Nanatsu no Maken ga Shihai suru - Volume 7 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Prelude

The combat league was a major attraction to begin with…and this time it took place right before an election, and the faculty had upped the money and prizes involved. The student body was positively foaming at the mouth.

The classrooms were converted to viewing chambers, with large projection crystals mounted in them, broadcasting in real time everything seen by the surveillance golems placed throughout the grounds. The lower-form prelim used the campus itself as the stage. In the halls outside the classrooms were long tables laden with snacks, and the audience could help themselves to food and drinks and freely roam the different viewing classrooms.

“Huh?! What’s your problem?”

“You want some?!”

Fights were breaking out before the prelim even began. Watch members were stepping in if things got out of hand, but this was typical Kimberly pandemonium—fights themselves were tolerated as long as they didn’t cross that line. Most students could heal their own wounds, so the school physician got called in only if someone seemed likely to die.

“Oh…my…myyy…”

The announcer’s booth was in a third-floor lecture hall. Master Garland, the sword arts instructor, was seated with a female student who looked positively enraptured. The prelim was due to start at any moment, and the heat in the room was rising. Those taking part were falling into a tense silence. The air on everyone’s skin crackled—this was gonna be intense.

“Aaah…be still. Stop the chatter; stop the brawling. Savor this hush.”

She was starting off slow. Like Roger Forster with broomsports, Glenda Saunders was a combat fanatic, one of the best commentators the student body had. Her opening speech echoed over the passionate crowds and throughout the school building.

“Kimberly mages, do you like fighting? I love it. I love it more than three meals a day, more than waking up before dawn and going back to bed, more than the cherry pie my mama used to make. I love seeing mages throwing down more than anything else in the world. Oh, you know I fight, myself. I fought yesterday and this morning, and if I’m being honest—five minutes ago. But sadly, there is but one of me, and that is not nearly enough.

“So please. Lend me your bodies! Like a fish stuffed in a pot of salt, let the fights permeate me morning, noon, and night. In return, I shall regale. The exploits of the fighters, their exertions, their schemes, their cunning, their failures, their oversights, their blunders—and the infinite victories and losses that result from them. I shall talk you through it all even if I have to chew off my own tongue to do so! I can always heal it back into place, and I likely won’t notice it’s gone.” She paused. “You know what this means. Even as I speak—the combat league is about to begiiiiiiin!”

With that, a cheer went up across the campus. The crystals in each classroom projected an image of the prelim start line with all the entrants stepping up to it. Glenda and Garland got right down to business.

“Okay, okay, okay! The second-years are off and running! They’re trying to find the treasures hidden around the campus grounds. No longer freshmen, can these kids make the most of the ten minutes before the third-years join them?”

“Doing that requires the knowledge base and critical-thinking skills necessary to accurately interpret the clues provided,” said Garland. “Students who thought the combat league was all about fighting will struggle here. Do they have a puzzle solver on their team?”

The prelim was a campus-wide treasure hunt. When the second-years set out, the first thing they encountered was a cluster of columns on the first floor, each covered in inscriptions.

The phrases on each inscription were different, but all were equally cryptic. Dean had his face up against one, scouring the contents. It read: Appears with the morning mist, arms wreathed around the needle. The place where they most gather.

“…Yo, Teresa! Any ideas?”

“At least attempt to think it over yourself before asking me.”

“No amount of thinking would solve this! Mist? Needles? What is it?!”

He tilted his head so dramatically, his torso went with it. Beside him, Rita was running her fingers over the words.

“…I think I know,” she said—softly, so the other teams wouldn’t hear. “We learned about them in magical biology. The clocknoks.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. He glared at the inscription again, keeping his voice low, too.

“Oh, right! So this is all stuff we’ve learned in class?”

“Even Kimberly’s not gonna put out riddles the students can’t solve. The bigger the clock, the more clocknoks gather…and the biggest clock on campus is the one on the west side. Let’s go, Teresa!”

Rita shouted that last part before running off. Teresa followed, genuinely glad they had her on the team. She didn’t really bother listening to lectures and had been just as confused by the riddle as Dean.

Some teams were stuck on the riddles, but there were several that sped off right away. Garland grinned.

“Several teams already moving in the right direction. Putting their education to good use, I see.”

“That’s true! But allowing progression if you simply paid attention in class? How benevolent! That’s hardly the Kimberly style! What’s going on, Instructor Garland? Are you transferring to Featherston next year?!”

“Bit of a harsh turn you took there. Rest assured, this is the combat league. Solving a riddle won’t get you anywhere if you don’t have the strength to back it up.”

They took the quickest route through the buildings, and less than three minutes after solving the riddle, Teresa’s team was approaching their first objective: the clock tower on the east side of the building—which had both hands pointed in entirely wrong directions.

“Oh, is that it?” Dean said. “Is that where—?”

“Dean, don’t!”

Rita grabbed the back of his robe, yanking him to a stop. He nearly fell over backward—and a massive beast landed right in front of his nose, wings flapping. It was more than twenty feet long, with an eagle’s head and wings and the body of a lion.

“KYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“Aughhh?!?!?!”

Dean’s scream was nearly as loud as the beast’s roar. Teresa slipped past him, eyes focused on the threat ahead.

“A griffin…,” Rita said, stepping forward to defend Dean. She took a spot next to Teressa, athame drawn. Hawklike eyes glared down at the three of them from far above.

“And they’ve hit the first obstacle! Good Lord. A griffin’s a bit much for second-years, Instructor Garland! Even I wouldn’t wanna solo a fully grown one!”

“Nobody says that you have to beat it. The beasts used here have a dulling spell cast on them, so they are just obstacles. Students are free to get past them by any means they please. This tests their judgment and adaptability.”

Garland never once took his eyes off the stream. This was a beast that could wipe a village off the face of the earth—how would inexperienced second-years handle the task? He couldn’t wait to find out.

“Dean, keep it together! You can’t afford to take your eyes off it!”

“Y-yeah! Right!”

Rita’s warning helped, and Dean managed to get his athame drawn. All three of them, even Teresa, began by observing it from a safe distance. It stood between them and the clock tower. Teresa started edging toward the griffin one step at a time, and it screeched at her when she crossed the twenty-yard mark, ready to attack if she got any closer. Clearly, it was guarding their destination.

“…No way we can win if we fight this thing,” Rita whispered, flummoxed. “So what can we do?”

Desperately charging in would get them wiped out, but if they just stood here looking at it, other students would overtake them. If they wanted to get through the prelim, they’d have to find a way past this griffin’s defense and reach the clock tower.

“…I’ll bait it.”

“Huh?”

“Y-yo!”

Teresa moved out from between them, a step ahead. She swung her athame down, lightly slicing her thigh open. Blood began dripping onto the ground, and her teammates both gulped.

“Whoa?!”

“T-Teresa!”

“Huff—”

And with that, Teresa stepped into the griffin’s range. The wound’s influence, perhaps? She was nowhere near her usual sprightly self. Her gait unsteady, she left a trail of blood in her wake.

“…KYOO…?”

The griffin watched her for a few moments, then leaned forward, reaching a forelimb toward her. She dodged the swing by a hairbreadth.

“…Gotcha hooked,” Teresa whispered.

“Ah. Nice moves,” Garland murmured, sounding impressed.

“Wow, Ms. Carste cut herself open and is bleeding all over! Looks like the griffin’s full attention is on her, too! What’s going on here, Instructor?”

“The way she’s moving speaks to a predator’s instincts. With the smell of blood in the air, she’s got its eyes locked on her. Like she’s a wounded animal.”

Glenda was well aware of all this, but it was her job to ensure the audience got it, too. Garland was here for just that, and he kept going.

“I suppose a good metaphor is a cat toy. Anyone who owns a cat knows how you move them makes a big difference in how interested the cat gets. What Ms. Carste is doing is an extension of that. The griffin can’t help but go after her.”

Still bleeding, Teresa was feebly limping away. She looked easy enough to catch—but despite that, she’d narrowly avoided the beast’s claws every time. The longer they went, the more focused the griffin was—and the greater her control over it. The older students in the audience were suitably impressed by her sacrificial decoy.

“KYOOOOO!”

With an ear-piercing roar, the griffin slammed its talons into the ground. Teresa dodged the beast easily—while making it look like a close call.

“…What a hassle,” she muttered.

With her true ability and the full range of her covert skills, she could easily slip past a single griffin. But right now, the whole school was watching every move she made, and she couldn’t do anything outside the standard range for a second-year. The result of that dilemma was this cat-toy lure.

“…!”

Unaware of that, but very clear on what she was doing for them—Dean punched himself in the nose. Blood gushed out. The sight of his own blood was a trigger he used to calm himself down.

“…Rita, let’s go. We can sneak by now.”

“Dean? But—”

“If it reacts, I’ll keep it on me. Not sure if the next clue will be anything I can get or remember, so you’re the best person to scope it… D-don’t worry—I’m an old hand with griffins.”

His athame hand was shaking, and his grip was very tight. His history with griffins was more trauma than expertise, but he was pushing through his fears and standing his ground. And that was the push Rita needed.

She stared straight ahead and measured the distance. Just under thirty yards to their goal. If the hint was another inscription, she’d need five to ten seconds to read it. She could be in and out in twenty seconds flat.

“…Ready.”

“Okay!”

Both kicked off the ground. Teresa had the griffin occupied, and they were clear on the way in. Dean put his back to the pillar, one eye on the griffin, while Rita quickly read the inscription.

“Twilight rainbow… Eight brushes… Got it!”

With that, she turned to leave—but then the griffin remembered its job. The manavian shook off Teresa’s temptation and came charging at them. They both flinched.

“…!”

“Come at me, then!”

If they turned and ran, they’d be finished—so both cast burst spells. The creature dodged one, but the second was aimed where it dodged. The burst of light robbed it of its sight.

“Go!”

Dean ran off. Rita followed, but her vision wasn’t as tunneled, so she spotted the griffin’s tail swinging down right where they were headed. It was seconds away from hitting Dean’s head.

“Look out above!” she cried.

“Huh?!”

He saw it quick enough but too late to block or dodge. Rita was too far behind to cover him, and there wasn’t time to cast a spell.

“…!”

The tail swung relentlessly down, demanding a split-second decision. Rita reached out her left arm—and something slithered out of her sleeve, wound itself around Dean’s waist, and yanked him back. The griffin’s tail sliced the air where he’d been standing. Rita’s hands caught Dean’s back, helping recover his balance, then she grabbed his hand, pulling him back into a run.

“…Uh, wow?”

“We’re good now! Moving out, Teresa!”

Teresa left the griffin’s rank, following her teammates wordlessly. It’d been close—but they had the second clue. The second-year team was on their way to the next destination.

“Um, was that some sort of whip up Ms. Appleton’s sleeve?”

“Must have been a tool of some kind. The prelim has rules against familiars and golems, but tools are fine.”

Garland was clearly deflecting the question, which bugged Glenda, but before she could press the point, he changed the subject.

“Either way, they’re the first past the initial goal. They’re a good team—certainly a little rough around the edges, but they’re making use of their strengths and compensating for one another’s weaknesses.”

“Yes, that griffin battle showed some quick thinking! Can they keep their lead and run away with it?”

“That’s another matter. We’ve almost hit the ten-minute mark—and the third-years will be hot on their heels.”

At the signal, the third-years dashed off with the Andrews team at the fore.

“Our moment ’as arrived! ’Ow long I ’ave waited!”

“The last respite you’ll get.”

While Rossi and Albright traded jabs, Andrews had his eye on the finish line.

“We’re aiming to be the top qualifiers—nothing lower than third place. Otherwise, what’s the point of forming this team?”

This might just be the prelim, but he had no intention of taking it easy. In his mind, this was the first real fight he’d had at Kimberly.

The difficulty had been adjusted, but the basic flow was the same—solve a riddle, get to the treasure. When they reached the inscribed pillars, Chela snorted.

“They’re serious about this? Stace, do you know the answer?”

“Of course I do! I’ll solve this in no time!”

Stacy stepped up, reading the problem. Nothing here was beyond Chela, but she wasn’t going to be taking point this time. Like Stacy’s servant, Fay, the ringlet girl was standing back, smiling and watching her half sister work.

They had a ten-minute delay, plus more hints than the second-years—and those hints were much harder to solve. But a year made all the difference. Katie’s team reached the clock tower not long after Teresa’s team had left it.

“…A griffin on guard,” said Pete. “Fully grown ones sure are imposing.”

“Oh, that one’s no problem. I’ll go play with it; you two check the clue.”

“You got it. Have fun!”

The boys went to look at the inscription, no doubts about the division of labor. Katie walked calmly toward the manavian, which looked rather unsure of itself—for the simple reason that Katie had already made contact with every griffin patrolling Kimberly.

“Ah-ha-ha-ha! Look, I’m riding it!”

“Oh, what a sight to behold!”

Led by a different clue to a clearing on the west side, Yuri was clinging to the back of a unicorn, the wind in his hair. Nanao was merrily running around after them. Like the griffin, this beast was meant to be a guard—but they were having fun with it instead. All on his own, Oliver glumly checked the inscription.

“You’re hurting its feelings,” he said with a sigh. “Okay, I’ve solved the clue! Let’s move on.”

Oblivious to the third-years’ hot pursuit, Teresa’s team had just gathered the third clue. They were running down the hall to the next destination.

“We’re making good progress!” Dean yelled. “The treasure can’t be far off!”

“Yep! No signs of other teams, either! We might be fir—”

But before Rita could finish, they heard footsteps behind. And by the time she turned to look—a tall boy had pulled up alongside. He glanced down at her stunned expression and grinned.

“’Sup, Rita! You’re going fast.”

“Greenwood?!”

“You must have taken the same hint! Getting past that griffin as second-years? You three are good!”

“Ms. A-Aalto…!”

Dean’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. But the gap between them was already growing. They were left in the dust.

“Sorry, we’re going ahead! If we meet in the main round, we won’t go easy on you!”

“Don’t push yourselves too hard,” Pete said. “Survival over victory. First law of Kimberly.”

And with that, they rounded the corner and were gone. The tables had turned so fast, it was a long time before any of the second-years spoke again.

The surveillance golems around campus all buzzed at once. On-screen, the remaining students slowed to a stop. Glenda’s voice rang out, marking the end of the fight.

“That’s all she wrote! Enough teams have claimed the treasure to fill the main roster, and the lower-form prelim is over. Sixteen teams made it through—so congrats! Extra accolades for the two second-year teams. Good fight!”

“Hmm…less balanced than I’d hoped,” Garland muttered. “Maybe we should have made it a fifteen-minute lead.”

Glenda started running down the list of qualifying teams, hyping them up for the main-league round in three days’ time.

“We’ve still got the main act, but for now—”

“We all qualified!”

They’d gathered in a lounge after the prelim and were tapping flagons of cider. Once their throats were moistened, Katie let out a sigh of relief.

“I am so glad the prelim didn’t have any direct combat. This sort of challenge is far more my speed.”

“True,” Guy groaned. “Not sure we’d have made the cut in a normal fight.”

“Knowledge and observation skills are part of your power,” Pete argued. “Those who neglect their studies in favor of fighting pay the price.”

“Conundrums, creatures, and chases! A veritable smorgasbord!” There was no question that Nanao had thoroughly enjoyed herself.

Smiling at that, Chela steered the topic to other matters.

“The younger kids did very well. Two second-year teams qualified—and I recognized every name on one of them.”

“Dean, Rita, and Teresa, right? They’re amazing! They almost beat us to it!”

“Rita knows her stuff. Dedicated, hard-working, never gives up. I can’t rest on my laurels.”

Katie and Guy seized the opportunity to lavish praise on the younger students, although the former had one eye on a corner of the room. While everyone else was feeling festive, Chela’s teammates, Stacy and Fay, were resting quietly.

“Hmm,” Katie grumbled. “They could just come sit with us.”

“I did ask them to. But…reticence is still winning out.”

“Eh, they can suit themselves. We are rivals here. We might have to fight each other next time, so…distancing themselves ain’t the worst idea.”

Guy looked momentarily serious, and Katie flinched.

“…Urgh, now that I’m thinking about it—I might have to fight Oliver or Chela!”

“If it’s a round robin, definitely,” said Chela. “But I think that would be a bit too many fights. Each battle will last far longer than individual duels do, so I don’t think we’ll see a standard format until the finals.”

“Well, either way, we’ll solve that problem when we hit it. Oliver, give us a hint! How do we beat you?”

“Don’t ask me that… But if you’re taking this seriously, I promise not to hold back.”

“We can hold back…if you agree to split the fifty million belc later.”

“Guy! No cheating!”

Katie grabbed his cheek and pulled. Yuri spotted the uproar from the doorway and came running over.

“Sorry,” he said. “You guys were nice enough to invite me, but here I manage to show up late! Any seats left?”

“You can grab one from another table—but, Chela, maybe it’s time?”

Oliver glanced down the room, and Chela nodded, rising to her feet.

“Fair enough,” she said. “You may take my chair, Mr. Leik. I’ll head back to Stace’s table. I did get permission to stop by, but she’ll start sulking if I stay longer.”

“Go have fun!”

“Tell them to have tea with us sometime!”

Guy and Katie waved her off, and Chela sailed over to her team with her conscience clear. She put great emphasis on friendship, and the others had learned it was best to give her a push at times like this. Chela was soon deep in conversation with Stacy, and Yuri took her vacated seat.

“How did it feel, Yuri? Teaming up with our best and brightest,” said Guy.

“I just love solving puzzles! They can keep that stuff coming. No need to leave those in the prelims! Let’s hope the main round is every bit as fun.”

Yuri leaned back in his chair, basking in the afterglow, excited for what lay ahead. But Oliver had his chin in his hand.

“The three teams here, the second-year team we mentioned earlier, and Rossi’s team—who naturally made it through the prelim. We know plenty about five of the sixteen teams. So we’ll need to focus our efforts on the remaining eleven—”

But as he spoke, mouths opened on several walls and began talking. A message from Garland, speaking as the combat league administrator. His voice echoed through every room and corridor across the campus.

“Main-round teams, the format is now set. The first match will be Team Liebert, Team Mistral, Team Ames, and Team Horn. Details are posted on the bulletin boards, so make sure you read up on them. I’ll repeat. The first match will be—”

Oliver and his teammates were listening quietly, mildly relieved they weren’t up against their friends—but that also meant all three teams were unknowns.

“As the words leave my mouth,” he said with a sigh. “We know next to nothing about those teams. There’s no telling what’ll come at us…”

“That’s the full list of lower-form prelim qualifiers, combined with their prior histories.”

There was a bundle in front of everyone present. Full data on sixteen teams and forty-eight students less than half an hour after the prelim ended. Watch members gathered in their headquarters, quietly reading through the list. The first to break the silence was one of the president’s aides, Lesedi Ingwe.

“Not bad. There was some dumb luck in the prelim, but teams with true talent all made it through. That makes things easier to read.”

“Yeah. Ms. Hibiya’s team, Ms. McFarlane’s team, and Mr. Andrews’s team. At a glance, they’re the three most viable candidates.”

Tim Linton was dressed as an adorable girl but scowling down at the portfolios. The other members nodded at his prediction and turned their attention elsewhere.

“And of those three, who can’t we count on?”

“No one on the Andrews team. Also rule out the transfer student, Mr. Leik.”

“Andrews and Albright hail from hard-core conservative families. Given their positions, they’re not able to swing our way.”

“Let’s look past them to the other teams. This is a free-for-all; no guarantee the top candidates will make it through.”

“Five of them are clear Watch supporters, and four are old council. The remaining four aren’t as obvious…so we gotta assume two or three are against us. Ain’t no way Leoncio’s side don’t have their hands in that.”

The Watch members had little time, so they were soon looking for concrete actions. Godfrey folded his arms, observing them as they worked.

“…If all the teams just fight fair and square, there’s little we can do.”

Footage of past fights was playing on-screen with Glenda’s commentary. The celebration wrapped up early, and they dispersed, each team making final preparations for the main round in three days’ time. Yuri was with Oliver and Nanao in a suitable classroom warming up—but stealing frequent glances at the hall.

“Still no signs of Rivermoore,” Yuri observed.

“He might show up early, but likely not until the upper-form leagues begin. No need to keep your eyes peeled—if he shows up, the buzz will reach us.”

Oliver had an athame in one hand and was running through Lanoff stances. Half the reason he’d settled on this team was to prevent Yuri from making a suicide run, so he was certainly banking on Rivermoore showing his face. Even so—imagining the two of them together sent a chill down his spine. He swung his blade even harder, trying to shake that off.

“…Put that aside, and let’s focus on the main round. Nanao and I have spent the last two years in the limelight, so our styles are relatively well-known. So people will have strategies ready for us. No matter what these battles hold, it won’t be easy for us.”

“Which is exciting!”

“My heart soars anew!”

His companions were like children before a holiday. He couldn’t help but smile—and remember how much work they’d all put in already.

“First, we need to know your strengths.” This had been Oliver’s opener.

The newly minted team had gathered in a small room on the labyrinth’s first layer.

Yuri was smiling brightly, but he offered no response. He didn’t seem to realize that statement was meant for him.

“Mm? Wait, whose?”

“Leik, please. Yours. We can’t strategize if we don’t know what our team can do. If you’re with us, we need to have a thorough grasp of your strengths and weaknesses.”

Oliver had been moving closer and closer, leaning in, and Yuri threw up both hands to hold him back.

“I’m happy to answer, but…how? I mean, we’ve run the labyrinth together. Haven’t you basically seen everything I’m capable of?”

“Obviously I’ve analyzed what you showed me there. Your magic output is high across the board, you excel at snap decisions and adaptability, yet your body and blade are astonishingly free of any conventions. At the same time, you aren’t intentionally ignoring the foundations like Rossi was. I have no idea what training could make a mage like you, but if I had to put a name to my impression—you’re a feral mage.”

“Ah-ha-ha-ha! Okay, yeah, that works for me.”

“My impression is much the same. You smell of the deep woods, Yuri. I know not where you hail from, but I sense you spent your tender years at one with the mountains.”

Nanao’s take drew a quiet smile out of Yuri.

“…It was a peaceful upbringing. My parents were village mages in the countryside. I don’t remember them ever teaching me things—not, like, knowledge or technique. Like Nanao says, the hills I ran through were likely my real teachers,” Yuri explained. “I was just having fun, but in hindsight, it was really dangerous. All kinds of magical creatures live out there, and I imagine I nearly died several times on any given day. But y’know—I was never once scared. I wonder why not?”

Yuri looked puzzled. Oliver was already analyzing the transfer student’s past as if he was deciphering a tome written in an unknown tongue.

“Minimal knowledge passed through written or oral sources, training with the land itself as a mentor. Not entirely unheard of, but…probably more of an Azian concept, really.”

“I have tried wilderness survival training myself. ’Tis well suited to honing the heart and mind.”

Nanao had her arms folded, nodding. Rather than train to a purpose, placing yourself at the mercy of the environment might well cultivate body and soul. If this was indeed Yuri’s background, Oliver now had a hazy image of it—but since they were teammates, he required clarity.

“We’ve discussed this before, but let’s try one more time. When we were ambushed on the second layer, there were unseen enemies hidden in the brush, and you said, ‘I asked.’ Who—or what—did you ask?”

“Hmm, that’s hard to explain. How can I get it across?”

Yuri closed his eyes, thinking. After a long silence, he pointed at nothing in particular.

“For example…let’s say there’s a tree growing there and someone lurking in the shadows behind it. Naturally, I can’t see them. But the tree knows there’s someone hiding behind it. Then I come along and ask if there’s anyone back there—and I get a hazy answer back. Or feel like I do.”

“So…you’re communing with plants? Or some sort of elemental harbored within them?”

“Um, am I? Neither of those seems quite right.”

Yuri had his head buried in his hands, clearly trying to put the inexplicable into words.

Oliver changed tactics. “So how does it work in man-made environments? Do you still get answers?”

“Depends on the thing. Sometimes it comes right back; other times they’re stubbornly silent. But—if mages have directly worked on an object, it’ll most likely ignore my questions. I wonder why?”

Yet more questions, but before Yuri could ponder further, Oliver put up a hand to stop him. No use making his head spin.

“That’s enough thinking for now. I’ve got a few hypotheses, but they’re difficult to verify here. Let’s call that good enough—and sorry to make this an interrogation, Leik.”

“? What’s there to be sorry for? If you’ve got a mystery before you, prodding it is only natural. I’m kinda thrilled to be a mystery myself for a change!”

Back to his usual smile, Yuri clapped Oliver on the shoulder.

“Let’s move on,” Oliver said, wincing. “Sword arts and spellology classes don’t pair us up with the same partners all that often—but that’s really the fastest way to get to know your strengths.”

With that, he drew his athame. Yuri got it right away and nodded.

“So we duel? Me and you or me and Nanao?”

“Six rounds with each. For rules, let’s go spells and blades…”

The training that followed steadily turned the three mages into an actual team. It was hardly a flawless outcome, but Oliver knew they’d done what they could in the time allotted. They were not going into the day lacking. Which was why—

“That’s how you two should be.”

Oliver smiled approvingly. It was only right that his teammates approach the free-for-all expectant and excited. Teaming with promising pals, preparing yourselves appropriately—all that was left was to have fun. No matter what other motives swirled in the background the league was about testing your skills. Not risking your lives.

As Oliver got his mind on the right track, Nanao turned toward him, looking proud.

“How can my heart not sing? Every team in this has made ready, just as we have. What schemes will they bring? What techniques and spells will they unveil? And how will we respond to it all? How could such speculation ever cease to thrill?”

A towering foe brought equally lofty joy. Nanao Hibiya was a dyed-in-the-wool warrior by nature, something that felt like the sun scorching Oliver’s brow. He might not ever be like her—but at the least, he would strive to be worthy of standing at her side.

And indeed, they were not the only team getting ready. To ensure their victory in the main round, combat league participants did everything they could. And to teams deemed ahead of time to be at a disadvantage, that process was all the more urgent.

In a remote section of the labyrinth’s first layer—the quiet, wandering path—a male student stood, back to a stone wall lit by the dim glow of crystalline lanterns. By his tie, he was a third-year—with his upturned nose and hair dyed partly purple, he cut a distinctive figure.

“…Ah, you’ve arrived.”

Hearing wings flap in front of him, the boy tore his eyes off the ground. Two bats flitted out of the night, followed by several silent figures: three to the right, three to the left. The bats were the boy’s familiars, and they landed on his outstretched index fingers.

“A real thrill to have you. Please relax—if you can. We are enemies here.”

“If you’re aware, then don’t mince words. State your business, Mistral.”

There came a low growl from the leader of the pack on the right, a boy hidden below a hood. He was unusually large, with a composure like he had one foot in the upper forms—but his tie, too, was a third-year’s.

Mistral shrugged at the larger boy’s glare. “So eager, Mr. Liebert. You know full well what I intend. You’ve seen the brackets for the main round.”

With that, he crossed his legs and plopped himself down on the ground. His eyes raked across the half dozen shadows before him.

“Be honest,” he said. “Can you win? Against any of us?”

The questions were thrown like daggers. One figure cast back their hood: a girl, her eyes hidden behind long bangs. She spoke in a murmur.

“If the flow goes our way…we might…have a chance.”

“Correct, Ms. Ames,” Mistral replied, his lips curling in a sardonic smirk. “And shall I define the word flow for us all? You intend to wait until Ms. Hibiya’s team has been exhausted by your opposition. When they are most tired, you seize your chance to dive in and cast your nets. The particulars may vary, but that’s the gist, I’m sure.”

He received only silence in response.

“I agree,” Mistral spat. “Every one of us is planning the same thing. But where will that get us? Not one of us intends to fight them for real. There’ll be no combat, just short straws drawn, worn down by attrition, a sight to shame us all. The anticipation makes me weep.”

“…Your point being, Mistral?” Growing tired of this spite, Liebert cut to the chase. But as he did—a voice came from behind.

“If all roads lead to shame—”

“—then let us embrace disgrace.”

Mistral excepted, all present spun around. Five spread out, athame drawn—and one did not hesitate, drawing into a lunge, her blade stopping just before the skin of the intruder’s throat.

“Oh? Oh! Quite the reflexes, Ms. Ames.”

“Scary stuff! Someone was hiding their skills. You’ve not shown that in class!”

The figure cackled even with her blade to their jugular—and the exact same voice echoed from the figure staring down Liebert’s sights. Six pairs of eyes widened in surprise. Before them stood two identical figures—each with the same face as the boy they’d been speaking to.

“Hackles down. Sorry for the shock, but I’ve kept my word. I came here alone.”

The seated Mistral cackled.

Liebert compared those words with the contradiction before him, examining each in turn.

“A transformation…? No, this is—”

“More of a splinter, I imagine,” Ames whispered. “But at an exceedingly high level. So much so, I can hardly be sure.”

As their minds caught up, the standing Mistrals spoke in turn.

“Since I’m suggesting this strat, I figured I oughtta show my cards.”

“These ain’t too shabby, are they? A little family secret.”

Ames had yet to lower her athame. Each Mistral looked identical. Each sounded identical. Like a haunting dream during a troubled sleep. Liebert furrowed his brow, but the issue at stake was not the spookiness of the skill but the simple fact that he was observing them from point-blank range yet could not begin to tell which Mistral was real. The darkness around them likely helped, but even so—this was downright uncanny.

“I’m sure each of you has a trick or two up your sleeve. Keep what you must, but share what you can.”

“We can’t very well work together if we don’t know what we each can do.”

At that phrase, Ames finally retracted her blade. She took a few steps toward her companions.

“The three of us join forces and throw everything at Ms. Hibiya’s team,” she said. “That’s your suggestion—or the essence of it.”

“Battin’ down the stars is the advantage of a free-for-all. We know her team’s a powerhouse, and that alone forces the match into one pattern—a deeply sad game of hide-and-seek.”

“So why waste that time? What use is us yanking the rugs out from under one another? This is not a team we can defeat on those terms!”

The standing Mistrals were speaking in turn again, and the one by the wall finished the speech.

“First, we swear an oath. Until Ms. Hibiya’s team is eliminated, none of us attacks one another. Nothing gained in refusing that—unless you don’t want to win.”

His voice grew extra harsh on that last phrase, and it drew a long, studied silence.

After some thought, Liebert was the first to speak.

“An informal alliance, then. If we were all on board, the match would begin as three-on-one. And the plan would be obvious to all. Will it earn us Master Garland’s enmity?”

“Holding back or throwing a match assuredly would. But look at it this way—our plan is the exact opposite.”

“This format is all about gunning for the favored team. We’re simply making that the crux of our plan.”

“Fighting all out, with every tactic we can. What is there to decry?”

The Mistrals sounded sure of themselves. Another silence followed.

“…Allow me to clarify,” Ames said. “The moment Ms. Hibiya’s team is out of the running, we become foes once more. Am I correct in that assumption?”

“You got it in one, Ms. Ames.”

“From that point on, we fight one another.”

“Anything goes! Feel free to team up once more and eliminate my team next.”

All three Mistrals laughed aloud.

Liebert snorted. “No promises post our initial goal. Fair enough. But our interests do align until that point.”

Only then did he sheath his athame. His eyes flicked to each of his teammates and got a brief nod in return.

“I’m a classical golem dispatcher. What I can do varies by the terrain and ground type. Assume I do a lot of delegating.”

Once on board, he wasted no time in describing his style. When he glanced toward Ames, she nodded and said her piece.

“…I’ve been put through the paces of both Lanoff and Rizett. If the terrain is sufficiently cluttered…no matter who I’m fighting, I…should be able to manage effective hit-and-away tactics.”

“Dive on in and get out quick, mm? Against Ms. Hibiya and Mr. Horn?”

“I make no promises. But…there is little I can’t do. If you need someone filling in the gaps in a strategy, I can make myself useful.”

A bolder offer than he’d expected—Liebert certainly seemed surprised.

With that, the three teams were allied—and the three Mistrals grinned.

“Now that—”

“—is more like it.”

“Bring it on!”

Their discussion began in earnest with them concocting a plan to take down the biggest prey.