Chapter 3 - Sword Arts

Kimberly, the enchanted temple—it's difficult to say what exactly this

giant, enigmatic building is. Opinions differ even among residential

research students, and there even exists a designated field of learning

known as "Kimberly structural studies."

It more closely resembles a fortress than a school, with grand

decorations on its outer walls and tall spires that seem to pierce the heavens.

Thus, many believe the architecture to be Cygan, popular in the eighth

century. Within its walls, you'll find at least twenty banquet halls and over

three hundred smaller rooms, although their numbers fluctuate depending

on the day, and new rooms are often discovered. The building's size as it

appears from the outside clearly does not match its interior—and that

doesn't even take into account the innumerable mysterious places contained

within the dark bowels of this magical palace.

Meanwhile, the students' dorms were situated quite a distance from the

main building. In room 106 of the five-story boys' tower, Oliver blinked

awake atop a bed that had undoubtedly been there for generations.

"…Mmm?"

The first thing he experienced upon opening his eyes was confusion.

Before he'd gone to bed, he'd placed a clock on the side table. Its hands

now indicated it was 9:27 AM. If that was true, then not only had he

overslept on his first day of class, but he was also incredibly late. His

internal body clock was loudly telling him something was off. He calmly

picked up the timepiece and studied it. Squinting at its face in

semidarkness, he could make out some things clinging to the hour and

minute hands. Their bodies were long, thin, and slightly translucent, with

protuberances like wings or fins on either side. Satisfied, the boy nodded.

"Whoops—I forgot this place has clocknoks," he said, blowing out a

breath. That was all it took for the creatures clinging to the clock hands to

pitifully scatter. Time scamps, as they were more commonly called, were a

race of lower fairies that messed with clock hands. They were most

commonly found in places with a high concentration of magic particles.

I should put a glass cover on it, Oliver thought as he hopped out of bed

and began to prepare for the day. As he put on a shirt, he surveyed the

room. A faint light shone through the curtains. In the neighboring bed was

his roommate, Pete, fast asleep and snoring slightly.

"Ha-ha… Don't catch a cold, Pete."

The boy must have tossed and turned in the night, as his blanket was

thrown off, exposing his stomach. Once Oliver's uniform was on and his

athame at his waist, he pulled the blanket up gently so as not to wake him.

If possible, he wanted to get along with his moody roommate. He could still

remember the grumpy look on Pete's face last night when they learned

they'd be sharing a room.

"Okay, time to go."

Oliver pulled himself together and left their room. It was still a little

early to be up, but this way he could explore the school's grounds at his

leisure. This high level of freedom was one of Kimberly's tenets—it also

meant his safety was his own responsibility.

With that in mind, he stepped into the dorm hall. No other students

seemed to be around, and it was quiet as a library. Most of the new students

were probably still asleep, exhausted from the previous day. A lot of them

were likely to be victims of the clocknoks and tricked into falling back

asleep. Oliver considered coming back and waking them later.

"You're an early riser, aren't you?"

As he approached the back door at the end of the hall, suddenly and yet

unsurprisingly, a mouth appeared on the doorknob. Oliver's cousin had told

him this doorknob was skeptical by nature so it could keep track of the

students' comings and goings. As a result, Oliver spoke to it without the

least bit of surprise.

"I'm Oliver Horn, a first-year. I was thinking of taking a walk around

the dorm."

"I see. You may do as you please, but don't you even think of entering

the girls' dorm."

And with that light warning, the door opened on its own. Oliver bowed,

then stepped outside. Even the vaunted freedom of Kimberly had to draw a

line somewhere.

Outside, Oliver gazed at the eastern sky. The sun still hadn't risen; he

assumed it was a little past five AM. The air was brisk, and the sky was as

clear as the previous day.

"…Haah…"

The area had a much denser concentration of magic particles than any

other place he'd lived, so much so that his heart rate increased a bit when he

took a deep breath. Oliver circled the dorm building, inhaling and exhaling

to try to get used to it.

Over a thousand male students, from first- to fifth-years, lived in these

two towers, so even one seemed massive. The girls' dorms were about the

same scale. The sixth- and seventh-years, however, had their own dorm

elsewhere. A good number of the students who made it to their sixth and

seventh years of schooling were practically bona fide researchers

themselves. They could request suitable arrangements for lodging, research,

or whatever else they needed.

Once he'd gotten a rough look at the outside of the building, Oliver

headed for the garden between the boys' and girls' dorms. There was no

greenery, only a large fountain surrounded by several smaller ones and

benches for people to sit and chat on. He'd heard this place was used not

only for mingling among students, regardless of year, but also as a

rendezvous point for lovers.

"The garden's bigger than I expected, too… Hmm?"

Upon reaching the center fountain and looking about, he noticed a figure

in one of the six smaller fountains. The moment his eyes focused for a

better look, Oliver was nearly knocked on his butt from surprise.

"Phew! So cold and clear! This is excellent water!"

He heard splashing as the Azian girl scooped water from the fountain's

pool with a bucket and dumped it over her head repeatedly—completely

naked from the waist up.

"…Mm? Is that you, Oliver? An early riser, too, I see!"

Noticing him, Nanao waved her hand energetically. In that instant,

Oliver dashed forward as quickly as he could, spun her around, and chanted

a spell as he pointed his athame at the boys' dorm.

"Covell!"

Instantly, dark pigment began to bubble into existence before his eyes,

clinging together to form a dark curtain that hid the both of them. Nanao

was taken aback by the up-close-and-personal display of magic.

"Ohhh! One spell created this black barrier? You are indeed a mage!"

"More importantly!" Oliver shouted without turning around, trying to

maintain the barrier spell despite his racing heart. "What the heck are you

doing?! This is a public space! Boys use it, too! What if someone saw you

exposing yourself like this?"

"? Why, what is there to hide?"

"Maybe you don't have any shame, but think of everyone else! …I hate

to assume this, but is this normal in Azia? Do girls bathe in public without

bothering to cover themselves?!"

"Nay, in my country, women even cover themselves when among one

another. But before I am a woman, I am a warrior," Nanao said without

shame, splashing herself again. Oliver gaped as she continued. "Besides,

this is not bathing. It is a purification ritual. Before I join another war here,

I thought I should wash away the blood from my previous one. Why don't

you join me, milord? It will dispel any stray thoughts and leave you clear of

mind."

"So it's like a kind of ritualistic washing? Even so, you shouldn't be

using fountain water— Ah! Hey! Stay still, would you?!"

The black curtain wasn't particularly large, yet Nanao didn't seem to

care, as she moved about freely. In a panic, Oliver accidentally looked

behind him—and instantly froze, his breath caught in his throat.

Her skin sparkled in the morning sun—and carved into it were countless

scars.

"…How did you get those?"

"Hmm? Ah, they are remnants of a previous war. If they offend you, I

apologize."

"Uh…no…"

Oliver couldn't bring himself to ask any of the questions popping into

his brain. What war? What must a girl his age have gone through to get so

many scars? What had happened to her back home? He didn't know her

well enough to ask, though.

And yet, he couldn't avert his eyes. Her muscles expanded underneath

her scarred skin with every breath, her body tempered like a sword from

continuous training. Pure mana flowed through her with every beat of her

heart. And pulling it all together was her direct and sincere personality. For

a few seconds, Oliver was able to get a glimpse of this full picture. Then…

Go ahead. Admire it, Noll. Now is the time.

Once, he had witnessed a similarly sublime beauty—by accident, the

two scenes compounded in his mind.

"…!"

With a gasp, he brought himself back to reality and tore his eyes away.

He kept his back to her as he attempted to regain his composure. After

many deep breaths, Oliver was finally able to speak.

"…This 'purification' of yours or whatever—you can finish it this one

time, but at least make it quick."

"I understand. In that case, this shall be my last." Nanao didn't seem to

realize the effect she was having on him. She poured water over her head

and shook it off in sparkling droplets, then placed the bucket on the edge of

the pool to indicate she was done. All of a sudden, she paused.

"…Mm. Blast. I left my towel in my room—"

"Use this!"

Seeing where this was going, Oliver cut her off and threw his robe at

her. Nanao caught it and tilted her head.

"Use this? Oliver, this is your robe, is it not?"

"Just use it! I'd love to dry you off with a gust spell, but if I do that, I

can't maintain the barrier!" He harshened his tone to cover up his

discomfort.

The Azian girl giggled and nodded. "You are a curious one, Oliver. If

you insist, then I shall use it… But do you have a replacement?"

Oliver kept silent and didn't answer.

Nanao laughed and said, "Then it is a great debt I now owe you."

Kimberly students ate their meals on campus every day except on holidays.

According to the rules, they could choose to eat in any of the three giant

cafeterias, but thanks to an unspoken code, many of the first- through thirdyears ate in the lowest-level one, the Fellowship.

"Good morning, Guy, Pete, and Oliver. Did you sleep well last night?"

The Fellowship was already full of students eating breakfast by the time

the three boys got there. Chela called out to them, so they joined her and the

other girls at a table.

"Yeah, I did. Maybe a bit too well, actually. Man, the teachers shoulda

told us this place has time scamps," Guy grumbled as he rubbed his sleepy

eyes. He'd nearly fallen back asleep when Oliver saved him. Chela seemed

to pick up on this and smiled.

"I suggest you abandon such naive thoughts early. As this is a magical

academy, it's only natural that you'll experience a fair number of magical

run-ins on a daily basis. If you'd like to know how to deal with anything,

ask a teacher or a friend."

"Yeah, you're right… Geez, you sure are strict this morning." Guy

moaned over his wounded pride.

Katie was busy cutting her fried eggs as she asked, "Time scamps, huh?

We didn't have any in our room. Although Nanao did get up super early."

"I know not what these 'time scamps' are, but my body is made to wake

up at the sixth hour every dawn. I cannot skip training, lest my skills rust,"

Nanao said as she devoured her plate full of sausages, pies, and other

breakfast items. Oliver was a bit relieved to see it—her fork and knife skills

were shaky, but at least she was keeping to the bare minimum of manners.

"Oh!" Guy exclaimed. It had taken him a little longer than Oliver to

notice her major change. "Nanao, you've got a uniform today."

"Indeed! It had already been delivered to my room last night, that it had.

The skirt's been converted into a hakama, and as you can see, the length is

perfect."

"I taught her how to wear it. Once a samurai, now a mage. She looks

great!" Katie said, pausing her meal to compliment Nanao's style. This

made Oliver curious.

"So Pete and I are roommates… Is it the same for you two?"

"Yes, we are. I'm so happy!"

Katie and Nanao clasped each other's hands gleefully. Oliver couldn't

help but smile. They'd already seemed quite friendly at the party yesterday,

and spending the night together only brought them closer. Across from

them, Guy ruminated as he watched them with his arms folded.

"C'mon, that can't be a coincidence, right?" he asked. "I've heard the

faculty change up room placements during the welcoming party."

"Since you're both from out of the country, you've already got

something in common. This way, you're less likely to feel ostracized.

Makes sense."

"Hmm. Guess they put some thought into this, eh?" Guy then turned his

gaze from the two girls to the boy sitting next to him. "…By the way,

Oliver. Is it just me, or is your robe kinda wet?"

"It's definitely just you," Oliver replied curtly and didn't say another

word. Guy cocked his head suspiciously.

And then, finally, it was time for their first class. Over fifty students

gathered together in a large room with no desks or chairs. Before them,

their first teacher appeared in a white robe.

"Mm. All here, then? Good. Let's begin. Welcome to sword arts class."

He was a handsome man in his early thirties. Some of the girls squealed

in delight, but Nanao's "Oh!" was for a different reason. Oliver knew what

she was thinking. It was said that those with the proper training could

understand a swordsman's skill from just their footsteps.

"I am your instructor, Luther Garland, and I will be teaching you all

sword arts for at least the next four years, possibly seven. You may call me

Instructor Garland. I don't mind Master Garland, either, but I don't intend

to be very strict about formalities. I don't care for them, either, you see."

Garland spoke candidly, as if trying to relieve his students' nerves. After

seeing how effective he'd been, he continued.

"Now, we won't be drawing athames just yet—it is tradition to start with

an introduction on your first day. This may be boring, but we need to go

over the history of magical swords. Can any of you explain their origin?"

"I can, Master Garland!"

Seated next to Oliver was Pete, whose hand shot up faster than anyone

else's.

Garland smiled at him. "I like your energy, Mr. Reston. Very well, you

have the floor. Take your time if you need it."

Pete's face glowed once he'd received approval. After clearing his

throat, he explained at length:

"In modern days, we carry an athame and white wand, but the mages of

yore only used staves—what we call white wands. That was all they needed

to cast spells, even without a blade. It was actually considered a dishonor

for a mage to wield a sword, since they were the weapons of the common

folk, who were incapable of experiencing the occult."

"Correct. Continue."

"Yes, sir. It wasn't until about four hundred years ago, in 1132 of the

Great Calendar, that this attitude began to change. This was the year a

commoner swordsman cut down High Sorcerer Wilf Badderwell. A few

mages had been killed by common folk before, but two things made this

incident special. One was that Badderwell was the famous Gale of

Darmwall. The other thing was that—that, um…" Pete stumbled. He was

speaking too quickly and was having trouble finding the next sentence.

Before he could panic, Oliver whispered in his ear:

"…It wasn't an assassination."

"R-right! The other thing was that it wasn't a surprise attack, but a fairand-square duel between two ready combatants."

"I'm impressed you remembered Badderwell's nickname. Continue."

"Yes, sir! Until this incident, it was believed commoners could only kill

a mage if they had the element of surprise. After all, it would only take a

quick, basic spell to render someone powerless. But the mages who

witnessed Badderwell's death realized this was too slow."

Oliver nodded to himself. An expert swordsman's draw far outpaced a

quickly cast spell.

"So they set to analyzing the loss and soon arrived at the undeniable

conclusion—within a certain distance, even the most skilled mage can be

killed before casting a single spell. Badderwell was famous for his quick

casting, and his death is proof of this. It was a legal loss, and carelessness

had nothing to do with it."

Sensing a break in the flow of speech, Garland applauded.

"Wonderful, Mr. Reston. That was the most easy-to-understand

explanation I've heard in years. I give it my seal of approval. I'd of course

love for you to continue, but then I'd be out of a job. Would you mind

taking a break?"

"Y-yes, sir! Pardon me!"

Pete's cheeks flushed from the instructor's acknowledgment. Oliver was

happy for him, but at the same time, he could see some other students

whispering among themselves. Were they jealous? Well-to-do students from

magical families didn't always look fondly upon the actions of those from

nonmagical backgrounds.

"Well, how do I follow up on that excellent explanation? Yes, this is the

reason we mages wear swords at our sides—to defend ourselves from closerange attacks that no spell can react to, we needed to take up arms. So that

no one else has to die like Badderwell did."

Garland paused for a second and put his hand on his athame.

"And yet, this is only the beginning. A sword simply puts you on equal

ground with your opponent. I am sure this makes you all nervous. After all,

what is the point of being a mage when you're too close to even cast a

spell? But don't worry. If that were true, then I wouldn't be teaching this

class."

With that, he drew his blade and raised it high above his head for all the

students to see. Instantly, a raging flame erupted from it. As he waved the

flaming athame from side to side, Garland continued:

"As you can see, even if you're prevented from casting, it is still

possible to perform magic without an incantation. In an instant, you can

wordlessly light a flame, summon winds, shoot electricity—and much

more."

The flame extinguished, and in its place, blue-white electricity surged

from the tip. The students ooh'd in awe.

"Of course, the strength of such magic pales in comparison to a proper

incantation. This alone isn't nearly enough to render an opponent

powerless. Given how difficult it is to control and the amount of practice

required, it is still not much more than a parlor trick. It is for this reason that

the mages pre-Badderwell ignored this area of study. But I'm sure you're all

thinking by now—what if magic and the sword were combined?"

This resonated with the students. For example, even if they were alone

and overpowered, there remained many practical uses of magic, such as

blinding or distracting their opponent. Combined with swordsmanship, the

number of combat options available to them would skyrocket. Thus, new

forms of systemized techniques were developed for that express purpose.

Garland ended his spell, lowered the blade to midstance, and swung as if

cutting into an imaginary opponent in front of him.

"If you can take one step and strike down your opponent with your

athame, you are in what's called the 'one-step, one-spell distance.' In this

limited realm, you fight using your understanding of the sword and magic

—this is what we call sword arts."

His lecture on theory over, Garland swept his eyes across the students'

faces. Once he saw that they understood, he continued.

"After hearing all this, I'm sure a few of you have your doubts. Those of

you whose families honor traditional magic values might even be revolted

by this. Perhaps you believe sword arts to be heresy—that a true mage

would kill anyone before they got a chance to get so close. This may be

true. But if you do think this, I have a few facts I want you to remember.

"First: Sword arts is mostly the art of self-defense. Unless you are

planning to become a total social recluse, you have nothing to lose from

learning ways to deal with the rare chance of a surprise attack. You

absolutely cannot say the world is safe enough for this to be unnecessary—

even while you are here at Kimberly.

"Second: Now that the study of sword arts is so popular, it is more than

a means of self-defense against nonmagical people. In fact, our

understanding of the art has deepened thanks to duels between mages.

Additionally, the more evenly matched two mages are, the more likely it is

that the finishing blow will be dealt at close range. Given all of this, there is

a large advantage to learning sword arts."

Oliver felt a slight smile creeping up on his lips as he listened to the

instructor's deliberate explanation of all the merits of sword arts in order to

quell any opposition. He was using this first day of class to instill in them

the will to learn sword arts. Actual techniques could come later. Clearly, he

valued the order of instruction.

"Well, that was long. I'm sure many of you have already learned sword

arts from your families, too. However, it is tradition here to liven things up

by having the experienced students spar for the class."

The students began to mutter excitedly the moment they heard those

words. Garland smiled wryly at the clichéd response as he scanned their

faces.

"It's just a little show. If no one wants to, then we can skip it, but…do I

have any volunteers?"

The room grew tense as the students sized up one another, feeling a mix

of pride in their own skills and a reluctance to be embarrassed in front of

their peers—all of which caused them to hesitate.

"Me! I would love to try!"

As a result, the Azian girl who didn't bother with any of that raised her

hand first. Garland crossed his arms, his expression troubled.

"…Ms. Hibiya. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but do you truly have

experience in this area?"

"I'd like to volunteer as well, Instructor Garland."

Another student's hand went up, this time a long-haired boy behind

Oliver. His mannerisms and tone were quite similar to Chela's, meaning he

was probably also of similarly distinguished background. But there was

something nasty about the grin on his face.

"I hear she took down a troll with a sword on the day of the entrance

ceremony. If that is true, then I would love to take this chance to see a bit of

Azian swordsmanship," he said and looked at Nanao with not a glimmer of

goodwill in his eyes.

The students near him snickered. That was when Oliver knew—this boy

was planning on ruining the achievement Nanao had risked her life for by

taking advantage of her unfamiliarity with sword arts.

"…Hmm. Well, if that's what you two want—"

"I request a duel against Nanao!"

Before Oliver realized it, his hand had shot up. Murmurs filled the room.

The other boy sent him a dirty look, unamused by the interference.

"Back down, you. I raised my hand first."

"No, you back down. I met Nanao way before you. We even fought that

troll together," Oliver responded insistently.

The boy's face went red, twisted with rage. Oliver then realized he'd

been one of the many students to turn tail and run in the face of that troll.

Not that there was any shame in doing so.

"You…!"

His pride wounded, the boy fixed his ire on Oliver, who glared back at

him. The message was clear: Then how about we fight?

"Allow me to be your opponent, Mr. Andrews," a graceful voice cut in

just as Oliver was ready to step into the fight. It was Chela, from up front

next to Katie. The boy jumped at the sound of his own last name and

nervously turned to her.

"...Ms. McFarlane…"

"Nanao is skilled with the sword, but she is still new to magic. It would

be difficult for her to fight against the sword arts your family has so devoted

itself to over the years. If you are to defeat someone, then wouldn't

defeating me be more impressive?"

The boy struggled to come up with a rebuttal to her sound logic.

Chela pressed her advantage. "Or are you frightened of fighting me in

public?"

"In your dreams!" the boy instantly responded, as if any other answer

would besmirch his family's good name.

Watching them argue, Oliver mentally offered his sincerest thanks to the

ringlet girl. Half of the ill will meant for him was now aimed at her.

"…So are we all settled, then? Round one will be Ms. Hibiya versus Mr.

Horn. Round two will be Mr. Andrews versus Ms. McFarlane. Any other

takers?"

Garland didn't intervene or even acknowledge the squabble happening

before his very eyes, seemingly uninterested in meddling in his students'

affairs. Once intentions were settled, he stepped in and turned them into

action.

"Okay, then let's begin. Everyone, clear some space in the center of the

room. Good, just like that. Once that's done—Mr. Horn, Ms. Hibiya, you

two stand in the middle."

At the instructor's direction, the students moved aside to observe the

duel. Everyone's eyes on them, Oliver and Nanao stepped into the middle

of the room. They squared off against each other at that one-step, one-spell

distance they'd learned about earlier.

"Bow, then draw."

They both did as they were instructed and drew the athames from the

sheaths at their waists. Immediately, Garland chanted a spell.

"Securus!"

A white light enveloped their blades. After a few seconds, it faded,

leaving Nanao confused.

"I cast a spell to prevent you two from killing each other," Garland

explained. "As long as it's in effect, your cuts and stabs won't injure each

other. Not that your athames had edges to begin with, but now they're

completely safe."

Hearing this, Nanao gently pressed the tip of her sword into her finger.

Suddenly, a mysterious elasticity pushed her back. Amused, she began

using more and more force, even slapping her palm with the sword. Even

so, she couldn't produce a drop of blood. Amazement filled her face.

"Ohhh, 'tis true!"

"As a rule, bouts between students are only permitted once this spell has

been cast. Anyone who breaks this rule will face a harsh penalty, so make

sure to remember it. Once you're older, you will be permitted to lessen the

effect to make the experience more realistic."

With that established, Garland next moved to set up the rules of the duel.

"During the fight, you might step outside the prescribed distance, but if

that happens today, you aren't allowed to cast spells. Can't have a class

about swordsmanship turning into a bunch of spell flinging, after all. You

have unlimited time; if one of you lands a lethal blow, the match ends. I

shall be the judge. As a note: Strikes to the head, chest, and torso are

considered lethal. So is getting struck on your sword arm. For the other

arm, unless you block with Adamant, you are prevented from using that

arm for the rest of the match."

Garland paused, giving them time to indicate they understood. Oliver

nodded; after a moment, Nanao asked a question.

"Master Garland, what happens if one is holding the sword with both

hands?"

Garland's eyes grew wide with surprise. He looked at her hands, and

certainly enough, both were wrapped around the handle. The rules he'd just

laid out assumed the duelists wielded their swords with one hand. The

sword arts instructor crossed his arms and thought for a while, then

shrugged in defeat.

"…There aren't enough precedents for there to be a clear rule. For today,

we'll count a strike on either arm as lethal."

"Understood."

Nanao nodded. From their exchange, Oliver reconfirmed something

he'd been curious about since yesterday. During her fight with the troll,

she'd also used both hands. Was that a two-handed sword, then? The

athames mages normally wielded were short swords between thirteen and

twenty-two inches. Any longer, and they'd take too long to swing, meaning

a simple cast would be quicker. This naturally led to wielding the short

sword with one hand.

However, Nanao's blade was clearly longer than twenty-two inches.

Including the hilt, it was probably over twenty-five inches. It was no long

sword, popular among nonmagicals, but there was no denying that it was a

disadvantage as an athame.

"And that's it from me. Contenders, take your stances," Garland said.

Oliver extended his right arm and right leg forward, blade at midheight. It

was only natural that Nanao's blade wouldn't be suited for use as a wand,

since she'd never had any mage training. How could she know the basics of

sword arts? This was never going to be more than a duel between a novice

and a veteran. So he decided he should refrain from using magic and

instead focus on enjoying crossing blades with another country's sword

style. He wouldn't focus on winning or losing and, once they'd gone at it a

few times, would end it. With that in mind, Oliver faced his opponent.

"Haaah…"

Across from him, Nanao slowly raised her blade above her head. Oliver

had never seen such a grand high stance in the sword style he'd learned.

"Begin!"

Garland signaled the start of the duel. Oliver remained motionless,

holding his stance. As planned, he'd remain defensive and observe. He

waited for her to make the first move.

Are you really fine with this?

A voice mocked his ineptitude. A jolt ran up his spine.

Look at her. Can you still be so naive?

The image of her scarred body came back fresh in his mind. An ominous

chill surged out from deep within his chest—without a doubt, his instincts

were sounding the alarm.

"Let us have a good and honorable fight, Oliver."

The moment his instincts took over and put the boy on guard, the Azian

girl's body became one with the wind.

"?!"

Withdraw, and I'm dead. Sensing this, Oliver quickly stepped forward

instead. The next moment, a fierce blow rocked his right arm, raised to

defend himself. The two swords clashed at eye height, sending sparks

everywhere. Fear filled the boy's heart—She's so fast and strong!

"Oh…!"

The pressure from the sword pushed him back. A mere second after the

first blow, his wrist screamed; it could take no more. That was when Oliver

knew—he didn't have time to dance around and observe. At this rate, he'd

be beaten in no time. His body was already reacting, his training taking

over.

"Mm?!"

Nanao suddenly lost her footing. The once-solid ground had swallowed

her leg up to her ankle. This was Lanoff-style sword arts, earth stance:

Grave Soil. Using a bit of magical interference, the floor had turned as soft

as a quagmire and snagged her foot.

"Hmph!"

With Nanao off-balance, Oliver quickly dodged to the side and swung a

follow-up attack aimed at her back. Mercy was the last thing on his mind

now. But halfway through his swing, a blade appeared on his opponent's

shoulder.

"—?!"

Sensing danger, Oliver jumped back. As soon as he did, the blade's tip

shot up, half an inch from his face—she'd shown him her back, only to

immediately jab at him. But instead of turning around and then stabbing,

she converted the act of turning itself into a thrust.

"Haah…"

Nanao had righted her footing by now, and the positional advantage

Oliver had worked so hard for with Grave Soil was gone. His mind raced as

her pure-white hair, filled with magic, captured his gaze. They were even

closer than one-step, one-spell distance!

"Yaaah!"

Another clash of blades. Circulating magic through his athame, Oliver

bet the whole match on this one full-power technique. The sound of

cracking bamboo exploded between them as they lunged forward at the

same time, making a beeline for each other. The blades audibly crashed

together with a flash of metal on metal.

"Guh!"

"—!"

The struggle lasted only a moment, their momentum carrying them past

each other. With space opened up between them again, Oliver immediately

spun around and prepared to attack once more.

"Huff… Huff…"

She was a good distance away, and yet the goose bumps across his

whole body wouldn't subside. This was no joke—she'd come at him with

the intent to kill. Oliver had no doubt she'd taken lives in her past, and not

just one or two, or even ten or twenty. How much blood had she spilled to

get here? Hers was a genuine warrior's blade destined for that very purpose.

"There…"

Nanao muttered something, but Oliver didn't catch it. He was too busy

analyzing the situation. Should he try to drive her back with another spell?

Or should he take the initiative and attack? Either way, conventional tactics

would be of no use here.

Maybe I can get a hint as to what I should do next from watching her

eyes, Oliver thought as he glanced at his opponent's face.

"There…you are."

What he saw left him utterly speechless. Tears, clear as crystal, streamed

down Nanao's cheeks. Her lips, trembling with joy, struggled to put words

together. Suddenly, he realized her eyes were fixated on him.

"…"

Oliver's mind went blank. He'd never seen a girl cry before. It felt as if

a spear had been driven into his chest. He didn't understand. What had she

learned in those two brief clashes that had totaled less than ten seconds?

They'd only known each other for two days. There was no way he could

understand what she was feeling.

"...Don't cry."

And yet, despite not knowing anything, one thought overtook Oliver's

mind: With every last fiber of his being, he wanted to stop those tears.

"Hey. I said don't cry."

Before Nanao's eyes, the boy's stance changed from the orthodox

midstance of the Lanoff style to a lower diagonal stance that didn't quite

match any of the three basic styles. Whatever it was, no one in the room

could make out its meaning. However…

"…Thank you."

Only the Azian girl understood: This was him being serious.

Their fighting spirits were raging, melting together. As if in response,

the light from the safety spell around their swords dispersed. What's more,

everything else in the room vanished from their consciousnesses, save for

each other's presence. The noise was gone; the world was closed off, as

pure and silent as possible. This was the signal—there would be no

stopping their blades until one of them was dead. Without a shred of

hesitation, they both stepped forward—

"That's enough!"

Just before they could clash a third time, Garland jumped between them,

firmly preventing their rendezvous.

"I said that's enough, Mr. Horn, Ms. Hibiya! Lower your weapons!"

They froze, still gripping their swords. The instructor barked harshly at

them.

"I told you in the beginning—this is just a little show for fun. I did not

tell you to fight to the death."

Oliver's face grew paler by the second. Right, this was supposed to be

nothing more than a mock duel. So what the heck was he doing?

"As far as first-day exhibitions go, that was good enough," Garland said,

further scolding them. "Now, sheathe your swords and take a break. I forbid

you from drawing again until you have both calmed down. Understood?"

Oliver guiltily sheathed his sword; Nanao regretfully did the same.

"Um… What just happened?" Katie asked from her position in the

audience, a confused look on her face. Guy, Pete, and many of the other

students around her were equally dumbstruck.

"I don't blame you for not understanding. That was an incredibly highlevel duel," Chela said from some distance behind her. She continued, this

time addressing the crowd. "Let me explain from the beginning. First,

Nanao's initial strike—a blow from a very high stance, which Oliver did

quite well in blocking. I'm certain ninety percent of you here wouldn't have

been able to do the same. The speed of her erratic advance, combined with

the weight of her magic-filled strike—she'd slash through anyone who tried

to simply meet her blade. The same goes for anyone who stepped back out

of fear. She'd instantly follow up and cut you down."

Chela drew her athame and began replicating the duel from Oliver's

perspective. Her right hand extended at midstance just as he'd done, she

faced off against an imaginary version of Nanao.

"To block something like that, you must step in yourself. This cuts off

the attack's trajectory at the base before it can gain momentum. Then, twist

the elbow and pull back your wrist, swinging your right leg and arm as you

pivot. If you don't do this, your wrist will shatter at the moment of impact."

She moved as she spoke, slowly replicating the instantaneous

movements. The students listened with rapt attention to her expert analysis

as she fluently continued.

"From here, it gets difficult. The initial blow is deflected, as I explained,

but in a grapple, the two-handed sword's advantage becomes clear.

Attempting to take it head-on would only result in defeat. Thus, to break the

deadlock, Oliver employs Grave Soil, a basic spell in the Lanoff style. By

aiming for the moment she puts weight on her front foot, he's able to throw

her off-balance."

Chela pointed the tip of her sword at her feet. A question formed in

Katie's mind.

"I could kind of understand that from watching, but Oliver didn't point

his wand at the ground. So how did he use magic to unbalance her?"

"It's a technique called spatial magic. Normally, a spell comes flying

from the tip of one's wand. But at very close distances, it's possible to

direct a spell with your will regardless of your wand's direction. For

example, like this."

The moment she said that, a crack of electricity flashed directly to her

side—right in front of Katie's eyes. She shrieked and hopped back. Chela

had used magic, yet her athame was still pointing at her feet.

"Beginners tend to shift their eyes toward their target, but Oliver… His

spell had pinpoint accuracy without moving his eyes. This is another very

impressive skill."

Chela's eyes flicked to Oliver and Nanao. A little distance away, they

were listening to her explanation in a daze. They didn't seem dissatisfied

with it.

"Now, to continue. With Nanao tipping forward, of course Oliver moves

to attack from behind. But here, we see an incredible response from Nanao.

She instantly shifts her weight to her free left leg and unleashes a stab

directly behind her as she twists. Sensing this counterattack, Oliver stops

his attack midway and jumps back to put more distance between them."

This time, Chela reenacted the duel from Nanao's perspective. Stabbing

backward and seeing that her imaginary Oliver retreated, Chela raised her

voice a bit louder.

"Here is where it gets really interesting. In an instant, they

simultaneously unleash an attack. On Oliver's side, it is the Lanoff style's

advanced technique Encounter. Other styles employ something similar, but

since he used a Lanoff-style stance, we shall say that is what it was.

Obviously, I cannot explain it fully, but think of it as a countertechnique for

striking down the opponent's attack and then slaying them.

"As for Nanao… My, was I surprised. For you see—I cannot claim to

know the style she employed, but her technique was the exact same one

Oliver used. Their instructors and even countries couldn't be more different,

and yet they clashed using the same technique, as if they'd discussed it

beforehand, and struck each other head-on with truly unbelievable accuracy.

Neither was able to land a killing blow, and it ended in a draw."

The duelists crossed, then distanced from each other. Chela, having fully

re-created the duel, sheathed her sword. Then she turned her gaze on a lone

student some distance away.

"How many of Nanao's strikes would you have managed to block, Mr.

Andrews?"

"...!"

She was talking to the long-haired boy who'd picked Nanao as his mock

duel partner earlier. He panicked, unable to come up with a response, and

she sighed. Chela turned back to the sword arts instructor.

"Master Garland. I'm sorry to say it, but even if Mr. Andrews and I were

to duel, it would pale in comparison to the previous one. I respectfully

withdraw my hand and request you continue with the lesson."

"…Right. If that's what you want, then fine."

Garland nodded, a bit relieved. He signaled that class would begin

again, breaking the students from their temporary high. One by one, they

returned to their original lines.

And so, their surprisingly chaotic sword arts class ended. Oliver was among

the first to leave the classroom. He walked down the academy hall alone,

reflecting intently on what had transpired.

"..."

He just couldn't understand. Why had he done that? Why did he lose

himself in his duel with her? The moment he and Nanao crossed swords,

he'd been deeply impressed by her strength. That much was true. As a

result, his plan to keep things light had fallen apart. However, he didn't

regret that part. His years of training had instantly shown themselves, which

any mage should have been happy about.

But the problem was what came afterward. Upon distancing himself

after their third clash, regaining a bit of composure, and facing her again—

that was when he saw those tears.

"...!"

In that moment, everything had broken down. His reasoning and logic—

gone without a trace. Only the urge to answer her had risen within him,

certain that there had been a void only he could fill. With that instinct

pushing at his back, he'd gone into a deadly stance he'd sworn never to

reveal.

"…That was careless."

He balled his hand into a tight fist. However, he was certain she'd

sensed his sincerity as well. In that utter silence, Oliver remembered

reaching a mutual understanding—We fight until one of us dies. It was most

assuredly not a one-sided desire. In that moment, a contract had bound their

swords' fates together.

"Oliver!"

A familiar voice rang in his ear, disrupting his repeating thoughts. He

snapped back to reality and saw he'd turned a corner in the hall. Nanao was

running toward him.

"There you are! You disappeared right after class ended, so I had to go

searching high and low!"

She stopped in front of him, beaming innocently like a friendly puppy.

Oliver was at a loss for words.

"That duel was excellent—truly excellent," she continued. "I can

honestly say I've never experienced a more fulfilling moment in my life,

from the time I first picked up the sword to today."

She spoke passionately, her eyes full of wonder. Suddenly, she looked

down and made a tight fist.

"My only regret is that the fun was spoiled halfway through. Even now,

I cannot stop thinking about what might have happened. My heart burns

with yearning for it—don't you feel the same? Do you not feel it as well?"

"..."

Oliver remained silent, unable to answer. With no doubts that he felt the

same, Nanao raised her head, eyes sparkling with joy.

"Thus, I request you duel me again, Oliver!" she proclaimed. "Next

time, we can duel to our hearts' content without any handicaps!"

Nanao insisted, completely seriously—Let's fight to the death next time.

Her request was so at odds with the innocent expression on her face. A chill

ran up Oliver's spine.

"Hell no!" he responded instinctively, shutting her down completely.

Nanao's expression stiffened. "…Huh?"

"I said no. I'm never going to fight you again. And I will absolutely not

use deadly force," Oliver stated to the frozen girl. Having said it out loud, it

felt so natural. There was zero reason to have a lethal duel with a fellow

student.

"B-but why?"

And yet, the girl didn't seem to understand that this was the way of

things. She was shaken to her core, her voice trembling. Guilt pierced

Oliver's heart even though he bore none of the blame. Those crystalline

tears he'd witnessed during their duel—the memory still fresh in his mind,

he endeavored to maintain his chilly demeanor.

"Isn't it obvious? I don't want to kill you, or be killed by you. At all."

That was where the meaningful dialogue ended. Oliver turned on his

heel and walked off, ending the conversation. Nanao watched in a daze as

he disappeared into the distance, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

"...…But why…?"

Second period was spellology. Before the first-years packed onto the

benches, an old witch clothed in a robe of a muted color appeared.

"Welcome to spellology. I am your instructor, Frances Gilchrist. And it

seems every year, I am destined to be thoroughly disappointed by the sight

of you all."

The students were shocked at this harsh beginning to the class.

"Those unsightly metal things on your waists… How can you call

yourselves mages while wearing them? I simply cannot understand it.

Perhaps they are necessary for the poor nonmagicals, but we live alongside

the mysteries of this world. Only a wand is fitting."

Sighing, the old instructor pulled out her wand from her waist. Katie

raised her hand, unable to accept this.

"P-pardon me, Instructor."

"Yes? What's your name, dear?"

The witch's attention instantly zeroed in on the curly-haired girl. After

Katie introduced herself, Gilchrist nodded and bade her continue.

"Very well, Ms. Aalto. Share your thoughts with us."

"Y-yes, ma'am. You called them 'unsightly metal things,' but all the

Kimberly faculty wear athames except for you. The headmistress is even a

famed practitioner of sword arts. Do you intend to insult them as well,

Instructor?" Katie asked confrontationally.

The classroom buzzed, but the old instructor wasn't fazed. "What a

foolish question. I respect my fellow instructors, and I obviously have zero

intention of besmirching the headmistress's good name. However,

considering all of that—no one at this academy has lived longer as a mage

than me."

Katie's expression turned to shock.

Gilchrist softly placed a hand to her breast. "I know how the mages of

yore presented themselves. This is why I act the way I do, no matter how

many people call me an old fogy."

The elderly instructor's gaze shifted from Katie to the rest of the

students.

"But this isn't enough to convince you, I suppose," Gilchrist continued.

"So allow me to criticize this recent trend of sword arts… As you know,

mages the world over began wielding athames after Badderwell's

embarrassing loss. To defend against attacks from nonmagicals, they said—

a convenient slogan. However, do you know what the results were?"

Her question lingered in the air as she sighed deeply.

"It's quite comical, really. With a reduction in deaths from nonmagicals

came an increase in deaths from mage-on-mage violence. It created a

reason to carry a sword whenever you would go to meet someone. And for

those who would harm their competition, this was an advantage."

Silence fell over the students. A means of self-defense turning into a

weapon for hurting others was an incredibly natural evolution.

"Considering this fact, I can say for certain that the popularity of

athames has not made the magical world safer, but instead has harmed it. It

is an undeniable reality, which would be easily solved if you all changed

out your swords for wands. However, this is not so easily done. You there,

can you tell us why?"

The question was posed to Oliver, who was sitting in a corner of the

classroom. Nanao's presence was keeping him from focusing on class,

which the instructor must have noticed. He gathered himself and stood up.

"…Because they are treated as a necessary evil. For example, when a

mage with an athame commits a crime, those who attempt to bring them to

justice must be similarly equipped or be at a disadvantage. You can say the

same thing in regards to self-defense, which is why no one wants to

relinquish their swords."

"Correct. What's your name?"

"Oliver Horn, ma'am."

"An excellent answer. I hope to see more of this," she said, indicating

that his response was satisfactory. Oliver bowed slightly and made to sit

back down when his eyes met Pete's. He smiled back lightly, which just

made Pete quickly avert his gaze. Oliver's smile turned awkward; it was

going to take a while before they became closer.

"As Mr. Horn said, it is no easy feat to overthrow a bad practice once it

has taken root. And yet, that is no excuse for complacency in our modern

world. It is precisely because everyone is so comfortable with athames all

over magical society that I try to remind others of a better time, when such

things did not exist," Gilchrist lectured.

His eyes on her, Guy whispered to his neighbor, Chela. "…Hey, does

that mean she's lived for over four hundred years?"

"You didn't know? She's one of the few witches in all of magical society

who directly experienced 'pre-Badderwell' life."

"Seriously?" Guy boggled. The living historical figure paused her

lecture and turned to her pupils, each of whom were even younger than her

great-grandchildren.

"With all that said, I have but one simple creed—if you are a mage,

solve your problems with magic. That's it."

This conclusion obviously caused the students to frown. After all, wasn't

the difficulty of this the reason mages post-Badderwell took up the sword?

"I can see you're all thinking that's impossible. But this is an

embodiment of your immaturity. Let me give you an example," Gilchrist

said to the doubting crowd. Suddenly, silhouettes appeared around her.

Once freed from their camouflage, they seemed to be constructions of

various shapes. On their faces were six eyes of glass, and their limbs were

connected with ball joints. Their movements were incredibly detailed, yet

they gave off no presence of life.

"Whoa, marionettes!"

"You there, the one who spoke. What's your name?"

The instructor immediately singled out Guy. He quickly jumped up and

introduced himself.

"Incorrect, Mr. Greenwood," she sternly corrected him. "These are

automata. They are handmade familiars created by mages and can move

without the need to control their every action."

As she spoke, the automata moved into a defensive circle around her.

Their organization was perfect; Oliver swallowed at their obvious

efficiency.

"Do you understand now? Even the most unskilled mage can shore up

their close-range defenses like so. It doesn't even have to be an automaton

—a beast familiar will also do. Either way, if you study the technique for

mastering these, the option to pick up your sword and fight disappears as a

matter of course," Gilchrist stated with confidence, then beckoned to the

students. "If you think automata are unreliable, I invite you to try to cut

them. If you can lop off one of their arms with your swords, you might be

able to convince me to revise my policy."

Oliver nervously looked over at Nanao, worried she would take the

challenge just as she had during sword arts class. But much to his surprise,

the Azian girl remained silent by Katie's side the entire period.

"…Man, I'm wiped. I mean, I sort of expected as much, but this is way

more intense than I thought."

With morning classes over, it was now noon. At Guy's request, they

decided to eat outside, and after packing up their cafeteria meals to go, the

six of them found a bench outside the academy building to sit and eat on.

"Like spellology. It's only the first day, and I'm already full from theory.

And what's with having us do sword arts first, then with the very next class

telling us that was all useless? Is that even legal?" Guy complained, stuffing

his face with an open sandwich loaded with bacon and lettuce. Next to him,

Pete was eating the same, but in a much more reserved manner.

"I can agree with a lot of what the instructor said," Pete replied softly.

"But I don't agree that she's right on all accounts."

"Well, that's curious. Pete, would you mind telling me why?" Chela

asked, intrigued. Pete readjusted his glasses before responding.

"Those automata were obviously top-of-the-line. A novice like me

wouldn't be able to cut through them no matter how many times I tried. But

the burden of controlling that many familiars at once isn't normal, either."

This time, it was Katie who raised her head from her half-eaten lunch.

"You're right about that. I can summon lesser familiars, but if I had too

many at once, I'd be exhausted in no time. Magic stores increase over time

and with training, but there are still limits. Nor is everyone the same."

"Even if we all could do that, we wouldn't be able to use that magic for

anything else. That means our other spells would be limited, which isn't

practical. The only reason she can put her theory into effect is because she

has monstrous stores of magic," Oliver surmised.

After hearing them speak, Chela smiled. "That's right. Still, I believe

Instructor Gilchrist understands that when she speaks of her ideals. Even if

we can't all copy her, we ought to find another magical solution. No matter

the age we live in, we must continue to polish our skills and not let them

rust. Perhaps this is the ultimate meaning behind her creed, 'If you are a

mage, solve your problems with magic,'" Chela said.

Katie crossed her arms and hmm'd. "…You have a point. She seems

strict, but maybe she's also a good teacher. She did remember my name,

after all."

"Who's going to forget a person who lashes out at them? And you really

should quit challenging every opinion you meet, since you suck at

debating."

"Sh-shut up! I'll fill in the gaps in my knowledge soon enough! And I

do not challenge every opinion! That's complete fiction!"

"Your Honor, the plaintiff is making no sense."

"Why, you!"

Katie battered Guy's shoulders as he teased her. It was never a quiet

moment with those two.

Giving them a sidelong glance, Chela turned to Nanao, who hadn't said

a word yet.

"You seem a little down, Nanao. Are all these unfamiliar classes tiring

you out?"

"...Mm, nay, I am fine. I was merely adrift for a bit," Nanao answered

meekly. She hadn't even touched her meal. Chela shook her head kindly.

"There's no need to put on a front. No one will blame you if you take a

little time to get used to the environment before exerting yourself. For now,

just focus on acclimating to the Kimberly air," she said, picking up her own

sandwich and taking a bite. Nanao followed suit but hardly made a dent, her

previous appetite nowhere to be found.

Once their short-lived break was over, they moved to an outdoor space to

continue their lessons.

"Ah, new students. Welcome to magical biology. I'm your instructor,

Vanessa Aldiss. Remember that."

The first voice they heard came from a woman in casual clothing. The

class was split into groups of six around big worktables that she patrolled

while talking.

"Let me just ask first: Are any of you animal lovers? Are you or your

parents advocates for demi-human rights?"

Her odd question made the students look at one another. Eventually, a

few hands began to rise. Once a third of the class's hands were up, Vanessa

snorted.

"Huh, a lot of you this year. Well, I hate to say it, but you all need to

throw your precious ideals in the trash. I'm warning you for your own

benefit here. If you don't, you won't last long in my class."

Unrest rippled across the students' faces at her sudden warning. Next to

Oliver, Katie pressed her lips together. But Vanessa was relentless.

"Let me make this clear right away: In this class, we'll be handling

magical creatures, and they are considered 'natural resources.' This is no

place for your starry-eyed ideals of cohabitation or friendship. You would

not be wrong to assume these resources include everything other than

humans and those with recognized civil rights. Incidentally, centaurs were

considered resources not even twenty years ago. The court hadn't come to a

conclusion on the civil rights of their kind back then. Hunting, killing, and

eating them was totally normal. Hell, I even loved me some centaur liver

skewers. I still haven't gotten over the fact that I can't eat them anymore."

"Wh-wh-wha—?!"

Unable to listen to her barbaric speech any longer, Katie shot her hand

into the air, her intent to argue clear.

Vanessa gave her one glance before ignoring her. "Maybe it's normal to

waste time on theory on the first day of class, but I'm more of the sink-orswim type. It's experience you need, not theory. And so today's topic is

this."

With that, she pulled the white wand from her waist and waved it. The

lids on the wooden boxes at their work stations all opened, and the students

curiously peered inside to find pure-white creatures huddled up within.

"Some of you might already know, but these are magical silkworms.

These insects are completely domesticated thanks to selective breeding and

can't survive unless fed magic by mages. For this reason, they often try to

cuddle up to humans. Some people keep them as pets. At the moment, they

aren't dangerous, so go ahead and touch them."

Emboldened, the students cautiously reached out their hands toward the

creatures. The magical insects were covered in fine white hair. At about the

size of three-month-old kittens, they completely dwarfed the variety that

nonmagicals farmed, but thanks to their fluffy forms and lovely round eyes,

it was unlikely a human would feel the aversion associated with normal

insects. The students picked them up one by one, starting with the closest.

"Th-they're so cute and fluffy!"

"They really snuggle up to you, too… My family doesn't raise

silkworms, so I've never touched one before, either."

The magical insects crawled their way toward the students with zero

caution, who happily let them hop on their hands for a closer look.

Smirking as she watched them, Vanessa started her lecture.

"These creatures' value obviously comes from their silk production. The

cocoons they make for their metamorphosis into adults are what we harvest.

They are larger than normal silkworms, produce more silk, and add magic

properties to the product, but the really special thing about them is that one

specimen can create multiple cocoons."

"Huh? They don't grow into adults?"

"If left alone. But if the cocoon is harvested before the point of no

return, their metamorphosis reverts. They can live as larvae forever. By

feeding them magic and repeating this process, they can produce an almost

limitless amount of silk in their lifetimes. They basically live to serve

humans. Unfortunately, they aren't without drawbacks. Fine tuning of

temperature control and feeding environment aside, they have a pretty

annoying ecology. Let me demonstrate."

And with that, she strode toward a worktable. Roughly grabbing one of

the insects from its wooden box, she raised it for everyone to see.

"All the insects here have been raised to the stage right before they can

begin producing cocoons on their own. Give them a little bit of magic, and

they'll start spinning. Like this."

As she spoke, she brought her white wand closer to the insect. The next

instant, the creature twitched from the magic flowing into it and began

spewing thread from its mouth. The elegant, pure-white material covered its

body and a little over ten seconds later was a full, newly formed cocoon.

The students ooh'd in awe.

"However, the last bit is the delicate part. This one went well, but if you

give them too much magic, things get messy. Let me show you."

Vanessa put another insect on the worktable and brought her wand to it.

From the onset, everything seemed the same as before. But the next

moment, the creature spasmed violently from the influx of magic and began

spewing black thread from its mouth. The students swallowed audibly as

they watched it become covered in darkness.

"A b-black cocoon…?"

"Get back. It's gonna hatch soon," Vanessa warned, moving the students

away. A few seconds later, they could hear a rustling sound from within the

cocoon, and something burst forth.

"…?!"

"Whoa!"

"Waaah!"

Its black outer shell was constructed of some hard-looking material, the

wings underneath beating at high speed to propel the kitten-sized insect

through the air. The students recoiled in fear at its beelike flight pattern and

menacing clicks of its mandibles.

"Okay, okay. Flamma."

Seeing their reaction, Vanessa waved her wand. An orange flame

flickered, setting the black insect ablaze as it buzzed around. It plummeted

to the ground. The students stared down at it in silent horror as it burned

and writhed. Once it was half ash, Vanessa crushed its remains under her

boot and spoke again.

"As you just saw, an overdose of magic turns them into violent

monsters. It's a side effect of their accelerated development. A gentle

process keeps this from happening, but then their silk production is far too

slow. Thus, you'll have to accept some losses. Even the most seasoned

silkworm farmer will lose one of every thirty larvae."

Vanessa shrugged, the only emotion on display a tinge of regret that the

silk harvest would be down one worm. Whether they liked it or not, the

students now knew firsthand what it meant to treat magical creatures as

resources.

"As you may have guessed, your task today is to perform this final step.

Each of you gets ten worms. If you can make five or more successes, you

pass. Sounds fun, right?"

The students gulped audibly at their prospective assignment. Vanessa

gave them one more warning.

"Also, any failures, you'll have to clean up yourself. They're not hard to

kill—just burn them with a fire spell before they hatch, or stab them with

your athames. You aren't allowed to help one another. The secret is to think

of your wands as teaspoons and magic as water. You want to give them

three and a half teaspoons of magic. Every worm is different, though, so

that's just a rough estimate. What I'm saying is, whether they live or die is

up to you."

And without giving them time to prepare, Vanessa clapped her hands.

"Got it? Good. Now, get to work!"

It was exactly like dropping someone who couldn't swim into the water.

With wands in hand and wavering hearts, many of the students grabbed a

worm—and exactly as in years past, pandemonium erupted.

"Agh! It just suddenly went black…!"

"Hurry up and burn it, you moron! If it hatches, we won't be able to

handle it!"

"How much is three and a half teaspoons? I suck at these really detailed

measurements…"

"Be quiet! I can't focus!"

Even the slightest mismeasurement would spoil their efforts. All around

Chela, the mages-in-training tried desperately to succeed while she alone

seemed disappointed.

"…What an easy assignment. This will take me no time at all," she said,

placing the ten worms in a row on the worktable. She waved her wand

above each one in turn, infusing them with magic and causing them to spit

silk. One cocoon, however, turned black.

"Nine successful cocoons out of ten, with one failure. Well, good

enough. Flamma."

As soon as her results were in, Chela cast a fire spell on the black

cocoon and burned it. Guy's mouth gaped in shock at her nonchalance.

"G-geez, you sure didn't hesitate…"

"? Even a veteran farmer will lose about three percent of their worms, so

one failure is quite good. Getting a perfect score is up to pure luck. If you're

not going to become a silk farmer, there's no need to practice so intensely,"

she explained, as if what she was saying was obvious. Since she was the

first to finish their assignment, she looked around at her friends.

"Oliver, I'll bet this sort of assignment is in your wheelhouse, too. I'll

watch over Nanao, so why don't you help Katie and Pete?"

"N-no help for me?"

"Guy, you go and fail five times first. Once you've got the feeling down,

you can ask for advice."

"Dammit, is it that obvious I suck at this stuff?"

Seemingly unsuited to the delicate work required, Guy took up his wand

with resignation.

Oliver turned his attention away; he was concerned about Nanao, but he

was mostly concerned with someone else at the moment.

"…Katie, can you manage it?" Oliver gently asked.

Katie's face was pale as she stared at the worms inside the wooden box.

After sitting frozen for a few seconds, she nodded stiffly.

"I-I'm fine. I'll have you know, I'm good at adjusting my mana…!" she

said, as if to summon her own willpower. Her hand shaking, she drew her

wand from her waist. Her face was far more serious than any of the other

students. Oliver wasn't sure whether he should say anything further. It

would be terrible if he messed up her concentration.

"Pete, do you—?"

"I don't need any advice. You're distracting me, so don't stand behind

me."

Oliver received a curt reply hurled at him for his concern. But it wasn't

as if he hadn't expected as much. Obediently, he stepped away. He picked

out his own worms from the wooden box, one eye on Chela instructing

Nanao.

"Guess I'll get my own assignment done, then."

He lined up ten magical silkworms on the worktable and infused them

with magic, just as Chela had done. Nine of them succeeded as he'd

expected, but one failed and spun a black cocoon.

"..."

After a moment's hesitation, Oliver deftly readjusted himself and hid the

black cocoon where Katie couldn't see.

"…Flamma."

He chanted the spell, and before his eyes, the undesired life quickly

burned to ash.

Twenty minutes after she'd given the assignment, Vanessa, who had been

mostly observing, addressed the class.

"All right, that's about enough time. Well, kids? Did you average three

successes?"

She weaved through the class, a sadistic look on her face. The students'

results varied wildly. Vanessa appraised the charred remains spotting the

worktables as she might accessories at a bazaar, grinning gleefully as she

flitted about.

"Hmm, hmm… Well, better than other years, I suppose. No one got

attacked because they failed to kill their mistakes, either… Hmm?"

She suddenly stopped muttering to herself. Upon visiting a fifth table,

her eyes spotted Katie facing off against the worms, wand at the ready and

completely still. All around her, her friends watched with bated breath.

"Hey, hey, you're still not done? You're taking way too long. It's just a

bit of mana infusion."

"I'm doing it now! Please be quiet!" Katie shouted. She was no longer

even aware she was talking to the instructor. All her concentration was on

the worms in front of her, refusing to fail even once in ten thousand tries.

Oliver was sweating from watching as Chela popped up beside him.

"It was mostly failures, but Nanao's finally done. What's happening

over here?"

"…Everyone's done except for Katie. She's been really careful so far,

which has fortunately meant she's had nine successes, but…"

"Why, that's wonderful. She needn't be so careful anymore, then."

Seeing the confusion on Chela's face, Oliver bit his lip. Complicated

feelings swirled inside him. This wasn't an issue of personality or good

sense. Chela came from a famous magical house—in her world, all this was

normal, so it was difficult for her to sympathize with Katie's conflict.

"One more… One more…! It's fine. I can do this…! I swear I'll save

you…!" Katie repeatedly muttered to herself. Then, finally, she swung her

wand down with conviction.

Just then, a single breeze like a chilly finger blew across the sweat she'd

built up on the back of her neck after so much concentration.

"Yeep! …Huh?"

Her focus only slipped a hair. And yet, that was the crucial difference

between success and failure. Before her eyes, the overinfused worm began

to spit black thread.

"Ah—ah, ah, ah…!"

An ominous deep black covered the creature in her hand. Despair filled

Katie's eyes as she watched; her shoulders quivered, and she stood stockstill.

Worried, Oliver jogged over. "It's a failure, Katie! Hurry and burn it! It's

gonna hatch soon!"

The black cocoon had to be burned quickly. That was the most important

rule of this assignment, and it took priority over even success or failure. But

she wouldn't do it. Katie threw her wand onto the worktable and picked up

the cocoon with both hands.

"K-Katie?!"

"There's still time! If I can remove the cocoon before…"

Her wits were so fried, she could only come up with such a foolhardy

plan. In her desperation, she was like a parent cradling a dead child—only

to receive her punishment for breaking taboo. The insect, its face poking

out of the cocoon after chewing itself free, mercilessly chomped down on

her right hand.

"Augh…?! Ah-ahhhh…!"

"Well, that was stupid. I told you they were violent. If you don't kill it

quickly, it'll eat your finger," Vanessa said, unimpressed. And yet, she

didn't attempt to intervene. Realizing this, Oliver and Chela drew their

athames and sliced at the insect assaulting their friend.

"...Ah…"

Katie watched, dumbstruck, as the insect fell to the ground in three

pieces. The bite on her hand had struck bone, but she didn't seem to notice.

She just continued to stare at the remains of the life she'd failed to save.

"Are you all right, Katie?! That was reckless, sticking your hand into a

failed cocoon!"

"Show me your hand! I'll cast a healing spell right away—"

Chela and Oliver fussed over her from both sides. Nanao, Guy, and Pete

ran over, too, but the voices of her friends no longer reached the girl's ears.

"…Ah…oh…"

Katie stretched out her bloody right hand toward the insect's remains, as

if forgetting all about the pain.

Oliver's face twisted with grief. He'd seen this coming a mile away and

yet could do nothing to stop it.

Vanessa, watching her students hop to their friend's care, snorted in

disdain.

"Shorted a circuit, huh? Man, and on the first day, too. God help me,

these princesses with cushy lives…"

Her words lacked any shred of concern. Oliver's shoulder twitched.

Catching a glimpse of his expression, Chela was taken aback.

"…Instructor, Katie was also injured in the parade yesterday. Her finger

isn't hurt too badly, so I think she's just in shock. May we take her to the

infirmary?" Oliver asked emotionlessly, refusing to look at her. Vanessa

roughly waved her hand.

"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Oh, and, Mr. Horn, Ms. McFarlane? You fail for

ignoring my warning to not help with the disposal of others' failures. That's

your penalty."

She applied the punishment without mercy. Chela quietly accepted it as

she lent Katie a shoulder and stood her up.

"I have no issue with that. Now, let's go, Katie. I'll walk you to the

infirmary."

"I'll come with you. Guy, Pete, Nanao, stay in class. I'll be right back."

And with that, they left the outdoor practice space, supporting Katie

from both sides. Once they were far enough away, Chela whispered to

Oliver.

"Oliver, take a deep breath."

"…Huh?"

"There's a dangerous look in your eyes. I was sure you were going to

attack the instructor back there," she said, her voice filled with unease.

Oliver bit his lip and breathed deeply. His hand still quivering with rage,

he managed to sheathe his sword.

Magical biology proceeded without the three of them as if nothing had

happened. Once class was over, Guy, Pete, and Nanao returned to the

academy building, where they met up with Oliver and Chela in one of the

halls.

"Class is over, but…what now? Do we all go see her this time?" Guy

asked, suggesting the first thing that came to his mind.

"It's not a bad idea, but I was thinking Oliver should go first," Chela cut

in.

Oliver raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Just me? Why? All five of us

are here."

"Because you're the one most likely to understand how Katie's feeling

right now," Chela stated, crossing her arms. Admitting it seemed to pain

her. "I can't say I do. I understand loving animals, and I can guess she's

traumatized over not being able to safely bring that worm to a cocoon.

But…that's just conjecture. I can't truly empathize."

Oliver could tell that this incident had made her realize how differently

she and Katie regarded living things. And that she was afraid of hurting her

further by trying to cheer her up.

"I believe Guy feels the same way I do," Chela continued. "Nanao

hasn't been herself since lunch, and Pete isn't the type to soothe others.

That leaves just you, Oliver. Only you can empathize with her well enough

to know how to encourage her."

Oliver's face stiffened, and he crossed his arms at the claim that he was

right for this role.

Chela smiled wistfully at him. "I'm sure you're displeased with the

sudden responsibility. So if you're having trouble, come out. We'll go back

in with you as a team."

"…Okay, I'll do it. I'm not sure how well this will go, but wait for me in

the cafeteria."

His mind made up, the boy turned on his heel and strode off.

Shouldering the weight of his friends' worries and hopes, he quickly headed

for the infirmary.

After Oliver announced he was there to visit a student, the academy doctor

showed him to a bed at the back of the infirmary. Sensing the girl beyond

the privacy curtain, Oliver nervously spoke.

"…It's Oliver. Mind if I come in, Katie?"

"Oh—sure. Go ahead."

Her reply came quickly, and Oliver stepped past the curtain. The girl

was sitting quietly on the bed. He smiled lightly.

"Sorry it's just me. Everyone else wanted to come, but I figured that'd

make it harder to talk. If you'd rather see someone else, just tell me…"

"No, I'm glad you came… Sorry for worrying you again. It's almost

dinnertime, isn't it? Don't worry, I'll go right back—"

She spoke quickly and tried to stand, but Oliver stopped her with a hand.

"Sit, Katie… Please sit," he urged her, and she sat back down. Oliver sat

in the visitor's chair so that they were facing each other and sighed. "I knew

you'd try to smooth things over, no matter who came to see you… But if

you don't mind, could you humor me for a bit? I wanted to talk about

something kinda complicated, myself."

"Oh…o-okay."

Katie, sensing his seriousness, straightened up on the bed. Once she was

ready, Oliver continued.

"We've only just met, and it'd be rude to all of a sudden ask you to open

up to me… So first, do you mind if I tell you a story from my past?"

The girl nodded.

Oliver paused to choose his words, then began. "When I was seven, I

had a pet. His name was Doug. He was just a regular beagle, not very smart,

but he was sweet and very friendly. Since I was an only child, we became

best friends overnight. We did everything together back then."

A faint smile touched his cheeks as he remembered those happy days.

Katie listened intently.

"One day, Doug suddenly came down with a fever. He wouldn't eat and

was always in pain. I was so worried. My father told me it was something

seasonal, and he was sure that after a week of rest, Doug would be totally

fine."

Oliver's expression soured as he recalled his beloved dog's illness in

great detail.

"But I couldn't wait a week. I couldn't bear to just sit and watch Doug

suffer… So I got the idea to create a medicine to heal him. By then, I'd

learned the basics of mixing magic potions. My parents had told me I was

good at it, so I was confident I could whip up something simple. In secret, I

read my parents' grimoires, gathered the ingredients, and blended them

together. Then I gave it to Doug."

He stopped, balling his hands into fists. His head hung low.

"The results were dramatic… Less than an hour later, Doug started

coughing up blood and died."

"...!"

Katie's breath caught in her throat. His eyes still downcast, Oliver forced

himself to continue.

"I'd gotten the wrong ingredients. I looked into it later, and apparently,

I'd mixed a highly toxic plant in with the herbs I'd gathered. The correct

herb had similar leaves but differently shaped roots. If I'd known, I could

have told them apart. But I hadn't studied enough, so I didn't know the

difference. So I crushed the plant up without knowing it was poisonous and

boiled it in a pot. I told Doug it would make him feel better. He didn't doubt

me for a second."

"...!"

"Not that I'm trying to compare that to what happened earlier in class,

but…I just feel like I can sympathize a little. That's what I wanted to say."

And with that, he finished his story about a painful mistake from his

childhood. A long silence fell between them.

"…I had a lot of animals at home, too."

At last, Katie began to slowly open up.

"Dogs, cats, birds, reptiles, big magical beasts, and even demi-humans. I

was closest with Patro, our troll. He's been my protector since I was little.

Patro was always kind. When I was crying, he'd put me on his shoulder and

take me for a walk. On nights when I couldn't sleep, he'd stay by my side

and sing me lullabies. Did you know that trolls can sing? Their voices are

strange, like a flute made from a big seashell."

The gentleness in her voice and the softness of her expression made

Oliver smile. Noticing his calm gaze on her, Katie retreated a bit in

embarrassment and smiled.

"From the outside, my family must seem weird. Guy is probably right.

My parents told me they were once devout Utopians. When they were

younger, they put a lot of effort into researching ways to create a world

where all creatures could live without hurting one another. From

vegetarianism to developing magic particles filled with nutrition, they tried

everything… But when my mom got pregnant with me, I guess she

narrowed that down to the protection of demi-humans. That's why—and

maybe this will sound strange, but there was meat on our dinner table like

everyone else's."

The girl bitterly chewed her lip as she remembered this.

"…Yeah, I eat meat and fish, too. They're no different from that magical

insect. I tried to understand my mom's logic. Society can't advance if we

forbid everything because it could hurt someone else. This holds true for

magicals and nonmagicals alike."

"..."

"But my feelings can't keep up. I just can't commit to that way of

thinking—that all creatures other than those granted civil rights are

resources for mages to use. I can't accept the lines being drawn. I don't

want to accept what goes for normal here…!"

Katie hugged her knees and violently shook her head. Oliver silently

considered her dilemma before speaking again.

"…'Say this "heaven" the nonmagicals believe in exists.'"

"…Huh?"

"It's a quote from a book I read long ago. 'The "angels" that live there

never hunger, thirst, fight, or get jealous. If everyone around you is like this,

then it is easy to be kind.'"

Katie looked at him blankly as he continued.

"'But our stomachs grow empty, and our throats grow parched. It is

common for people to outnumber bread; those we dislike, we fight; and

those who outwit us, we envy. In a world where it is so difficult to be kind,

what must we do to better ourselves?'"

Katie swallowed her breath. The quote finished, Oliver exhaled.

"The quote is from the second half of the book. It represent the conflict

the story's protagonist has been carrying around. Whenever I see people

suffering for trying to be kind, I remember that passage."

"..."

"As long as we live in this world, adversity to kindness will always

exist. To be kind is essentially giving up your advantage. This isn't limited

to just our treatment of demi-humans, either—giving someone else bread

means there is less for you. Giving your cloak to someone means you'll

have nothing to cover yourself with when it gets cold. You gain nothing

from it, and that's what kindness must always contend with."

Katie stared up at Oliver's face as he spoke. No one other than her

parents had ever spoken so seriously with her before.

"It's much easier to live without facing this headwind. No one would

complain if you did. But still, some people out there still fight back. I've

seen it my whole life—people who endeavor to be kind despite the

difficulties."

Who is he thinking of? Katie wondered.

"Your parents must have been the same. So in some sense, maybe the

home you grew up in was a home of angels, overflowing with kindness and

hospitality, where all variety of creatures could live in happiness and

harmony. But now, you've descended to Earth and experienced its cruelty.

So…you can no longer remain an angel."

"...!"

"It's up to you whether you accept this reality and live on, or refuse it

and struggle. Whichever choice you make, it won't be wrong. No one will

blame you for your position. But if you make the choice to try to be kind to

others…"

Oliver paused and looked her straight in the eyes. Katie, enthralled,

looked back into his.

"That way of life, in my opinion, is noble. Much, much more noble than

any angel."

His words contained an incredible vulnerability. A second later, Katie's

face flushed red.

"Um…er…"

Sitting on the bed, she dropped her gaze and awkwardly shifted her

shoulders. Oliver, realizing his choice of words had been too intense,

quickly raised his voice.

"A-anyway…! What I'm trying to say is that you definitely aren't alone!

Our way of life is constantly being challenged by the bioethics of the

magical world, and we're making progress. It's the reason the pro–civil

rights movement has such influence. You aren't fighting alone… You can't

let yourself think that instructor's opinion is everything," he emphasized,

then looked her again in the eyes. "Don't rush yourself, Katie. You've only

seen a small section of Kimberly. Your despair and decision can wait until

later. Search this academy, and I'm sure you'll find like-minded individuals.

We'll support you, too. Even if our opinions and values differ…we're

friends now, aren't we?"

The moment those words reached her ears, it was as if a weight had been

lifted off her shoulders.

"You're right. You're so right, Oliver. I'm so stupid. What was I

thinking, trying to be some lone crusader?"

Her mood had completely flipped. The world seemed bright again, and

she hopped off the bed.

"Thank you, Oliver. I'm fine now. This time, I really am better."

Her voice was firm, her strength rekindled. Oliver smiled warmly back

at her.

An hour later, after finishing dinner in the Fellowship, the six friends were

walking down the halls of the academy building.

"Ahhh, that was good! I'm so full!" Katie said energetically.

Chela smiled as she walked next to her. "I'm glad you're feeling better. I

couldn't stand to send you both back to your room depressed," she said, her

eye turning to their other friend. Nanao had remained quiet for the rest of

the day.

Lively again, Katie moved over next to her and tried to strike up a

conversation.

"Nanao, are you okay? I know how you feel, coming from so far away.

Of course you're homesick. If anything's bothering you, just let me know.

I'll always be here to lend an ear."

"…Mm. Thank you, Katie."

Nanao smiled weakly at her friend's thoughtfulness. Compared with

yesterday, it was as if a flame had died inside her.

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver observed her. It was obvious it had

something to do with their altercation that day.

"…Oh," Pete breathed, seemingly realizing something once they'd

exited the building, and he stopped. The others looked at him curiously as

he searched through his bag. He frowned, then opened his mouth.

"…I have to go back inside. Go on without me."

"What's up? Forgot something?"

"Just a book. I have an idea of what classroom it's in, so I'll be fine on

my own," Pete said and turned on his heels. Just then, two figures

immediately appeared on either side of him.

"Two heads are better than one, right, Pete?"

"And three should be especially reassuring, shouldn't it?"

Sandwiched between Oliver and Chela, Pete panicked.

The two of them continued in perfect sync.

"You shouldn't expect to find lost things at Kimberly as easily as at

other places."

"Prankster fairies might have taken it back to their nest. Do you know

what to do if that happens?"

The bespectacled boy squeaked an "Erk!" when they pointed this out,

and they smiled. Just like Nanao, Pete was not accustomed to living as a

mage. There was no way they could let him go back into the academy

building on his own.

"Don't worry. I'm actually quite good at finding lost items. With me and

Oliver combined, I guarantee we'll be able to find almost anything."

"Three's more than enough. Nanao, Katie, you two head back to your

room and go to sleep early. And, Guy, aren't you keeping your roommate

waiting?"

"…Yeah. It's hard for me to get a read on him, so it'd be great if we

could get a chance to talk. I'm no good at finding stuff, either, so I'll leave

this to you all," Guy answered, waving his hand. Katie and Nanao nodded

as they continued on as a pair. Pete snorted; Oliver set off toward the

academy building.

"That's that, then. Let's go!"

The academy building was quiet, like a different place compared with how

it was during the day. The three of them walked down the hall and soon

came upon the place where Pete claimed he'd lost his book.

"The spellology classroom, huh? Pete, were you sitting over there?"

Oliver asked.

"That's right. If no one moved it, it should be under the desk…," Pete

replied and jogged over to the desks, then stopped where he'd sat during

class. He bent down and rummaged around on the shelf beneath the desk,

his fingers touching the familiar sensation of a leather cover. He breathed a

sigh of relief.

"…Found it! See, that was easy."

"Well, that's good," said Chela. "I was convinced we'd have to follow

some fairy footprints."

"Or a ghost could've taken it. Pete, you're lucky."

"Are you guys trying to scare me on purpose?! Your first assumption

ought to be that another student took it!"

Pete carefully placed the book in his bag as he pouted over their jokes.

Oliver and Chela smiled.

"Still, I'm glad that was quick. Let's get back to the dorms before it gets

late," said Oliver.

"Indeed. It's too early for us to be spending nights in here," Chela

agreed.

The two of them nodded at each other and spun around. Pete frowned

slightly.

"…Are there…really such things as ghosts and fairies?"

"? Of course. This is Kimberly, after all."

"It's especially dangerous at night," cautioned Oliver. "That's when the

encroachment happens. Ghosts are one thing, but you can also run into

much nastier stuff." They stepped out of the classroom into the hall. As they

retraced their steps, Oliver continued his explanation. "Kimberly is also

known as the Academy Temple of Demons mainly because the school was

built as the cover for a huge labyrinth—"

"I know that much. The first mage to explore its depths was our

founder."

"Precisely. However, there's one problem. The academy building is a lid

that keeps something sealed—but the temple itself is alive," Chela said,

looking at her feet. Pete, in the midst of his next step, pitched forward.

"During the day, it is silent, but at night, when the magic particles are

denser, the temple awakens. This is when the encroachment occurs," Chela

continued. "The temple starts to appear in places, and the boundaries

between it and the academy start to blur."

"The later it gets, the fuzzier the boundaries are. There's not much

danger at this hour, but any later and we could be kidnapped—"

Oliver was in the middle of his sentence when all three of them froze.

Before them was a stone wall stretching from the floor to the ceiling. It was

so sudden, it actually cut off the hall they were walking in.

"…A dead end. Did we take a wrong turn?" Pete turned around

suspiciously. The two at his side, however, had much more dire expressions.

"…We didn't. It's the path itself that changed. Chela!"

"Right!"

They barked at each other and jumped to flank Pete, surveying their

surroundings.

"Pete, don't make any sudden movements," Oliver cautioned. "We've

got ourselves a bit of a situation here."

"Indeed… I've never heard of the encroachment happening so quickly

after sunset that it warps the halls."

A heavy tension weighed on their conversation. Confusion rose on

Pete's face at what was happening.

"W-won't we be fine if we just go back the way we came? There are

plenty of other halls that lead to the exit…"

"There's no guarantee they haven't been warped as well. Remember

what Chela said? The temple is alive. As we speak, it's encroaching on the

academy."

The moment Pete heard those words and put them together with the

reality before him, the bespectacled boy felt a chill crawl up his spine.

His back to the dead end, Oliver spoke firmly. "Let's decide on our plan

of action. I say we should wait to run into an older student or teacher while

we search for the exit. Is everyone fine with that?"

"I concur. I could deploy an SOS spell, but I'd like to save that till the

last possible moment. I can handle the damage it might do to my reputation,

but there's also the chance it could summon something worse."

The both of them agreed without argument. Pete was too flustered to get

a word in.

"Huh? Uh, ah—"

"No need to panic, Pete. It happened much earlier than I expected, but

these things aren't out of the ordinary at Kimberly. Faculty and

upperclassmen should be patrolling the academy to prevent new students

from going missing. Being a little lost isn't the end of the world—"

"That's riiight. I'm sooo glad you find me reliable."

The voice was charming, dripping with honey. A white finger slid

through the sticky darkness enshrouding the labyrinth, cutting through it.

The three friends spun toward the sound to find a lone witch grinning

widely.

"Three little lost lambs… How looovely. I just want to eat you up."

She walked toward them, the sound of her footsteps echoing on a slight

delay. Immediately, Oliver stepped forward.

"…Good evening. You're…an upperclassman, correct?"

"Yes. My name is Ophelia Salvadori. I'm a fourth-year," the witch

replied, then cocked her head quizzically and put a pointer finger to her

chin in thought. "…I am still a fourth-year, aren't I? I haven't shown up to

class in some time, so I can't be sure. But I think that's right. Must be. Nice

to meet you, little lamb."

She smiled, her bewitching beauty enough to melt away one's senses.

Chela swallowed. "Oliver…"

"Yeah, I know."

He nodded carefully. Salvadori—as far as they knew, this was one of the

names of people they especially didn't want to run into in the labyrinth.

Oliver licked his lips. Pointless silence was not going to get them out of

this.

"I'm Oliver Horn, a first-year. I never imagined I'd run into the famous

Salvadori here of all places."

"Oh, you've heard of me?"

"But of course. I was very engrossed in A Study of Rapid Development

from Interbreeding Krakens and Scyllas before I became a student here."

Good, Chela silently approved. He'd established that they weren't

ignorant, something this opponent would struggle with if she assumed

Oliver was another naive first-year.

It was hard to tell just how much of his implication this Ophelia girl

picked up on. She maintained her thinking pose for a bit before clapping her

hands together.

"…Ah, that dissertation I scribbled out in my third year. How

embarrassing. I'm sure you thought it was inelegant."

"No, I could hardly believe a third-year had written that theory, not to

mention how precise the logic was… It gave me chills," Oliver added, his

throat dry from nervousness. Now he'd clearly declared he knew the depths

of her terror.

The witch's mouth curled into a smile. That was all it took for him to

know she'd understood. "You're very wise for a first-year. May I know the

names of your companions?"

"I'm afraid not. If you wish to speak to them, please do so during the

day."

He maintained the bare minimum of respect an older student deserved

while flatly rejecting her. Her attempt to prod the others into talking was

proof that she considered him difficult to contend with.

"Hee-hee-hee. You don't need to be so scared. Right, little boy?" the

witch called out to Pete over Oliver's shoulder. The bespectacled boy

flinched.

"..."

"Pete?!"

He stepped toward the witch, eyes empty. Oliver grabbed him by the

shoulder and yanked him back. At that moment, Oliver's nose picked up a

musky, enticing fragrance circling the area.

"It's Perfume!" he barked. "Chela, hold your breath! Plug Pete's nose!"

"Got it!"

Chela picked up on the danger at nearly the same time and covered the

boy's face with her hand. Oliver immediately glared darkly at Ophelia,

whose face was a mixture of disappointment and awe.

"You can resist me? Hee-hee, what self-control you have."

"..."

"Don't be so angry. I haven't used any drugs to charm your friend. It's

just how I am. I spread it simply by living and breathing as I normally

would."

A bit of self-deprecation seeped into her tone. But the next moment, it

vanished. The witch laughed and beckoned with her hand.

"Boys, aren't you a bit too far away? Why don't you come closer?"

The fragrance became much heavier. It was a lascivious smell that

loosened reason and stoked instinct. Summoning his self-control and

disgust, Oliver resisted the temptation.

"We refuse!" he shouted resolutely. "Let's go, guys!"

He dashed forward. Chela pulled the dazed Pete by the hand, and the

three of them ran past Ophelia. But before they could make it ten paces,

endless white fences shot up to block their way.

"…?!"

"No need to rush, boy. She's lonely. It won't kill you to humor her a bit

more," a deep, manly voice intoned through the hall. But before Oliver

could even think to look for the source, he shuddered at the sight in front of

him. Bones. The fences were all constructed of bones from a great variety

of creatures, linked together endlessly.

"I'm Cyrus Rivermoore, a fifth-year. Apparently, you're quite studious.

Have you read my dissertation as well, Oliver?"

From beyond the grotesque fences rose a sorcerer, the vomit-inducing

smell of death exuding from his direction. His dark eyes appraised the three

of them with the dignified air of a heretical priest. Pete, who had just been

freed from his curse, twitched as he felt Rivermoore's gaze upon him.

"Ugh… Ah—"

"Stay still, Pete!" Oliver shouted sternly, grabbing the boy's arm as it

reflexively reached for the athame at his waist. Pete's wrist jerked, then

froze. Chela put her hand on him as well.

"Indeed. If you draw, it's over. You'll just give him the alibi of selfdefense."

The mage named Rivermoore eyed Chela gleefully. "You must be

McFarlane's daughter. My, this crop of first-years is so sharp."

The man chuckled from beyond the bone fences. The three of them

faced off silently against his menacing aura as the witch slowly approached

them from behind.