Chapter 50
Chapter 50
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.14 – Berserk? (4)
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"Kunta, I've got a question. So, how do you win this battle? By killing them all?"
"...You're asking that now?"
"Barbarian bro, you're quite the character yourself, kahaha!"
"??"
Kunta, sitting in the spectator stands and watching the war game, blinked innocently.
He desperately wanted to jump into the fray with the sprouts right now, but unfortunately, this battlefield wasn't meant for him.
So there he sat, quietly observing the warriors' struggle—though he still didn't quite grasp the game itself.
However, it wasn't fair to dismiss or mock him for it.
After all, he wasn't fully fluent in the common tongue yet.
No one had ever bothered giving a friendly explanation to someone who didn't even know what a war game was, so it was really the fault of his only acquaintances here.
"To explain now: killing is forbidden in war games."
"It's a war, though?"
"It's a mock battle. If people started dying, it wouldn't be 'mock' anymore. So death is off-limits."
"Hmm, I don't get it, but okay, Kunta understands."
"This guy's the last type who should ever join a war game."
Garand chuckled, calling him dangerous, while Arno nodded silently and continued.
"The combat style in war games always varies. Sometimes it's siege warfare, other times all-out brawls. But today's is simple."
"What is it?"
"Capture the flag. In other words, protecting the commander to the end is the core rule of this game."
"Ah, so that's why they're all holding those flags? Kunta thought they were toys."
"It does seem like a game, but..."
Whoooosh...!
"...to those fighting, it's deadly serious."
The moment Garand finished speaking, flames erupted toward the sprouts.
Seventeen mages.
The number excluding Irene Windler and the other social misfits who skipped lectures with the magic faculty.
These seventeen effectively led the magic faculty.
But don't underestimate them just because their numbers were low.
Mages were individuals each wielding dangerously potent power.
No wonder seasoned high mages were called strategic weapons capable of turning the tide of battle single-handedly.
These were the future talents who might one day earn such titles.
And as if boasting that potential...
Whoooosh!
A massive air current surged.
The catalyst was psychokinesis.
Psychokinesis formed the core, drawing wind around it.
The fierce winds soon coalesced into a mass of oxygen, and in an instant...
"Rise up, burn even hotter. More destructively."
⟨ Incantation ⟩
Flames roared to life in an instant.
Incantations.
They resembled mere wordplay, but a mage's spell-weaving words formed a structured incantation world—not just playful language.
The longer the incantation, the greater its power.
However, chanting time depended solely on personal talent, mana reserves, and mental fortitude.
But here, seventeen mages had gathered.
Their individual skills might pale compared to Irene Windler, but as a group, they could unleash magic even she couldn't manage.
Roooar—!
A colossal blaze.
Its sheer size made legs tremble just looking at it.
How immense was its power?
"We'll end this in one strike. That's the mercy we can offer."
"Yes. Well said, Assistant."
They weren't as arrogantly haughty as Odwal, but mages fundamentally viewed non-mana users as pitifully weak.
If their professor saw mana-less folk as bugs or filth, they saw them merely as fragile creatures like cats or dogs.
Beings of a different race, needing protection.
Thus, they showed mercy.
Even in this 'decided victory,' they fought in earnest.
Exercising courtesy and mercy, they agreed to end it earnestly—and in one blow.
A strike to utterly crush their foes' will to fight.
That was their mercy, their consensus.
Whoosh—!
Rock-sized fireballs launched forth.
Fired like from a trebuchet, these weren't mere flames—they were infused with incantations.
The enemy had no way to block them.
'It's over.'
Assistant mage Ron sensed the match's end the instant the fireballs flew.
They wouldn't die.
If they had any sense, they'd dodge...
"Huh? What are they doing?"
"Why aren't they dodging?"
"!!?"
But the mages were stunned.
They...
"—."
...stood firm, unflinching, facing the oncoming inferno head-on.
The mages realized something was wrong and tried canceling their spell, but their skills weren't yet advanced enough to dispel a launched incantation.
Faces paling, they squeezed their eyes shut, bracing for the impending catastrophe.
However,
"Raise spears—!!!"
The sprouts—no, the valiant berserkers clad in bearskins—hoisted their spears.
A ready-to-throw spear stance.
The one issuing commands like a commander was the frailest among them, yet her spirit and courage outshone all.
The girl, Levi Polt, thrust her hand forward, pinpointing the throw direction for her death row comrades, who awaited only her order.
A split-second wait.
Judging they'd gathered full power, the girl...
"Throw spears."
With calm command, she hurled first, and the others followed suit.
Seemingly feeble wooden spears.
Even iron ones would barely suffice—why use mere sticks?
Onlookers' hearts pounded,
but the next instant...
BOOM!!
...their eighteen wooden spears collided with the fireball, erupting in a massive explosion.
Raw power versus raw power.
Common sense dictated the spears couldn't withstand the fireball's force, but astonishingly, the eighteen spears...
Whoosh—!
...blasted the fireball away.
"Th-they canceled it out!?"
Magic faculty professor Odwal gaped in shock.
The flames—that destructive spell—neutralized in one go.
With mere sticks...!
Impossible.
What kind of spell was that!?
He couldn't contain his astonishment, but even more shocked were the cadets, instructors watching the war game, and...
"What did I just see?"
"Did those guys just use Fighting Technique?"
"No, not Fighting Technique. But they unleashed explosive power."
...the nobles. Especially those versed in Fighting Technique—they saw it.
The immense power surging momentarily into the wooden spears.
Not battle spirit.
But akin to it—a flow of pure force infused within.
...Even if questioned for a clearer explanation, that's all they could say.
It was something even they'd never witnessed before.
But whether they marveled or not, the knight watching his disciples' growth paid them no mind.
His sole interest was pride in their proper unleashing of true power.
"Yes, that's Spear Vigor."
"So, channeling power into a sword makes Sword Vigor?"
"Exactly."
"...The name's pretty straightforward."
"Simple names stick easier."
"Hmm."
"And above all..."
Raw firepower is what matters.
The firepower folk.
To the descendants of Hwanung, lovers of ever-greater might and power, nothing was more vital.
Unchanged even in reincarnation, it was the proud soul of the Chungmugong lineage, reveling openly in firepower love.
"Now!"
At some point, Levi Polt had taken command.
Unlike the others, her childhood studies in rulership and military tactics shone here.
Bam!
And they obeyed her orders.
Not because she'd studied more, but because they trusted her.
They revered the girl who called them death row comrades and the grandmaster who'd hammered power into their bodies himself.
They kicked off, gouging the earth.
Not using Vigor.
Just pure full-force stomps.
Yet their movements truly mimicked bears.
Not just from the bearskins—they were savage and agile like bears primed for the hunt.
Training Vigor had strengthened their bodies' vessels, enabling this overwhelming speed.
30 km/h.
But they couldn't sustain it forever.
Thus, their charge's purpose...
"Now!"
Boom!
...another raise-spears stance.
Grabbing fresh wooden spears from their backs, they assumed throwing positions at closer range.
Crunch!
Vigor, channeling mass throughout their bodies.
But immature as they were, they couldn't infuse full-body mass yet.
Still...
'Even we can pack in half—maybe half again—of our power!'
And that alone was plenty threatening to the enemy.
Whoooosh, the wooden spears flew unerringly toward the mages.
The mages panicked, deploying psychokinesis to block them all.
But...
Bam!
Boom!
Crack!
"Gah, guh!"
"Urk!"
"Ames!!"
"Damn it! What the hell is this!?"
Overwhelming pressure broke through their psychokinesis.
They'd closed distance in a flash, then hurled spears from all sides like a crane-wing formation.
Each warrior carried eight spears max—anything more was cumbersome.
Having expended most, they now readied their final throws.
For swift victory.
But before they could...
An incantation rang out.
The mages weren't idling either.
"Wind spell! Fall back now! Don't throw!"
Levi Polt yelled at full volume, and the excited warriors tried retreating.
But...
The wind seemed imminent, but it was a feint.
They'd baited with one spell to prepare another.
Mages were natural opportunists.
Splash!
The warriors were struck head-on, no time to flee.
Sudden downpour, earth turning to sticky mud and swamp, then freezing.
Feet bound, slipping, encased in ice.
Mobility vanished instantly.
Panicking, faces twisting, the mages seized the opening.
"...They were going for a blitz?"
Ron, leading the mages, instantly grasped their strategy.
Lightning war.
They had no intention of dragging this out.
Just like the mages.
But probably not from 'merciful' motives.
Some other reason.
"I see. That power... it has a time limit!"
Ron realized.
Their power source.
Fighting Technique or not—irrelevant now.
The key: it was time-limited.
Otherwise, they wouldn't panic so over lost mobility.
Grinning at this revelation—time favored the mages—the victory would be theirs despite the setback...
"—Grandmaster said it: no one's more arrogant than mages. They always get caught flat-footed. He was right."
"!!?"
How had she closed in?
The girl, lagging yet unyielding to the end, drew her sword into stance.
Levi Polt gazed coolly, devoid of hesitation or despair.
Icy composure.
Cold even as momentum shifted—proof she hadn't surrendered.
"You're right. We're still unfamiliar with Vigor. Utterly lacking, yes."
Full-power Vigor lasted barely 15 minutes.
In real combat, it shrank to 3.
Thus, they needed a quick finish.
Unavoidable for victory.
So...
"We needed to close in."
Distance to mages: five steps.
But a psychokinetic barrier stood between—forcing through was required to subdue them.
However...
"Subduing you isn't the 'rule,' is it?"
Right—it was a game.
With victory conditions.
Capture the flag.
And toward the fluttering flag, she...
"Thank you, Instructor."
Sincerely grateful, she swung her sword through empty air.
The mages thought it foolish, but soon...
Whish!
A razor wind grazed past their heads.
Thud...
"...Huh?"
The mages turned.
The flag.
Their flag to protect...
"Br-broken?"
It lay on the ground, snapped off trivially.
"........."
...The mages blankly alternated between the flag and Levi Polt.
The incomprehensible scene bewildering them.
But Levi Polt didn't care about their confusion.
Not now.
"...We did it."
Achievement and triumph's thrill consumed her.
The girl beamed.
Not rock-piercing power like the instructor's, but snapping one flag was what mattered now.
Vigor emission.
So-called...
"'Force Emission' success. Lucky."
Thud.
Exhausted, she collapsed, but her face bloomed with utmost satisfaction.
Radiant as a flower.
The time it took the swordsmanship faculty to defeat the magic faculty.
And also the moment Professor Odwal Bernard's harsh new life began.
"Right, uh... what was it you said?"
"......"
"Losers obey any order?"
"......"
"Slave. Answer without crying."
"...Guh!"