Chương 59: CHAPTER 2 : A Girl and Her Dog
"Yo, I bought things. This gonna be enough?"
Guy came back from the student shop with a dozen magic-potion bottles cradled in both arms. Katie and Pete leaped out of their seats.
"Thanks, Guy!"
"I'll take three."
They grabbed the bottles and popped the corks on the spot, chugging the contents in unison. The bottles were emptied in the blink of an eye, set gently down on their seats, and replaced with a second.
"Downing focus potions before a match?" Guy said, shaking his head. "Most folks in the audience don't take this stuff that seriously… Don't overdose!"
"I'm fine!" Katie insisted. "I know how many knock me out!"
"Same," said Pete. "If I get too close, I can always do some bloodletting in the bathroom."
"Oh, I used to do that!" Miligan cackled, clapping her hands. "And sometimes I'd mess that up and collapse from blood loss!"
You'd think their senior would want to curtail reckless behavior. Guy put a hand to his brow, sighing.
"With Oliver and Chela not around, you two go hog wild. Can't take my eyes off either of you…"
Katie finished chugging, now gasping for air. "I'm not going to faint! Chela's about to show her stuff!"
Her eyes turned to the empty ring. There was a brief delay before the next match's teams entered.
"…Yeah, I get why you're worried," Guy said, following her gaze. "She's carrying some shit into this one."
"Team Horn won the first match. You're on any minute," the upperclassman staff member announced.
The tension in Team Cornwallis's waiting room was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. During the final league round, the four teams were kept isolated, preventing them from learning anything from their opponents' previous matches.
They were told only the outcomes, nothing that could give any clues as to what had transpired. Yet, in one corner of Chela's mind, she could all too easily envision her friends seizing victory at the end of a hard-fought battle. Relieved, she turned to her teammates.
"We needn't have worried. Are you two feeling ready?"
The half-werewolf, Fay Willock, rose from his chair, speaking to the girl he served.
"Stace, it's time."
"Mm…"
Stacy Cornwallis managed a small nod, but her gaze stayed locked on her knees. She looked rather pale, and Chela knew why. They were up against Team Andrews—a far stronger group than anyone they'd fought so far. But even knowing that, Stacy was here to win.
"…Stace, if you're stressing over it that badly, I could go in first," Chela offered. "Get the fight flowing our way before—"
But Fay cut off her attempt to help.
"No, Ms. McFarlane. That won't do."
He went down on one knee, putting himself in Stacy's line of sight. Looking right into those quivering depths.
"Right, Stace?" he said. "We can't turn to her when things get tough. This is our battle."
His voice was deep, plunging into her heart. Stacy's fists clenched, and her back straightened.
"Yes. Right you are, Fay."
"I can 'ardly wait! What moves will Fay pull this time?"
Rossi's eyes gleamed like a kid before a field trip. The rest of Team Andrews, too, was readying themselves for the upcoming match. They'd been informed of Team Horn's victory, but all had taken that outcome for granted and had no further thoughts on the matter. Their sole goal here was to fight his team and win—it would hardly do if they blew it at this stage.
Rossi was pacing the room, doing handstands, always moving. Richard Andrews was a rock, not even shifting in his seat.
"Hate to burst your bubble, but not one of us has fought a partially transformed werewolf," he said. "As such, we're better served by eliminating him before that happens."
"I am aware! Just 'oping things do not go as planned."
Rossi stuck out his tongue, the picture of mischief. Andrews sighed, and the big man across the table—Joseph Albright—chimed in.
"Like I said, if you don't want Willock transforming, put me in first. They gotta throw up a moon to pull it off, so he's gonna be second or third. We drop the first entrant quick, way less chance they can complete the setup. You know I'm right."
"You are. Or would be—if their team didn't have Michela."
Andrews's objection was perfectly clear. And they'd looped this argument before, so Albright merely snorted.
"The eldest McFarlane girl? Never seen her do anything but back others up. I've got no read on her true skill. Be honest: What's she capable of?"
"Not sure just how much she's improved. But what I can say is, if she means business, she's absolutely better than me."
Andrews spoke emphatically. Albright knew his strength—and he knew better than to underestimate Michela McFarlane. But part of him suspected Andrews was prone to overestimating her—childhood impressions ran deep. He weighed his words a long minute and chose to voice that concern.
"…The shift to her elf form is certainly a threat. That would theoretically make it possible for her to triplecant. But this ring isn't big enough. And this team knows how to move against an opponent with superior output."
"That is a part of her strength but not the full picture. That aside—with her father running the league, Michela's in a tough spot. If she's not careful, people will accuse Instructor Theodore of fixing the matches in her favor. That's almost certainly why she's not teamed with Mr. Horn and Ms. Hibiya. For that reason, I suspect she can't use the elf form."
"You mean she is 'olding back? Infuriating!"
"Sounds like an advantage for our side. So why are you so concerned?"
Rossi and Albright both frowned for rather different reasons. That proved Andrews was not making his point—and given how low-key Chela had been playing things thus far, the reaction was perhaps inevitable. Had she not burned the fires of her talent into him his whole life, he himself would have no true measure of Michela McFarlane.
"If my read on the situation is accurate, your takes are as well. But if I'm wrong…well, the difference is like night and day. That's why I'm going in first. See how they play things. If Michela's playing for keeps, I'll hold out for three. I know her better than you, so I'm the most likely to succeed."
He was firm on this point, and Albright chose not to argue it further. The final call was his and had been since he accepted Andrews as the team's leader. Differences of opinion were to be expected, and Albright would just have to swallow that and focus on his own role.
"Time. Head on in, Team Andrews!"
The student on staff gave the go sign, and Andrews and Albright rose to their feet as one.
"The heat of that last match has yet to die down, but the finals go on! Time for the second match—Team Cornwallis versus Team Andrews! Both teams proved their strength beyond all doubt in the free-for-all, but now they face each other! What are we expecting from them today?"
As the two teams entered the arena, Glenda quickly tossed the ball to the instructors. Garland went first.
"The key here will be Mr. Willock's half-werewolf form. From what he showed in the earlier matches, that blends the strength of a werewolf and that of a mage—in other words, he's a beast who can sling spells. No one on Team Andrews has ever fought the like, and what he's shown us so far may not be all he's capable of. That limits Team Andrews's strategies."
"You mean they'll be trying to keep him from transforming! But obviously, Team Cornwallis is well aware. Given that hard truth, who will each team send in first? That will be telling!"
Before the rapt eyes of the audience, from the east—Andrews took the stage. But when he beheld his opponent, he appeared mildly surprised.
"You're up first, Ms. Cornwallis?"
The question slipped out. Contrary to his expectations, here was a blond girl, a relative of Michela McFarlane's. Stacy scowled at him.
"…Obviously. Not good enough for you?"
"No, merely surprising. If I were in your place, I'd have sent Michela in first."
"And that's why you're here? Hate to break it to you, but I'm no slouch myself."
Stacy shot him a confident grin, but Andrews merely nodded. Not what he'd expected, but not a choice that worked against his side. If Michela wasn't his first foe, then he would simply take Albright's advice and go for a swift elimination.
"Both sides, ready—fight!"
Garland's voice rang out, and the two competitors each fired a spell.
"Impetus!"
"Tonitrus!"
Wind and lightning clashed in the center. Neither side showed any inclination to close the distance, nor chose an oppositional—they simply threw out their strongest element first. But from there, their choices deviated.
"Tonitrus—Tonitrus—Tonitrus!"
Before the first spells had even faded, Cornwallis was blasting away. Not in a straight line but adjusting the course, predicting her foe's route of evasion. Andrews had been observing carefully and jumped out of the path of the second, countering another with a spell—but he had no time to catch his breath. Stacy already had another bolt bearing down on him.
"The numbers advantage, hmm?"
His opponent's strategy was clear, so Andrews took the necessary response. Stacy kept her volley going all the while, not even pausing to take a breath.
"And we're starting with a furious barrage! The polar opposite of the last match!"
"Both are skilled spellcasters, with minimal output disparity. This is the obvious choice," Garland said, eyes narrowed.
Glenda took that hint and moved on to analysis.
"Let's first look at Ms. Cornwallis's breathless chain casting! You can't be that relentless without using circular breathing! That means inhaling with the nose while exhaling with the mouth—you all learn it in your second year, but how many can actually pull it off? To my great shame, I didn't master it until last year!"
"Yeah, I struggled with it myself. Learning to separate control of your mouth and lungs is a challenge for us all. And even once the technique is mastered, putting it to use in actual combat is highly dependent on the situation and fighting style. Compared to standard store-and-release breathing, you're left with far less immediate air reserves, and that diminishes the output of your spells. By focusing on quantity, your spell visualization is less refined; that makes it difficult to switch elements while maintaining the barrage. This is why Ms. Cornwallis is sticking to a single spell."
Garland expanded on the technique's applications. He might be the sword arts instructor, but he was well versed in spell combat, too. Like the last match, Demitrio was in the commentary booth, and he took over.
"Even with those detriments, the benefits of ceaseless casting are significant. Getting three spells off while your opponent casts two—that's a clear advantage. That said…the history of spell combat is far longer than that of sword arts. And those years have developed cogent strategies for dealing with a spell barrage."
Indeed, despite the volume disadvantage, Andrews was easily handling Stacy's onslaught. Echoing the demonstration on the stage, Demitrio's voice droned on.
"First, keep moving back and forth, scattering your opponent's aim. Bolts that won't hit can be largely ignored—that's the basic casting duel technique, unrelated to this type of spell barrage. Footwork incorporating feints will serve you well here. When that alone won't get you out of harm's way, locate where two or more spells will hit, wait there to draw more, and fire an extra-strong counter that knocks them all away. Mr. Andrews's approach is textbook."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Andrews's gust threaded through Stacy's barrage, bearing down on her. To muster the output to handle that, she had to take a bigger breath, and for the first time, there was a hitch in her endless volley. A shift that came sooner than Garland had anticipated.
"He's already fighting back? Mr. Andrews's notorious knack for wind control certainly gives him an advantage in this matchup. He knows Mr. Willock's transformation awaits, and preventing that means going all out against this initial foe. The first test of Team Cornwallis will be whether she can survive for three whole minutes."
"Tonitrus—Tonitrus—Tonitrus!"
Stacy fended off the attack and went right back to her volley. She had never once expected it to finish off this foe; all that mattered here was to keep him on the defensive and prevent him from accessing his full range of wind spells. The strength of the lightning element was the speed of the bolts—and a head-on barrage took advantage of that. Rather than trying to out-read or outmaneuver her opponent, Stacy's plan was to keep her foe from doing either.
"Clypeus."
Yet, Andrews knew exactly what she was after. He kept his composure until he got his chance to strike back, then took a step to change things in his favor: a blockade spell to alter the shape of the rock in the center, erecting a pillar—the first obstruction between them.
"Tonitrus—Tonitrus—Tonitrus!"
The pillar blocked them both; neither could aim at their opponent. Stacy quickly started moving clockwise around it, arcing her shots, but still Andrews did not return fire. Instead, he lunged himself forward, directly toward the central pillar.
"Impetus!"
He unleashed a gale on approach, which hit the pillar and split it in two, then slipped around the other side. Dual wind blades came at Stacy, and she broke off her barrage, clicking her tongue. The wind element's projectiles were simplistic and slower than her lightning element, but this was their strength, and Andrews had used it to take a shot despite the obstruction.
"Tonitrus! Fragor!"
Stacy dodged the blade to the right, hit the other with a spell, and followed that with a burst spell aimed at the pillar itself—hoping to reestablish line of sight, but obviously Andrews had anticipated that response. As the pillar crumbled, he'd already taken aim, going for a blast at his maximum output.
"Impet—"
But before the spell left his lips, he realized the air around him was oddly dark. Sensing danger, he instantly switched up the spell's visualization and changed targets, pointing his athame at the remnants of the pillar.
"Impetus!"
"Tonitrus!"
Winds rose from the floor, deflecting Stacy's spell and snatching away the rubble to lift it above Andrews's head. As they did, the thundercloud poised above him dropped a bolt like a guillotine.
"…!"
His skin crackled. The bolt hit the rubble and sparks sprayed, raining down on him. Before he could recover, Stacy's barrage resumed, and he was forced to back away, handling that. As his emotions settled, Andrews scolded himself: Don't get careless. If he'd noticed a second later, the match would have ended there.
"Ooh. That wasn't a bad setup at all," Godfrey said, observing from the stands.
Fellow Watch member Lesedi Ingwe nodded. "Put the cloud together with spatial magic slowly so he wouldn't sense it, then attack from the fore, timed with the bolt from above. Her barrage also helped keep him from looking up. Taking advantage of the high ceilings here."
Stacy wasn't just using suppressing fire to keep him from doing anything; she was also prepping traps of her own. Lesedi was legitimately impressed. The advice she'd given in the Rivermoore fight had born fruit—but perhaps that thought was just a mentor's conceit.
"Yet, Mr. Andrews spotted it in time. Time enough to waft the rubble upward and still handle the attack from the fore," Godfrey noted. "Good situational awareness and an astonishing knack for switching the visualization of a spell on the fly. No gaps in his offense or defense, good at backing up his team—he's one I'd love to have on the Watch."
"Anyone good with wind's an asset to my poisonings! Should we toss him an invite? I'm starting to realize maybe threats shouldn't always be my first approach. And as cute as I am, all I gotta do is put my arm in his and he's a goner!"
"Wait! Let's not get hasty. I'll broach the subject. You stay out of it!"
Godfrey swiftly quashed the flames of Tim's unfounded confidence. Lesedi smirked and turned her eyes to the match again.
Stacy was back at her chain casting barrage, and Andrews back on defense. The match remained a ranged shoot-out. Neither side ever stopped jostling, but neither did they gain a clear advantage.
The thundercloud sneak attack had made Andrews cautious. Stacy had placed the cloud quite high, so he was forced to regularly glance up—and those moments delayed his reactions to her onslaught. It wasn't a one-off deception but a vital part of her strategy, forcing him to change how he fought. He was impressed by how well she'd planned.
"You're far cleverer than I'd given you credit for. But you aren't the only one laying foundations."
He hadn't simply been admiring her schemes. Andrews fired a gust though her barrage, and Stacy tried to jump out of its path—but her foot caught on something.
"...?!"
Stacy glanced down, wondering what had tripped her up. At first, everything looked ordinary…but then she saw a colorless swirl clutching her ankle.
An Air Pocket. Like Grave Soil, this was a binding move, and one Andrews had been placing around the ring as they fought. The well-maintained arena had little to no dust in it, making it hard to spot the swirls—and even worse, the mini tornadoes were turning very slowly. Since they'd been gradually circling the center of the arena, it hadn't been hard for him to guess where Stacy might eventually tread.
"Impetus!"
Andrews dashed forward, firing a gust at his immobilized opponent. Unable to defend at barrage strength, she was forced to switch to standard breathing. But taking that breath delayed her cast. Andrews had closed the gap—at this range, she couldn't chant in time to block his next spell. She got her foot out of the Air Pocket and backed off, trying to maintain distance.
"Ah—"
But she soon found herself backed into a corner of the ring, nowhere to run on either side. A moment of hesitation, and Andrews mercilessly went for the kill.
"Fortis Impetus!"
A perfectly timed doublecant. The terrain left her unable to dodge, and she didn't have time to summon the force to blast back. Stacy was at her wit's end, and the relentless wings grabbed hold—
"One beat too late."
The harsh voice of his teammate hit Andrews's back. He soon knew why. Where he'd expected to see a defeated opponent, he saw two foes with athames held high.
"…That was close, Stace," her servant said.
"Shush," the girl snapped. "I was minding the time."
Two simultaneous singlecants to push back the winds—the second from a newcomer, Fay Willock.
"And the match hits the three-minute mark!" Glenda yelled, glancing at the timekeeper. "Ms. Cornwallis was literally backed into a corner, but her teammate's arrival kept her in the game—just barely."
The uncanny timing had the whole audience on their feet. Garland smiled down at the fighters below.
"Good tenacity. Both made solid use of placeable spells, making for a highly technical fight. Mr. Andrews couldn't quite close the deal in time. This should shake things up considerably."
He'd been one step from ending the fight. But Andrews accepted that fact and backed off readily. Joseph Albright caught up with him in the center of the ring, cracking his neck.
"Can't back 'em into their corner. If she'd been on our side, I'd have blasted her first."
"Sorry. With the time limit, I couldn't afford to be picky."
A harsh reprimand, but Andrews took it in stride, owning the error. The rules stated that new fighters must enter from their side of the ring, so Albright had been unable to join the fray immediately. Half dumb luck, but Stacy had also consciously tried to stay on the eastern side as the three-minute mark drew near. Picking up on that, Fay had been ready to leap in. The result: They'd handled the doublecant in the nick of time.
Albright left it to a single gripe and focused on the enemy at hand. They'd fielded Stacy Cornwallis first, followed by Fay Willock—not at all the order they'd expected. Which seemed significant.
"…They've got something to prove," Albright muttered.
He could tell this wasn't a strategic rationale. There was no practical reason to keep Michela McFarlane sidelined like this. If they were choosing the thornier path, it must've been for some personal reason, and thus there was no use wondering what they were planning.
As Gnostic Hunters do, Albright put that noise out of his mind. An organized battlefield, the information he needed plain as day.
"I'll lead," he said, facing his opponents. "Crush 'em before he transforms."
"Noted. Impetus!"
Albright dove on in, and Andrews backed that with a spell. It split around his back and came together on the other side, advancing like a wall of wind pressure. No lethal force, all visualization devoted to the push. A choice derived from their opponents' position. No need to cut them up or beat them down—all he needed to do was push them off the ring's edge, and the match would end.
"Too slow."
But Fay moved faster than anyone expected. Before the winds even rejoined, he was right on Albright, swinging his athame with all that momentum behind it.
"How?!"
"AWOOOOOOOO!"
An assault out of nowhere, and Albright was forced to turn, deflecting the blow. As he did, Stacy floated past his eyes, one hand clutching Fay's collar tight, dragged along in his wake. While Andrews gaped, they got around his side, escaping the edge of the ring and winding up in the center.
"...! You hurt, Albright?"
"No. But what happened? He's already shifted?"
Andrews was braced for anything, and Albright joined him, looking baffled. To both their minds, that escape shouldn't have been possible. Not just the sheer speed of Fay's charge but the fact that he'd done so dragging Stacy with him. Not a feat possible by simply lessening the burden with gravity control. It required the carrier to have beyond-human leg strength.
The answer to their question lay before their very eyes. A face noticeably wilder than the default, trouser legs bulging with muscles, a skeletal structure altered from the waist down. Fay Willock possessed three distinct signs he was no longer fully human. Which forced Andrews to a conclusion he voiced with genuine awe.
"…They've streamlined the transformation process?"
"Now the real fight begins. Get 'em, Fay!"
At his master's order, Fay broke into a run. Explosive speed, sharp cornering—one slip and they'd lose sight of him. Albright was no fool, though—he was not letting his eyes follow this foe. He kept his sights wide open, registering only Fay's general position. That did not change no matter how much he scampered around. All Albright need do was pin down the direction of his final approach.
"Frigus!"
The moment his foe moved to attack, he pointed his athame that way and dropped a wall of frigid air in his path. Classic approach to dealing with nimble beasts. The only problem: He wasn't up against a mere animal.
"Flamma!"
Fay simply cast a spell at the chilly obstruction. Much of his mana was siphoned into his enhanced legs, so his spell output was far less than in human form. Not enough for a cancelation, but that had never been the goal. He compensated for the reduced output by narrowing the focus, casting a flaming spear that punched a hole in the wintry barrier—perhaps a foot in diameter. Fay adopted a diver's form, hurling himself through it.
"Hng—?!"
Albright snapped his athame up against the incoming blade. But his feet weren't braced for the hit, and his block proved no match for the momentum of Fay's lunge. Competing on force would be foolish, so he deflected the force diagonally, and inertia carried his foe to the rear. Fay landed on both feet behind Albright, and Andrews turned his blade that way—
"Tonitrus!"
But Stacy had her servant covered. Andrews was forced to shift his spell's aim to cancel the incoming bolt. And that was time enough for Fay to get back up to speed. Recovering his stance, Albright scowled.
"A meld of animalistic dexterity and human combat techniques. So this is the strength of a half-werewolf."
"AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"They've streamlined the transformation process? If they managed that on their own, I might consider being impressed."
An arrogant pronouncement from the stands. Beauty the envy of any statue, marred by the dramatic scarring left by a burn. Leoncio Echevalria, head of the old student council faction—chief rivals to Godfrey's Campus Watch.
"A wonder, to be sure," said the elf seventh-year Khiirgi Albschuch, her smile most dour. "Mages have dissected countless werewolves without ever pinning down the mechanism behind the transformation. It's a research theme far beyond the reach of the lower forms. Percy, what do you make of it?"
She turned the question to Percival Whalley, their candidate for student body president.
"…Magical biology that advanced is not my field," he said, glaring at her. "But if I had to speculate regardless—Mr. Willock is no purebred werewolf but a half-werewolf mage. A fact that likely lent wind to their sails."
A guarded answer, choosing his words carefully. The seventh-year next to him—the Barman, Gino Beltrami—nodded in agreement.
"If the subject of your research is himself a mage, there are approaches only mages can muster, like the sharing of visualizations. We know the sight of the moon triggers the transformation, and it's likely that the subject's perceptions of that moment play a vital role. If they can bypass that perceptional obstacle, we might see this sort of leap."
Gino's eyes were locked on the fighters below. A girl from a storied mage house influenced by the McFarlanes, along with a half-werewolf boy whose past was likely full of suffering. Not a pairing you saw every day around town. Especially not with a bond as deep as theirs.
"I'd wager mages have studied the topic from this angle before. But a half-werewolf's transformation is accompanied by considerable pain. Forcing it upon them irrevocably diminishes their motivation, yet the research itself requires enthusiastic participation. It cannot be completed without genuine trust between researcher and subject. These two might well be the first mages in history to achieve that prerequisite."
Werewolf movements naturally resembled those of actual wolves, with the added bonus of being able to shift freely between quadrupedal and bipedal mobility. In Fay's case, he added to that the options his life as a mage had provided. Balance control, walking and running methods, even sword arts techniques.
"AWOOOOOOOOO!"
The result was like a wolf with a sword. He could go further than any low stance, slashing from a posture mere inches above the ground, yet without ever leaving himself exposed post-attack. He didn't even need to right himself; he could maintain his top speed with his palms on the floor. To prevent it hobbling his four-legged mode, he had his athame fixed to his palm in a reverse grip and merely needed to grasp the hilt at the moment of attack. Casting spells did require a shift to a forward grip, but he had practiced that motion ad infinitum.
Rossi was no stranger to rolling into a leg slash, but his version was intended as a surprise attack. In Fay's case, this was simply his standard fighting style, a natural derivation from his physical capabilities.
"Tch…!"
"Impetus!"
When the stance height was so different from humans, it was tough to fence with on sight. Andrews and Albright grasped that immediately and quickly switched strategies from versus man to versus beast. Andrews baited a charge at his shins, dodged, and fired a wind cutter at Fay's retreating back. A nice broad range, designed to hit even if he tried to dodge.
"Prohibere!"
But Fay made no evasive moves. Instead, he spun his athame around and did a forward flip, casting a spell into the winds while upside down. Andrews's spell was far more powerful, but the sheer breadth of the wind made it possible to cancel a specific section of it. The attack staved off, Fay completed his rotation, and he landed once more.
"Frigus!"
"Magnus Tonitrus!"
Stacy was hardly twiddling her thumbs. While her foes were both distracted by Fay, she readied a doublecant. Albright threw ice her way, but she stepped sideways to avoid it and unleashed a massive lightning bolt. The space between them was swallowed in the electric glare. Andrews saw no way to dodge it and used the oppositional to cancel a portion of it, but…
"Watch your feet!"
Fay came flitting back in. Moving through the gap between the bolt and the floor, he moved his athame back in a reverse grip, aiming to carve a chunk out of Andrews's calf. Moments before it sank in, Albright kicked Fay's wrist, throwing his blade off course. Fay ran off, and Andrews took aim at his back—
"Magnus Fragor!"
Not about to let that happen, Stacy slammed in a second doublecant. Albright and Andrews joined forces to counter it, but before their spells could hit, Stacy's burst on its own. The stage filled with plumes of black smoke. A cloud dropped on their heads, and Albright spotted Fay moving through it.
"Careful!" he spat. "Werewolves have good noses and ears!"
"I know! Impetus!"
Watching his feet, Andrews kicked up a gust to blow away the smoke. Albright ran his gaze around the newly opened view but found Fay nowhere near them—instead, two spells echoed across the ring.
"Flamma!"
"Magnus Tonitrus!"
Different elements, magnitudes, and point of origins—same target. Albright made a beeline for the fire, canceling it out before it hit; Andrews stayed on his heels, handling the lash out from the bolt. There was a cold sweat on both boys' faces. There'd been just enough range to avoid that doublecant, but if they'd reacted any slower, they'd have been sunk.
"Hahhh…hahhh… Damn, they're tough…!" Stacy swore, breathing heavily.
Her mana capacity was among the top of her class, but three full-bore doublecants in a row still took a lot out of her. Fay's breakneck pace had him starting to lose his breath, but no worse than the toll their furious defense had put on the opposition. Both sides needed a lull before resuming hostilities.
They regrouped, facing each other down across the center of the ring. Keeping their distance, catching their breath.
"Didn't expect to struggle this much with you," Albright said, almost smiling. "A worthy performance, Cornwallis."
"Nothing would delight me more than you zipping that obnoxious mouth."
Stacy was never one to shirk from an exchange of barbs. Then she spoke to her servant via their mana frequency.
(You're still good to go, Fay?)
(Course. Whenever you are.)
Bold words, but the thought of how much pain he was in made Stacy grind her teeth. Everything they'd gone through flashing before her eyes.
"Gahhhhhhhhhhh!"
An animalistic scream echoed through the sealed chambers of a workshop on the labyrinth's first layer. Her visage devoid of expression—the result of stifling any and all emotions—Stacy faced the source of that howl: her own servant, the half-werewolf boy, Fay Willock.
"…Fay, take some painkillers. That's enough for today."
In agony, he was clawing at the floor, although his nails had long since peeled away. At Stacy's words, his moaning died down. He turned toward her, and she caught a glimpse of jagged teeth within—his face only half-transformed. His breath ragged, but the light in his eyes undiminished, Fay shook his head.
"No…I can keep going. Let me. I'm so close to getting the hang of it!"
"I said enough! Keep arguing and I'll knock you out!"
To emphasize her threat, she pointed her wand at him. He looked right up it at her, unperturbed.
"…Listen, Stace. I'm not putting a brave face on things. I'm actively choosing a less painful path."
"...?"
Unsure what that meant, she furrowed her brow. Fay let out a long breath, turning to the rafters above.
"Putting a moon not in the sky but in my mind's eye. Your idea was right on the money, Stace. The experiments we've done have proven this is possible—I guarantee it. But the fact that we haven't succeeded…shows the problem lies with me."
He screwed up his face. Their attempts affected him physically, which meant he knew better than anyone what was getting in their way.
"The moment the pain of the transformation kicks in, my consciousness frays. The moon is right there, but it shatters to pieces. That's why the transformation cuts off. It's not a matter of enduring the pain; this method requires that I keep my mind rock steady. In other words…repetition's the only way. I've gotta do it over and over and over until I get the hang of controlling it."
"…I—I know that! But…these things take time! I'm saying we don't need to rush it like this!"
An outburst, almost a tantrum. Fay was painfully aware of the cause. These experiments were making him suffer—she was making him suffer.
Pain like this was unbearable even once, but she'd already put him through it more times than they could count. If it had been her own pain, Stacy could have handled it. But the reality was far less kind. Inflicting endless torment on her other half—that knowledge alone was breaking her heart.
"The longer we take to finish this, the more likely we are to be forced apart. Right?"
Knowing it was cruel, he said it anyway. It took her breath away. Her eyes asked why, and he struggled to smile.
"I know that much. Your family's on your case about it. 'You're a third-year now; how long are you gonna keep that dog around?' Worse, I'm impeding their efforts to find a match for you."
Stacy said nothing back. But her silence was answer enough.
"It makes sense," Fay said, nodding grimly. "No matter how much we fight, I can't marry you. The head of the house will never allow werewolf blood into the Cornwallis line. You'll be paired with another mage and have children with him. I've accepted that. From the moment they took me in, I knew that's how it would go."
His tone stayed even. It was just the facts. He knew where he stood without anyone explaining it. A mage heiress with a promising future and a filthy stray dog she'd been allowed to adopt after a strange twist of fate. Objectively, that was all they were. And mage logic took no stock in what the two of them felt.
That's why he was ready to do everything he could within the confines of those limitations.
"Even so…I want to remain by your side. No matter where that leaves me, even if I'm never allowed to lay a finger on you, I want to be your guard dog. I want nothing more," he told Stacy. "But for that to happen, we need a rationale. Guard dogs have their price. And a stray mutt doesn't offer the value required to stay with you. So I've gotta be more than just a bodyguard—I also need to have value as a research subject. Use my body to give you results no one can ignore."
This was the one route forward they'd discovered. Anyone could serve as her bodyguard. But only he could be her research subject—only that would make the Cornwallis clan accept his presence. To mages, research results were every bit as valued as a fiancé.
And in the near future, there loomed the perfect chance to demonstrate those results—the stage of the combat league. An opportunity to really strut their stuff. Given everything hanging over both their heads, Fay spoke from the heart.
"The pain is trivial. I can withstand it; I can choke it down. But I can't bear the thought of losing you. If I can't see your face, can't hear your voice, I'll just be the same stray mutt I was before we met, and that scares me more than anything."
No words minced, as true as he could be. Just let me stay with you. No matter what price we have to pay. Please—keep my collar on.
As he pleaded, he stepped close, and Stacy's knees buckled. The wish the half-werewolf boy expressed and the feelings in the heart of his mistress. They overlapped so closely, you would think they were cast in the same die.
"Fay…!" Stacy wailed, her arms around the one she loved.
She knew this was their only path, and she lamented that. To be with her beloved, she was forced to hurt him—that was a hell of their own devising. An agony they would never truly escape. This specific experiment and battle might end, but they would give way to another just as bad.
"…Keep going, Stace," Fay said, returning the embrace. "That's what I want. When it hurts, I forget to be scared."
He'd cut off all paths of escape. Stacy had to choke back her sobs, let him go, and get back on her feet. How she wished they could cry and hug forever. But she couldn't wave a wand like that. Couldn't continue the torture that ravaged him so.
"Don't give me that look. You know your guard dog's made of tougher stuff. It'll take a lot more than this to upset me."
Stacy could no longer tell what state her face was in. But Fay's expression was ever so placid. A horrible sort of gentleness, accepting the suffering that was about to resume. As if promising that what she put him through was nothing compared to the pain she felt.
"And when I do pull it off, tell me what a good boy I've been. That's all the reward I need. Dogs have always been simple creatures."
Stacy nodded, then took a breath. She waved her wand and chanted a spell.
"AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
A war cry that shook the entire colosseum. Echoes of it still rippling through her, Glenda clenched sweaty palms, doing her job.
"Qu-quite a turn from the first stage—now Team Cornwallis is on the offensive! Not letting Team Andrews get a blow in edgewise!"
"A magnificent display. Mr. Willock's fleet-footed attacks and Ms. Cornwallis's bold support fire have the other team locked down. Wide-range doublecants could easily hit her partner, too, but with her control, she can visualize the spells in a way that gives Mr. Willock room to slip through. The sturdiness of his werewolf body likely provides some insurance, but even then—it's simply a jaw-dropping display of coordination."
Garland was being positively effusive, lauding Team Cornwallis's relentless assault. But his eyes were too good to overlook the other side—they were every bit as impressive. Even as Stacy and Fay turned up the heat, their opponents' response grew steadier.
"But Team Andrews is handling it well. They've made the choice to play it defensive until they can read Mr. Willock's maneuvers. Well aware that any attempts to fight back here would be risky at best."
It was clear they were making safe choices to ensure an eventual victory. Would their level heads win out or would Team Cornwallis's fury consume them? Even with a master's eyes, the outcome was unclear. But the moment of truth was swiftly approaching.
"Mr. Willock is moving ceaselessly, bewildering his foes. Ms. Cornwallis is using big doublecants to pin them down. Both approaches are exhausting. This battle will turn on whether the returns are commensurate."
No matter how tough the foe, the longer the battle rages, the deeper one's understanding of their nature. Andrews and Albright hung in there like they were building tolerance to the cold by plunging into a wintry pond. And slowly but surely, their approach paid off.
"Hfff!"
Fay slashed an ankle in passing. Albright raised a leg to dodge. He'd read the aim, taken the minimal action to avoid it, and never lost his balance. He snapped around and fired a freezing spell at his back, but Fay slipped behind a low wall. Whenever they got a chance, he and Stacy had been setting up these little barricades. Four-legged, his body was so low to the ground that the barricades need not be very tall.
"AWOOOOOOOOOOO!"
He was out of cover a moment later, darting back at them. That was what Albright wanted. His eyes had already adjusted to attacks below the knee. This time, he was ready to counter it—but when he braced for that, Fay's course abruptly curved.
"Hng—"
A sharp turn to Albright's left. But Fay's athame was in his right, reverse grip—no matter how he swung, the blade could not reach its target. Planning to race on past as a feint? Albright assumed as much and moved to fire a spell at his back—but even as his tongue began to chant, a shocking heat hit his left foot.
"Ngh—?!"
"Albright!" Andrews yelped, spotting the damage.
The first blood of the match. Dripping from the gash on Albright's leg, staining the floor below.
"…His claws," Albright muttered, pinpointing the cause.
Kimberly uniforms were made of the finest enchanted thread, and no ordinary blade could pass through them—but the claws of a magical beast with powerful mana were another matter. Fay was racing off across the ring, yet when Albright looked closer, there were now jagged claws piercing through Fay's leather shoes. A trick he'd kept hidden to break through Team Andrews's defenses.
"Tch…"
"So you 'ad enough struggling, eh?"
But the six-minute mark was here. The third member of each team swiftly joined the fray. Rossi took position behind Albright, mindful of his decreased mobility.
""Tonitrus!""
"""Clypeus!"""
Joining forces with Chela, Stacy laid down the lightning. Three blockade spells stopped them dead, but by then, Fay had rounded the wall, renewing his attack on Team Andrews—and taking advantage of their wounded member's immobility. Rossi was in a tough spot seconds after entering the ring, but there was a grin on his lips.
"I am 'appy our plans were for naught. I was drooling with anticipation the entire six minutes."
The girls hit the wall with a pair of bust spells, shattering it. Turning the screws on Team Andrews, Chela glanced at the teammate beside her.
"Stace, have you got enough mana left?"
"Hahhh…hahhh… Plenty! Keep it up, Fay!"
"AWOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Stacy was clearly squeezing out the last of her stamina, and Fay answered her call with a deafening howl, racing back toward Team Andrews. The charge of a guard dog hell-bent on gnawing through any obstacles in his master's path. And Rossi pranced out in front of those claws and fangs.
"So fierce!" he cried. "But this is no longer new to me."
A double feint at floor level followed by a strike to the ankles. Rossi made no attempt to follow this with his eyes, simply letting him register in the peripherals—then did the splits. Rossi's blade dropped down hard from above, shocking Fay. He managed to get his athame up in time, but then Rossi's arms put his blade hand in a grapple hold.
"?!"
"Now we are on the floor together. Let us feast on each other's eyes!"
"Fay!"
Stacy's cry had a note of panic to it. Fay's agility had been the core of their strategy, and with him pinned to the ground, he wasn't going anywhere. He struggled to free himself, but Rossi got his legs around him, calling out to his companions.
"Do not shoot us both down together, please. I 'ave him 'andled; just bide your time."
"Hmph. Well done," said Albright. "Nail him to the floor."
"Impetus!"
With the trickiest foe out of commission, they moved to press that advantage. Stacy and Chela tried rescuing Fay, but Andrews's and Albright's spells cracked like whips, forcing them back.
"With the third fighters in play, we're back to spells! Mr. Willock's maneuvers may have bewildered Team Andrews, but Mr. Rossi put a stop to that first thing!"
"I've gotta chalk that one up to sheer aptitude. He's using ground fight moves, but the drop that got him there was pure improvisation. I don't know any schools that have a move with such absurdly specific applications. Using his legs as bait and predicting where that would take Mr. Willock—that takes brass balls."
Garland seemed half-impressed and half-appalled. Taking Fay out was certainly a pressing concern for Team Andrews, but he could never have imagined them pulling it off like this. He certainly couldn't call this textbook—but no doubt Rossi's stunt had been exactly what they needed to shake up the stalemate.
"But that's often the way of it when teams are evenly matched. They may have meant to eliminate each other swiftly, but six minutes was not enough time to break through each other's defenses. That's a testament to how balanced this matchup is. You can see why each team overcame fierce opposition to get here."
He smiled, satisfied. The combat league was not being dominated by a sole powerhouse; instead, every team that had clawed their way to the finals was demonstrating that they belonged there. And that made their instructor proud.
"Mr. Willock was pivotal to Team Cornwallis's strategy, so with him pinned down, they'll have to think of something else. Mr. Albright's leg wound does give them an advantage, but Ms. Cornwallis has cast a lot of doublecants and may not have much left in her. How Mr. Rossi and Mr. Willock's grappling concludes will make all the difference—this battle's outcome is still up in the air."
"Tonitrus! Tonitrus! Tonitrus!"
Albright was blocking Stacy, and she was blasting away at him. His injured leg did give her some advantage, but she was too worn out to force her way past. Too out of breath to maintain circular breathing for long. And he knew it—so between spells, he taunted her.
"…Come on, don't you really want me down? Why not take a step closer?"
"Once you're on your knees! Tonitrus!"
Not taking that bait, Stacy stubbornly stayed at spell range, casting away. With that leg wound, moving to blade range was an option, but Albright was smartly covering for the injury, and his sword arts skills were high enough to maintain a clear advantage. As much as she wanted to race to Fay's side, she had to stifle that urge, keeping her mind on the spell exchange and waiting for her chance to turn the tables.
"I've been forced to revise my opinion of you again, Rick. I am no match for you on wind control."
"Your battle chatter hasn't changed at all, Michela. Impetus!"
Chela and Andrews were at spell range, too, but Chela had just arrived and was at full strength, forcing Andrews to play it safe. Given the situation, he'd been expecting her to try and force her way through, but instead, Chela showed no signs of any aggression. Her reticence baffled him.
"Sure you just want to keep me busy? You know Rossi's got the upper hand."
"..."
Chela did not deign to answer. She would happily act as he suggested, but it wasn't because she'd promised her teammates she would.
Come in third, and lock either Andrews or Albright down. That was her role in this match. Those were the instructions she'd been given, and she understood the reasoning behind them. This was Stacy's team, and a victory would matter only if they won on her terms. If Chela flexed and turned the tables, that goal would be disrupted. Stacy and Fay were having her help them, but they were ultimately here to show off their own strength. And Chela was clear on just how desperate that purpose was. Hence—she deferred to it above all.
"…Gah…"
And if she was being a stickler for those terms, her teammates would just have to escape this predicament on their own. That would not be easy. A partially transformed werewolf had more propulsive power than a human, but that came at the price of flexibility, especially around the hip joints. Add a technical advantage, and the ground game was Rossi's to dominate.
Repeated guard passes had him positioned at Fay's back. When Fay continued to struggle, Rossi whispered, "Good thing I studied up on my grappling, yes? I am no match for you on raw power."
"…Rrrgh…!"
"Ah-ah, do not struggle so much, eh? I am a new 'and at this and cannot finish things as clean as our president. But I bet I am better at bedroom grappling."
Even as he joked, he improved his position. Pinning Fay's sword hand to the floor with the arm held around his throat while clutching his own sleeve with the free hand to pull his grip tighter, constricting the artery. Fay's transformation had not affected his neck or the vocal cords within, otherwise he wouldn't be able to spellcast. The construction and musculature were no different from any human, and the choke hold was highly effective.
This ground battle was almost at an end. Stacy caught a glimpse of that past Albright's side, though he was bodily blocking her from getting a full view. She couldn't land a spell on him directly—but she knew that, and this positioning suited her well.
"Luna plena!"
"Hng?!"
In the midst of a breathless spell exchange, when he least expected it, Stacy pointed her athame skyward. Pale light emerged, gathering above in the shape of a pearl. Albright winced, kicking himself for the blunder. The orb was placed overhead and behind him; to aim at it, he would have to turn his back on Stacy. He could scarcely afford to give her that opening, and Chela had Andrews too busy to try anything, either.
"You 'eld up well, but we are done 'ere."
Rossi was too focused on his grappling duel to notice the change. With the flow of blood to his brain cut off, Fay's vision grew dark—but just before his consciousness faded, his master's voice reached his ears.
"Fay! Look up!"
He knew what she meant. Unable to turn his head, he moved his eyes. And his narrowing field of view caught a glimpse of the thing he needed most. A full moon, hanging in the sky above.
"…GAH…"
"Huh?"
Fay's neck visibly expanded, forcing Rossi's arm away. No matter how tight a grip he took, it would not matter now. This neck was far too thick for a human arm to hold.
"You 'ave got to be shitting me."
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"
In full werewolf form, a bestial roar tore out of Fay's throat. Like he was made of springs, he bounded up. Rossi abandoned his hold and stepped off, standing back-to-back with Albright.
"I thought you were done?" Albright asked him.
"Don't be an ass! My ground game is meant for 'uman beings!"
Rossi's retort was nearly a shriek. And Fay had located his prey. He lunged directly toward them.
"He's after you, Albright!" Andrews yelled, eyes on his duel with Chela.
Albright was well aware. A fully transformed werewolf could not be felled by any singlecant. He'd prefer to match wands with Rossi, but attempting that would expose their back to Stacy's spells. In peak condition, he could have evaded the charge and bought time, but with his wounded leg, his odds of success weren't high.
Those factors diminished his options. In no time flat, he narrowed down those options and backed off a step. Wheeling toward Fay, he snapped, "Switch!" at Rossi.
"Okay?!"
They traded positions. Rossi didn't argue. He turned to face Stacy but couldn't disguise his surprise. Could Albright really take on a fully transformed Fay? Did he even have a way to survive the incoming charge?
"GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Fay's prey was just standing there. Eyes locked on Albright's throat, all hesitation thrown to the wind, Fay lunged forward, jaws wide. One arm over his heart to block a well-aimed thrust. Anything else, he could absorb, even a spell at point-blank range. And his jaws would slam shut a moment later. They were well past the time for gambits.
And Albright's response was equally simple. As the jaws bore down on him, he snapped his left elbow out before them.
"Gnh…!"
He felt those teeth rend his flesh, rattle his bones. Grunting from the pain of it, Albright held firm. Manipulating his internal mana to momentarily strengthen the shoulder, making his forearm a shield against the brute force of the animal's jaws. This was a futile effort, one that merely pushed back his inevitable mauling by a matter of seconds—but it was not without meaning. Those scant seconds were time enough to act.
"Frigus!"
So act he did. Put his athame hand at chest height, tip to Fay's belly, and chanted a spell with as much output as he could muster. The sheer bulk of the abdominal muscles prevented it penetrating to any critical organs, but the freezing spell was enough to chill the beast's insides, and that incursion soon reached the heart.
"KAH…"
Fay's body was forced to cease functions, knees crumpling against his will. Albright pushed his weight to one side, dropping him to the floor. Flesh gouged to the bone, his left arm hung limp, but the warrior clan's heir had won the fight.
"…That's how the Albrights hunt werewolves," he said.
"Fay!"
As her servant went down, Stacy forgot herself and ran to him. Rossi didn't block her path but let her go by—then took aim at her undefended back.
"Pardon me, Stacy. Flamma!"
"Frigus!"
As flames leaped from Rossi's wand, Chela spotted her teammate's predicament. She dove sideways past Andrews's gale, breaking off her counter to cast in her teammate's defense. The spells clashed behind Stacy. Only then did she notice Albright's spell—but Andrews had his wand aimed her way.
"Impetus!"
Chela's defense was not in time, and the wind's aim proved true. Albright's one spell had been all he could muster, and Stacy quickly tore her eyes from him, spinning—
"Prohibere!"
She tried countering the gale with the oppositional element, but her spell was consumed, and Andrews's winds mercilessly bore down upon her.
"No—!"
By the time she realized she'd been overpowered, it was too late. She couldn't dodge in time, and the winds slammed into Stacy's body, blowing her away. She went tumbling across the floor of the ring. Even from this distance, Andrews could tell she'd been knocked unconscious.
"…Not enough juice. The fatigue caught up with her," he muttered.
The strength of her emotions had not been able to compensate. That had been the cause of Stacy's downfall. Chela bit her lip—and having witnessed the outcome, Albright let his injuries get the best of him, slumping to the floor.
"Lost too much blood. The rest is all yours."
Andrews and Rossi nodded. Their teammate had taken Fay down at great personal cost, and they could hardly make Albright fight further. Especially since they had another match later on, after a brief break. No one wanted to wear themselves out when not strictly necessary.
"That leaves just you, Chela. What do you say?"
The same was true for their opponent. Andrews moved up alongside Rossi, athame at the ready, indirectly urging her to surrender. Suggesting she was better off abandoning this match to focus on the next and hoping to reach an amicable resolution.
There was a pause; then Chela lowered her blade, accepting it.
"…I'm sorry, Stace."
Andrews had expected that answer, yet it still came as a relief. He could surmise that she was taking a step back here, letting Stacy be the leader. And that meant there was nothing she could gain by fighting on alone.
But his optimism was blown aside by a wave of overwhelming mana.
"━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━?!"
His sagging focus snapped back to full alert. His skin boiled. Before his eyes and Rossi's, the ringlet girl began changing. Her well-shaped, rounded ears began to grow—becoming pointy.
"I did mean to just watch over things. But I think right now…I'd rather step out of turn."
The shift to her elf form. Chela was a morphling half-elf, and this was her biggest power move—proof positive she was no longer playing second fiddle. Andrews and Rossi both leaped backward—
"Tonitrus!"
—and Chela fired a spell toward one, a bolt dramatically more powerful than any before, so intense it could easily be mistaken for a doublecant. Yet, Rossi was not flustered. He'd been through enough fights to calmly read the path of the spell, see it was aimed a tad downward, and make the minimal move out of harm's way. His read was true, and the bolt struck the floor in a shower of sparks.
"One 'eck of an output…! But sloppy aim!"
He grinned, leaping over the landing zone to fire a counter. He'd concluded that she was not fully in control of her boosted output. And that left plenty of ways to fight back. He was an old hand at fighting foes who could outgun him.
But Andrews's take was rather different. He knew better than anyone that Michela McFarlane would never leave such an obvious weakness exposed. Thus—he alone spotted her true aim.
"No, Rossi! You're in range!"
"?"
Rossi frowned, the meaning eluding him. For good reason: Chela was nowhere near him. Far enough off to easily dodge a spell after it was cast. A boost to output would have little impact on her casting speed or the velocity of electricity itself. If she moved closer, maybe, but at this stage, there should be no immediate threat.
Yet, that logic was immediately belied. In the blink of an eye, Chela was on top of him.
"Hah?!"
He had no time to respond at all. Comprehension, observation, and analysis all lagged woefully far behind. An athame held out before her, no tricks or fuss, just thrust right at Rossi's heart, the impact so hard, it sent him careering to the rear. He felt himself lifted up, and he saw her form shrinking once more. For a second, he goggled at that—and without moving so much as a single finger, he found himself slammed into the ground outside the ring.
"Kah—"
This hit forced all the air from his lungs, and he blacked out. The silence was oppressive. Unable to comprehend what had happened, the students in the stands froze, forgetting to cheer. At the focus of every silent gaze, poised in the post-thrust stance, Chela exhaled.
"Wh-wh-wh-what was that?!" Glenda cried. "She was way outside one-step, one-spell range but somehow knocked Mr. Rossi right out of the ring! S-seriously, I don't even get what I just saw. How is that possible? A superspeed thrust from range?"
"…Another type of Floating," Garland growled as the crowd began to roar. He sounded less impressed than unnerved.
"The fundamental process is the same as Ms. Valois demonstrated in the last match. But the application of it is unrelated. Ms. Valois used Floating to make her movements unreadable, while Ms. McFarlane used the same technique for propulsion. The bolt before it was no attack; she was laying down a lane of the repulsive element, one leading directly to her opponent. Compared to Floating that matches the existing ground, this gives you maximum repulsion in your favored element."
This was the nature of the enigma that assaulted Rossi. When he'd read the path of the spell and made the minimal dodge, he'd already bought a one-way ticket to the defeat Chela had in store for him. Naturally, Garland had no intention of placing any of the blame on Rossi. It was absurd to ask any third-year to dodge that sight unseen. It was a feat beyond mortal ken.
"A Rizett Secret: Etincelle. It's easy enough to explain the logic aloud, but that is purely theoretical. Both the acceleration of a step forward with maximized balance control and the propulsion of the Floating repulsion—that speed is only achievable with a high-level blend of each. It's equivalent to turning oneself into a cannonball. The slightest error in the process and you'll be hurtling in the wrong direction entirely."
Even as he spoke, Garland thought it was a miracle that hadn't happened. The move Chela had pulled off was not just beyond the lower forms, it was beyond anything they expected of a student. It was not the product of mere talent but of the unnatural, the downright uncanny. Words used to describe Garland himself—but even Garland could never have reached that level at her age.
"To my knowledge, no mage has ever pulled it off in their teens. I imagine we could turn back the pages of magical history and never find the like…until she proved it possible."
"...!"
After knocking Rossi clean out of the ring, Chela quietly turned on her heel, walking toward the sole remaining opponent. Electricity crackled in the air around her. Andrews swallowed hard. He could feel his heart sinking, yet there was a strained smile on his face.
"Reminds me of the first time we met…"
Visions of that memory overlayed the scene.
His parents had taken him to the McFarlane mansion, and from the moment they'd met, his position had been exactly as it was now. The adults had suggested it might be fun to show off their spells—and that had been enough to destroy the boy's burgeoning confidence.
He was nothing but a vastly inferior version of this girl. A brutal blow to his developing sense of self, it had for years been a curse that hounded him. Chela insisted they were equals, that she just wanted to be friends, but he had long averted his eyes from that plea. Because he, of all people, could not accept the truth.
His lineage was not the sort that allowed him to merely discard pride. The conflict festered within and led him to prove his strength against others. Protecting his ego by putting Michela McFarlane out of sight and out of mind. And as his ego grew, it became a twisted way of life. He fought only those he knew he could beat, always fleeing those superior to him. Even admitting that truth was suffering—yet, he clung to it with an unconscious need. Until one day.
"…I knew it. You were better than me then, and you're better now."
"Rick."
"And yet!"
He steeled his nerves, talking over her. He was done running. Like the girl who'd gone up against a garuda while not even capable of casting a satisfactory spell. Like the boy who'd stood there, shoulder to shoulder with her. Richard Andrews wanted to be like them. They'd called him a comrade, and he aimed to live up to that. When that truly came to pass, for the first time, he would stand proud and be the man he longed to be. Thus:
"There is one thing that's different. I am no longer turning away. Not from you, and not from my own weakness," he said. "This is my answer: Come at me, Chela!"
With everything he had, the boy aimed his wand at his old friend. He cut down the part of his heart screaming that he should turn and run, that he stood no chance at victory. She was far stronger than anyone he'd ever fought—but for once, he would not back down.
"…Then come I shall."
Accepting his resolve, Chela struck a mid-stance with her athame. The force radiating from the tip of it alone made Andrews dizzy. But Nanao Hibiya or Oliver Horn wouldn't quail here. Their images were carved into Andrews's mind and gave him courage. Overlapping those with his own image, the words of his initial volley were on his tongue when—
"That's enough."
A voice from above, like chopping wood.
Both heads snapped up. There stood an upside-down man in a dapper brown suit, feet planted on the underside of a broom. Theodore McFarlane had been watching over their fight and deemed it time to step in.
"Fa…ther."
"You've been quite naughty, Chela. This is not what we discussed."
He dropped off the broom, flipping neatly in the air and landing before her without a sound. The smile he turned her way did not appear any different from his customary charm. But Chela could tell—this was the rarest of sights, the expression he wore when genuinely furious.
"You may enter the combat league. You may joust with your school chums. But do not get serious. That was the agreement."
His tone was even, simply reciting the terms. Andrews had no clue what to make of this sudden intrusion, but Chela's wand hand shook. Her voice like a whisper into the north wind.
"…I just…wanted Stace to win…"
"This was their fight. Your skill has no bearing on it."
Theodore spoke of harsh truths, and her knees almost buckled under them. But she met her father's eyes, forcing out the words as if she were coughing up blood.
"I know that. But…I want to give back what was taken from them. Even just a little of what they should have had…!"
She put her desires out there. Her half sister had been robbed of so many things from the moment of birth, and her father was chief among them. Chela had long wrestled with this pain.
There was a momentary silence. A mocking smile played about Theodore's lips, but it was hard to tell if that was directed at her…or himself.
"That can't be done, Chela. As you're well aware. You're my daughter, which dooms you to a life of taking."
"━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━!!"
That word made her detonate. The one thing she simply could not accept, and she threw everything she had at him in protest. A reckless lunge, all consequences be damned, the most powerful thrust she could manage. One no one else in her year could even see, aimed right at his heart.
"Sigh."
And it was over.
Like the sweep of a dragon's tail, Andrews thought. Before his eyes, Chela's body shot sideways so suddenly, it was downright comical.
She tumbled helplessly across the floor, not allowed to catch herself, not permitted to perceive what had happened. The blow to her cheek had pruned her consciousness, leaving her senses lost in darkness. The momentum carried her all the way to the edge of the arena, not a single sound escaping Chela's lips. Her father's strike had robbed his daughter of even the capacity for an agonized grunt.
"That's for breaking your promise. Repent in bed for a while."
Theodore stood bolt upright, just his arm raised before him. Chela was unresponsive. Only then did Andrews register that this had been merely a slap on the cheek. From no stance at all, yet allowing Chela no response whatsoever.
He couldn't even shudder. That response was of no value in the face of what he'd just witnessed. This display merely carved one simple fact into his chest—this world contained things beyond his comprehension.
"…And you needn't worry. Those two won't be separated so easily. Breaking down a werewolf's transformation is a success by anyone's standards and does not require a league victory to seal the deal. The Cornwallis clan may be stubborn as mules, but I shall insist. As an outsider, that is all that I can really do."
Theodore knew full well his words no longer reached Chela's ears. But he stepped over to her prostrate form and gathered her up in his arms. Then he moved back to Andrews, passing right on by.
"Apologies for this uncomfortable display. The victory is yours, Mr. Andrews. Be proud."
Leaving those words hanging, father and daughter left the ring. Andrews watched the man's back retreat down the exit—and then turned his gaze skyward, wallowing in his own helplessness.
"…Uh, well…"
Glenda couldn't find any words to describe this, so she turned to the teachers beside her.
After a long silence, Garland shook his head, closing his eyes.
"…We cannot address the problems of the McFarlanes. Sorry, Ms. Glenda."
Glenda gulped. She knew that was the only answer here. Yet, she had still dared hope—the light of the fight that had almost happened had been just that entrancing. All she'd wanted was to see it play out.
Much of the crowd clearly felt the same, and Glenda had to force herself to announce the outcome.
"…Combat league: Match Two. Team Cornwallis cedes victory to Team Andrews."
"Chela!"
"Are you okay?!"
The moment the match ended, Katie and Guy had left the stands and came running to the infirmary. The first thing they saw was Albright, and the school physician treating his injuries. Their eyes soon found Chela on a bed by the window, her eyes open.
"…I've rather upset everyone, haven't I? I'll be fine, I assure you. Just need to rest a bit and I'll be back on my feet."
She managed a feeble smile as they ran up to her bed. The doctor's work had already reduced the swollen cheek courtesy of Theodore, but Chela was still unable to sit up on her own. A blow designed to immobilize her for a while, delivered with the precision that required.
Chela chose her words in light of that.
"But I'm afraid we'll have to withdraw from further matches. There's my current state, but we've asked far too much of Mr. Willock as well. We certainly can't make him transform again this soon. I'm sure Stace will say the same when she wakes."
"Oh…yeah…"
"After that fight, I'm not surprised."
There were two more beds next to Chela's, and her teammates lay upon them. Neither Stacy nor Fay had woken up yet. Less because of the damage they'd taken than sheer exhaustion. You could patch up an injury quickly, but mana recovery took time. They needed rest above all.
"We made it to the finals, so it's a pity we won't get a chance to fight Oliver's team. Still, the result is not yet decided. Rick's team is very good. I honestly have no idea what'll happen if they go all out against our friends."
To Chela, that was simply the unvarnished truth. To her eyes, Stacy and Fay's plan had been a good one. Against anyone else, it likely would have succeeded. But Team Andrews had weathered the storm with astonishing tenacity, suggesting their capabilities were far beyond what she had projected. She had the utmost faith in Oliver and Nanao, yet she still could not call their victory assured.
"But I also believe the two of them are the cause of Team Andrews's newfound strength. That's why I'm eager to see how they respond to it."
She put her desire into words. Since the league rules required the teams be kept separate, they couldn't come see her here. They likely only knew the match's outcome and didn't even realize Chela was bedridden. She was grateful for that. They were prepping for a battle with a formidable foe, and she did not want her problems to ruin their concentration. Team Horn and Team Andrews were so matched in ability that that minor distraction could well prove their undoing.
Chela could barely lift her arm, but somehow she got it on the bed's railing. Katie was closest and grabbed hold of her hand. The ringlet girl scanned her friends' concerned faces.
"I'll be there as soon as I can stand. You go on back ahead of me. I want you there to cheer for our comrades."
"…This is taking forever."
Following the second match's abrupt end, the audience was left sitting in the stands, biding their time. Team Carste had been eliminated in the main round, and they were sitting with their friend, Peter Cornish. Teresa had flitted off somewhere again, leaving her seat empty; next to her vacant spot, Dean folded his arms, snorting.
"Seriously! Are they arguing behind the scenes?"
"Just how stupid are you? After that interruption, an argument is inevitable."
Zero attempt to dull the verbal barbs. Teresa's seat remained vacant, and this speaker sat on the other side of it.
"Oh yeah?" Dean said, glaring at the girl seated there. "Thanks for the unsolicited feedback. I've been wondering—why are you here? There were plenty of empty seats when you showed up."
"I merely felt compelled to this location. Even if I had to drive off the previous occupant."
She gracefully folded her legs, her blond locks glimmering. This was the leader of the other qualifying second-year team, one Felicia Echevalria. Sister to the infamous head of the old-council camp, Leoncio Echevalria.
Rita Appleton was seated on the other side of Dean. She leaned in and whispered, "Wow, Dean, when'd you make friends with Ms. Echevalria?"
"I didn't," Dean grumbled back, brow furrowed. "We did that commentary thing together, and she's been on my case ever since. Wish I knew why."
There was a moment's silence, and then Felicia spoke again.
"It's a shame the last match was called off. I would have liked to see Ms. McFarlane fight longer."
"…Are you talking to me?"
"Don't give yourself airs. I am talking to myself alone. However, I am generous to a fault, and if you insist on conversing with me, I might consider engaging."
"I'm good."
Dean looked away, showing no further interest. This made a vein on Felicia's temple visibly pulsate.
"Dean, don't be rude!" Rita hissed. "She clearly wants to talk to you!"
"Huh? I know that. I just want her to come out and say it."
"She's probably a tough cookie. Like Teresa!"
Rita was clearly trying to make this work, and dropping Teresa's name did make Dean inclined to cut Felicia some more slack. Compared to Teresa's entire first year, Felicia's act was a lot easier to handle—she at least talked to him of her own free will. Dean looked back her way.
"…Do you not have any friends?" he asked.
"I wasn't in the mood to drag around a gaggle of lackeys. Should I need them, I have dozens available."
"Uh-huh. So what was the point? You wanted to see Ms. McFarlane fight?"
"There are precious few chances to view Rizett Secrets like that. There will be a flood of requests to view recordings of that match, to be sure. But perhaps this discussion is of no use to someone with zero drive to improve themselves."
"Nah, I totally get that, just… Would I even follow what I'm seeing? Personally, I'd rather go over what Mr. Rossi did. That street-fight style's more my speed."
"Ha, how the riff call the raff. Rolling in the dirt with a werewolf is so boorish. Feeling drawn to that heresy calls in question your value as a mage."
"Oh, I ain't arguing that I wasn't raised right. Anyway, Teresa, which fight impressed you?"
"Mr. Horn. No one else matters."
The voice came from what should have been empty space, and Felicia jumped straight out of her skin. She found a small girl sitting calmly in a seat that had been unoccupied mere moments before. Felicia hadn't detected her at all until she spoke.
"...?! When did you get here?!"
"Huh? She's been here for, like, two minutes. Too small for you to notice?"
"Once more, the redwood boasts only about its height," Teresa said.
"Okay, we're taking this outside. Later."
Teresa and Dean were back to their usual squabbling. Felicia watched with a frown for a moment, but before she could chime in, Peter yelped, "Oh, look! Someone's taken the ring!"
Theodore was back out in front of the crowd, everyone desperate for an update on the proceedings. He stepped to the center of the ring, and his gaze swept the stands.
"Ahem, apologies for the lengthy delay. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Team Cornwallis and Team Valois have both withdrawn. As a result, the next match—Team Horn versus Team Andrews—will decide the league victory."
That announcement sent ripples through the audience. They were not pleased. A long wait followed by bad news—angry voices erupted everywhere.
"What the hell?!"
"What a joke—that's half the fights canceled!"
"It's just a regular-ass tournament now!"
"So you're basically saying, Screw you, to the audience and the league!"
Theodore nodded at every remark. He'd made the declaration and had been entirely aware how it would be received. Accepting the inevitable, he moved to proceed.
"Yes, yes, entirely understandable. But unfortunately, the circumstances left us with no choice. Neither team was in any condition to fight. No instructor here would dream of forcing them into the ring like that."
The rationale itself made sense, but he had personally interfered with the second match, and that made it hard for the students to settle down. As the uproar only intensified, Theodore moved to extinguish the flames.
"Naturally, this state of affairs is my fault—the abrupt end to the last match included. I stand ready to acknowledge all your criticisms. But I have also prepared amends. I ask only that you hear me out before you throw that burst orb my way."
The din died down. If he had more to offer than mealymouthed excuses, then they were curious what—that was how the average Kimberly student thought. Exactly as they had when he was a student at this institution. Grinning, Theodore named his "amends."
"An impromptu exhibition match. Held tomorrow, populated by all the teams eliminated in the lower forms' main round, the victors of which shall receive ten million belc from my own personal funds. Consider it a modest means of making it up to you."
A totally different stir ran through the crowd. Even if this mess was on the league admins, an extra prize of that size was a worthy bonus. And no one could complain about the eliminated teams getting a second shot.
As the students made swift calculations, Theodore offered further explanation.
"Sounds like you're on board. Let me explain the rest of today's proceedings. Team Horn versus Team Andrews—whoever wins this battle will be the junior league champions. The preceding battles may have ended unexpectedly—entirely my fault—but even if the league had played out ordinarily, I suspect those two teams would have been the final pairing. They're both just that good."
He wasn't building them up to justify the format changes; this was clearly Theodore's honest opinion. The strengths of the individual members were a different story, but the two dropout teams were simply far less stable as a group than the two that had advanced. Looking at the matches fought, Team Horn and Team Andrews had clearly played with an eye on what lay ahead. In other words—while they might be skipping ahead, the outcome was the same. He was sure of it.
"The fighters will return in thirty minutes' time. We'll fill the gap with more detailed explanations of the exhibition. Listen well."
All ears present perked up. Every bit as attentive as they were in class. Theodore launched into the full lecture.
"…I knew Chela's team would drop out."
The same news had reached the room where Team Andrews waited. Albright had survived the doctor's handiwork and was back with them, sunk deep in a chair.
"Instructor Theodore bailed us out last time," he muttered. "I had no clue the McFarlane girl was that bonkers."
"Indeed. I 'onestly did not even see that thrust. She could try the move on me again, and I would be just as 'elpless. I 'ave a lot to work on."
Rossi was sprawled out on a bench, his defeat playing on repeat in his mind.
"I agree," Andrews said with a nod, his own face-off with her occupying every bit as much mental real estate. "But even if the match had been allowed to continue, I suspect Team Cornwallis would have withdrawn. Those transformations take too much of a toll on Mr. Willock's body, and Ms. Cornwallis used too much mana on those doublecants. I doubt either had enough left in them to handle the remaining matches."
This victory had not necessarily been handed to them. Catching Andrews's drift, Rossi bounded up from the bench. As shocking as that thrust had been, they could not afford to drag it around with them. Relieved he'd gotten the hint, Andrews glanced at his other teammate.
"Are you good to go, Albright? Mr. Willock's teeth went rather deep; will the bite hold you back?"
"It won't. The wound's healed, and I've got mana to spare. That's why I only stopped the bleeding and let the doctor handle the rest. I've got enough for one more match."
He sounded assured. Refusing to waste mana on his own healing—all for the sake of victory. Andrews found that dedication worth placing his faith in. Convinced he need not worry about his team, he focused on sorting himself out. In the upcoming match, he would be required to perform better than either of them.
"However we got here, we're in the final fight. Eliminate distractions and give it all we've got."
"Whoa, two teams dropped out? What for?"
Yuri looked baffled. In their waiting room, Team Horn had received the final verdict, but unaware of what exactly had happened, the news was a much bigger shock. They could all guess that the toll of Fay Willock's transformation was to blame for Team Cornwallis's withdrawal, so Oliver spoke to the other dropout.
"I'm assuming this is down to Ms. Valois's mental state. I doubt she's recovered from her defeat yet. That was the kind of loss that stays with you."
"It may hurt now," Nanao said, looking up from the katana she'd been tending to. "But that lady will recover and come after us stronger than ever. I know it to be true."
Oliver took her word for it. Anyone Nanao faced head-on and defeated would inevitably see the light through that darkness. There was a quality to her blade that engendered faith.
Their new information processed, he turned to his teammates. The final match lay ahead, and this was their last chance to plan.
"Whatever the truth, for now we must move on. We're up against Team Andrews. They're by far the best team we've fought, both in individual strength and group cohesiveness. Even if all of us are at peak performance, it's going to be extremely close."
Nanao and Yuri both nodded. They'd known Team Andrews would be the greatest obstacle on their path to league victory. The first thing to mind was the match where Team Aalto had been eliminated—where they'd fought off two teams at once without batting an eyebrow. Getting through their defenses directly would be no small task.
"We all know one another's styles well, so we're better off staying flexible instead of locking ourselves into a strategy. But probably best if we decide roughly who should handle whom. Those pairings will help us decide the flow of the match."
"In that case, allow me to take on Mr. Albright. I am certain the gentleman will be coming directly at me."
"I agree. He's likely the only third-year who can face you at blade range and not be swiftly overpowered. And I'm sure he wants to put that to the test."
"Then I guess that means I'm on Rossi? Sounds fun. You never know what he'll do!"
"Your super hunches against his theory-flouting tricks? No clue how that'll go, but it seems like a solid choice. You're probably the only one of us Rossi doesn't have a read on. If he's forced to focus on dealing with you, that'll be our most effective means of neutralizing him."
Their plans firmed up with little debate. Proof they had faith in one another's skills and a sign they trusted their opponents to fight fair and square. There would be no hinky tricks here. And for that reason, their plans focused only on hitting them with everything they had.
"That means I'm up against Mr. Andrews," said Oliver. "An opponent that'll test my mettle. I get the sense that we have similar approaches to combat, and I bet he'll have prepared carefully to take us on. We'll be trying to outguess each other on a very deep level."
"Then you must simply enjoy that. Like speaking at length when reunited with an old friend."
Nanao's metaphor was apt, and Oliver nodded, smiling. He ran back over what they'd said, checking for anything he might have left out, then directed his thoughts inward. A comfortable excitement, no trace of anxiety.
"…Good, then let's leave it at that. Getting too granular will work against us. Spend the rest of the time however you want."
With that, his teammates split up, and Oliver checked the clock. Twenty minutes till the match began. Not long at all, and yet the time seemed to be ticking away so slowly. When he realized that meant he was eager for the match to start—well, that came as a surprise to himself.
Then he whispered, "Do you feel the same, Mr. Andrews…?"
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