Declaration of War
Magic scrolls.
The most important thing when using them is not mana, but imagination.
And so long as the imagination was sufficient—
BOOM! KA-BOOM! WHOOSH! CRACK! ZZAP!
—it was entirely possible to activate several of them at once.
"Aaaagh!"
"Watch out!"
A crushing hammer of earth. Exploding orbs of fire. Razor blades of wind. The merciless grip of ice. Heaven's unforgiving judgment.
All of it came crashing down on the assassins at once.
They scrambled desperately to evade, but dodging attacks that arrived simultaneously along such exquisite trajectories was never going to be easy. And every spell carved into those scrolls was intermediate-grade—moderate destructive power, moderate range, moderate special effects. Even those lucky enough to avoid a direct hit still took damage.
"Gah!"
"Ah—it hurts!"
Casualties piled up. Nearly every Navy-rank fighter was combat-ineffective, and most of the Blue-ranks had taken meaningful wounds. The Green-rank, however—as expected—had barely been scratched.
Jun wasn't disappointed. He hadn't expected otherwise from the start. The whole point of the magic scrolls had been something else entirely.
CRACKLE! ZZZT!
"Look out!"
"Here comes the real one!"
He had used them to create the perfect opening to drive into the enemy's ranks.
Chidori Style.
In a single breath Jun was among them, spear held long, spinning like a top. The electricity coiled around the weapon and his body discharged in every direction.
"Urrrgh—"
"Move! I said move!"
Assassins caught in the discharge seized up and dropped one after another—more of them than he'd expected. The scattered raindrops seemed to have amplified both the power and the range of the current.
Nice.
Jun grinned, then leapt skyward to avoid their counterattacks. He opened his subspace storage and dumped the lake water he'd packed for water games straight over the assassins' heads.
"...Damn it."
Looking like drowned rats, the assassins muttered curses. They'd figured out exactly why he'd doused them.
So what?
There was no chance a mage was among a pack of assassins. Furious and miserable as they might be, they had no choice but to face him soaking wet. They were the enemy. Jun felt no obligation to care about their feelings.
He ignored them completely and unleashed electricity to his heart's content, looking for all the world like he'd turned into Pikachu.
"Poison! Spread the poison!"
"Don't give him distance! Attack from range!"
The lead assassins barked orders as they scrambled clear. Even as current rode the rainwater into their bodies and set them trembling, the others obeyed without hesitation.
Hidden weapons and toxic fumes came flying from every direction. A spatial leap would have made dodging trivial—but Jun didn't bother. He simply gripped the spear long again and spun once more. The current he generated warped every trajectory. Not a single projectile reached him.
"Damn it! This monster bastard."
"Calm down. We've still got the poison."
You'd be better off not clinging to false hope.
Jun sneered at the assassins trying so hard to reassure each other. Unfortunately, he couldn't show them the expression—his surroundings were already choked with ominous-colored toxic fumes.
Sniff.
Unpleasant smell.
Then why not just dodge instead of taking it for no reason?
To break their momentum even further, of course.
In a fight, momentum was everything—and nothing shattered it quite like destroying the enemy's weapons.
Did you really need to go this far, though? Their momentum was broken ages ago.
You're the one who said breaking the enemy's spirit is something you can never overdo, For.
Still…
Ugh, there you go fretting over nothing again. Angel, you're not telling me you can't purify a little poison like this, are you?
Tsk. Of course not. Easier than eating cold soup! Watch this!
WHOOSH!
Radiant light burst from the Stigma she inhabited. Like darkness banished by dawn, the toxic fumes choking the air were purified in an instant.
"See? I told you. I said it'd be fine."
Kate's voice rang out, triumphant. The faces of those watching the battlefield with worry lit up as one.
"Shit. He's a complete monster. And when the hell did he awaken his Aura?"
Donald—who had taken a faceful of the assassins' poison fumes, been treated by Harry, and only barely recovered—muttered in a daze as he watched Jun tear through the battlefield once more. He hadn't really been looking for an answer, but the tone somehow demanded one anyway.
Leon kept his mouth shut and said nothing.
Ordinarily he would have nodded in grudging agreement. Right now he was in no mood for it.
Pathetic. And ugly, Leon.
Instead of gratitude for the friend protecting everyone in his place, he felt jealousy. He hated himself for it. And the longer Jun's performance went on, the larger that hateful self grew.
"Damn it all!"
The lead assassin—the one with the fists, who'd been taken out of the fight by Jun's thrown spear—spat a curse and rejoined the battle. Blood streamed from his wounds, but he had no choice. Jun was leaping through space and targeting only him and the other lead assassin beside him—the one with the whip—with absolute focus.
Jun paid the rest no mind at all. He didn't need to. The other assassins were too busy fleeing the current he radiated to even attempt an attack.
"Die!"
The fist assassin's strike. The colossal force packed into that single blow stopped the rain for an instant. The power was tremendous. But power that didn't land was worthless.
As if he'd known the punch was coming, Jun simply dipped his upper body and slipped past it with ease. When he straightened again, the spear was gone—replaced by a stiletto and a short sword.
"This is bad!"
"Run!"
The assassin tried to pull back. Jun's stiletto buried itself in his knee first.
The electricity bound to the blade seized the joint and the surrounding muscle. With no other option, the assassin brought both arms up across his chest—trusting his body to tank whatever came next.
It was the worst possible choice.
SLASH!
The short sword drew a line, and blood followed in its wake. Jun spun, shedding the spray and the other assassins' attacks in a single motion, then swung the short sword again.
The sequence of movements was so much like a beautiful dance that Leon found himself staring, dazed, without meaning to.
Rip—
Blow after blow had reduced the assassin's black garb to rags. The body beneath was sheathed in thick muscle fiber—which explained why he'd chosen defense over offense. Aura-reinforced muscle fiber was tougher than most armor.
Before Jun's dance, it made no difference.
SLASH!
The short sword traced the grain of the muscle fiber and opened the flesh hidden beneath. THUNK! The stiletto slid smoothly through the gaps between fibers and locked into the joints.
His dance was not merely beautiful. It was as thorough as it was beautiful—merciless, and lethal.
Before the assassin could draw more than a few breaths, he was painted in his own blood, bristling with stilettos. One look was enough to know he was barely clinging to life.
I nearly died because of that bastard. And he just… dismantled him like it was nothing…
Resentment and inferiority surged up. Leon clenched his teeth.
In that same moment, Jun raised the short sword to finish the assassin—then whipped around and hurled it straight at Leon.
"Wha—!"
"What the—!"
The attack was so sudden that Leon, Kate, and the others could only gape; none of them managed to react. Sensing death, Leon squeezed his eyes shut.
But for all that—
CLANG!
—Jun's short sword struck something mid-flight and buried itself somewhere off to the side.
"…Huh?"
"A poison arrow? Leon, get back!"
An unidentified arrow lay tumbling not far from the short sword. Kate yanked the dazed Leon behind her.
What was I even thinking…
Understanding what Jun had actually done, Leon turned to look at him with unsteady eyes.
And then he saw it.
WHIP-CRACK!
The other lead assassin's whip traced a serpentine line through the air, coiling toward Jun like a snake hunting prey.
"Jun! Look ou—"
"It's fine."
Jun's voice came from right beside him. Leon turned his head—and there Jun stood, as calm as if nothing had happened.
Monster bastard.
Leon agreed with Donald's earlier assessment, hollow and late.
"Kate."
"S-Sorry, sir!"
At Jun's call, Kate answered at parade-ground volume, like a raw recruit on her first day. Then she snuck a sidelong glance at his face.
"Eek!"
Kate had been thoroughly put through the wringer in the Saintess's own Holy Knight Order, where discipline was iron—but the moment those blue eyes, crackling as if they held lightning, fixed on her with cold appraisal, she couldn't stop the yelp. They were still in the middle of a battle, and she seriously considered whether she ought to drop into a full formal bow right then and there.
"Get your head on straight."
"Yes, sir! Understood!"
"That goes for the rest of you as well. From here on, things are about to get truly dangerous."
Every assassin except the whip-wielding leader and the archer leader who had appeared beside him as if from nowhere produced a crimson pill and bit down. Jun had no idea what the pills actually were, but they looked ominous at a glance.
And the dark-red pill clenched between the teeth of the half-dead fist assassin went beyond ominous—it stirred a visceral, instinctive revulsion.
Don't take that kind of thing out where I can see it.
For some reason—some truly inexplicable reason—he had a bad feeling he was going to be seeing a lot more of those. Jun let out a long, deep sigh.
Can the clichés just stop already?