Too Strong
“Hah! Hah!”
She ran. She ran without stopping. Even as her breath caught in her throat, she didn’t stop. She was an ability user. She could fight. And yet, she had fled from that spot.
It was because they’d told her to go get help. But maybe it was better this way. A version of herself who was far too weak couldn’t do anything anyway.
“Haa, haa…”
Seria came to a halt. An indescribable sense of self-loathing gripped her. This wasn’t it. She hadn’t come all this way just for something like this.
Even though they weren’t her birth parents, the two who had gladly taken her in. The servants and villagers of the barony who had served her with all their hearts. How happy they’d been when she awakened her ability. They had praised her, a nobody, as the pride of the territory, lifting her up as if she were the greatest thing in the world. People she was so grateful for.
She had received their expectations. She wanted to live up to them. Even if her talent was lacking, she wanted to. She didn’t want to disappoint them.
So she couldn’t run away. The thought flashed through her mind: if she turned her back now, she’d never be able to go back.
“You can do it, Miss Seria.”
She recalled the words Abel had said to encourage her on their way to the academy, back when she called herself a mere low-rank ability user who’d gotten lucky with her awakening.
“No one calls that star worthless. Even if it’s smaller than a firefly. Even if it doesn’t shine like the sun or moon. In the end, it’s a star in the sky.”
“Miss Seria, you see yourself as a firefly, but to someone, you’re a star.”
“There’s no reason to belittle yourself now, no reason to feel anxious or worried. Everyone starts as a firefly. But the future? No one knows what it holds.”
Nothing was set in stone. If she could shape her future, it was up to her alone.
Seria remembered Abel’s words. She thought of the brave man who had charged at the enemy despite the odds.
For the sake of not shaming that man. For the man who had called her an ability user too.
“Over there!”
With her resolve hardened, Seria grabbed the first male student she saw.
“Please tell the faculty. They need help at the annex urgently.”
“Pardon?”
“There’s a dangerous person there. We’ll need as many people as possible.”
With that, Seria turned without hesitation. The male student, flustered, grabbed her.
“Wait. It’s dangerous—where are you going?”
“I have to go back.”
Her voice carried unyielding determination, and the male student couldn’t hold her any longer. Left to deliver the request for aid in her place, he stared blankly in the direction she’d vanished.
“You let your guard down!”
One Supremacist, thought to be dead, lunged at the male student. But without even glancing his way, the student thrust out his arm to block the attack.
Clang!
The sound was like steel clashing against steel, not blade against flesh. The Supremacist’s groan revealed the reason.
“Urgh! Y-You damn mutation ability user…!”
The student’s arm had transformed into something no longer human. Smooth steel covered his skin, without so much as a scratch. Instead, a ominous crack came from the Supremacist’s blade.
As the sword shattered, the Supremacist decided to use his trump card ability, one he’d been saving.
“Fools with superior blood, stooping to mix with the lowly rabble!”
“I’d rather not hear that from you, who’ve harmed countless innocents and fellow ability users.”
With steel coating both arms, the freshman Rel Carhan struck down his foe in one blow.
He’d held back plenty until now. Especially since his father had become the Republic’s Prime Minister, forcing him to maintain the image of a refined politician’s son. The academy was no different. Whatever he said or did could reflect on the Republic itself.
So he’d endured. But right now, there was no reason to hold back.
“Grk…”
“For the record, my dream isn’t to be some politician who fights with words in parliament.”
He wanted to be a warrior. To fight with strength and body, not tongue and rhetoric. His awakened ability was the perfect preparation for that future.
That’s why Rel had come to the Continental Academy—to take his first steps toward a new life.
“And you lot will be the first sacrifices for that future.”
Having swiftly subdued the Supremacist, Rel turned toward where Seria had gone. Those resolute eyes. That girl who looked like a single pink flower, yet carried the bearing of a splendid warrior.
You’ve piqued my curiosity.
Rel set off at once to find the faculty. For her sake, he needed to gather reinforcements first.
* * *
The academy ambush unfolded from both outside and within simultaneously. Outside, selected forces launched the infiltration. Inside, those who had hidden their identities for as little as a month or as long as years sprang into action.
The Ability Supremacists’ goal was simple: to create the “true world” they envisioned. To that end, they executed every possible action now.
They eliminated future enemies. For potential future allies, they sowed seeds of betrayal. Those who would never cooperate were pruned early. If cooperation seemed possible, they kidnapped and used them as hostages to threaten surrounding ability users.
At the same time, they broadcast their identity widely, calling out to ability users harboring quiet discontent: wouldn’t they build a new world for ability users alone?
“Gah!”
“Subdued! Drag him away like this!”
“Aaaah!”
“Kill him. His parents walked a different path from ours.”
Targets for elimination and abduction had been decided well before the operation. They split into those who must be erased to prevent future threats and those who could be swayed through negotiation.
In that regard, the Winter Duchesses fell into the latter category.
“Your Highnesses. Come on, think it over. We’ll shatter the old rules and systems for a new world of ability users. Then the Empire—your northern duchy’s greatest foe—will crumble from within.”
The nation with the most ability users was, naturally, the most populous Empire. Paradoxically, it was also the one with the strictest controls on them. It had ingrained the notion of ability users’ duties into their minds.
Thus, the Supremacists saw the Empire as their greatest enemy—the primary target to topple. They believed the northern Winter Duchy, long at odds with the Empire, could be persuaded.
“Following the strong is the natural order.”
“Biting the weak is the natural order.”
The Supremacists clicked their tongues at the Winter Duchesses’—Irshu and Tarshu’s—response. Was it the harsh northern lands? The Winter Duchy had always obsessed excessively over strength.
Only the strong could voice opinions. Only the strong claimed more, better rewards. The weak stayed beneath unless they grew stronger.
So their point boiled down to one thing: they felt no need to heed words from those weaker than themselves. If the Supremacists wanted to persuade them, they’d have to prove their strength and make the duchesses the weak ones.
“Hah. That’s kids for you.”
With high status and abilities, the world must seem easy. Understandable. Who could go all-out against duchesses?
But they were mistaken about one thing. Supremacists weren’t weaklings who became Supremacists. Supremacists were born from those already strong.
“Try blocking this!”
Electricity crackled from the Supremacist’s hand. Lightning ability. Weak, it stung; in talented hands, it became a piercing spear.
“It’s coming, Irshu.”
“Got it, Tarshu.”
They wielded cryokinesis—balanced for offense and defense. Hold the defense, and an opening would come. With full power from both sides, numbers favored the Supremacists.
“Then…!”
But neither side expected what happened next.
Krunch! Thud!
Something burst through the wall and hurtled toward them.
“Guh?!”
An unforeseen situation. The Supremacist was sent flying far away by the collision. Thanks to that, the intruder stopped right before the Winter Duchesses.
“…Enemy, Irshu?”
“Dunno, Tarshu.”
Keeping their abilities ready, the two cautiously stepped forward.
“Ah.”
“Oh.”
A familiar face. That man. Abel Rothschild. The one who’d shown tremendous strength.
But his state was worlds apart from before. Torn and broken everywhere, blood flowing. Even charitably, he was half-dead, in critical condition. He needed the infirmary pronto.
“Still alive, Irshu?”
“Looks dead, Tarshu.”
The two duchesses tentatively poked Abel’s cheek with pale fingers. At that moment.
Abel’s eyes snapped open. He slowly rose.
“He’s alive?!”
“Not dead?!”
His condition screamed he shouldn’t be able to move. He should collapse any second. Yet Abel rolled his shoulders, stood, wiped the streaming blood roughly on his clothes, and rubbed it off.
“You two. The duchesses from before, right.”
“Irshu.”
“Tarshu.”
“Thanks. It’d been a while since I got this banged up, so I blacked out briefly. You woke me right up.”
Crack, pop!
As Abel readjusted himself, Irshu and Tarshu sidled closer.
“You okay?”
“Doesn’t hurt?”
“Not okay. Hurts like hell. I’m human too, you know.”
Of course. Ability users weren’t invincible. Just people in the end.
“But you look fine.”
“Doesn’t look like it hurts.”
“What can I say. Been like this since I was a kid. I’m used to it.”
The hellish training from childhood to awaken his ability. The blood, sweat, and tears. To Abel, it had become something beyond mere ability—ingrained survival instinct.
“Enduring and surviving? I’m a pro at it.”
Blood dripping steadily, he grinned brightly. The two duchesses swallowed hard.
Out of fear? No. Their hearts raced. That was the true mark of strength.