allekant Académie’s Hilda Jane Rowlands! Back in the preliminaries, Contestant Rowlands surprised us all by single-handedly destroying the urm-manadite core of an Orga Lux, but I wonder how that raw power of hers will fare against our reigning champion.” 
“A confrontation between these two exceptional contestants is certainly a fitting way to tie up the fifth round. To be honest, I can’t really guess who will come out on top here. Given that she’s also wielding an Orga Lux, I would normally say that Orphelia Landlufen has the edge here, and yet…” 
Sparing a wave and a smile for the cheering crowds, Hilda slowly made her way across the bridge leading to the stage. 
With each step, she came closer to transforming her dreams into reality, to forging the way forward into a new world. 
She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself as she used her newfound ability to slowly lower herself onto the stage. 
Waiting for her with her distinctive white hair and bloodred eyes, her bearing radiating sadness and resignation, was the supposed strongest Strega in all of recorded history. 
“Kee-hee-hee-hee! Dear me, if it hasn’t been a long time since we’ve seen each other face-to-face, Orphelia Landlufen. You look well.” 
“…” Orphelia, however, didn’t respond to Hilda’s greeting. 
“Oh, this won’t do. I’m practically your mother, in a way—the one who brought you back into this world. Aren’t you happy to see me?” 
Only after Hilda pulled an exaggerated mournful face of her own did Orphelia finally respond: “You’re no one to me… You’re the same as all the other poor souls whose fate has brought them before me: my opponent. That is all.” 
“Kee-hee-hee-hee! Fate, you say…? I never did quite follow what you were getting at, but now that I’ve been able to catch a glimpse of the other side, just like you have, I think I’m starting to get the picture.” 
At this, Orphelia’s eyebrow twitched. “I see… So you’ve thrown yourself into the waters of fate. How foolish.” 
“Foolish? What’s foolish about it? Is there any other way to experience it? To touch that world brimming with wisdom that transcends our own understanding? A universe where gods exist? Even if only for an instant, who wouldn’t want to glimpse that bounty for themselves?” 
The other side—the origin of mana. 
A world unlike her own. The cosmic abode of the gods. 
In the middle of her mana acceleration experiment, Hilda had seen it for herself and had felt its will. 
And yet the wall separating their two worlds was still insurmountable. At their current rate, it would be centuries at least before mankind learned how to overcome it. And that was as good as worthless, as far as she was concerned. What mattered most to her was what she could do during this life. 
“If you can still say that after seeing it with your own eyes…then there really is something wrong with you.” 
“Ooh, is that a compliment? Kee-hee-hee-hee! Excellent… But that won’t do, not at all. Oh dear, would you look at the time? I’ve let myself get carried away, and we haven’t even gotten to the main event yet. Why don’t we pick up this conversation while we duel?” 
After all, the match was due to begin in only a few moments. 
“…I have nothing to discuss with you.” 
“Kee-hee-hee-hee! There’s no need for that. I doubt all these people will understand us, but let’s make it a fun battle!” 
And with that, the two of them returned to their respective starting positions, and the automated voice rang out: 
“Round 5, Match 8—begin!” 
No sooner did the match get under way than shimmering tendrils of poison miasma emerged from the ground at Orphelia’s feet, rising into the air like smoke. 
Hilda merely stood there with her arms crossed, watching with a composed demeanor. 
There was no need to rush. After all, this wasn’t the kind of opponent who would launch into a surprise attack. 
“Right, there was something I’ve been meaning to ask you…,” she began when the timing felt right, simultaneously unleashing her raw power. 
With her tendrils of miasma, Orphelia pushed clean past that invisible mass of energy, altering its trajectory and bringing it crashing to the ground behind her with a massive impact. Unperturbed, Hilda created a second, then a third mass of power, but Orphelia effortlessly brushed them all aside. 
“Do you hate me, maybe…? Look, I may be a genius, but I’ve never really been good at reading other people’s thoughts. If I had been given what you have, I’d be thankful, not angry… But how about you?” 
As she spoke, Hilda accelerated yet more barrages of concentrated power—but Orphelia merely increased the intensity of her miasma, its rapidly multiplying tendrils swatting them away one by one. 
“No. I don’t hate you, nor I am grateful. I just feel…sorry for you.” 
With a violent burst of energy, Hilda shook off the arms of miasma that had come writhing toward her, slamming them down hard—and continued to increase the force she was exerting on them until they literally melted into the ground. Their twin abilities, it seemed, had canceled each other out. 
“Kee-hee-hee-hee! I see, I see! I can’t say I’ve ever really understood sympathy, either, but let’s put that aside. If you don’t hate me, then why did you leave?” 
As the two of them addressed each other from across the stage, their back-and-forth with their powers only continued to increase in speed and intensity. 
“…Because it was my fate.” 
“That’s just it, right there. I don’t mind that you’ve become such a fatalist, but you can’t put every little thing down to that same stale explanation. I’ll admit, it was our fault you went wild like that and ran off to Solnage. But you could have done literally anything after that. You could have taken your freedom. You could have even returned to that little orphanage of yours… Then again, I suppose the fact that you couldn’t control your miasma meant that most people wouldn’t want to accept you… But why on earth did you go and become Dirk Eberwein’s puppet? That’s what I can’t understand.” 
As they spoke, power collided with miasma, the twin forces viciously tearing into each other. While the audience may have been unable to witness the true extent of the exchange, the trembling of the air, the rapidly blowing wind, and the sparks of purple lightning that shot across the stage as their abilities interfered with one another were visible to all. 
“Wh-what’s going on here?! I’ve never seen anything like this! Is this the ferocity we should have expected pitting two Stregas of their unique abilities against each other? The stage looks like it’s collapsing around them! The defensive field is practically screaming under the pressure! And neither one of our contestants has so much as moved from their starting positions!” 
“The microphones are switched off, so we can’t pick up what they’re saying, but they certainly look like they’re discussing something down there. Don’t tell me they’re both still just warming up…” 
The basic principle underlying both Hilda’s and Orphelia’s abilities was one and the same, the only difference lying in how much energy they could manifest and what they did with it. Which meant that if they kept throwing barbs at each other from this distance, it was highly unlikely that either would be able to gain the upper hand. 
But that was fine. 
“I don’t serve Dirk Eberwein. I’m following my fate. Dirk Eberwein simply gave me the freedom to accept it. That’s why I’m with him…with them.” 
“Huh? What a load of nonsense! You possess all that power, and you’re happy just letting yourself be used by others? You’re happy surrendering your free will, giving up on everything, and wallowing in melancholy? You’re nothing more than an escapist, unable to face reality!” 
“…I’m surprised to hear that from you.” 
A hint of wrath seemed to work its way into Orphelia’s voice, and a huge, billowing arm of miasma materialized overhead a moment later, descending as if to crush her. But Hilda pushed it aside with a concentrated flow of power. 
“Kee-hee-hee-hee! What’s this? So there’s still some humanity left in you after all? But that’s no worry at all. And a bit of a relief. After all, you were just a prototype. Now that I’ve perfected the process with myself, there’s only one task left for you: to lose to me, as proof of my superiority!” Hilda raised both arms into the air as she finished speaking, directing an enormous flow of energy toward Orphelia. 
“Kur nu Gia.” 
Orphelia brought her tendrils of miasma together, before sending them flying directly toward her opponent. 
Midway between the two opponents, the turbid flow of power collided head-on with those arms of miasma, the two forces struggling against one another. It was a contest of raw strength, so powerful that even the air in the center of the stage was warping under the pressure. 
However, it was becoming increasingly clear that unless something were to change, neither would emerge victorious. After all, both Orphelia and Hilda possessed literally unlimited supplies of prana. 
Originally, the ultimate goal of Hilda’s Hercules Project had been the creation of artificial Genestella. That was based on her theory that Genestella weren’t humans who had adapted to the presence of mana, but rather those who had been transformed by it. If her theory was correct, she had reasoned, then it shouldn’t have been beyond the realm of possibility to create a Genestella a posteriori. Of course, there was no way that could be accomplished with the amount of mana normally present in the natural world—and so, through repeated trial and error, she had finally determined that exposing a child who hadn’t yet fully developed to a high energy state with a mana accelerator for a prolonged period of time was the most promising solution. A considerable number of individuals had been expended in the pursuit of that project, but thanks to her persistence, she had finally realized her first success: Orphelia. The only thing that had come as a surprise, excepting of course Orphelia’s own unique nature, was the fact that she had been overflowing with seemingly infinite prana. And it was this unexpected side effect that had prompted Hilda’s next hypothesis. 
It was common knowledge that mana had been brought to the Earth during the Invertia, but it was as yet unclear precisely how much now existed there. That was because the total amount visible to the sensors of scientists like herself seemed to increase with each passing year. In an attempt to explain this phenomenon, some researchers had theorized that the Invertia meteorites had opened one or more holes to another place and that it was through these holes that mana emerged. No one, however, had yet directly observed such a thing. 
Perhaps, Hilda wondered, her experiment had inadvertently reproduced the same phenomenon? It would, of course, have been much smaller in scale than the ones opened by the Invertia, but the effects seemed to be remarkably similar. Mana and prana had always had a close affinity with one another—although the prevailing view was that prana was the effect of changes brought about by mana acting on the human body. If one were to synthesize these various hypotheses, the logical assumption was that a hole had been opened in Orphelia’s body and the mana flowing out of it was being converted into prana. 
And when she had carried out the experiment once more using herself as the test subject, Hilda’s hunch had developed into certainty. She still hadn’t been able to observe any of these holes with her equipment, but she had unquestionably felt them inside her. It seemed that these holes weren’t something that existed within her physical body, but rather were linked to what made her her. 
In short, both Hilda and Orphelia possessed unlimited prana. And if they could both pour an endless stream of energy into their attacks, in theory, at least, the contest could go on forever—although in all likelihood, the stage would collapse around them first. 
That, however, was still just a theory. 
In any event, Hilda was certain she had found a way to break the equilibrium long before the stage risked being demolished. 
And at that moment— 
“Ugh…” 
Pain wormed its way onto Orphelia’s anguish-ridden countenance as she stumbled, losing her balance. 
With that, her poison tendrils broke through Hilda’s torrent of energy, completely dispersing it. 
Like a river breaking its banks, unseen energy began to surge uncontrollably—but no sooner did it do so than Orphelia activated the Gravisheath, using the Orga Lux to dam the flow as she retreated to the back of the stage. 
“Wh-what a development! Has Contestant Rowlands just emerged as the victor in this trial of strength?! No, hold on! More importantly, did she just make our reigning champion flinch?!” 
“Impossible… How can anyone be on the same level as Orphelia Landlufen…?” 
“Kee-hee-hee-hee! What do you think, Witch of Solitary Venom? I can’t say you look well!” Hilda called out, her tone of voice almost mocking. 
There was no question that Orphelia was more than worthy of her reputation as one of the strongest, if not the strongest, Stregas of all time. However, Hilda, who possessed perhaps the most detailed data on her in existence, knew also that her body was unable to withstand all that power. She had no idea why her opponent’s ability manifested itself in the form of miasma, but she knew that the poison was eating away at her flesh, too. Such an ailment could normally be controlled through medication, at least to some extent, but even so, if Orphelia maintained her previous level of output for too long, it would mean her own destruction. Hilda doubted her opponent would be able to use much more at all in her present condition. 
She, on the other hand, wasn’t held back by such a weakness. 
“Do you understand now? You’re irregular, a prototype. You can’t hope to win against the perfected version.” 
“…” 
Orphelia merely rose to her feet, staring down at the ground without responding. 
But that was fine, too. 
Hilda removed her broadsword-type Lux from its holder at her waist, activating it. 
“Well then, let’s finish this!” 
And with that, she began to approach her opponent. 
Aiming straight for her school crest, she struck upward with her blade, but Orphelia caught the blow with the Gravisheath. For a split second, the Orga Lux seemed to glow a pale shade of purple, but no sooner did Hilda notice that than a powerful force tried to crush her into the ground. 
She jumped backward before that concentrated burst of gravity could hit her, circling around her opponent’s left-hand side. 
Orphelia may have been able to block her straightforward lurch with the Gravisheath, but Hilda still had the advantage when it came to speed and techniques. Bouncing back from a blocked overhead strike, she immediately launched into a chain of consecutive diagonal lunges. 
“What a change in tempo! Who would have thought our contestants would go from that to this?! And just look how strong Rowlands is!” 
“Her movements are something else… Ah, right! They’re almost identical to those of the second-generation Master Swordsman Gilbert Premelin!” 
Zaharoula certainly had a sharp eye. Hilda had decided not to make use of these techniques until now, in the fifth round. To begin with, they hadn’t been necessary in her previous matches—but more than that, she had needed time to properly calibrate the Skill Installation Device. It had taken considerable effort, but she could now perfectly emulate the moves of the swordsman who had won the Lindvolus for himself back in his day. 
Nonetheless, Orphelia, though generally thought to be less skilled at close combat, was handling her sword surprisingly well. Her close-combat performance in her championship match against Sylvia Lyyneheym at the previous Lindvolus hadn’t been bad, but she had clearly improved considerably since then. If Hilda was being honest with herself, she hadn’t anticipated this development. 
On top of that, the Gravisheath was still a problem. 
Whenever she tried to pull away in the midst of combat, an incredibly powerful weight seemed to fall upon her. 
“Kee-hee-hee-hee! No matter what you do, victory will be mine!” 
She caught the ball of pressure bearing down on her with her power, crushing it out of existence. 
Orphelia, meanwhile, had retreated to a safe distance before swinging the Gravisheath and sending a tsunami-like wave of gravity surging toward her. Not allowing herself to be flustered, however, Hilda aimed her blade right into the center of the oncoming deluge, carving it clean in two as it swept around her. 
“You may be known as the strongest Strega in history, and you may have that Orga Lux of yours, but you’re no match for me. On top of that…you don’t seem to be very good at choosing your tools.” Hilda broke into a wide smirk as she bent down. “The Gravisheath is certainly powerful for an Orga Lux, but frankly speaking, its cost is too high. Your poison blood may be able to force it to submit, but it’s sheer stupidity to bleed yourself when you’re already clearly so weakened. I can hardly think of a worse combination of variables.” 
Despite Hilda’s words, however, Orphelia maintained her silence. 
“Well, it doesn’t really matter. Kee-hee-hee-hee!” 
With that, Hilda launched once more into a close-range attack. The best strategy would undoubtedly have been to prolong their war of attrition and wait for Orphelia to tire, but Hilda’s goal wasn’t just to win. She wanted to overwhelm her opponent, to prove her own superiority and the perfection of her experiment. And to that end, she wanted to bring the match to a dramatic conclusion. 
As Orphelia fought to keep her at bay with her weights of concentrated gravity, Hilda leaped within her range, releasing a sideways slash along with a burst of raw power. 
Orphelia rapidly brought the Gravisheath around to block the attack, but she had no way of countering Hilda’s burst of power. The blast was enough to send her tumbling backward through the air. No sooner did she come crashing to the ground than Hilda let loose with yet more masses of energy, but Orphelia saw it coming and broke into a run, dodging them all. The masses impacted behind her, carving huge swaths into the ground. 
“Hmm… You’re faster than I thought. But still!” 
Hilda unleashed a wall of power toward her opponent, barring her movement. 
Orphelia immediately spun around, trying to escape—but with a wave of Hilda’s arms, the walls expanded, closing her in. 
“Kee-hee-hee-hee! Like a rat in a trap!” 
The woman brought her arms high into the air, before forcefully swinging them all the way down. 
With Orphelia now trapped between those invisible walls, all that was left to do was crush her. 
“…” 
Her opponent stood in silence, perhaps having already resigned herself to her fate. 
“Now for the finale!” 
And yet— 
“Huh…?” 
At that moment, a wave of miasma swelled inside those invisible walls. 
“Oh?” 
In an instant, the walls exploded, the massed power she was bringing down on her opponent similarly thrown backward. 
“…That’s a little excessive, now,” she murmured in shock. “Just play nice and let me get this over with. If you keep using your abilities in this state, you’ll only make yourself suffer unnecessarily.” 
“…You understand nothing,” Orphelia murmured, only now speaking. “It’s impossible, no matter how much you want it. You don’t understand your own fate.” So saying, Orphelia plunged the Gravisheath into the ground in front of her. “Pain? Suffering? None of that matters. Even if my flesh were to melt or rot away, even if my blood were to run dry, it wouldn’t change anything. Small, inconsequential beings like you and I can’t challenge fate.” 
With a brilliant flash, a deep-purple light ran all the way through the stage. 
“—?! No…!” 
Hilda’s intuition alerted her to the danger. She leaped high into the air, using her power to hold herself in place. 
“Geshti Nanna.” 
With those words from Orphelia, a torrent of miasma erupted from the stage, immediately filling the entire field. It was as if an ancient forest that had lain dormant underground for years on end were slowly growing into untold thousands of trees all bristling up against one another. In short, it was impossible to resist. 
“K—! Kee-hee-hee-hee! Th-this is incredible!” 
Using her power to create footholds beneath her, Hilda continued to leap yet farther into the air, but the writhing branches of miasma below her kept snatching them away from her almost as soon as she could create them. 
Faced with no other option, she pushed back against the roiling mass below in an attempt to contain it. 
“Ngah?!” 
Having climbed as high as she could go, she found herself slamming headfirst into the ceiling of the protective gel that encased the stage. Since the protective gel absorbed the impact, she suffered little damage from the collision. Orphelia’s attack, however, was another matter. 
“Ah… Ah… Aaaaaaaaaah!” A deep-rooted scream surged from her as unbearable pain coursed through her body. 
As the miasma dissipated, Hilda found herself plummeting toward the ground. She used her power to cushion her fall just before she landed, but that was as much as she could muster. She could barely even concentrate. 
Orphelia slowly approached as Hilda lay facedown on the ground. 
“…This poison only inflicts pain. You won’t die.” 
“K—! Kee-hee-hee-hee! I think I would rather die than suffer this…! But…more importantly!” Though gasping in agony, she managed to pull herself up to lock eyes with her victorious opponent. “Your…your power… You’ve added your own abilities to your Orga Lux, haven’t you?! Kee-hee! Kee-hee-hee-hee! Wonderful! Who would have imagined?! Aaaaaah! It hurts! The pain!” 
Orphelia merely stared down at her, her crimson eyes filled with pity. 
And then, at her feet—directly in front of her—a thick tendril of miasma rose from the ground, so frail that it could have been the arm of a newborn. 
“This poison mirrors the effects of prana depletion. It isn’t life-threatening, but the greater your amount of prana, the stronger and longer the result. To someone like you, with unlimited prana…I wonder what it will do?” 
“Kee-hee-hee! Kee-hee-hee-hee! I see! So it’s revenge! Aaaaahhhhh! Wh-what a shame! I still have to…! I still haven’t…!” 
“…Sleep, Hilda Jane Rowlands.” 
With those words, the pain gripping her body relented—and she descended into pitch blackness.