Infiltrating the Octagon (6)
Subduing two guards in a split second was more than enough of a performance to prove his worth.
"Here you go. Your advance of twenty-five thousand Alte."
When Junon had asked for cash, he thought it might take some time, but there had been no delay whatsoever. The manager seemed to have dispatched a few underlings to round up the physical bills immediately.
"Do you mind if I count it? Believe it or not, I'm quite the miser."
"Be my guest. Well, there might be extra, but there certainly won't be a coin less."
He certainly looked the part. How filthy rich did someone have to be to find counting money too tedious to bother? Of course, getting extra was nothing to complain about.
"Looks like you're done verifying, yes? Then it's time to deliver what I want."
Catching the scent of profit, the man curled his lips into a smirk and jerked his chin toward the Octagon behind him. It was a gesture telling him to get up there.
"Understood. Keep this safe for me in the meantime."
"Heh. For a sum that hefty, I'll guard it personally. More importantly..."
"I'll handle things cleanly so you won't be disappointed. Far cleaner than Cain ever did."
"Haha! Unlike that sullen brat, you actually know how to talk business. I like that. Excellent. I'll be expecting a spectacular debut."
What kind of display would he put on once he entered the Octagon? And as a fresh face, how would he carve an impression into the minds of the aristocrats? The manager's anticipation knew no bounds. He couldn't easily forget the sight of Junon effortlessly taking down two armed guards and boldly demanding a fortune upfront.
Before long, the announcer heralded the entrance of the new challenger inside the cage.
—Waaaaaah!
"That's it. That's how it should be."
The roar of the crowd already promised a return that made the twenty-five thousand Alte advance feel like a bargain. One thing was certain: a massive wave of change was sweeping through this gambling den.
Magic was an endlessly fascinating, bottomless field of study. Just as every person possessed a unique face and personality, the mana dwelling within each individual was inherently different. Even with a basic fire spell like Fireball, which people flung around day in and day out, minute variations emerged depending on the quality and volume of mana infused into it.
Telling someone to replicate an effect never meant they could copy it entirely. For that reason, the birth of truly new magic was exceedingly rare. The process of researching and creating a novel spell inevitably required integrating a brand-new technique in mana manipulation.
And right now, Denise's attention was wholly captivated by a technique a certain student had recently displayed.
As Denise channeled her mana into the experimental mana doll, the construct's internal mana flow ground to a halt, and its luminescence faded completely.
"...This is bizarre on so many levels."
Injecting mana in reverse to disrupt the opponent's circulation, suppressing their flow while simultaneously shattering any spell circles in mid-cast. It was an exceptionally sound, brutally practical technique—one that would prove devastating against mages who relied heavily on casting, or against demonic beasts whose very bodies harbored magical formulas. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it the cutting-edge frontier of spellcraft, grounded in rock-solid theory.
It made complete sense why Muniherr had outright named it Anti-Cast. What baffled her, however, was just how seamlessly the whole thing operated.
"It's unmistakable. This isn't a difficulty level a mere student should be able to touch."
Denise had no idea how Junon had acquired this technique. Yet one truth remained beyond doubt: translating such rigorous theory into actual combat must have demanded an immense amount of time. Especially considering he had intended to use it during a sparring instruction session against Muniherr...
"Sister. You called for me?"
"You're here?"
Her younger sister, Dahlia, had just arrived. It was the perfect opportunity to verify whether Denise was the only one sensing this profound dissonance.
"Dahlia. Listen closely to what I'm about to explain."
"Huh? Oh, sure."
After a thorough rundown of the theory, Dahlia attempted the exact same technique on the mana doll that Denise had just demonstrated.
"Ugh... Are you trying to invent another spell with this?"
"..."
"Sister?"
Even Dahlia took time. Considering that her sister was an accomplished physician with profound expertise in fine mana manipulation, the fact that it took her this long spoke volumes.
"Dahlia. How many people in the Principality do you think could grasp the knack and pull that off just from hearing the theory, like you just did?"
"Are you bragging out of nowhere? Good grief."
"I'm serious. Just answer me."
"Hmm... If we're talking about people who could definitely pull it off, maybe your husband or mine. His Grace the Grand Duke, and a tiny handful of students, perhaps? It's absurdly harder than it looks."
"...I knew it."
Muniherr had reacted because he directly felt the mana coursing through his own body, but mastering this purely from theoretical principles was an entirely different beast. Had he only heard the theory first, even he might have required considerable time, just like Dahlia. And "a tiny handful of students" truly meant an extreme minority.
'Renias. Ronelion. Those two for certain... and maybe Lady Ophelia at a stretch?'
Setting aside the two freakish outliers of the Arcab Party, even using Ophelia as the benchmark, the difficulty was so steep that ordinary students wouldn't dare dream of attempting it. Even if Denise herself were to use it against demonic beasts, she wouldn't trust herself to execute it reliably without several days of dedicated practice. In the heat of the moment, she would almost certainly fall back on familiar, complex formulas out of sheer muscle memory.
As expected, examining such technical mastery reaffirmed Denise's longstanding conviction: surface-level mana metrics were utterly useless. Optimization, chaining, application—raw numerical indicators couldn't measure these subtle intricacies. Ironically, that was precisely why Anti-Cast was a tailor-made weapon for someone in Junon's circumstances.
"...Sister, don't you think it's strange?"
"What is?"
"When you brought me over after that carsickness, I heard it from my husband. This technique... Junon was the one using it, wasn't he?"
"..."
Just as Dahlia noted, Denise had felt that same unsettling incongruity. A technique so difficult that even academy professors would hesitate to attempt—and the one who had unveiled it was...
'No.'
She had to correct herself. If it had been merely an initial demonstration, it would have appeared unpolished, showing raw potential at best. But the Anti-Cast Junon used wasn't an experimental proof of concept. It was a fully completed technique. In other words, Junon had not only tailored this high-difficulty method to his own body with flawless optimization, but he had already mastered it down to the bone.
"Listen to me ramble. Sorry, Sister. I guess I've been overly sensitive lately. Let's just drop—"
"You're not wrong, Dahlia. That boy is abnormal from top to bottom."
"...Sister?"
Abnormal. Denise wholeheartedly agreed with her sister's assessment. Junon was anything but ordinary.
"Anti-Cast. You tried it yourself. Countering it is easy enough if you understand the flow of mana, but what was it like when you tried to execute it on that doll?"
"Well..."
"It was agonizingly difficult, wasn't it? It's not something you can just pull off because you understand the theory. Yet Junon was already deploying it in its completed state."
"He was already using it perfected?"
"Yes. By my estimation, it's designed to deliver the most lethal blow possible against humans who possess magic formulas and mana circuits. Unless someone is extraordinarily well-versed in high-level spellcraft, they wouldn't even realize what hit them. By using his Unique Magic, Mana Barrier, as a smokescreen, his opponents are destroyed without ever understanding how they were defeated."
Techniques involving fine mana control were notoriously demanding, leaving only a handful of individuals capable of handling them. Hearing that he hadn't merely stumbled into it, but was wielding it in its finished form, left Dahlia utterly dumbfounded.
Because she had witnessed something identical once before.
Dahlia suddenly remembered how Junon had synthesized an artificial mana stone as easily as drawing breath, despite never having attended a single alchemy lecture. She had once dismissed it as groundless paranoia, thinking he might simply possess an innate aptitude for alchemy. But was his total lack of reaction during emergency surgery also just groundless paranoia? Because he had an aptitude for surgery as well? And now, was she supposed to brush this off as another lucky fluke? That was absurd.
It was happening again. This was the third time.
Three undeniable occurrences could no longer be swept aside as mere coincidence.
"Sister."
"Tell me. What did you see?"
Denise was already waiting. Swallowing hard, suppressing the goosebumps prickling across her skin, Dahlia began to recount what she had witnessed.
"How... how did this..."
"Shut up. Just go to sleep."
Thud.
The dull impact signaled the fall of yet another challenger, utterly powerless to resist the hooded boy.
"Another challenger has crumbled before the hooded boy, utterly helpless!"
The roar of the crowd showed no signs of abating. Unlike Cain, who had always maintained a line of restraint, this boy subdued his opponents with merciless efficiency, delivering pure entertainment to the paying spectators.
Of course, ever since Cain's arrival, the Octagon had begun attracting contenders far beyond ordinary slaves. The bar for claiming victory had grown progressively higher with each passing week. Even so, Junon cleared that bar without breaking a sweat.
Movements honed by countless hours of relentless training, razor-sharp focus, and an innate tactical instinct shone brilliantly in every exchange, refusing to concede a single defeat.
"The victor is... the black-hooded boy!"
The tournament bracket was cleared. Outside the iron bars of the Octagon, the thunderous cheers of the spectators lingered long after the fight, proving that an indelible mark had been etched into their minds.
Stepping down from the cage shrouded in a perception-blurring enchantment, Junon cast a brief glance toward a specific corner of the parlor. He was checking for the presence of a certain someone who had stepped into the gambling hall wearing that familiar mask again today.
Then, shaking his head, he made his way down the stairs. After all, it had nothing to do with him.