☆★☆★☆★
In front of us, a one-sided lynching was unfolding.
“G-g-give… give u—, give up—, ughk!”
The Student Council President, already a bloody mess, lay face-down on the ground as a brutal kick slammed right into his jaw.
Here’s what happened: right at the opening, four third-year students unleashed a Level 6 ritual spell. A single hit was all it took to incapacitate the student council. You’d think that would be the match—but it wasn’t. Being taken out without doing a single thing would disgrace the student council’s name, so the President refused to raise the white flag.
That was the worst part.
Punches and kicks were being rained down one-sidedly upon the fallen… no, these were attacks meant to completely knock them out cold. And now, against a group already beaten into an unconscious state where they couldn’t even surrender, even more savage attacks were being carried out. A moment ago, the President had come to for a split second—but before he could declare his surrender, he took another hit and got knocked out all over again.
“That was clearly aimed at the jaw just now, right, Ephthal?”
“Yeah. They’re deliberately knocking him out. No… they’re making sure he can’t surrender.”
Thud, crunch, whump… Dull impacts rang out, followed by the spray of blood.
“Haha, hahaha…!”
“Hahaha! What even is the student council anyway? They’re pathetic. And these were the guys lording it over us?”
Whump!
A kick dug right into the stomach of Irene-san, who was lying face-down. No mercy just because she’s a woman, huh? This is awful.
“Master… those people… are they enjoying this?”
“No, that’s not it… they’re not enjoying it.”
A long time ago, I dealt with people who’d fallen into a similar state. I still remember how bad the aftertaste was. If I recall correctly, it was a job from the adventurers’ guild to crush a religious organization tied to devil worship. They used every dark art in the book, dosed their believers with virulent drugs, and scrambled their brains with magic… anyway, it was a horrific battlefield.
“They just don’t understand themselves anymore. They had an inferiority complex about the student council to begin with, and now it’s exploding entirely out of proportion… probably.”
At that, Sheryl called out at the top of her lungs to the brown-haired boy on the platform.
“…Brother Brad! Please… stop! Why…?! What is the point of this?!”
“Brother?”
Apparently, the brown-haired guy up there—Brad—is related to Sheryl. I don’t know why they’re using dark-arts enhancement on themselves, but Sheryl’s brother is a man who literally knocked on the underworld’s door just to obtain magic crystals. He’s not the type to be choosy about his methods when he wants a result.
In any case, at this rate, someone is going to die.
Merlin, finally finished changing, made her way back to us.
“Ephthal-sama? Is it time?”
“Yeah, stop it right now. They’re getting dangerously close to killing them.”
Merlin rose on a flight spell and ascended to the platform.
“Enough, you rotten brats—Level 7: Tartaros.”
Countless chains materialized around Merlin, binding the students one after another. However, two of them leapt clear of the area, narrowly escaping the restraint. The endless chains chased the pair relentlessly from every angle and direction, moving like snakes with minds of their own. Yet, those two seemed to be on an entirely different level from the other students; the chains couldn’t manage to bind them.
“We can use ritual magic up to Level 6, you know, Headmaster? Scattering your magic power like that… isn’t a sloppy net a bit much to ask against us?”
“Why, you—!”
Merlin grabbed one of the chains in her hand. The moment she poured her magic power into it, the chain coiled around the speaker at ferocious speed.
“Gah!”
She managed to catch one, but the remaining one… this isn’t good. Merlin must have noticed too, but from the very start, the quality of the magic power radiating from Brad alone was completely different. Every remaining chain surged toward Brad, Sheryl’s brother, but—
“Level 7: Ice Prison.”
Every single chain was knocked aside by a wall of ice magic defense.
“…Level 7? Brother Brad… did that?”
Sheryl stood frozen to the spot, struck dumb. From her reaction, there’s no mistaking this is her first time seeing it.
And then—silence.
It wasn’t just Sheryl. The entire venue froze at once, wrapped in a breathless hush. Well, that’s not unreasonable. After all, Level 7 was just ordinary, high-tier magic back in my era.
After a short pause, hesitant voices began leaking from the spectator seats.
“An illusion… right?”
“…Probably.”
“Well… I mean… it has to be, right?”
Yeah. True or not, interpreting it that way is better for their peace of mind.
But… I cocked my head. Merlin seemed to be thinking the same thing, a puzzled look painting her face. He had suddenly triggered a spell with absolutely no magic power and no formula… or so it appeared. Certain schools utilize concealment arts to delay an opponent’s response—maybe it’s something like that? If so, he’s without a doubt a very tricky opponent to fight.
Well, countermeasures are simple enough, exactly what Merlin is doing now: concentrate magic power into the eyes to see through the concealed mana and formula. That’s the textbook response, and it’s perfectly fine, but I felt an indescribable sense of wrongness. A bad premonition.
Up on the platform, Brad questioned Merlin.
“Come now, Headmaster. We were merely conducting a match in accordance with the rules. Intervening with sudden restraint is a bit peculiar, don’t you think?”
“You went too far, you fools. And besides… you used enhancements from the lost dark arts, did you not? Though, you alone seem to be a completely different breed from the rest of them… hm.”
“Erudite, as expected of the Headmaster. But the dark arts are not legally taboo. No one has forbidden them, have they?”
“They are only unforbidden because they were thought to be lost. Tell me—do you understand that you are trading your very lifespan for a fleeting moment of superhuman power?”
“I interpret that, too, as an exercise of free will.”
“Regardless, you went too far.”
“And I am telling you that this is an abuse of authority. You have no right to halt an official match… or am I mistaken?”
Brad grinned, and Merlin snorted derisively.
“I see. You… are reckless with your life, daring to defy me.”
“Reckless with my life? Which of us, I wonder?”
Veins began to throb in rows on Merlin’s temple.
“Very well. If you wish it, I shall grant you a special lesson. Only… keep in mind that the discipline I hand down turns into the hellfire of the underworld.”
The chains shifted, and the bound students were flung completely off the platform, still tightly trussed up. Good, the stage is cleared.
“Level 7: Dead Blind.”
The arena platform was instantly enveloped in a dome of pitch-black darkness.
“Master! I can’t see inside!”
“…Because things are about to get flashy.”
The platform was wrapped tight in darkness. By using Merlin’s method—perceiving the flow of magic power in all creation—I could make out what was happening inside, but Anastasia and Maria wouldn’t be able to manage that. That dome acts as a blindfold and a magic barrier against the outside world at the same time. Which means Merlin intends to fight without holding back.
Well… in all likelihood, something serious is about to happen on that stage. The kind of magic that shouldn’t even exist in this era.
Inside the darkness, Merlin spoke to Brad with a fearless smile.
“Still, a Level 10 spell is a treasure wasted on someone like you.”
Hoh. Brad drew a sharp breath, staring at Merlin. “You’re well-informed.”
“I received word from Sasha-sama in advance. I do not know what method you used, but this matter falls within Sasha-sama’s domain. It stands to reason that such absurdity would occur.”
“And so… it’s a treasure wasted?”
Merlin let out a soft chuckle.
“Did you burn through your magic power pointlessly during your fight with the student council? Your total reserves look incredibly low to me. As you are right now, forget Level 10—you have enough ammunition for a single Level 7… no, a Level 6 shot at best, do you not?”
“Well noticed. As expected of the headmaster.”
Suddenly, it hit me—Ah!—and I finally caught the exact nature of the wrongness I’d felt earlier.
No, you’re wrong, Merlin… that isn’t it. Brad hasn’t used a single drop of magic in that entire fight.
My bad premonition sharpened into absolute certainty, and I started sprinting toward the platform.
“So? What will you do? Do you intend to face me with empty magic pools?”
“Yes, that is right. To people like you, it may look empty. But for me, it is more than enough.”
With that, Brad turned his palm toward Merlin. Without assembling a single formula, without triggering a single spark of magic power, he simply… declared it.
“Level 9: Blizzard Tyrant.”
This is… complete nonsense.
Merlin and I realized it at the exact same instant, and at the exact same instant, our faces paled with pure shock. Yes, this was an event completely outside the realm of reason. No—this wasn’t something that should be allowed to exist.
To put it in perspective, it’s as if a modern military force suddenly brought fighter jets and machine guns into a medieval war against wyverns and magic. That was the sheer scale of the absurdity.
Indeed, this wasn’t the concealment of a formula. The movement of magic power literally did not exist as a physical fact. No formula had ever been assembled to begin with. Magic had simply manifested out of thin air, utterly ignoring logic and theory, triggered by nothing more than a spoken declaration.
A gigantic ice dragon, a literal tyrant, opened its massive maw and swallowed Merlin whole.
A direct hit.
Her defenses fatally delayed, Merlin took a Level 9 spell completely unprotected. There was a very specific reason a caster of Merlin’s caliber took an opponent’s attack like a complete amateur, failing to use any magic resistance whatsoever.
We mages predict an opponent’s next action by reading the flow of their magic power and the state of their formula construction, building our offensive and defensive tactics around that exchange of foresight. But Brad had absolutely no movement of magic power to read. On top of that, Merlin was working under the assumption that he was merely concealing it. Because she had hyper-focused her awareness on trying to perceive the hidden mana and formula—precisely because she was an expert—her reaction time was significantly delayed.
This confirmed it for me: the one who had launched that ice attack back when we were in the carriage was undoubtedly Brad. And back then, Merlin had fallen into the exact same trap I had. We took it head-on.
Back then, I concluded that the caster who kept us from noticing the magic was Sasha. Because the premise of a human being who could pull that off was pure fantasy, I convinced myself that only a rule-breaking existence could manage it.
But what Brad is using isn’t magic to begin with.
This is… a Skill.
You think you’re playing by the rules of chess, and they suddenly flip the board and attack you with shogi pieces. There’s simply no way to respond.
“Ka… ha…!”
Fresh blood sprayed across the floor as her flesh was torn open. Thanks to the defensive magic she managed to throw together in the split second she was swallowed by the ice dragon, Merlin seemed to have somehow escaped instant death. Merlin’s formula broke the ice dragon down into harmless water soon enough, but a pool of deep crimson blood quickly spread across the floor where she lay sprawled.
The wound looked deep. Her internal organs were likely heavily damaged.
“You… bastard… what did… you do?”
Merlin’s head had to be utterly packed with question marks as she choked out those words. In fact, I was reeling from the shock myself. By all metrics of this world, this shouldn’t be happening.
But I knew the answer. There was only one possible method that could explain the phenomenon occurring right in front of me. Yes, this could only be explained by a power operating completely outside of worldly logic. I didn’t know why Brad possessed that skill, or how he could have ever accessed that domain.
Which is to say: Why on earth is Brad wielding a reincarnation Skill granted by the goddess?!
The phenomenon Brad just caused was, without a shadow of a doubt, the work of the Skill: Devil Resource.
It happened just before I was reborn as Ephthal in this life. Out of pure curiosity, I had asked the goddess all sorts of questions regarding skills. When I first heard about this utter nonsense of a skill—one that completely ignored magic theory and generated massive spells instantly with zero magic power consumed—I remember being absolutely appalled. “Come on, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I had said.
At that moment, Brad turned toward me and grinned.
“Haha, surprised? Well, it was meant to be one of my trump cards against the Thunder God Emperor, and now it’s been exposed. But the result remains the same. I still have another trump card right here—a Level 10 spell.”
“Is that one an ice-system spell too?”
“Yes, exactly. Though it shares the same Level 10 rank, it completely outclasses your title as the Thunder God Emperor Ephthal—the Ice God Emperor Isaac is fully at my disposal.”
Without engaging with him any further, I pressed my palm firmly against the wound on the sprawled Merlin.
“Level 10: Perfect Heal.”
Severe organ damage, just as I thought. Anything involving ruptured or destroyed internal organs has to be treated immediately, or even my high-tier recovery magic will struggle to put the pieces back together.
“Perfect Heal is certainly a troublesome ability. However, the Ice God Emperor Isaac freezes everything in a single instant, snatching away the target’s consciousness. No matter how incredible your Perfect Heal may be, it amounts to nothing if you are physically unable to cast it. Am I wrong?”
While maintaining the recovery spell on Merlin, I silently glared up at Brad.
“I think it would be highly entertaining to begin the finals right here and now. What do you say?”
“If it’s a fight you want, I would think the finals are the perfect place for it… wouldn’t you?”
“I have absolutely no objection to settling things right here.”
Meeting that intensely provoking gaze, I let out a low breath.
“Hoh. Picking a fight with me… that’s a pretty bold thing for a brat to say. You’re the very first person to run his mouth this hard while knowing exactly who I am.”
“So you’ve finally come out. It is an honor to meet you, Thunder God Emperor.”
“Then shall we do this right here, just like you want? A death match?”
“Yes, that too would be quite diverting.”
At that exact moment, Sheryl came sprinting up onto the platform.
“…Brother! Please… stop. Seriously, please… just stop!”
It was a desperate plea, tears welling up in her eyes. Brad’s arrogant expression wavered slightly, and his violent fighting spirit seemed to evaporate in an instant.
“All of this is for your sake, Sheryl.”
“…I don’t understand what you are thinking, Brother, or why things have come to this… I don’t even know what’s real anymore… but this much I do understand.”
Sheryl shook her head slowly from side to side.
“…You are running headlong down a terrible path, Brother. If this really is for my sake… then please, stop this. I was completely opposed to you walking down the underworld’s road, too. It’s enough… you don’t have to do anything else for me anymore!”
The oppressive pressure radiating from Brad thinned out completely.
“My amusement has been spoiled. Well, fine… either way, the finals are a week from now. Let us save our entertainment for the final day of the festival.”
With that, Brad smiled sweetly.