Round Two
We can win.
It was a thought that flashed through her mind in an instant.
...To think I would ever feel the taste of victory against that monster.
When she had first laid eyes on him, nothing but curiosity had stirred in her. When she realized he could see spirits, when she mistook him for a half-elf, when she took in the rumors that trailed him, when she passed his name on to her mother — everything concerning him had always left her with questions.
In the tedious lives of long-lived races like the elves, the sensation called curiosity was rain upon a drought-stricken field — and the man who supplied it was, to her, much the same kind of existence. And so, she had watched. She had reined in the arrogance natural to her kind and resolved that, if need be, she would be the one to approach him first. Had any of her kin witnessed it, they would have roared her down for it; she, however, believed it was precisely what ought to be done. For her long experience of observing countless humans had been warning her: the man before her would take no interest in any material thing she possessed.
There had been no glimmer of greed for money about him, and he had not wanted a connection to her, either.
...You desire nothing but the spirit stones? As I said, that is something even we could hand over with ease—
"The spirit stones are what I need most."
Yet neither did he chase after women, as the rumors claimed — if anything, he seemed to keep his distance. The tales of his arrogance and vanity, too, all rang false the moment she watched how he actually carried himself.
...You are a truly curious one. If all I had to go on were the rumors...
"Almost every one of those rumors is true."
And the strangest thing of all was that he did nothing at all — though he could hardly be ignorant of the rumors about him seeping through every corner of the Academy. Even if every word of them were true, his present behavior was patently bizarre. At the very least, had he so much as apologized before everyone, some word of his reformation might have circulated. Instead, he offered no rebuttal and no explanation, quietly shouldering every bitter word flung his way.
And then there was the power he was displaying now. Strength of that caliber did not belong to an ordinary cadet. He was, at the very least, a warrior of the knight orders — or something beyond them. Proof enough: he was fighting a monster that even the imperial knights who had come along as his escort could barely withstand.
And yet he did not seek to reign above anyone. He did not force anyone to bend the knee. He did not use people as he pleased. He showed no appetite for wealth or power. In a world where power was strength and strength was power, how could a man who had lived in it behave this way? And he, of all people — the notoriously arrogant young son of a ducal house, a man who could plainly be called one of the powerful.
...I truly cannot make you out. Not the slightest bit.
And that was not all. He had suddenly spouted some language she could not understand, then shaken off that grievous wound and risen to his feet. He had mastered a mass of mana that no other human — not even an elf — could ever have handled. He had drunk in the forest's mana to the last drop, folded it into his own, and turned it to his use. And now, at long last, he had reached that monster — the monster that had been too hard-pressed just keeping its guard up to do anything else. Everyone present must have seen it: his mana striking home against the creature, and then, one more eruption blooming after it.
"Hmhm... hmhmhm..."
"Pr...Princess?"
"Wh...what is the matter? Might you be gravely injured somewhere—"
The elves, having somehow scraped through and come crawling out of the wreckage around her, drew near at the sound of her laughter — but she only turned away and walked toward those still locked in struggle, offering no reply, nothing but a smile. Her hands crushed the black flowers underfoot, her magic pulled people back from the brink, her spirits peered up at her from her side as though puzzled — and still the smile never left her lips. She simply wanted to keep on smiling. Grateful, truly, that of all the days of her life, she had met its most fascinating being.
"Th...that's... insane, right?"
"Th...the black flowers are disappearing!"
"I don't know what's happening, but get the wounded out of here first, and fast!"
"Yes!!"
At last, the black flowers that had held everything around them in thrall began to wither, as though every last scrap of nourishment had been wrung out of them. They wilted and wilted until they were no more than brittle twigs, then crumbled into ash and vanished — and in the hearts of all who watched, hope blossomed. The hope that perhaps, just perhaps, they might live.
"Fi...first, the treatment!! Bring every medicine and bandage we have!"
"Tend to the gravely wounded first!!"
"Those of you who can still move — I must ask you to keep a wary eye on that smoke!"
And then every gaze drove itself into the smoke — into the very spot where Jenison had unleashed his explosion. Nailed fast by fear.
Is...isn't that monster still alive...?
If...if anything so much as shows itself...
Just as everyone trembled, dreading the shattering of this hard-won hope, the smoke from the blast began to clear — that thick, acrid smoke. She was the first to move, stepping toward the haze still blooming from the explosion.
"Jenison. Are you alive?"
"...."
"...Revi. Clear away what's left of the smoke."
And within that acrid haze, no one existed at all. Neither the monster nor the black-haired boy was anywhere to be seen. Only the moonlight remained, casting its beautiful glow over the place where they had stood.
...Where am I?
"Ah, Se...nior... you've... come... have you?"
It had definitely connected. So I had thought I'd won. The spearhead I forged from my own mana had certainly buried itself in that thing's body — and it had not stopped there; I had made it detonate. Every last scrap of that vast mana. So I had been certain it was dead.
...I said, where am I?
"Wow, now... now you sound like yourself, Senior? The way you talk... it, it didn't seem like you before."
And yet the thing had not died. If this thing before me and that creature were one and the same...
The boyish figure — orange hair gleaming, red light flashing in black eyes — was gone. In its place sprawled a shapeless mass: not the deep, beautiful black it had worn, but a blackish-red, faintly laced with crimson. The thing, for all the world like a slime, was producing the creature's voice exactly as it had been.
And the space around me was wrong, too. The vista of the Great Forest, where the scent of grass had mingled with the smell of blood only moments ago, was gone without a trace. Beneath me stretched a floor slick with some thick, sticky fluid — I could feel it even through my shoes. And a landscape devoid of any structure at all, running on past the edge of sight, greeted me.
With the world having changed in the blink of an eye, my guard was wound to its peak — and from the mass that had been writhing on the floor for some moments now, a head popped up with a plop.
Orange hair. Black eyes. The barest glints of red in the irises. The head of the very creature I had been facing until just now.
"Hello there, Senior!"
"...."
"Whoa, first time seeing that expression on you."
"You're Number Eight, aren't you?"
For a moment my head throbbed, unable to keep up with the scene spread out before me. Clutching my aching skull, I asked the thing what it was, half-praying I was wrong—
"That's right!!"
"...!"
Two tentacles burst from the floor and coiled around both my hands. Red tentacles, thick with the reek of blood.
"....!"
"Aww, so clo...se.."
I hurriedly conjured blades along my shoes, swung in the same breath, sheared through the tentacles, and tore free — and in the next instant, countless more tentacles came gushing up from the very spot where I had been standing.
"...How are you still alive?"
"Huh? That one's easy! I just gave up my human body, is all!"
"...I can't make head or tail of what you're saying."
"Hmm, the reason's simpler than you'd think. What does my current form look like to you?"
"A head that babbles to itself."
"No, no — look below me and try again."
With that, it drew yet another tentacle out from beneath itself and pointed down at its own body: a writhing blackish-red mass; a springy lump of flesh that looked as though it would bounce right back into shape no matter how deeply you stabbed it; and yet, for all that, a mass with a translucent quality that faintly showed the world on its far side.
"...A slime, then."
"Correct!"
"So you survived because I never struck the core."
"Ooh, you've gotten smarter than your past life, haven't you?"
Slimes — the most widely known monsters in existence. Their bodies were shrouded in a special property that shrugged off any attack, but the substance and durability of the flesh itself was nothing remarkable; pierce through the body and destroy the core within, and they died on the spot. The most common of monsters.
Their means of subjugation had been common knowledge since ages past, so hunting them was no great challenge — but unless you crushed the core, they absolutely refused to die. They could live on even with their bodies torn to pieces. And a torn-off piece of that body would become a new slime. A creature that came bundled with any number of headaches.
"...One thing. Answer me."
"....?"
Still, I decided that could wait. There was something I needed to ask, here and now. Clenching my trembling hand shut, I pried loose lips I had sealed tight — never once registering whether that trembling was born of rage.
"My mother. Sariel. The death of Sariel Reinhardt. Did you have a hand in it?"
"Nope!"
Relief came with the instant answer — but it lasted only a breath. At the creature's next words, my grip tightened all on its own.
"It wasn't just me — it was everyone's idea!"
"...."
"I'll admit I was the first to think of it! But everyone gave their blessing, and we each took our own share of the work!"
"...."
"Honestly, I figured it'd be hard just to get close — who knew a simple disguise would be enough to walk right in!"
"...."
"Uh... the one who actually spread the sickness was Pride, so—"
"Enough."
I cut off the voice of that young boy, chattering away so cheerfully. I ignored the head tilting as if to ask why, too. And I cursed and rued my own skull for having entertained, even for a moment, so stupid a thought.
"...I was a fool."
"Hm, you sure are, Senior. That's how you got betrayed by me, too..."
"That never should have happened."
"Hm? What are you—"
"Not when I was always going to end up doing this to you regardless."
The boy's head never finished its sentence; it dropped onto the sticky floor with a soft plop. So swift was the cut that he never even managed to blink.
"Huh? Wh-what is...?"
"It never should have happened."
"...Haha, Senior? Might you rein in that killing intent a little—"
"I should never have wanted to kill you quickly. Not even the tiniest bit."
"...."
"You said you were a slime, didn't you?"
"...."
"Then either kill me as fast as you possibly can — or else you'll have no choice but to keep offering that core of yours up to my attacks."
"...."
"Because as of this moment, any desire I had to destroy your core is gone. Completely."
"...How? How does your spirit refuse to break, even after being driven all the way here?"
"...."
"Wasn't that attack everything you had? Didn't you pour in every last drop of your mana? And still you won't give up? How?"
"Shut up."
"Why do you always leap past everything I expect of you, Senior? You taste agony every single day, and still you will not snap."
"Rant all you like. After all... in a little while, you won't be able to speak at all."
"Ahh, even that confidence of yours. I'm rea...lly, honestly jealous of you, Se...nior."
Thus began the second round.