Seria's Fiery Embrace
Abel thought it was a pretty solid judgment on his part. There was no rule stating that the defender had to only defend. Numerical superiority was something you could never just brush off. That's why they say numbers beat skill. If this were a life-or-death battle, it might be different, but right now, they were conducting the test while staying within reasonable limits. Since he couldn't reliably take one of them down for good, he'd end up facing all three anyway. That was precisely why none of the faculty had said, "The defender only defends." It could even mean they wanted him to disrupt the scenario where the three switched to offense and overwhelmed one person.
Convinced of that, Abel immediately moved to separate Seria from Irshu and Tarshu. With Seria at the center and the two duchesses covering the flanks, it was the obvious sequence.
But right after, Abel couldn't help but smile at the sight before his eyes.
"…As expected of the protagonist."
Seria seemed to have already read his mind completely. How else could she pull this off? From the start of the test, she'd stuck to positions suited for defense rather than offense. If he targeted one side, the other would cover perfectly. If he went for the head, the flanks would bind him before he could escape, leaving no gaps.
Through all their joint training, Seria had come to know and understand Abel just as much as he'd learned about her. They could predict each other's thoughts in any moment—what they'd decide, what they'd do next. It led to a tense standoff that dragged on evenly matched.
But… no matter what, the core of this test is neutralizing me, right? So how exactly do they plan to rack up points?
Just as Abel tilted his head in puzzlement, Seria sprang into action as if answering him. Left flank, right flank—perfectly secured. Then Irshu and Tarshu's ice storms closed in. No rush. Slowly, but surely. Occupying territory bit by bit, forcing Abel into a choice.
It was a path straight toward the center, toward Seria—inescapable, demanding at least one attack.
Like they're daring me—come at me properly. It felt like a challenge tailored to his personality: clash head-on without holding back.
In truth, though her flame butterflies were scattered everywhere, they were primed to block his path at any moment.
Damn. These three know me too well.
Anyone else might avoid such an obvious baited path. But for Abel—who craved experience against as many ability users as possible—he couldn't pass it up. Especially not against the protagonist and two key supporting characters. A joint fire-and-ice assault. No way he'd play it safe with such an incredible opportunity dangling right in front of him.
His deliberation was brief, his decision swift, his action without hesitation. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance and tested a rarely used thrust.
Clang!
As expected, countless butterflies swarmed to form a massive barrier. At the same time, translucent ice pillars rained down from the storm onto where he'd stood. Abel shattered one and dodged another.
That revealed something new. These ice formations… they were far softer than expected. Ice should naturally be made as durable as possible, yet a light tap had them shattering spectacularly in all directions.
A strange feeling hit Abel, and he scanned his surroundings. Then it clicked.
Holy shit.
The shattered ice melted into thin puddles under the heat of Seria's butterflies. Then the butterflies scattered in every direction—Seria swiftly clearing them to avoid interfering with the next phase.
Abel's hunch was spot on. The ice storm froze those thin puddles solid. In an instant, the area—including where Abel stood—turned into a slippery rink impossible to balance on easily. It wasn't unstandable, but it definitely restricted free movement.
And among the four, the one who needed to move the most was Abel. Close-range swordsman, relying on his arms and legs. Meanwhile, Seria, Irshu, and Tarshu were mid- and long-range. They could output plenty of firepower just standing and using their abilities.
"Impressive, Seria. You lured me in on purpose for this."
"I was certain you'd attack, Lord Abel."
"Abel. Bold."
"Abel. Manly."
Praise was always welcome. But getting outplayed left a weird taste. If he'd focused purely on defense from the start, he might've avoided it. They'd had no choice but to scatter water on the ground, telegraphing the follow-up. Yet by choosing offense, he'd walked right into it.
He'd dismissed their actions as mere defense, not a trap for the next move.
Big movements mean losing balance at some point. The duchesses won't miss that. But holding position? Seria's butterflies already fill the surroundings. They're forcing a gap somehow.
Refined strategy so far. Anyone else would've seen it as checkmate. But Abel grinned. Excitement swelled in his chest—this was getting even more thrilling.
Kraaang!
Suddenly, Abel slammed his sword into the ground. The duchesses tensed—what was he up to?—when
"Irshu! Tarshu! Get back!"
Seria's scream rang out just as Abel stomped hard, shaking the earth with a massive boom. Cracks spiderwebbed through the ice, shattering patches everywhere.
"Whoa."
"No way."
Leaping aside, Irshu and Tarshu let out gasps of admiration. When movement's blocked, most think of escaping the cause. Crushing it all with a stomp? Unthinkable. Fail, and you'd strain your legs—not to mention the embarrassment. A fall would've been perfect setup for defeat.
Abel executed it without a second's hesitation—and nailed it spectacularly.
This wasn't water; beneath the ice lay solid ground. He kicked up the shards and hurled them at Seria, Irshu, and Tarshu. The speed made it look like catapult fire, not a foot kick.
Whoosh!
Red butterflies clustered to block the ice. They burned out against the velocity, but the ice shrank to droplets and vanished.
Ho-ly…
It had gone as planned up to here. But who could've guessed he'd smash through brute force—and counter long-range with the debris? Irshu and Tarshu's positions were completely thrown. Time needed for their next ability.
Seria hastily recalled her butterflies. She had to buy time. No matter what, Abel couldn't take those two out first. Beyond their trust in her, it was pride. She wanted to be Abel's top threat—not Irshu, not Tarshu, but her. The biggest danger to that man!
Something Lord Abel least expects. Something even I haven't done yet.
Abel always said during training: Deliberate fast, act swift. Surprise even yourself, and the enemy panics.
She wanted to be a star. Not a firefly—a twinkling star in the night sky. Awakening helped, but it wasn't enough. Still just a prettier glowbug. To keep pace beside him, she needed change.
"Girls!"
Resolved, Seria summoned every butterfly around her at once. It looked like shooting stars raining from all sides—a meteor shower converging on her.
Even Abel's focus shifted to Seria, away from the duchesses. Ignoring such a flashy buildup? Impossible!
What was she prepping? Gathering butterflies like Flam for a massive blaze? Most likely scenario. Yeah… that'd make sense…
"What."
A bewildered gasp escaped Abel's lips. Seria's choice shattered all expectations.
"Seria?"
"Seria!"
Even Irshu and Tarshu called out in shock. But Seria—flames blazing around her—charged straight at Abel without a second thought.
Abel hesitated an instant, then sheathed his sword and swung it sheathed. No cut, but it could block. Enough to check her advance.
But Seria went one step further, leaving Abel purely impressed.
"Hiyah!"
As his sword neared, butterflies exploded outward, blinding his view. In that chaos, Seria wrapped her arms around his waist.
He'd missed for a split second. Distance closed. A fatal gap granted.
Both tumbled backward—and Professor Ray's voice declared the end.
"That's enough. Test over. Excellent. Very excellent."
Especially that final, heartfelt trump card—truly impressive. Chuckling, Professor Ray awarded the four high scores.