Class Assignment Exam (3)
The hot-tempered professor's relentless prodding showed no signs of stopping. Or rather, it was more accurate to say that those fools had picked a fight with the wrong woman.
"Did all of you step forward, you miserable brats?"
"Y-Yes..."
The target of Professor Denise's venomous tongue was abundantly clear. It wasn't me, but the pack of arrogant students cowering before her. Of course, she had dragged me along as well, though I still had little idea what she actually intended to do.
The venue... is the academy courtyard.
With an entire mob of students gathered in one spot, spectators began crowding the center of the campus. Indifferent to the growing commotion, Professor Denise returned with equipment she had sent another student to fetch.
"Mana Badges...?"
"Weapons, too? What is the meaning of this?"
They were standard Mana Badges and weapons, commonly used in academy sparring to prevent fatalities. When a badge absorbed a set amount of magical damage, its color shifted until a protective ward deployed to save the wearer's life, causing the gem to lose its light entirely. Bringing such gear into this situation made the intent painfully obvious.
"Shouldn't you prove that skill of yours right here and now?" Denise sneered. "Pick thirteen of the strongest among you."
"We understand proving our abilities through combat, Professor. But why are you trying to pit us against one another?"
"What nonsense are you babbling? Your opponent is Junon alone. We need to see once and for all whether he deserves to be in Class A, don't we?"
Thirteen against one. Thirteen opponents, paired with standard Mana Badges instead of the Talbrut Ark. It was practically an exact replica of a phantom duel.
"The rules are identical to a phantom duel," she announced. "Any weapon is permitted. Once Junon defeats one of you, the next steps up. Any objections?"
"Wait a moment. Are you saying he's the one being tested?"
"That's right. Why? Got a problem with that?"
"Pfft... No, not at all. That suits us just fine."
I could see right through that smug grin. He was already daydreaming about how to carve me to pieces. Professor Denise merely answered him with a mocking snort.
"However, Professor," the student added, his lips curling slyly, "to make sure neither side goes back on their word, shouldn't we put something on the line?"
"...What?"
And there it was. They had finally crossed the line.
A burst of laughter erupted from Denise, loud enough for every passerby in the courtyard to hear. It wasn't just my imagination that the sound carried a blood-freezing chill.
"You want me to lay down a wager? You want to make a bet?"
"Our honor is at stake here, after all," the student replied smoothly. "It's only fair that we take home something appropriate for our trouble."
"Thirteen heads put together, and that's the best you can come up with...? Fine. Let's make a bet."
Seeing right through their scheming, Denise slammed the gavel down before they could back out. Her voice dripped with unshakeable confidence.
"If my side loses, I will personally revoke this boy's Class A placement. Furthermore, I will cancel all the instruction I've provided him up until now. Well? What are you putting up on your end?"
"Aren't you going a bit overboard for an outcome that's already predetermined?"
"Maybe she's secretly taking our side."
"If we lose," their spokesman declared with an arrogant chuckle, "we'll bow at the waist and formally apologize to him. Satisfied? Not that we have any intention of losing, of course."
They were practically chugging the victory wine before the match had even begun. But when picking a fight, you had to know who you were up against.
"Try again, you piece of shit."
"...Excuse me?"
"I'm tutoring this boy with my reputation as the Imperial Chief Researcher on the line," she snapped, stepping closer. "If I'm risking all of that, you need to stake something far bigger."
Professor Denise could not meddle directly in academy administrative affairs, but she possessed an ironclad justification for being here: she had declared her intent to personally handpick and mentor students. Only now did the grim reality of their predicament begin creeping into the students' thick skulls.
"Then... what would you have us do...?"
"That boy is fighting alone. He stands as the representative of every commoner in this school. Don't you understand what that means?"
"Wait... You can't possibly mean..."
"Are you telling us to gather every commoner in the academy and bow our waists to them, not just Junon?!"
"Not your waists," Denise said, her index finger jabbing a student hard in the forehead and shoving him back. "Right here. You'll press this into the dirt, where it belongs."
Under normal circumstances, a nobleman would have bristled at the indignity of having his forehead touched so disrespectfully, but the sheer gravity of her demand eclipsed any minor slight.
"You want us to bow down to him... No, beyond that, to every single commoner...?"
"You expect us to grovel on the ground?!"
"P-Professor, you go too far!!!"
To an aristocrat, bowing one's head before a lowly commoner was the ultimate disgrace. The higher one's title, the deeper that prejudice ran; even a single defeat was a source of mockery and shame. For such people to lower their heads was unthinkable. Even in temporary defeat, they refused to bow.
Bending slightly at the waist while grinding their teeth was occasionally tolerated. Why? Because it carried the implicit promise that they would soon avenge the insult, force their rival to grovel in return, and firmly reassert their dominance. Feigning deference while bending at the waist was a silent, unwritten code among high nobility: I will trample you into dust twice as hard next time.
Pressing their foreheads into the dirt, however, meant unconditional submission. It meant surrendering utterly, adopting the posture of a vanquished dog.
"What's the matter? Getting cold feet now?" Denise taunted. "You're fine with dragging him down from his class, but pressing your foreheads to the ground for the commoners you despise so much is off the table?"
"The stakes aren't even remotely equal...!"
"She's right! This is pure tyranny!"
"Cut the crap," she snarled. "You staked your petty honor, but my disciple was insulted—a student I teach under my very middle name. Tell me, where does that leave the honor of my name?"
"That's..."
Naturally, they had no answer. The middle name 'Flovel' held by Professor Denise was not something anyone could casually besmirch. It was a name bestowed directly by the Emperor of the Artena Empire.
Earning an imperial middle name usually required monumental contributions to the realm, and those who received one from the Emperor himself numbered fewer than ten living souls: the Grand Duke of Ardelion, the Grand Matriarch of Lantana, the pinnacle minds of academia, and the Imperial Prime Minister. These foolish children had carelessly antagonized someone who stood on equal footing with titans.
"Then all you have to do is win, isn't it?" she sneered. "Where did all that swagger from earlier go?"
"..."
Did these children possess even a shred of reason? If they had possessed even an ounce of sense, they would have swallowed their pride long ago.
"Don't lose your nerve," one of them hissed, trying to rally the group. "If we don't want to lose, we just have to win. It's simple."
"Right. It's only him..."
"No matter how you look at it, he's just one person, and that person is Junon. We just have to fight the way we always do and take him down."
Accepting that the die was cast, they huddled together to select their thirteen champions.
"You really went and made a mess of things, didn't you?" I muttered.
"Fools who only know how to flap their gums need to be stomped into the dirt before they come to their senses," Denise replied casually. "Besides, I can't exactly step into the ring myself."
"...The whole academy would be in an uproar if you did. More importantly, this is the first I'm hearing about you staking your middle name."
"I'll get an earful from Muniher later, but who cares? Besides, you're confident you can handle this much, aren't you?"
"Shouldn't you at least give me a moment to catch my breath, Professor? You were wiping the floor with me barely five minutes ago."
"Just consider it a handicap, Junon. It's not as if I expect you to lose anyway."
Well, the answer was already decided. This corrupt hierarchy was a forbidden tower, built brick by brick through the exploitation of commoners so that the noble coalition and their scions could enjoy endless privilege. A crooked tower could only be brought down by shaking it from the foundation.
"Go ahead and call over the other students," I said. "Better to summon them now so they don't have to scramble later."
"Heh. A larger audience is always more entertaining. Anything else you need?"
"I'm good."
In the past, I might have hesitated, wondering why I should bother drawing unnecessary attention to myself. But now, it was time to defend the honor of the teacher mentoring me and ensure our training continued uninterrupted. Knocking those arrogant brats down a peg was a welcome bonus.
And above all, it was a chance to test my own limits.
Thirteen Mana Badges were pinned to the chests of the thirteen chosen students. To someone who had spent his days in Class E, their faces were all painfully familiar.
They hadn't even bothered to don academy uniforms or combat leathers. Their first fighter marched forward with an arrogant smirk, drawing his thumb across his throat to signal that he would end me in a single breath.
"Eat this!" he sneered, thrusting out his palm.
The instant the words left his mouth, his spell fizzled into nothingness.
"W-What the hell?"
"What was it you just showed me?" I asked, stepping in without breaking a sweat. "Was it something like this?"
Right in front of his face, I mirrored the exact throat-slitting gesture he had made moments earlier.
"Y-You bastard! What kind of cheap trick did you just pull...?!"
He frantically attempted to draw another magic circle, but every formula he constructed dispersed into thin air the instant it tried to manifest. The sheer panic plastered across his face was pathetic to behold. I closed the distance with measured steps and drove a heavy fist straight into his solar plexus.
"Guh-ack!"
An elemental mage collapsed to his knees, while a vanguard stood over him, looking down. The momentum had shifted entirely to one side.
"You son of a bitch... I can cast at point-blank range too! I'm not holding back any—!"
I stood still, inviting him to try, but once again his magic circle dissolved halfway through formation.
"The only one holding back here is me," I muttered coldly. "You still haven't figured out your place, have you?"
Normally, I could have ended this in a heartbeat by applying the principles of Anti-Cast to twist the mana circuits inside his body. But even though I could end it cleanly, I chose not to.
Thud! Crack!
"Agh! Urk! Ahhh!"
Fists thudded brutally against flesh, drowning out the helpless squawks of an opponent who couldn't mount a single shred of resistance. Among the spectators, only the few who truly understood my capabilities wore quiet smiles; the rest stood frozen, watching the absurd spectacle with bated breath.
The boy who had bragged about ending me with a one-sided assault struggled desperately, but he could never bridge the chasm between us. Had I used Anti-Cast? Not at all. He simply couldn't endure the sheer agony of a physical beating, passing out cold before he could even squeeze out another scream.
Brutal, methodical, and entirely one-sided. By the time I finished, the pampered aristocrat's face was a swollen, bloody mess. I wiped the crimson staining my knuckles against the expensive fabric of his tunic, seized him by the collar, and hauled him off the dirt.
Thud.
"Next."
With an emotionless expression, I hurled the battered heap toward the remaining twelve students. Goosebumps broke out across the crowd, aristocrats and commoners alike shuddering at the display.
The lower-class students, who hadn't dared to harbor even a glimmer of hope, finally erupted into thunderous roars at the unthinkable upset.
"WOOOOOOOHHH!!!"
It was a total, overwhelming suppression. The commoners and lower-ranked students cheered in wild frenzy, while Lady Ophilia, standing as the designated referee, suppressed a subtle smirk of her own.
"Normally, a contestant is entitled to a five-minute rest between matches," I said, rolling my shoulders. "Given how pathetic your skills are, I won't be needing one just yet."
Another roar of triumph washed over the grounds, answered by the grinding teeth and furious glares of the noble coalition. This makeshift duel had drawn clear battle lines, and my ruthless display had driven a sharp wedge between their despair and our elation. Naturally, the other side wasn't about to sit back and take it.
"You think that cheap trick of yours is going to work a second time, you bastard?!"
The second challenger stepped forward boldly. Yet he, too, found himself walking the exact same path as the first.
"...Wait, what?"
"What are you standing around for?! Fire your spell!"
"N-No... It's just... Drawing the circle is fine, but the moment it tries to fire, it feels like it's slamming into a wall—"
"What kind of gibberish is that?!"
"Fight properly! Are you trying to bring shame upon the nobility's honor?!"
"Quit messing around, you idiot!"
Unable to comprehend what was happening before their eyes, the remaining eleven students were turning red with frustration. The second fighter was just as baffled, his spells collapsing into duds every time he tried to cast.
"Consulting during an active match is strictly prohibited," Ophilia cut in smoothly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Any further infractions will result in penalties."
Silenced by her warning, the nobles clapped their mouths shut. First or second, it made no difference. Inexplicably, their spells simply refused to reach me. After a savage barrage of punches gave him a sharp taste of his own blood, the second boy panicked and shrieked at the top of his lungs.
"I-I surrender! I yield!!!"
"What is that lunatic saying?!"
"Fight like a man! You call yourself a noble?!"
"My magic won't come out, so what the hell am I supposed to do?! Junon...? I-I lost, so stop hitting me! Please! I surrendered!"
Aside from the two who had faced me directly, the rest could only simmer in impotent fury from the sidelines. Surrender. Accepting defeat was clean and easy. However...
Crack!
"Aaargh! W-Why?!"
"How have you survived this long without even learning the basic rules of a duel?"
"W-What are you talking about?! The rules state that when a Mana Badge turns red or a fighter yields, the match is over!!"
"This match adheres strictly to the regulations of a phantom duel," Lady Ophilia clarified helpfully from the sidelines. "Therefore, regardless of the Mana Badge, the bout concludes only when a participant is completely knocked out."
Indeed. The core rule of a phantom duel required rendering the opponent entirely unconscious. For either side to claim victory, they had to ensure the other could no longer move a muscle.
"You heard her, right?" I cracked my knuckles. "Time for your beating."
"Y-You're insane... This is madness! It makes no sense... Eeeeek!"
"Oh? Decided to use your body instead?"
Realizing magic wouldn't save him, he dragged his frail frame forward and swung a clumsy, telegraphed punch. But against someone who had honed his instincts through relentless training, an unpolished fist had zero chance of landing.
"Aaaaargh!"
I caught his wrist with effortless ease, hooked my foot behind his ankle, and completely destroyed his center of gravity. A sickening snap echoed across the courtyard, accompanied by a blood-curdling shriek.
From the fluid grapple to the merciless takedown, not a single movement was wasted. Watching an arrogant mage who had never thrown a proper punch in his life get dismantled purely through martial arts was the most cathartic spectacle the mistreated vanguards could have ever asked for.
"Gah! Ack! Ahh!"
"YEAAAAAHHH!"
The cheers grew deafening, while the aristocrats who had sneered at the commoners were struck dumb. Taking down two opponents had barely cost me any stamina; I was still as fresh as when the match began. Wiping a stray speck of blood from my cheek with the back of my hand, I cast my gaze over the remaining group.
"What's the holdup? Did all that bravado run out already?"
Two lay broken in the dirt. Who would be next? A frantic war of glances erupted among the survivors. Having watched their peers get beaten into swollen, bloody pulps right before their eyes, terror seized them completely. Squeezing their frantic brains for a solution, they finally requested their allotted consultation time.
Every contestant was entitled to a five-minute recess, and they seized upon it in a desperate bid to buy time.
"Come on, can't they just get on with it? They're all going to get trashed anyway."
"Hey, the best part is coming. Just be patient."
"I think I survived up until today just to see this..."
Murmurs of impatience rippled through the spectators. To the lower-class vanguards who had swallowed humiliation day after day, this duel was pure, unfiltered salvation.
Yet the righteous retribution against the academy's bullies was abruptly cut short.
"What do you think you are doing, interrupting an active duel, Professor Norbell?"
"As a professor, it is my duty to discipline students who have committed shameful acts unworthy of this academy."
Those desperate to stop this duel were naturally from the faction eager to deny the defeat of noble ranged mages. However, no student had the authority to intrude while Lady Ophilia was presiding as referee. If the duel continued toward the inevitable disgrace of the nobility, they had to intervene by any means necessary.
Slap! Smock!
"Picking fights with a student mid-training, and bringing shame upon Countess Beryl! Do you dare call yourselves academy students?!"
Professor Norbell ruthlessly slapped the cheeks of the remaining eleven challengers. It was a transparent ploy—resorting to harsh discipline he would never normally display, purely to provide a righteous pretext. For a man who routinely neglected his instructional duties to step in like this only proved how desperate their faction truly was.
Yet on the surface, his actions were above reproach, making it impossible to openly reprimand him. Neither Lady Ophilia nor Professor Denise moved to stop him, despite seeing right through his blackened intentions.
"...We shall suspend the phantom duel here," Ophilia announced after a brief, tense exchange with Professor Norbell, bringing the spectacle to an official close.
Well, that should be enough to teach them. The vanguards they looked down on aren't weak.
If the students who witnessed this duel took away at least that much, it was enough. The moment the noble faction and their sycophantic professor retreated, the lower-class students unleashed their pent-up emotions.
"That was incredible, Junon! It's a shame it ended early, but thanks for thrashing the bastard who bullied me!"
"That felt so damn good! Thanks for shattering the prejudice that vanguards can't fight!"
"Thank you for proving that everything we've learned wasn't a mistake, Senior..."
A commoner, and the very boy branded the weakest vanguard of Class E, had thoroughly dismantled two noble mages. It was living proof that their efforts were not in vain. Among the crowd, several were on the verge of tears. Seeing that, I felt compelled to add a word of my own.
"The only reason any of you survived against that swarm of Orthoptera was because of the hard work you put in. Keep your heads up, you idiots."
The murmuring ceased for an instant, only for the overwhelmed students to roar with renewed fervor, unable and unwilling to hide their joy. Nothing was more dangerous on the battlefield than losing the will to fight, but it seemed their spirits had been thoroughly rekindled. Besides, this was more than enough to fulfill what Sylvia had asked of me.
"Are you satisfied, Professor Denise?"
"You caused quite the scene, though it's a pity an uninvited guest crashed the party," Denise said, giving a satisfied nod. "Aside from that, full marks. Good work."
"Then since I worked up a sweat, treat me to something delicious."
She let out a dry chuckle at my immediate demand for reciprocity. "Well, seeing how dutifully you followed along, I'd love to. But it'll have to wait until next time."
"Hmm? Why next time?"
Apparently, she had been putting off a summons from Professor Muniher just to watch the show. Not wanting to keep a busy woman from her duties, I exchanged farewells with her as she promised to make it up to me later. With that, today's lessons were officially over.
As I walked away from the crowd of energized students, a silver-haired girl stepped into view, extending a towel with a radiant smile.
"Good work. That was incredibly refreshing to watch."
"Was it?"
"It would have been even better if Professor Norbell hadn't meddled, honestly."
Sylvia looked thoroughly satisfied with the outcome.
"Was that... Reverse Calculation? No. That can't be it. A proper Reverse Calculation dismantles the formula entirely, but those spells looked as if they collided with something and vanished..."
It didn't look like he had tampered with the opponent's magic circles either.
"Then a barrier deployed at the exact moment of projectile launch...? No, that's still strange. One of them attempted a point-blank spell, didn't he?"
The conditions required for such a technique were absurdly strict.
Canceling out the enemy's spell with the exact required amount of mana.
Deploying an invisible barrier that left no trace.
That much could be rationalized; assuming it was an application of his Unique Magic made it plausible enough. However, point-blank magic was an entirely different matter—unless he was forcibly preventing the magic itself from activating.
Such a technique was theoretically possible. By exploiting the repulsive properties of mana or disrupting the opponent's internal circuits with foreign energy, one could achieve a similar effect, though it demanded an extraordinarily complex level of control. But there was another contradiction that defied logic.
"Ugh, thinking about it is just giving me a headache."
Hidden among the dispersing crowd, an observer who had watched Junon's every move muttered softly under their breath.