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