The Great Subjugation of Scheat (3)
The sheer number of Scourges blanketing the Utulum Forest was staggering.
Though the vanguard fought desperately on the front lines, facing a fearless, suicidal swarm of rats using only physical endurance rather than magic was an overwhelming battle of attrition. Yet Team Tembris continued to cut through the vermin and push forward, thanks to the one person capable of casting magic against them.
"Michel! Ready?"
"More than ready."
Whoosh.
As Senia had stressed, under normal circumstances, mana was the absolute last thing one should use against Scourges. The pests gorged on it, detonating in response to the slightest magical trace. This was entirely due to the single internal organ they possessed: their magic circuit.
That circuit existed solely for an extreme, suicidal end—to blast open the body and violently expel parasitic larvae into a prospective host. The instant it detected human mana, it ignited, triggering a devastating blast. But right now, even though magic washed directly over them, no explosion occurred.
Squeeeaaak!
The pungent reek of burning flesh filled the air as the rats were engulfed in flames. Vermin that had lunged forward with suicidal abandon now writhed and died in agony, their shrieks piercing the woods. From the scorched, fluid-soaked carcasses, wriggling larvae tore through the remains of their mothers in a grotesque bid to escape, only to be systematically crushed by the rest of the party.
"Wow, what a relief. Makes me want to fire off a blast of my own," Aris said, watching the flames.
"Aris."
"I know, I know! Just talking! I’m not crazy enough to set off a chain reaction."
Vivid blue flames swallowed even the shadows of the Scourges. Stripped of the ability to cycle their magic circuits, the beasts were nothing more than oversized rats, smaller even than Kud Rats.
"Just as expected," Erika noted, keeping watch. "The compatibility with Michel's magic is extraordinary."
"Senior Senia's theory proved entirely correct. Not a single one shows signs of self-destructing."
"Honestly, at that point, she's practically their natural predator. Flames that incinerate mana itself? Even if those things had human intelligence, they never could've planned for that."
Michel of the Blue Flame.
The title bestowed upon Michel for her peerless control over azure fire stemmed directly from her Unique Magic. That flame was the living essence of her personal conviction—a worldview shaped by the belief that the deep-seated corruption and injustice of society stemmed fundamentally from the misuse of mana. It was power forged from Michel's resolute will to reduce any mana acting as a social blight to ash.
Yet even with her counter-affinity, Tembris might have ground to a halt had it not been for another crucial factor.
"That’s true, but if you want to know why nobody's collapsed from exhaustion yet, I'd say it's because of this," Erika said, gesturing slightly.
"Mm-hmm. Can't argue with that."
Human stamina was inherently finite, and while Michel's magic held an overwhelming advantage against the Scourges, her endurance had clear limits. Yet despite the relentless onslaught, none of the members showed signs of severe fatigue. The reason lay in the glass vials each of them carried, half of their clear contents already consumed.
"Who would have thought our youngest would prepare something like this?"
"No kidding. How did you even know to bring it?"
"Oh, that... I read in a monster compendium that Mistellis was remarkably potent against rodents," came the sheepish reply. "When talk of giant rats came up, I bought some in advance just in case."
Thanks to the Mistellis Solution, the Scourges—classified fundamentally as rodents—grew weaker with every passing minute. While the rest of the team laughed and chatted in relief, Michel felt an unmistakable tug of dissonance.
Mistellis. And rodents.
There was only one person she knew who could deploy that kind of obscure, seemingly irrelevant knowledge with such ruthless, surgical precision.
"Let's pick up the pace," Michel said, refocusing her gaze ahead. "Once we eliminate the broodmother, no more Scourges will be born."
Having reached her conclusion, Michel was determined to bring this engagement to a swift end so she could confront Junon and hear the truth straight from his mouth. With Senia's keen tactical insight and Michel's Blue Flame clearing the path, Team Tembris surged deeper into the forest.
Meanwhile, in the main encampment, Professor Muniherr had independently deduced the existence of a broodmother. An emergency council had been convened, and a strategy hashed out behind closed canvas.
The moment Muniherr emerged from the command tent, a silver-haired girl practically pounced on him.
"Uncle Muni—I mean, Professor Muniherr! What's the decision?!"
Her face was pale with anxiety, her feet shifting restlessly as she looked up at him.
"...The main force will continue its advance," Muniherr replied flatly.
"What?! Then...!"
Both the vanguard and the main force had already crossed the ridge to bypass the treacherous, unstable terrain of Mount Utulum. Pulling back across those cliffs now was an impossibility. But that decision left a glaring, lethal vulnerability in their wake. Renias dropped her voice, trembling with suppressed panic.
"Send Ronelion and me to the forward reserve line."
"Renias."
"They're going to be annihilated! That detachment is far more vulnerable, with nowhere near the numbers or elite strength of the vanguard! How are they supposed to hold off that swarm?!"
The distance between the frontline vanguard and the rearward forward units was simply too great to dispatch immediate reinforcements. The high command had assumed the ravenous horde would naturally be drawn toward the largest concentration of mana and provisions—the main body. No one had anticipated that the Scourges would alter their trajectory entirely, swarming instead toward the trailing detachments.
"Calm yourself," Muniherr said, placing firm hands on her shoulders. "This decision was made with a contingency in mind."
"Calm down?! How am I supposed to be calm?! Who back there could possibly stand against that horde—?!"
Jerking her shoulders free of Muniherr's grip, Renias turned on her heel, fully prepared to sprint back on her own. But his next words froze her in her tracks.
"Because Junon is there."
Renias halted, slowly turning her head back. "...What?"
"If it is that boy, he will already have pulled a countermeasure from his sleeve."
Muniherr's gaze was steady, utterly devoid of doubt. For a man as fastidious, exacting, and impossible to please as he was, displaying unshakeable confidence in a student was an extraordinarily rare sight.
A retreating army never found its morale.
Even if their numbers were pitiful compared to the endless tide of Scourges, demonstrating that they could claim even a single pace of ground would turn the tide psychologically. Junon wanted to drive them back to the designated containment point, but progress was agonizingly slow.
"One more step forward! If you fall back now, you're dead anyway!"
"H-Here? You want us to push further?!"
Even with Junon barking orders, the students hesitated. Fear was a virulent contagion; the moment it took root in the weakest link, it bled into everyone nearby. Morale shattered, and with every flicker of terror, combat efficacy plummeted at an accelerating rate.
Professor Muniherr had once noted in a lecture that if fear took hold of the frailest soldier on the field, the entire force was already marching down the road to defeat. It had sounded like academic grandstanding in a textbook, but on the ground, it was razor-sharp truth. What they needed right this second was the barest sliver of tangible hope to strip away that terror.
Clink.
"Take this," Junon said, thrusting a glass bottle into a nearby student's hands.
"A bottle...? What is this?"
"You mentioned you specialize in fluid manipulation magic, right? I need to borrow that power."
"I can do it, but... didn't you just tell us never to use magic?!"
He was right. Magic was strictly off-limits against Scourges. The pests' circuits ignited in response to raw magical energy, which was why Junon had issued an uncompromising directive the moment the swarm appeared: All personnel are strictly forbidden from casting any magic other than self-targeted physical enhancement buffs. It had been the minimal precaution necessary to avoid stimulating the self-destructive circuits sleeping inside the vermin.
"That's right," Junon replied evenly. "But I never told you to cast magic at the Scourges."
"Huh...? Then where am I supposed to cast it?"
"On my signal, I'm going to shatter these bottles in the air. You just need to ensure the liquid doesn't clump to one side and disperses evenly across the entire front."
Junon had anticipated this from the beginning. No one understood better than him that stalling for time with inexperienced students had an expiration date. Most of the youths gathered here were third-years unaccustomed to real, life-or-death battlefield butchery; many were pure casters who possessed zero hand-to-hand martial proficiency. Even so, a counterattack was entirely feasible.
Simply buying a substantial amount of time was victory enough. If they reached the end without a single infection, it would be a resounding triumph. After all, humans were creatures defined by their ability to wield tools.
"Well? Can you spread it?"
"At this viscosity... I can manage it. Barely, but I can do it."
The rats' magic circuits reacted only when external mana grazed their hide or fur. The magic manipulating the mist in midair would never touch them directly. And to the exhausted students, the resulting effect would serve as the spark that rekindled a dying flame.
"Listen up, everyone!" Junon's voice cut across the frantic breathing of the ranks. "The moment I throw these bottles, those beasts will weaken noticeably within seconds. We use that opening to execute the strategy we went over. Understood?!"
The northern border of Scheat was defined by brutal, unforgiving terrain. Abutting the sheer rock of Mount Utulum, the ravines, gullies, and steep scree slopes posed a grueling challenge for human movement. But that hardship was not reserved for humans alone.
To tiny, skittering vermin, no matter how vast their numbers, that same rugged landscape levied an equal tax on stamina. That was precisely the leverage Junon intended to exploit.
Glass shattered against stone, and a fine, silvery mist showered downward, blanketing the plague-bearing swarm like sudden rain.
"Disperse by assigned squads! Scatter them for thirty seconds, exactly as practiced!"
The counterattack was underway.
Harsh terrain drained all life equally.
Disoriented and fatigued, the rats began to lose cohesion, scattering blindly across the uneven slopes. The Mistellis Solution was taking effect, deadening their sensory organs. To the compound eyes and dull senses of the Scourges, the dense forest and treacherous incline melted into an indistinct blur, causing them to lose track of their prey entirely.
"Now! Strike before they regroup!"
Caught off guard, the isolated clusters of rats whirled to face the sudden human offensive. Instinct drove them to lunge at fresh meat, but their limbs refused to obey. Their movements were visibly sluggish, their reflexes slowed to a crawl. At this crippled speed, their gnashing teeth couldn't come close to touching human flesh.
"West flank! Move in!"
"Over here, you filthy vermin!"
Skree?!
A squad that had looped around from the western ridge slammed into the rear of a confused cluster. Trapped in a sudden pincer, the beasts panicked, snapping aimlessly in all directions without a coherent target.
"South!"
"Yeah! We've got them!"
Another coordinated push surged from the southern slope. Lacking any central hierarchy or tactical instinct, the panicked rodents collided into one another, utterly overwhelmed by the chaotic melee.
The plan was simple yet devastating: utilize Mistellis to paralyze the swarm's acute senses, split the horde into fragmented, manageable pockets using the difficult terrain, and converge the entire human force onto one isolated cluster at a time. Even weakened, facing the entire swarm from a single front was suicidal. But crushing a splintered group assaulted from four flanks took less than thirty seconds.
The trailing waves behind them were stalled by the sheer slopes and natural choke points, forced to navigate the rugged ground at a crawl. The human units wiped out one cluster, scattered back into the terrain, and repeated the ambush. A textbook guerrilla meat grinder—a display of tactical terrain exploitation so ruthless that Professor Muniherr would have applauded had he witnessed it.
"North! Close the trap now!!"
Finally, the northern flank—the crowning stroke of the strategy, designed to seal the perimeter from all four cardinal directions and obliterate the vanguard splinter of the swarm.
Yet—
SCREEEEEECH!
"What... what is that...?"
From the crest of the northern ridge, it was not the final student squad that emerged, but a fresh, monstrous wave of Scourges, pouring down the slope like black oil.