Ominous Portents (7)
While the Fourth Legion was reeling in shock and horror, the rest of the Southern Army was hardly enjoying itself either.
"Hahaha! What is this, you imperial dogs?! Is this all you've got?!"
Thud!Thump!
The mid-tier Wind Spheres swirling around Eagle Pendevig's body rained down relentlessly on the soldiers. Three shots at once. Each carried the destructive power of a grenade. Reload time under five seconds. In a continent where even muskets hadn't been invented yet, let alone machine guns, every time this overpowered tactical bomber went on a rampage, the heavily armored infantry—reinforced by spells, clad in solid full-plate armor and thick shields—were swept away like leaves in the wind.
The defining traits of wind-type spells were their speed and area coverage. They couldn't match pure physical force against Red Light magic or the additional effects of fire and ice, but a single strike that could blow away an entire surrounding area proved incredibly useful in battles against superior numbers. The drawback of low lethality became an advantage in mock battles, where there was no need to hold back.
"As always, he's acting like a child having the time of his life," Hau Pendevig muttered, gazing at her twin brother with clear disdain. Yet her own performance was no less impressive.
If Eagle Pendevig specialized in barrages of mid-tier wind spells fueled by his massive mana capacity and exceptional mana refinement, Hau's specialty was a single, heavy blow delivered through flawless mana control. Every time she unleashed a high-tier ice spell, a localized blizzard erupted, drastically slowing the movements of nearby soldiers. Although her indirect attacks didn't immediately increase the number of incapacitated foes, the soldiers whose body temperatures had plummeted needed a long time to recover. Unlike Eagle's spells, which only required dodging the initial shockwave upon impact, Hau's magic continuously scattered cold air around the area, maintaining its debilitating effect.
Of course, the First Legion facing them wasn't about to take it lying down.
"Close in!" one of the knights shouted. "Swarm them so they can't swing their spells freely!"
With very few exceptions, Blue Light mana users were generally weak in close combat. Their high firepower often came at the cost of poor defense. If they could close the distance quickly, prevent wide-area spellcasting, and strike with melee weapons, the knights would have no counter.
But this was something the other students under Eagle's command knew all too well.
"Like we'd let you!"
"Protect the Pendevig siblings!"
"Block their approach!"
Fifty against two hundred. The reason they weren't being overwhelmed despite the numerical disadvantage was largely thanks to the twin siblings, who blasted wide-area spells the moment the enemy tried to form ranks, forcibly dragging the fight into chaotic melee.
If the two commanders of the unit fell, the rest would obviously be crushed. The students clung on desperately, and it was the Southern Army side that grew flustered by their ferocity.
"Why are these brats so damn desperate?!"
"Are these really spoiled noble kids? Weren't they supposed to be flowers raised in a greenhouse?!"
Even a blunted training sword could easily break one or two bones. A bad hit could kill, and even if it didn't, the intense pain was enough to make anyone flinch and cower. If even these battle-hardened soldiers felt that way, how could these pampered nobles—who had been coddled their entire lives—keep charging in like rabid dogs even after taking hits?
Just what kind of classes were they taking at the Academy?
Of course, no matter how fierce their fighting spirit, it wasn't enough to guarantee victory on its own. A few stood out like the Pendevig twins, already displaying skill that surpassed most military mana users, but the majority of students were still inferior in both raw power and pure technique compared to the soldiers.
'This kid's swordsmanship is still that of a half-baked novice. His mana is nearly depleted too. Time to end this!'
A veteran soldier licked his lips as he eyed the student before him. The sight of that ridiculously ornate, flowing cloak—clearly impractical for combat—irritated him to no end.
'I'll rip that cloak to shreds along with you!'
The soldier, who already harbored deep resentment toward nobles, swung his blade with vicious force.
"Huh?"
A soft, cushioned impact that had no place on this battlefield traveled through his hand. It felt like swinging a blunt wooden club into a mountain of cotton balls.
Meanwhile, the student who had taken the hit delivered a powerful uppercut to the dazed soldier's jaw and shouted,
"This is an anti-blade cloak! Do you have any idea how many gold coins I poured into pulling this thing?! It was a hundred-draw pity pull!"
In his fading consciousness, the veteran soldier thought: What the hell is this kid even saying?
Similar scenes were unfolding across the Second and Third Legions as well.
When a Red Light student thrust forward a large shield decorated with multiple snakes, actual black rope-like tendrils shot out and restrained the enemy. When a Blue Light student poured mana into a staff shaped like a tuning fork at its tip, nearby soldiers clutched their ears as if hearing an unbearable noise. Around one White Light student, small winged orb-shaped golems flew about frantically, body-slamming anyone who threatened their master. There were even students who chugged high-tier potions like water—items normally saved for true emergencies.
It had already been several months since Chrome had begun selling Midas Cubes... rather than becoming the king of the gambling den. Just as the gold coins kept piling up without pause, cubes of equal or even greater value continued flowing to him. Using his keen senses, he selected only the winning ones to open. The items he didn't consider truly valuable were recycled back into new Midas Cubes as prizes, eventually finding their way to a few lucky owners.
Of course, some students were already armed with top-tier magic tools thanks to family connections... but having good gear didn't mean more good gear was a bad thing, right?
Alphons Betuart inwardly sighed as he watched a noble student from the Spero Kingdom—who possessed abundant mana but terrible control—wildly swinging a lightning-emitting sword with glee.
'His grandfather betrayed the homeland, his father sucked the lifeblood from the people, and now the son is corrupting the next generation of talents who are supposed to lead the continent.'
It was utterly distasteful, but it was also undeniable that Chrome's actions had significantly strengthened the students' current combat power. If the Pendevig twins were vanguard types who led from the front and boosted morale, Alphons was a commander type who directed forces from the rear according to suitable tactics. Naturally, the higher the average combat strength of his allies, the greater the effect.
Suppressing the displeasure rising in his chest, Alphons issued cool-headed orders.
"Nicolaus. The right flank's mana consumption is severe. Guide them to gradually withdraw to the rear instead of pushing forward any further."
"Yes!"
"Joseph. The enemy forces surrounding the mages have thinned. Link up with Grendel, who's rampaging at the front, and charge straight through."
"Understood!"
"I will also advance from now on! Follow me! Let us prove our strength to the imperial soldiers!"
"For the glory of Spero!"
Accepting help from the Midas family was unpleasant, but losing to imperial soldiers was an even greater disgrace. They had to win. No matter what.
"Report! The Fourth Legion is pinned down by a small Academy detachment and cannot move! The Fifth Legion has joined to assist in subjugating the enemy, but they are delayed by the barrier spells continuously appearing on the battlefield!"
"Report! The First Legion has surpassed one hundred soldiers rendered combat ineffective! The opposing side has also lost about twenty, but at this rate, victory cannot be guaranteed!"
"Report! The Second Legion has fewer than fifty combat ineffective, but they have inflicted almost no damage on the enemy! Their defense is excessively solid!"
Kalyos Schmidt, commander of the Third Legion and originally the Southern Army's corps commander, thought to himself:
'Am I dreaming right now?'
This was supposed to be an overwhelmingly winnable fight. It was meant to showcase the Southern Army's strength, highlight the Academy's shortcomings, and hold the professors accountable. Yet what was this?
The First and Second Legions, despite outnumbering the enemy four to one, could not dominate and were instead struggling. The Fourth and Fifth Legions were being toyed with by merely twenty or so opponents. Only the Third Legion under his direct command was on the verge of defeating the enemy, but even then, four out of five units were being pushed back.
How on earth was he supposed to salvage this humiliation?
-500 vs 183?
Haha! You must be joking. I'm not sure we'd win even if you brought twice that number.
The image of Istal sneering at him during the preliminary meeting to adjust the mock training content flashed vividly in his mind. Back then, he'd thought the woman who still believed she was a general was just being stubborn about her pride. But had she actually predicted this? That it would turn out this way?
Bang!
"...I will take the field myself."
"B-but General, that would..."
Up until now, Kalyos Schmidt had not properly participated in the training. The difference in meaning between his subordinate officers—who were only temporarily commanding a unit—stepping forward and the Southern Army's corps commander himself entering the fray was enormous. If it were merely symbolic participation, that would be one thing, but if he fought seriously, people might gossip that he was desperately struggling to beat children.
"Are you still failing to grasp the situation?! If we suffer defeat like this, the honor of our Southern Army is finished! We must win by any means necessary!"
The moment the surrounding knights fell silent at his desperate shout—
"R-report! The First Legion commander has been defeated!"
"What?! What happened?! Didn't you just say half their forces were still intact?!"
"Th-that is... it appears a dozen or so guerrillas infiltrated the rear and ambushed the First Legion commander, tearing off the scarf that served as his command marker..."
Kalyos Schmidt ground his teeth with an audible crack.