CHAPTER 4
The Tyrant
The lower forms’ league matches proceeded without a hitch, and the next day was the long-awaited upper-form prelim. The screens showed the fourth- and fifth-years at the start point on the labyrinth’s first layer, and Glenda was so worked up, you’d think they were in the main rounds already.
“The underclassmen showed their stuff, but now it’s time for the upper-form league! The prelim round will be tried-and-true, a labyrinth trail run! They’ll be starting on the first layer and heading for a goal on the third! The fourth-years get a five-minute head start!”
“We decided this is simply the best means of judging overall ability. Unlike the lower forms, at this point, teams have not yet been formed. Upperclassmen shouldn’t need any help to get through something like this. The head start is only five minutes because like it or not, the gap between older students just gets that much closer. Although we are holding separate leagues for fourth- and fifth-years and sixth- and seventh-years.”
“The fourth-years are racing across the quiet, wandering path like it’s their own front yard! Nobody even needs to think about what pattern the paths have taken—their bodies already know! But this is the combat league! This may only be the first layer, but don’t think you’re getting through it humming a merry tune!”
Glenda was not wrong. The lead group was making swift work of the floor until they hit a room where five passages converged—and there they stopped. Where the exit should have been was a strange spiral tube, the whole thing writhing downward.
“Damn, a cave golem?”
“Can’t just bulldoze through that.”
The walls were swarming with golems and bristling with magic traps. The students grumbled—but they couldn’t stop here. Each drew their athame and threw themselves into the obstacle before them.
In the stands, Nanao was pointing excitedly at the screen.
“Oliver! ’Tis the cave we passed through!”
“So it is. With the help of President Godfrey…”
Oliver nodded, vivid memories of their pursuit of Enrico and the captive Pete flowing through his mind. It had nearly cost them their lives, but that was nothing compared to the cave golem the upperclassmen were handling. Golems and traps positively teeming everywhere, the path itself roiling and coiling in all directions, the very ground beneath their feet unreliable. Could he and Nanao make it through even today?
“…If the first layer’s already this bad, the upper-form leagues are certainly earning their name,” Chela murmured.
“Gosh…” Katie gasped. “How bad is the second layer?”
And what followed was every bit as bad as they feared.
As the fourth- and fifth-year leaders made it out of the cave golem onto the second layer, they found the bustling forest covered in a red-tinged white fog.
“Erk.”
“…Hoo boy.”
Even upperclassmen came up short, clapping their hands over their mouths and noses. The forest seemed foggy because the air was unclean. And the source of this contamination was the immense amounts of pollen produced by the second layer’s magiflora. Naturally, this was hardly harmless—at this density, plunging into it unprepared would leave you too intoxicated to stand in mere seconds.
“How horrid. Even at peak season, it doesn’t get this bad.”
“You breathe right, you can avoid the pollen. But with visibility this lousy…”
“Ain’t nobody going fast here.”
Everyone was grumbling about the conditions—but through the pollen fog, they could hear things stirring, followed by low growls. Sensing further obstacles, they drew their athame.
“And of course there’s beasts out there!”
“Please take the lead!”
“You first!”
No one wanted to be first into the cloud, but soon enough, they’d all plunged in. Beset on all sides by beasts whose forms they could not even discern.
“The leaders plunge into the second layer! Pollen so thick, they can’t even see! What a nightmare!”
“It may seem like a bad joke, but think of it as good training for poor weather. We worked closely with Instructor Holzwirt to create these conditions. It requires proper breathing techniques to filter out the airborne poison and finesse to maintain that while fighting off magical beasts. Both vital skills on the Gnostic hunts.”
“Sound logic doesn’t make it suck any less! But our upperclassmen don’t mess around. For all the swearing, they’re forging right on through! What a sight! You realize this right here is why people dismiss us as just a Gnostic Hunter training school.”
“Hey, now.”
Glenda was trash-talking her own school, and Garland’s protests weren’t all that strong. The audience was laughing out loud. This was the nature of Kimberly, just as it had been when Garland himself was a student here.
Unimaginably harsh conditions—and the upperclassmen making quick work of it, confident in their actions. The underclassmen in the audience couldn’t take their eyes off it.
“Ha-choo! Just watching this is making me sneeze,” Guy grumbled.
“Ah-ha-ha!” Yuri laughed. “Me too, me too.”
“Breathing techniques to eliminate poison…,” Pete said. “Oliver, can you do that?”
“I can, but when the toxins are that thick, it’s hard to completely filter them. The fundamentals are just like the Perfume. You want to get through the pollen as fast as you can, but if you pick up the pace too fast, you’ll get out of breath and be unable to maintain the technique. It’s a tricky balance.”
“If body, technique, and strength aren’t aligned, you’ll suffer for it. I’d be just fine, of course.”
This came from a golden-haired girl stepping up beside them. Oliver glanced her way.
“Ms. Cornwallis. Belated congratulations on reaching the finals.”
“Don’t be too hasty. We’re rivals now. And let me assure you—this time, we’ll win.”
Stacy pointed at him dramatically, and the servant behind her—Fay Willock—sighed.
“I said, don’t start a fight… Sorry, Mr. Horn. We watched your battle and were both suitably impressed from start to finish.”
“I wasn’t impressed. I can do everything he did!”
“Don’t, Stacy,” Chela said gently. “Forgive her, Oliver. She just can’t help but act like this before anyone she admires.”
Chela was on Stacy and Fay’s team for the duration of the league. Aware that she and Stacy were estranged half sisters, Oliver was just happy to see their relationship improving.
And her reproach did soften Stacy’s tone a tad bit. She stepped closer to Oliver.
“You and Hibiya are one thing, but tell your transfer student to take the finals seriously,” Stacy murmured, one eye on Yuri. “He’s so shifty, it’s positively vexing. Or is that the intent? He has secrets up his sleeve?”
“……Make of it what you will.”
A very evasive answer. He’d just lectured Yuri on that exact thing, so she had a point. Stacy frowned, but before she could say anything else, Oliver turned the topic back to the match in progress.
“The leaders reached the end of the second layer. Almost at the climax.”
“Oh.”
“Huh?”
The end of the second layer—the Battle of Hell’s Armies. A place the older students knew like the back of their hand—but today, they reacted like they’d never been here before. Two bone armies stood facing each other—infantry, cavalry, bestalry—the forces stretched as far as the eye could see. The scale was overwhelming, clearly an order of magnitude larger than ever before.
As the leaders reached the battlefield, gongs clattered, signaling the start of war. Both armies lurched into action. Beast riders left dust in their wake, mounted knights wheeled around the flanks, and the foot soldiers trudged inexorably down the middle like a mobile barricade. The fourth- and fifth-year students gaped at it from the sidelines.
“Hot damn! How many spartoi are there?”
“Might be nearly ten thousand. Definitely the most I’ve ever seen here.”
“Are we supposed to win? We’ll need numbers…”
“Don’t worry—there are more inbound,” one student said, glancing over their shoulder.
A moment later, another group of students emerged from the forest—quite a large one at more than thirty strong.
“…We’d better pick a plan fast,” one girl said, rolling her eyes. “That’ll force the stragglers to hook themselves to it.”
“Leader gets to choose our strat. Maybe take down those ones first, then attack the ones over there, that sorta thing. Better make it snappy.”
“Yeah. You want a chance to shine, right, candidate?”
The group looked to the front of the pack, where a fifth-year student was fussily wiping the pollen off his face with a handkerchief.
Not one to let that request pass, Percival Whalley drew his athame.
“Very well,” he said. “Do as I say, pawns.”
After a bit of prep, the fourth- and fifth-years waded into the unprecedented melee. Split into several squads, they began slicing their way through the skeletal forces. Oliver watched avidly from the stands. He’d assumed they’d be all out for themselves, but each was playing their part—delaying teams, divergence tactics, and surprise attacks abounded, all well-coordinated.
“…A pretty orthodox strategy. Someone’s in command.”
“Likely Mr. Whalley,” Chela said. “He and his pack were right at the front of that lead party.”
Oliver nodded. The prelim allowed for ad hoc group play, and anyone who wanted to take the reins on a task like this would need to have maintained a prominent position in the advance guard. Having a solid number of your own supporters around you was equally ideal. Whalley hadn’t slacked on that front, but Chela’s praise didn’t stop there.
“He’s a skilled leader. Perhaps he’s the type who shines when in command of a large-scale battle rather than as an individual combatant. A rare caliber of mage.”
“But he arranged this in advance, right?” said Guy. “Naturally, they’re falling in line.”
“We’re including that planning in our appraisal,” Oliver replied. “Convincing students from this school to fall in line with your plans is itself a considerable challenge. Just imagine if you had to convince, say, Rossi and Albright?”
“That’d be rough. I think I’d rather tame a griffin,” Guy groaned.
The battle raged on, and the fourth- and fifth-years were getting steadily closer to the enemy general. Whalley’s orders were controlling the flow, and any students who arrived late no longer had any way to interfere. There were likely several Watch supporters in the prelim, but in these years, at this stage, Leoncio’s faction clearly had the upper hand.
“And that’s all she wrote! The full quota crossed the finish line, and the prelim is no more! Congrats to anyone who made it to the main round. If you didn’t quite make the cut, throw yourselves to your lamentations! Cry and wail away, for you have only your own inadequacies to blame!”
As the last student crossed the third-layer finish line, Glenda sounded the end of the contest. She showed no mercy no matter what year her subjects were in. The losers swore under their breaths and retreated, but she spared not a glance in their direction.
“They’ve gotta rework the course a bit, but in two hours’ time, the sixth- and seventh-year prelim will be upon us! The core rules are the same, but the course difficulty is way higher! You know we’re gonna see what Kimberly’s best and brightest can really do!”
Two hours later, the sixth- and seventh-year students were on the first layer, ready for the prelim to kick off. Where the younger members of the upper forms had been nakedly competitive, the older members were comparatively subdued. Some even had pleasant smiles—but arguably, that just meant they were all so used to mortal combat that they needed no prior preparation. Surviving that long in this crucible would forge your mind into burnished steel.
“Don’t assume a prelim will be easy,” came a voice.
The speaker was perhaps the top student in the top year—the student body president, Alvin Godfrey. He was intentionally projecting his voice, making sure he was heard by everyone present—not just the students around him.
“Strike that—assume the worst. Don’t get blasé and waltz in like this’ll just be a few steps harder than what the fourth- and fifth-years faced.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Our teachers are never not reprehensible.”
Tim Linton and Lesedi Ingwe were nodding…and paying close attention to the next group over. Their main rivals—Leoncio’s faction. Every bit as big a threat as whatever the faculty had waiting for them. Rules against direct interference were but tissue paper for students their age.
Catching their glares, Leoncio merely snorted, but the elf next to him sniggered.
“Don’t raise your hackles, Lesedi,” she said. “We won’t interfere. The rules say we can’t!”
“I ain’t dumb enough to expect you of all people to become law-abiding. You make one false move, I’ll shoot to kill. That’s that.”
Lesedi turned away, clearly done talking. If anyone ignored the rules and attacked, fighting back was allowed—if they chose to play it that way, this prelim could easily turn into an all-out war. Still, no one would actually benefit from that, so currently the two main powers were clustered around their respective leaders, keeping each other in check.
But even as the Watch glowered at their foes, a witch with bangs over one eye popped up beside them.
“Seek the largest tree for shelter,” she said. “Mind if I join you?”
“Yeah, you do that,” Lesedi replied, nodding. “You’re a Watch rep. Don’t want you accidentally dropping out here.”
That worked for Vera Miligan, who quickly joined their group. As a candidate for the presidency, she was a prime target for interference—and having Godfrey’s crew around her would make a huge difference in preventing that.
As each group tucked more people under their wings, Tim snorted.
“We group up like this, it ain’t even worth trying to trip each other.”
“That’s not all the president’s concerned about,” Miligan offered. “There are worse—”
She broke off, spinning around. All eyes present converged on a single point: a seventh-year dressed in clerical vestments.
“Such hostility,” he said. “You’re still at one another’s throats?”
“…There’s your goal, Leik,” Oliver said.
In the audience, they’d seen the warlock serenely join the line of older students waiting for the run to start. Yuri was up on his feet, his eyes feasting away.
“That’s Rivermoore?! Yeah, he fits the descriptions! The man has vibes!”
“I know I suggested it, but for him to actually show up…”
Oliver’s frown deepened, but Yuri was wriggling excitedly.
“Ohhh, I can’t wait to talk to him! Where should I meet him?!”
“Settle down. Per the rules, when the prelim ends, all participants have to return to the school building. You can speak to him then. Even if that doesn’t work out, do not go chasing him into the labyrinth.”
Oliver hammered that point home again. Stopping Yuri’s death wish took as much mental agility as any league match.
It felt like the light in the first layer had dimmed considerably.
The first to respond was the old student council’s leader, Leoncio. He spoke to Rivermoore like one would to an old comrade.
“You’re here, Rivermoore? Consider me surprised. These festivities don’t often tempt you.”
“I come and go as I please, if the reward is worth my while.”
The warlock’s blithe retort drew a frown from Godfrey.
“You’re after the dragrium? The headmistress sure prepped a big carrot.”
“But all you care about is how the election goes, yes?” Rivermoore sneered. “Hardly in the spirit of things.”
At this point, however, Garland’s voice echoed through the surveillance golems, warning of the ensuing start.
“No more chatter,” Lesedi said, drawing her blade. “It’s time.”
A few moments later, the countdown began. The two factions would be in furious competition the moment the buzzer rang, and those in neither camp were staying well to the rear of it. Each and every one was jockeying for the slightest advantage.
“Three, two, one…start!”
The instant the match began, Godfrey ruined all of that. Pointing his athame at his feet, he yelled, “Calidi Ignis!”
The president’s scorching inferno bored a hole beneath their feet, and while the walls still glowed red, Godfrey and his faction threw themselves in. A moment later, the other students followed suit.
“Wh-what a turnup!” Glenda cried. “President Godfrey ignores the designated path and punches right through the floor! Are they literally aiming for the shortest route to the second layer?”
The audience was hooting, but Oliver was rubbing his temples.
“He just… No, his output’s somehow gotten even worse. He’s now so powerful, he can just ignore the constraints of the labyrinth itself.”
“Hot damn. Ain’t that a bit too crazy?” Guy asked, crooking his head. “He could get through the prelim no prob without doing this.”
“That’s not the point,” Pete said. “Everyone who entered can use the shortcut, and he’s not trying to hinder them. Which means it’s not about winning.”
Through the hole he’d dug, Godfrey’s crew landed in the passage below and took off running. Leoncio soon drew up alongside.
“Not the most elegant approach, Godfrey,” he said. “Have you forgotten the unspoken rule of a labyrinth trail run? Break not what you need not?”
“I decided to ignore that this time. Just…can’t shake an ominous feeling in my gut.”
Godfrey glanced over his shoulder, making sure all the participants had dropped through the hole with him.
The old student council alchemist running behind Leoncio picked up his intent.
“Ah,” Gino Beltrami said. “You’re not trying to shorten your time; you’re trying to prevent the stragglers from getting behind.”
“Ha-ha! Lovely. I support it! Let’s all hold hands and frolic across the finish line together.”
Khiirgi let out a breathy peal of laughter; Lesedi side-eyed her. Godfrey had spied the next shortcut ahead, and he raised his athame.
“If I’m wrong, I’ll make amends. Frankly, I hope I am… Calidi Ignis!”
And he punched a second hole, plunging in without hesitation—like he had the route planned ahead of time.
“…Th-they’re bringing their commentators to tears!” Glenda wailed. “The president’s power play is making the prelim butter smooth, and there’s nothing worth seeing! Should we have made floor busting illegal, Instructor Garland?”
The sword arts master winced.
“Hard to argue with that now,” he said. “But either way, we knew these years wouldn’t struggle with the first layer. And the league format this time is all about the loosest rules we can manage.”
“Even so, there are few things sadder than a commentator with nothing to say! How am I supposed to fill the silence? The president needs to consider my feelings!”
But however unfair the approach, the sixth- and seventh-years had cut right through the first layer, skipping nearly all of it. First place and last place could still clearly see each other as their feet carried them to the next obstacle.
“We’ve hit the second layer. If all we had to do was raze this forest, that would be easy—”
But as the Watch sped off through the brush, they skidded to a halt. In the skies above the forest were not the usual bird wyverns but dragons far larger, with much greater wingspans.
The president frowned. “…They’ve got actual wyverns here? What is this, the fifth layer?”
“Count ourselves lucky there’s no lindwurms,” said Lesedi.
“Don’t be too sure. There might be anything in these woods,” Tim muttered, glaring into the darkened forest. The second layer was always teeming with life, but today it was eerily silent. As if the wyverns were there to draw their attention away from the real threat—exactly the sort of trick the Kimberly faculty loved. After a few seconds’ thought, Godfrey decided to be consistent—and ruin things.
“Fine. Tim—poison it.”
The students behind them collectively gasped. Tim’s smile grew extra diabolical, and he popped the flap on his hip pouch.
“Music to my ears! Back off, people! Don’t breathe!”
The crowd was way ahead of him. A moment later, eight vials left Tim’s hands, arcing upward—and exploding, releasing a mist into the air. Godfrey’s crew quickly aimed their athames.
“Impetus!”
“““““Impetus!”””””
Their winds created an updraft, carrying the mist skyward. It soon reached the wheeling wyverns—and their shrieks echoed across the layer.
“The Toxic Gasser’s poison at work! Hoo boy, is it a doozy!” Glenda was screaming a lot today. “The first wyverns it hit instantly fell from the air, and the rest of the flight are balking hard. And the forest below is withering away! What on earth was in that, Tim Linton?”
“Brewing a poison strong enough to work on dragons is a challenge for even the finest alchemist,” Garland said, sighing. “I remember something I once heard Darius grumble: ‘The boy can’t make a balm for bugbites, but he’s got a knack for poison alone that is downright bloodcurdling.’ But, uh, from him, that’s a compliment.”
Garland was watching all their work get demolished sight unseen—and nodding his approval. Given what lay ahead, the wyverns were but a herald.
Another round of vials burst above the students, and the winds carried the contents forward, tracing the vapor trails from Tim’s poison. This neutralized the toxins, and Godfrey’s crew started running down the path they’d made.
“Mr. President,” Gino Beltrami began. “If you’re going to expect my help with your poisons, I’d appreciate a word in advance.”
The neutralizing agents had been supplied by the Barman’s alchemy, and he had a right to grumble.
Racing past withered trees and the desiccated corpses of magifauna, Godfrey smiled.
“My bad, Mr. Beltrami. No one at Kimberly can handle Tim’s poison but you.”
High praise but accurate—Gino was one of the best alchemists on campus, and without him, Godfrey could never have risked the order.
“No need,” Tim said with a snort. “We’d have been fine without it. I concocted a mild one just for the occasion. Anyone had accidentally inhaled, they’d have been fine—just a ninety-five-day high-grade fever accompanied by agonizing pain that’d leave them writhing for the duration. See, Mr. President, I’m nice.”
“Yeah, that’s…one word for it, Tim.”
“Hmph.” Leoncio snorted. “Dizzyingly reprehensible, but clearing out the wyverns was a boon.”
Khiirgi sidled up to him. “You sure you should be ceding the lead?”
“I don’t like it. But my instincts are aligned. The dullard’s route is the right one here.”
He clearly meant that, and she took the hint. Keeping an even distance from them, Godfrey set the pace, passing through the forest and bounding up the side of the irminsul. With the wyverns and beasts wary of further poison, nothing stood in their way. They crossed the peak in no time and headed down the branches to the base. The end of the second layer wasn’t far off.
“…Almost to the Battle of Hell’s Armies,” Lesedi said. “Be ready—you saw what the fourth- and fifth-years had to deal with.”
“I’ve got this!” Tim patted his pouch, grinning. “My next poison’ll melt any bones.”
The students at the back were no further away than when the match began, and a few minutes’ run later, the leaders of the pack—Godfrey and Leoncio—barked an order.
““Halt!””
Both parties skidded to a stop. The unaffiliated to the rear sensed something amiss and followed suit. The front row was scowling dead ahead—and the reason for their sudden command turned to face them.
“Oh, you’re here. Faster than I figured.”
The magical biology instructor—Vanessa Aldiss. No signs of her usual white coat—she was dressed down, shoulders bare. Like she was out for a quick jog.
“…Instructor Vanessa…?”
“Just finished my warm-up!” she said, stretching both arms overhead. “Ya ready for this?”
Every student here was suddenly very conscious of the pile of bones behind her. There’d been ten thousand spartoi here for the previous prelim. In the two hours since, the formations should have been reworked, strengthened, prepped for their arrival—but instead…
“Sorry, Instructor. You mean…?”
“You’re fighting me. Ain’t brooking no complaints.”
A pronouncement like the fall of a guillotine blade. Godfrey gritted his teeth. The bad feeling in his gut had been worse than he’d feared.
“Leoncio…no, everyone here. For just this fight—forget all our differences.”
His words hit home. Not one person needed an explainer. They grasped his intent not with their heads but with their skin. Not with logic but with raw instinct. The thing before them was merely shaped like a woman—but its true nature was death incarnate. There was no discernible difference between them and the pile of bones behind her.
“You get it. And if you don’t—it ends here. All our lives are forfeit.”
The moment Vanessa appeared on-screen, the color drained from Glenda’s face.
“Instructor, are you serious?”
“………”
Garland spoke not a word. He listened to the hubbub of the stands, an order echoing through his head.
“One change to the sixth- and seventh-year prelim. Make Vanessa the final obstacle.”
Just past noon, the headmistress had summoned him to her office to issue this instruction. Garland couldn’t believe his ears.
“…Wait a minute, Headmistress. Specifically, you mean…”
“Make them fight her. Make them fear for their lives. Make them all commit to the battle.”
He had been sure she didn’t mean it literally, but Esmeralda left him no wiggle room. The witch of Kimberly stood with her back to the windowsill, staring down at him.
“…Flush them out?” Garland said, his fists tightening. “Peel the deception away in the face of mortal peril?”
“Reevaluate everyone. Discover which students are capable of killing a teacher.”
This was why the witch had offered unprecedented cash and prizes this league. To truly evaluate the school’s top students would take no ordinary challenge—so they’d throw in the worst there was. There was no doubting her logic. And while Garland was searching for the words to argue it, she spoke again.
“And it’ll let her blow off some steam. Since the beasts in her care were targeted, she’s been ready to flip her lid. Let her go buck wild.”
He’d sensed the same thing. Assailed by an unknown enemy, Vanessa Aldiss wouldn’t remain docile for long. Before she erupted, they’d need to let her vent. But even so…
“Can she fight without killing anyone?”
Garland minced no words. He knew perfectly well no matter what beast he dragged up from the labyrinth’s depths, it would be far less dangerous than facing Vanessa Aldiss in a bad mood. The headmistress knew that full well.
“Even she can tell the difference between food and her students,” she said. “If there’s risk—it comes if they make things too fun.”
“Oh yeah, there were, like, rules to this thing. Uh, right—immobilize me or, failing that, land a good one. I feel like there was a bunch more fine print, but I forgot. Let’s just keep it simple.”
Far too simple for a regulated league, but Vanessa was already stomping toward them.
She glanced once over the crowd, then growled, “So…how hard a hit can y’all take without breaking?”
The students spread out at that question, putting distance between them, surrounding her from all sides. It might have looked like their numbers were an advantage, but this was little more than a desperate insurance. When somebody died, they’d take less collateral with them.
“…Hooooo…”
Manipulating his mana circulation, Godfrey unleashed the mana reserves within. Blue fire rose up from his entire frame—which just made Vanessa grin.
“Ain’t seen you mean business in ages! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
“Ignis!”
“Solis lux!”
““““““““Fortis Flamma!””””””””
Godfrey’s and Leoncio’s spells went out first, and the rest followed suit. Subjected to their focus fire, Vanessa never even tried to dodge. Magic strong enough to vaporize a person reached her—
“Hup.”
—and something vaulted out of the flash and bang. They barely perceived it at all. A girl had just cast—and her body went flying. Limbs torn off, planting themselves in the ground like gravestones, crimson spray coating the students on either side.
“Kah…”
With nothing left below the waist, the girl let out a grunt—accompanied by a gush of blood.
Poised with a massive fist extended post-swing, Vanessa said, “Whoops.” The gleam of polished steel peeked from beneath her burning clothes. “Sorry, that was a bit too rough. I keep forgetting how squishy you kids are.”
““““““““Extruditor!””””””””
No one screamed or shrieked—they just chorused the next spell. Concentrated pressure great enough to level a house descended on Vanessa. They’d learned two things from that first sacrifice—stacked spells would do her no harm, and her movement speed was beyond their capacity to see. They could not afford to miss a single movement, and thus could not use any spell likely to impede their vision. Without anyone suggesting it, they were all on the same page.
“Huh. This is, you know—like that time I went sea diving like, ten thousand feet down.”
The pressure was roughly equivalent. Without so much as a counterspell, Vanessa started strolling—humming under her breath. A sight to boggle the mind but one they’d all seen coming.
“““““Lutuom limus!”””””
The ground under Vanessa’s feet turned to sand, and between the pressure and her own weight, she sank to her knees in the blink of an eye. She folded her arms, frowning down at the ground.
“Oh, so that’s the plan. Not half bad.”
“““““Impetus!”””””
A current of sand down below dragged her under. But that was merely the opening shot. Layered spells followed, turning the area into a whirlpool of sand.
“Wh-what is that?” Guy whispered, his jaw hanging open.
The stands around them had gone silent as a tomb. No one dared to blink.
“…An application of convergence magic,” Oliver answered. “Convert a chunk of ground to high-fluidity sand, then use numbers to get that sand moving in the same direction, creating a whirlpool-like flow. Only doable if everyone involved is good.”
“But it is an extremely effective means of binding a foe. Even with Vanessa’s brute strength, with the sand constantly on the move, she has nothing to brace against. With her head under, she can’t chant. There’s no way she can escape…”
Chela’s voice trailed off. Her eyes were on the screen—where something had just shot out of the ground outside the manufactured sand sea.
An explosion roared behind them. By the time they turned, two students had already lost their dominant hands—and half their torsos.
“Wha—?”
“…!”
Their eyes locked on the same thing—a razor-sharp fin growing down the instructor’s spine. There were sturdy tail fins at the base of her feet, and the entirety of one arm had mutated into a massive jaw. Vanessa Aldiss was no longer even the same species.
“Ain’t swum the sands in ages. A real good workout!”
As she spoke, the fins retracted—she had no further need of them. A realization sank in: With the aid of those physical attributes, she’d literally swum her way free.
But they had no time to stand stunned. She was free of the sand’s coils but not yet divested of mutations unsuited for life on land. The students, hoping that was an advantage, lunged their athames at Vanessa. From the front, from the side, from behind—in three directions, all aimed directly for vital organs. Anyone else would have perished three times over, but every single blade bounced off her body, not even breaking the skin.
“?!”
“No damage…!”
“Ha-ha! We playing with swords now?”
She let out a cackle. The dorsal fin fully retracted, replaced with multiple arms, each with a jagged blade at the extremity. Less humanoid or animalistic than mantis, these limbs parried the athame strikes, moving with the utmost precision and easily deflecting the onslaught.
“Oh no…!”
“G-get back—!”
“Gah!”
One student who’d failed to block was cut in half at the waist, chunks of flesh falling to the ground. The other two just barely managed to back off before sharing that fate, but now Vanessa was chasing them. Six bladed arms extended from her spine, her human limbs folded across her chest.
“Your weapons are so damn dull. My claws slice way better!”
“Rahhhh!”
But then a blow from one side knocked hard on Vanessa’s brow. Lesedi Ingwe had taken two steps through a Sky Walk and unleashed a brutal kick from midair. The weight of the adamant in her toes lent blunt force to the blow, and the sound echoed like a log striking a bell.
“Good kick—but a bit feeble.”
Vanessa hadn’t even budged. Numb from the knee to her shoulder, Lesedi gritted her teeth. Just what had she kicked? She used the recoil to retreat, but two claw arms gave chase—
““Extruditor!””
Godfrey’s and Leoncio’s spells covered her, each forcing one of the arms off course. A narrow escape. Lesedi touched down and was already into her next motion.
A slight distance from the action, two alchemists were conferring.
“…Tim, go all out. I’ll handle cleanup.”
“Goes without saying!”
Tim hurled a vial, and it burst in the air. Gino’s winds carried its contents. This poison was far more virulent than the one he’d used on the second layer—every other student ran backward as a mist of death assaulted Vanessa, consuming all life in its path.
“Linton’s poison, mm? Haaah!”
But when she saw it—she inhaled. An intake of breath so sharp, it lowered the atmospheric pressure in her vicinity, ensuring that every drop of the toxin entered her lungs. Vanessa was silent for a few seconds, savoring it—then she licked her lips.
“Mm, on the sweet side. Gimme another.”
“What a monster…!” Tim wailed.
Vanessa made a move toward him and Gino, but massive roots shot out of the ground near her, coiling themselves around her frame.
“Huh—?”
Vanessa frowned down at the roots binding her. A few seconds later, she divined the nature of them, and her eyes shot across the group of students—to the one kneeling down, her athame inserted in the soil.
“Irminsul roots? Not often you bust out the elf magic, Khiirgi.”
“No aptitude. Really takes a lot out of me,” Khiirgi said with a sigh. Everyone knew elves as a species had high affinity with flora, a quality that traced all the way back to the dominion bestowed upon them by a god in ancient times. The irminsul, too, was an ancient species and highly compatible with such ancient arts. If the caster had the aptitude, it could easily be encouraged into rapid growth.
“Hoh…?”
Their prey secured at the tips, the irminsul roots stretched skyward. A hundred feet above the ground, Vanessa pried her way free of their bondage and was released into the air. Gravity took over, and she dropped like a stone—and every athame below was pointed her way.
“Now, keep her up! Gravitor!” Miligan roared.
““““““““Gravitor!””””””””
The spells pinned Vanessa’s airborne body, but the burden on the casters was tremendous. It felt like holding up a mountain, and every jaw clenched tight.
“So…heavy!”
“Brace yourselves! Hold her till your mana drains!”
“Ah, trying to keep me dangling? Not the worst idea!”
Vanessa was suspended faceup, but she flipped herself around. Both hands toward the ground, she extended her arms to cover the entire hundred-foot gap; her massive palms grabbed fistfuls of the earth.
“Don’t even need to grow wings! I can just reach.”
Once she had a good grip on the ground, she just pulled—and the students’ spell was overpowered, dissipating. Vanessa dropped straight to the earth, but before she got back up—a shadow loomed over her.
“…Been a while since I put together one this big.”
A man stood within the spartoi bones. In the skies behind him reared the head of a white snake every bit as towering as the irminsul roots. On closer inspection, the snake itself was made of an unsettling number of human bones—Cyrus Rivermoore had crafted this creature from the remains of the spartoi Vanessa had dispatched.
“It’s an inferior assembly from the material available, but the shape’s what matters. Jörmungandr—consume.”
“Ha, that’s a good one. Well worth punching!”
The sheer bulk of the bone snake slithered toward her, and Vanessa charged in with glee. Her right fist clenched, muscles to her shoulder swelling outward, growing horrifically oversize and overpowered.
“Rahhh!”
As the snake’s head snapped toward her, her hook slammed into its cheek. The snake’s cranium burst in a shower of bone shards, and that rippled down the length of its body like an electric shock, unraveling it entirely. A single hit had put Rivermoore’s creation on the brink of collapse. She had her fist fully extended from the swing and was leaning way off-balance, her lips curled into a smirk.
“Ha-ha, my bad. Overdid it again!”
But even as her delighted cry rang out, sharp blows hit her sides. Two figures struck home in passing, and she blinked, looking down.
“…Mm?”
Twin gouges from her fore to her back. Godfrey and Leoncio turned toward her from twenty yards behind, athames raised.
“…I got a full inch down her right flank. You?”
“Same on the left. Timing the strike to a big swing was the right call.”
They shared their results, both frowning. This was the first blood they’d drawn, but it was far from a decisive wound—it was dubious if she’d even register it as damage. And the same approach would likely not work again.
“…Oh! That’s pain! That’s how cuts feel!” Vanessa roared. “Ha-ha, confused me for a moment. It’s just been so long!”
She slapped her wounds with both hands. Then she turned, facing the seventh-year leaders. The students spread out around them gulped—and every bone in her body started cracking, changing shape.
“I’m having so much fun! What more’ll you—?”
“That’s enough, Instructor Vanessa.”
Her transformation ceased. Garland’s voice was echoing through the surveillance golems above—like ice water dripping on Vanessa’s head.
“I said no full-body transformations. And I’m declaring those two wounds legitimate. The ‘good one’ you were looking for—twice over. In accordance with the rules of the event, you will now retreat and allow the students to pass.”
“…Yo, Garland. Since when do you get to boss me around, you whelp?”
Vanessa glared up at the golems. Her transformation resumed, with bone- or hornlike protrusions sprouting on her back.
“I ain’t pulling out here! It’s just getting good! The real fun is yet to come! Right, kids—?”
“You mustn’t, Vana.”
A rasp like the bleating of a strangled sheep. A black thing draped across Vanessa’s shoulders. Like the darkest moment of night boiled to maximum concentration, from which emerged a girl’s pale visage, unnervingly young.
“…Dia.”
“I know it’s fun, but Lu’s right. Any more and someone’ll break.”
The curse instructor, Baldia Muwezicamili, was whispering in her ear. Her dark eyes scanned the group of students.
“You’ll be so sad if your toys break, Vana. See, look! If you take good care of them, they’ll all be there to play with again. Right, children?”
Her lips curled into a semblance of a smile that made every student shudder. Her voice, her gestures, her expressions—they were all equally cursed. She was here to stop Vanessa’s rampage, but she felt more like a second threat.
“…Ha.”
And that was likely why Vanessa rewound her transformation and switched back to human form.
Only then did it feel like they’d actually survived.
“I’ve lost interest. Suit your damn selves.”
“Hee-hee-hee. I love it when you listen, Vana.”
Vanessa turned on her heel and stalked off toward the surface. Baldia stayed clinging to her back. As the students watched them go, white glittering feathers fell toward them.
“These feathers will fall on those who excelled in that battle,” Garland intoned. “Those with feathers may advance; those without must wait here for five minutes before proceeding. Anyone immobilized will be swiftly collected by the medical team. That is all.”
They could already see medevac teams running in from the third-layer exit. Their members quickly set about treating the wounded. Nearly everyone injured was in critical condition, and a few of them were even not in one piece, but mages never died instantly as long as their brains and hearts remained intact. Once he was sure no students had crossed that line, Godfrey let out a long sigh and lowered his athame. He sounded relieved.
“…It seems—”
But a blow from behind cut him off.
“Your protection prevented fatalities. And that resulting relief is your least guarded moment, Godfrey.”
Godfrey’s head snapped around. Cyrus Rivermoore stood behind him, his athame embedded in Godfrey’s back, seizing the unguarded second after a deadly battle.
“Rivermoore, you’re—”
But as Godfrey spoke, the blade withdrew—and his knees crumpled. At the tip of Rivermoore’s athame: a bloodstained lump of white.
“Like I told you—I’m here for a reward. A first-rate sternum.”
“Godfrey!”
“What the hell was that?!”
Lesedi and Tim saw red and charged in. The rest of the Watch was hot on their heels, but Rivermoore was already stalking away.
“My task is done. I’m dropping out.”
With that, he broke into a run, throwing himself into the cave to the third layer. Not a single wasted motion. Clearly, he had no further use for the combat league.
First Vanessa’s entrance, now this. The audience was left gaping in shock. And it fell to Glenda to put words to their emotions. Her voice shook.
“Mr. Rivermoore stabs the president in the back and bails! That’s a clear rule violation! What is the Scavenger even doing?! If you’re bailing on the league here, why fucking join at all?!”
She was so worked up, she forgot to keep her speech clean, but no one blamed her. Garland, scowling hard, barked orders to the staff on the scene.
Yuri was watching all this from the stands—but when he spoke, he understood.
“Ohhh…he never cared about the league in the first place.”
Oliver clenched his fists tight. It was all too clear why the warlock had joined the festivities.
“He was waiting for his chance—to steal one of the president’s bones…”
“Don’t, Tim!” Lesedi yelled. “If you leave the course, you’ll be disqualified!”
They were at the start of the third layer, and her compatriot had taken a step after Rivermoore, who’d immediately gone way off the path. It was impossible to give chase and stay in the prelim. That, too, was why he’d chosen this moment to act—but all Lesedi could do was grimace.
“…Rrgh…!”
Godfrey was hanging on her shoulder, barely keeping his feet moving. His breathing and mana circulation were in wild disarray, his face contorted in agony.
“Godfrey,” Lesedi said. “What did he do?! He didn’t just grab a bone, did he?”
“He got me good…,” he rasped. “Took a chunk…of my etheric body with it…”
Bones were the basis of the flesh, and the ether was tightly woven to them. Anyone with expertise in that field could meddle with one through the other. And when that happened, treating the wounds was astronomically harder. A lost bone could be swiftly replaced, but lost ether was not so simple.
“Damn you, Rivermoore… No one wanted this,” Leoncio spat, one eye on the man as he retreated.
Leoncio was leading the pack now. Gino shot him a disapproving glance, but he angrily shook it off—and picked up the pace.
END
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