Episode 14 — Berserk? (4)

"Kunta has a question. So how do you win this fight? Kill all of them?"

"...You're asking that now?"

"Brother barbarian, you're a rare specimen yourself. Kahaha!"

"...?"

Kunta sat in the stands watching the War Game, blinking with guileless eyes. Even now he ached to be down there fighting beside the sprouts, but this battlefield, regrettably, was not meant for him. So he stayed put and watched warriors struggle, and still he did not understand the game.

In truth, it was hardly fair to scoff at him or scold him for it. He was not even comfortable yet with the common tongue. No one had ever kindly explained what a War Game was to a man who did not know the thing existed, so the fault might as well be laid on his only acquaintances.

"If I explain it even now, killing is forbidden in a War Game."

"It is war."

"A simulated war. If someone dies, then it is no longer a 'simulated' war. So there must be no death."

"Hmm. Kunta not convinced. But for now, Kunta understands."

"This fellow is the very last sort who ought to be allowed into a War Game."

Garand chuckled, calling him a dangerous one, and Arno went on, his silence agreement enough.

"The way a War Game is fought is always different. Sometimes it is a siege. Sometimes it becomes an indiscriminate brawl. Today, however, the method is very simple."

"What?"

"Capture the flag. Keeping your commander alive to the end—that, you might say, is the fundamental rule of this game."

"Ah. So that is why everyone was holding those flags? Kunta thought they were toys."

"It certainly looks like play. Except—"

A deep roar swelled.

"—for the ones doing the fighting, it's in deadly earnest."

The moment Garand finished, flame burst toward the sprouts.

Seventeen mages. That was the number left once you excluded Irene Windler and the socially maladjusted who simply never attended the magic faculty's lectures. In practice, those seventeen could be said to lead the faculty.

A small number, though, was no reason to take them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lightly. A mage was someone who carried dangerous power in every single body. Why else was a seasoned high mage called a strategic weapon, able to turn the tide of a battlefield by personal strength alone? These, too, were talents who might one day be called the same.

And as if to flaunt that potential, a vast current of air was born.

Telekinesis was the catalyst. Wind drew in around that core, and the fierce gale packed itself into a mass of oxygen. Then, in a single instant—

Flame surged up all at once.

A spell. It resembled wordplay, yet the Word Command of a mage who had built a spell-world was not mere wordplay. It was called a spell. And the longer such a spell, the more its power grew. The time required to chant it, in exchange, was decided only by talent, by the store of mana, and by strength of mind.

Here, though, fully seventeen mages had gathered. Each of them might fall short of Irene Windler alone, but mages joined as a group unfolded magic that even Irene Windler could not achieve.

A gigantic flame. Just looking at it was enough to turn the knees to water. How immense was the power held inside that thing?

"We will end this in a single stroke. That is the mercy we can offer."

"Yes. You're quite right, Assistant."

They were not arrogant on Odwal's scale, but mages, as a breed, saw anyone who could not use mana as an infinitely weak existence. If their professor regarded the mana-incapable as insects or filth, they themselves merely looked on those without mana as creatures like cats or dogs. Beyond even a difference of race—fragile things that needed protecting. That was why they were merciful. They were taking even this "already decided match" seriously.

So, exercising courtesy and mercy, they had agreed to end the match sincerely, and at a stroke. One blow that would burn their will to fight completely away. That was their mercy, and their agreement.

A fireball the size of a boulder was launched. Hurled like a shot from a catapult, it was no mere mass of flame, but a fireball carrying a spell. From their side, there could be no way to stop it.

It's over.

The moment the fireball left, Ron, the mage assistant, knew the match had ended. They would not die. If they had any sense at all, dodging was simple common sense....

"Huh? What are they doing?"

"Why aren't they getting out of the way?"

"!!?"

But the mages were aghast. Without the slightest tremor, without even dodging, those people were facing the flames that came straight at them.

The mages realized something was wrong and tried to cancel the magic, but their skill was not yet fine enough to dispel a spell already in flight. Their faces went white, and they squeezed their eyes shut against the slaughter about to unfold.

However—

"Raise spears—!!!"

The sprouts—no. The valiant berserks who had pulled bearskins over themselves raised their spears. A lifting stance, ready to hurl them at any instant. The one giving orders like a commander was more fragile than anyone there, and yet, in strength of will and in courage, she yielded to no one.

The girl, Levi Fault, lifted her hand straight ahead and marked, exactly, the direction her senior brothers were to throw. They waited only for her command. A span of time too ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠short to be called an instant. Judging that they had drawn their strength to the limit, she spoke.

"Throw."

With that calm order she cast her spear first, and the others cast theirs the same way. Wooden spears, looking infinitely feeble. A moment when even iron would have seemed too little, and they were holding wood. Even the watchers felt their hearts shake. And then—

The eighteen wooden spears collided with the fireball, and a tremendous explosion tore the air. Force against force. Common sense said they could not oppose the power that fireball poured out. Astonishingly, the eighteen spears blew the mass of flame away.

"Th-they canceled it out!?"

Odwal, professor of the magic faculty, watching from afar, was stunned. The flame—that destructive magic—had been offset in an instant. With mere wooden sticks...! Impossible. What kind of magic did they think that had been?

He could not contain his shock. Even less able to contain theirs were the students and faculty watching the War Game, and the nobles.

"What did I just see?"

"Did those bastards just use Fighting Art?"

"No. It isn't Fighting Art. But they used an explosive force."

The nobles—especially those who had learned Fighting Art—had seen it. The flow of immense power gathered into the wooden spears in a single instant. It was not fighting-force. It was something akin to fighting-force: a current of pure strength, loaded into the wood.

...Even if someone demanded what kind of incomprehensible explanation that was, they would have had no other answer. They themselves were seeing it for the first time in their lives.

Whether they were astonished or not, the knight watching his disciples grow had no interest in them. All he cared for was a simple pride: they had finally released their strength properly.

"Yes. That right there is Spear Gyeong."

"Then if you load force into a sword, is it Sword Gyeong?"

"That's right."

"...The names are truly simple."

"Simple things are easier to remember. That's how it should be."

"Hmm."

"And more than anything—"

If the firepower was strong, nothing else mattered.

A people of firepower. For a descendant of Hwanung, born to a line that loved ever greater firepower and destructive force, nothing could matter more than this. Reincarnation had not changed him. He was still the proud soul of the Chungmu school, and he showed that love of firepower without restraint.

"Now!"

At some point Levi Fault had taken the place of the one who gave orders. Unlike the others, she had studied the theory of rule and the science of war since childhood, and the fruit of that study showed here.

They obeyed her. Not because the girl had simply learned more than they had, but because they believed her. They revered the trust of the girl who called them senior brothers, and the strength the Grandmaster had beaten into their bodies with his own hands. They ran with leg power enough to gouge ruts into the earth.

They were not using Gyeong. They had only kicked off with everything they had. Even so, their movement was truly like that of bears—not because they wore the skins, but because they were as savage and as nimble as bears finished preparing for the hunt. Training Gyeong had tempered the capacity of their bodies along with it, and that was what let them reach such overwhelming speed. Thirty kilometers an hour.

They could not hold a pace like that forever. That was why they ran.

"Now!"

The raise-spear stance came again. They lifted the wooden spears slung across their backs and set themselves to throw from a distance closer than before. Gyeong: they loaded the mass spread through every part of the body. Still unskilled, they could not load the mass of the whole body. Even so—

Even we can load a quarter of our strength!

And that alone was threat enough for the enemy. The wooden spears flew without hesitation, seeking the mages. The mages flinched and spread telekinesis, desperate to stop every spear coming in. But they could not.

"G-ghhk—!"

"Huuurk—!"

"Eims!!"

"Damn it! What in the world is happening!"

A pressure too strong for telekinesis to cancel entire crashed over them. The warriors had eaten the distance in an instant, then, like a crane-wing formation opening, hurled spears from every side. Each of them carried eight. Any more, and the things simply got in the way; they could not have borne them. Most were already spent, and they prepared to loose the last throw, for a swift end.

Before they could loose it, a spell reached them. The mages had not merely been standing idle.

"It's a wind-attribute spell! Fall back at once! Don't throw the spears!"

Levi Fault shouted with all her strength. Excitement had been plain on their faces, and at her word they tried to get clear of where they stood. But—

The wind that had seemed ready to strike at any moment was a lie. They had falsified the spell and prepared a different attack. A mage was a tactician by nature.

The warriors took the spells head-on, with no room left to flee. A downpour fell without warning. The ground turned slick as mud, as a swamp, and began to freeze. Feet bound to the earth, slipping, locking solid. Mobility vanished in an instant. They panicked, their faces twisting without mercy, and the mages did not miss it.

"...Don't tell me they meant to make this a battle of speed?"

Ron, serving as the mages' leader, understood their method of attack in a flash. A quick decisive fight. They had no intention of dragging the duel out. The same as the mages themselves. But it was probably not for a "merciful reason," as it was with them. There was another reason.

"I see. That power—it has a time limit!"

Ron understood. The power they were using. He did not know whether it was Fighting Art, and just now that did not matter. What mattered was that the power had a limit on its time. If it did not, there was no reason for them to panic so badly merely because their movement had been stopped. Realizing it, he laughed, certain that time stood with the mages. They had been pushed for a moment, but in the end the victory of this match was—

"—The Grandmaster said it. There is no one as arrogant as a mage, and so they react a step too late and pay for it. He was right."

"!!?"

When had she closed in? Later than the rest, and still she had never given up; she had run all the way to the end. Her sword was drawn. Her stance was set. Levi Fault spoke in a level voice, her face without a shred of hesitation or despair. Far too composed for someone whose winning momentum ought to have vanished. The girl was telling them she had not given up.

"Yes. As you said, my senior brothers and I still aren't used to Gyeong. It's true that we're endlessly lacking."

The time they could spend Gyeong at full strength was fifteen minutes at most. Used in a real fight, even that collapsed to three. That was why this battle had to be ended quickly. An unavoidable choice, if they meant to win. And so—

"We needed to get close."

The distance between them and the mages, measured in steps, was five. But a wall called telekinesis stood between the two sides, and in truth they would have to break through it by force if they meant to suppress them. But—

"Subduing you isn't the 'rule,' is it?"

Yes. This was a game. A game with a condition for victory. Capture the flag. She turned toward the banner snapping in the air.

"Thank you, Instructor."

With sincere gratitude she swung her sword at empty air. The mages watching thought it some foolish gesture. Then a sharp wind sheared past their heads. A soft, final thud.

"...Huh?"

The mages looked behind them. The flag. The flag they were supposed to protect.

"It... it broke?"

It had fallen to the ground with an absurd simplicity.

The mages looked stupidly from the flag to Levi Fault and back again, thrown into confusion by a situation they simply could not understand. Levi Fault did not care whether they were confused or not. Right now—

"...We did it."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Achievement, and the joy of victory. She was too busy feeling that thrill. The girl was glad. It was not power enough to pierce even stone, as the Instructor's was, but what mattered at this moment was power enough to break a single flag. The release of Gyeong. Its name—

"I'm glad the Emission succeeded."

Her stamina spent, she dropped where she stood, and on her face bloomed a smile of pure satisfaction, bright as a flower.

"Yes. Hmm. What was it you said again?"

"......"

"That the loser would obey any command. Was that it?"

"......"

"Slave. Don't cry. Answer me."

"...Khk—!"

It was also the moment the harsh life of Odwal ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Bernard, professor of the magic faculty, began.