Family Feud, and the Busybody Spectators (8)
In the southern reaches of the continent, somewhere on the plains of the Spero Kingdom.
The march had dragged on so long it felt endless. By the time the soldiers grew too tired to even count the hours, the long-awaited order finally came.
"All units, halt! Everyone except the perimeter watch, take twenty minutes of rest!"
The men, who had been wearing gloomy expressions, immediately brightened. They dropped to the ground without hesitation, faces relaxing in relief.
"Haaah, finally. Hasn't the training gotten way too brutal lately?"
"If anything, I think it's only going to get worse."
"How would you know?"
"The Central Army guys have it even harder. Saw them training nearby last time. They were oozing pure killing intent."
"Haha! Even those silver-spoon bastards finally grew some spine after getting their asses handed to them. Wait, damn it—this isn't the time to be laughing. We're supposed to be competing against them?"
"What, you scared?"
"Scared my ass. I'm just saying, do we really need to drag ourselves all the way out to this remote border for training?"
"The Corps Commander must have his reasons. We're getting the same support, but if those guys are treated like elites while we're seen as nothing but empty shells, how are we supposed to swallow that?"
"Ugh, you've got me there. No comeback for that one."
"You two! I've got a job for you. Follow me!"
Out of all the soldiers, the officer had to pick exactly those two. The faces of the men who had just been chatting twisted in frustration.
'We just sat down to rest, damn it!' They wanted to argue, but with both rank and skill against them, they could only grumble inwardly. In that moment, the distant sight of a city—beautiful for no good reason, a place they'd never actually visit—suddenly looked infuriatingly smug.
None of the Midas bloodline were unaware that their family had become a complete mess. Yet even they couldn't help but feel bewildered by the current situation—rather than ambushes or political maneuvering, they were now crossing swords at point-blank range.
Just when it seemed the family was finally moving in a new direction, this sudden turn of events had caught everyone off guard.
In contrast, those aligned with Bern showed no hesitation.
"Attack! Cut them all down!"
"They're traitors! Show no mercy!"
The bodyguards weren't blind or deaf. They could sense that something was deeply wrong with the situation and that their masters were acting strangely. But they had no real choice.
Dragging their own masters away from Bern's tight cluster would be nearly impossible. Even if they succeeded and somehow removed those suspicious rings, they'd then be forced to join Fiore's outnumbered side and fight at a disadvantage. Honestly, the cost-benefit analysis didn't add up.
Following their master's orders? Their master had commanded them to fight. Out.
Protecting their master's safety? That would mean deliberately dragging their master into a death trap. Out.
Considering their own survival? Defying their employer while putting their own lives at risk. Also out.
'Damn it, it'll work out somehow.'
'What the hell are we supposed to do here?'
'We just have to fight!'
They gave up on thinking and simply swung their weapons, letting the flow carry them.
The problem was that even desperate, reckless swings could still be lethal.
Clang!Shaaak!Thud!
"Guh!"
One of Fiore's bodyguards took a sword to the arm. A deep gash sprayed crimson blood, the wound so severe that bone was visible. But the very next moment, pure white light enveloped the injured man's body.
In mere seconds, the bleeding stopped and torn flesh regenerated. No one was more shocked than the wounded man himself.
And it wasn't just him. Every bodyguard fighting on Fiore's side experienced the same phenomenon. Whether slashed by blades or with broken bones, the moment the white light touched them, their bodies returned to normal.
'Healing spell? Wait, was healing magic always this effective?'
To the bodyguards facing them, it was utterly bewildering. These men were either trusted retainers of the notoriously extravagant Midas family or veteran mercenaries hired purely for their skill. They weren't ignorant. Yet even they had never witnessed healing magic of this caliber.
Unlike physical reinforcement—which could be self-taught through talent alone—spellwork required proper instruction. As a result, true practitioners were rare. Standard healing spells were usually applied after moving the injured to the rear, helping them stabilize and recover. Using them mid-battle was little more than emergency first aid.
But this? This was outright regeneration in the middle of combat.
Moreover, while most mana tended to look murky, the light flowing from Fiore's body was a flawless, pure white. It gave off an almost sacred aura to those watching.
It was a misconception born from their lack of knowledge about the Academy's Coloring process or White Light, but nothing could have boosted morale more effectively.
"Come at us, you bastards! Your attacks are useless!"
"Punish Bern Midas, the madman who would kill even his own child for power!"
"The Saintess protects us from behind!"
The room was spacious by normal standards, but still too cramped to fully exploit their numerical advantage. No matter how many wounds they inflicted, the enemy simply recovered and rose again.
"W-what?"
"Damn it, this is cheating!"
As the battle progressed this way, the ones growing panicked were Bern's bodyguards. They had sensed something strange but believed they held the upper hand, so they had held back. Now the situation had completely reversed.
They tried to push forward, thinking they only needed to deal with Fiore, but her bodyguards kept interfering. On top of that, Fiore herself was using defensive spells to protect her body. It wasn't easy.
When they attempted to end it instantly with attacks too severe to heal, Fiore would remotely cast defensive spells the moment she detected large movements, shielding her allies.
For those on the receiving end, it was maddening. Yet even Fiore herself wasn't exactly comfortable.
'If this stalemate continues, I don't think I'll last…'
It wasn't a matter of mental endurance. For the Academy's Combat Department students, losing a limb or having their guts pierced during "training" was an everyday occurrence. Treating those same students and building skill through it was routine for the support mages and students.
Fiore's proficiency in healing spells ranked among the very best even within that group. Normally, she rarely had the chance to shine because Chrome carried around bundles of high-grade potions that others would save as emergency reserves, and Ligret almost never suffered serious injuries.
Providing timely support amid a chaotic melee of allies and enemies was generally considered highly difficult, but for Fiore, it wasn't much of an issue. Her processing ability was more than enough to handle a fight of this scale.
But there was nothing she could do about her depleting mana.
She considered going all out, but if she showed any sign of rushing for a decisive blow, Bern Midas would only attack more fiercely. At the same time, she couldn't afford to reduce the mana she was using for support. They were already outnumbered—if even one person fell, it would be over.
A perfect dilemma. Unable to advance or retreat, time simply continued to slip away. And eventually—
The flowing white light came to a stop.
"Kuh!"
"Now! Finish them quickly!"
The moment Fiore's support was cut off, the bodyguards who had been fighting desperately began to fall one by one. Relief on one side, despairing sighs on the other.
Right then—
Whoosh!
Bern Midas frowned and swiftly swung his hand. Something flying toward his face was knocked aside by the motion and exploded against the corner of the room.
Bern Midas evaluated it in an emotionless voice.
"A final struggle, and a pointless one at that."
Fiore Midas let her shoulders slump as if in disappointment.
"Yes, it doesn't work as well as it does for Oraboni. But you know..."
Still in that same posture, her voice filled with amusement, she continued.
"Were your reflexes always that good?"
Bern's movements froze for the briefest instant.
"...Enough. Kill them."
As if to brush off that unnatural pause, he gave the order. One of Bern's bodyguards stepped forward.
A crunching sound rang out, like something being crushed.
The man instinctively glanced down at his feet, wondering if he'd stepped too hard. The next moment, a question mark popped up in his mind.
It wasn't wood. There was no way the stone floor would make that sound just from a slightly heavy step. Then where had the noise come from?
The answer came quickly.
It hadn't come from above. It had come from someone waiting on the floor below.
BOOOOM!
With a deafening roar, the floor of the room collapsed. And not just anywhere—it collapsed precisely on the side where Bern Midas and his faction stood.
"W-what?!"
"Uwaaah?!"
Only a handful managed to let out even a short scream. Most had no idea what was happening as they plummeted straight down, tumbling across the floor amid a shower of rubble.
Since the drop wasn't that high, most only suffered bruises, fractures, or lost consciousness. But some were impaled on the weapons their own bodyguards had been holding, or landed head-first and died instantly.
And in the middle of that hellish chaos, only Bern Midas landed gracefully on the ground.
No—he did more than that. He even dodged Ligret's ambush from below with acrobatic grace.
His movements were as flexible and agile as a cat's, and above all, utterly cold and calculated. It was not the kind of skill a man who had spent his entire life in commerce should have possessed.
However—
"Kgh…!"
It was not enough to escape the grasp of Ligret, who had been waiting for this exact moment.
In an instant, Bern Midas was covered in wounds. Blood sprayed as he collapsed to the floor.
Ligret pressed her blade against his throat. From behind her, Chrome—who had been watching the entire fight—finally spoke.
"You really went all out, you damned father… No. You fake bastard."