The Duel
Word that the two of them would fight a Ranking Match spread like wildfire; by now there was hardly a soul left who hadn’t heard.
Because it was an official Ranking Match, a professor stood ready to referee, and a crowd of spectators filled the stands.
This was the scene among those spectators.
“Who are you betting on?”
“Isn’t it obvious? How’s Iria supposed to beat Lucia?”
“Yeah, right?”
Voices predicting the outcome flew back and forth through the noisy stands.
Of course, the overwhelming consensus was that Lucia would win.
Mana capacity wasn’t an absolute measure of combat power, yet the gap between Iria and Lucia was simply too vast.
Lucia held the greatest mana among the first-years; Iria held the least.
Even if Iria had some hidden card, overcoming a difference like that would be no easy feat.
And hadn’t people been calling her a bubble top-ranker lately?
Today, most of the students believed, the first-year top rank would change hands.
There won’t be a second time, Lucia.
“Ugh!”
Just before stepping onto the sparring ground with a practice wooden sword in hand, Lucia clutched her throbbing head.
She had put on a show of composure when she challenged Iria, yet the memory rooted in her like trauma refused to be shaken free.
It was only a dream. It was only a dream. It was only a dream. It was only a dream.
That day she had simply been so tense she had a strange nightmare. Reality was different.
After all, Iria’s mana was rock-bottom, while her own was overwhelmingly first.
She was the talent who truly belonged in the top seat.
So there was no reason to be nervous.
She was merely going to reclaim what should have been hers all along. The rightful top ranker had never been Iria—it should have been Lucia.
“Haa…”
Lucia let out a long breath and climbed onto the broad sparring ground.
Now, before the eyes of countless spectators, it was time to strip away Iria’s mask.
Today she stood here to prove that Iria was nothing but a bubble top-ranker—and that the scene from her dream had been nothing more than a dream.
Across the way, Iria was climbing up as well, wooden sword in hand just like her.
A wooden sword? Wasn’t she a mage?
Well, with mana that low, the magic track would have been impossible anyway.
And so Lucia faced Iria on the sparring ground.
Long silver hair cascading down, crimson eyes, and an expression as blank as a doll’s—utterly devoid of emotion.
It was impossible to read what she was thinking.
The two of them closed the distance until their voices could reach each other.
With the match about to begin, Iria looked at Lucia and spoke.
“Do you know, Lucia? What happened that day was not a dream.”
“……?”
Lucia struggled for a moment to process the words.
That day? Not a dream?
Impossible.
No one but herself had remembered it.
“I told you then, didn’t I? There won’t be a second time.”
“Ugh?!”
Memories she had forgotten—or rather, had desperately tried to forget—surged up, and her head throbbed.
The expression on Iria’s face as she looked at her now, the voice—everything matched the memory perfectly.
Lucia stood frozen for a long while, unable to move. Before the duel had even begun, she had already lost the initiative.
In that state the match started. The bell signaling the beginning of the duel rang, and Iria swung her sword.
—Clang!!
Iria’s blade traced a curve through the air and smashed hard into Lucia’s wooden sword.
“Kyaa?!”
Still reeling in confusion, Lucia went flying. Her head spun; coherent thought was impossible.
Then Iria planted a foot on the ground, leapt, and pursued the driven-back Lucia with terrifying speed.
Lucia reacted late, gripping her wooden sword and settling into a stance—but it was already too late.
Or perhaps Iria had simply been that fast.
“Wait—hngh?!”
A heavy impact of wood on wood rang out, and Lucia was driven back once more.
The hand that had blocked went numb. Fast. Heavy.
That was pure physical ability without any mana reinforcement? Was it even realistic for such thin arms to produce that kind of strength?
She didn’t know. For now she just had to keep hold of her sword.
Iria gave her no room to breathe. With monstrous physical power she hounded Lucia relentlessly.
The moment her focus slipped even a little, rapid sword strikes poured down. Each one was so heavy that merely blocking them was a struggle.
Lucia’s strength had always been especially frail. Every time she took Iria’s blade, the shock traveled through her entire body as if she were being battered.
“Hngh…”
Her whole body hurt. The nightmare of that day rose again.
And it hadn’t been a dream—it had been real. Iria herself was saying so.
So this was what she had been hiding. With physical ability like this, even without mana she could certainly seize the top rank.
But she was not an opponent Lucia could not defeat. That day she had simply been caught off guard; here on the sparring ground, she held the advantage.
Lucia ground her teeth.
“So what if it was real…”
She steadied her breathing and reclaimed her reason.
She corrected her broken stance and wrapped herself in mana.
The sudden release of mana made Lucia’s violet eyes gleam.
Waves of mana so vivid they were visible to the naked eye rippled across the sparring ground.
“I’m still above you anyway!”
Lucia gripped her wooden sword with both hands and charged at Iria.
Physical reinforcement through mana.
The sword style inherited from her house.
Things Iria did not have, Lucia possessed. She compensated for her frail strength with mana and elevated the power of her strikes through technique.
Aster Style, First Form.
As Lucia swung her sword in a great arc, a thick trail of mana-laced blade light remained.
A faint violet sword-light carved itself into the air.
—Clang!!!
In the exchange of blows, for the first time Iria was driven back.
The foundation of the Aster Style was coating the blade with mana to push its sharpness to the absolute limit.
Precise form, the technique of imbuing the sword with mana, and outstanding skill—if all three were present, even a wooden sword could cut a person.
The weight of the blade Lucia swung while clad head-to-toe in mana surpassed anything Iria had first delivered.
A diagonal gouge had already been carved into the wooden sword that had blocked her earlier strike. A few more exchanges and she might snap the blade itself.
After driving Iria back with a single blow, Lucia moved with mechanical precision.
The pinnacle of the techniques she had drilled since childhood did not waver. Even the following motions remained flawless.
In a smooth continuous sequence, this time it was Lucia who pursued Iria.
As Iria retreated, dodging the strikes, Lucia pressed her hard.
Choosing to evade rather than block for fear of her sword breaking had been the right call. But how long could she keep dodging?
Aster Style, Third Form.
A heavy downward strike fell from above.
The destructive power born of reinforced strength plus gravity defied imagination.
The stone floor of the sparring ground shattered. It even felt as though the entire ground was vibrating.
Iria leapt sideways to avoid it—but that, too, had been anticipated. Lucia had been waiting for her to dodge.
In the Aster sword style, the Third and Fourth Forms were linked as a single continuous motion.
The blade of the wooden sword planted in the earth turned upward. Iria was still inside Lucia’s range.
“This is—”
Changing the direction of her sword, Lucia smiled faintly.
This was an attack that could neither be dodged nor blocked. For an instant time itself seemed to freeze. The trajectory of Lucia’s swing bent unnaturally and streaked toward Iria.
Aster Style Secret Technique.
Moonlight Severance—derived from the sword with which the founding head of the house was said to have cut the moonlight itself.
“This is the difference in skill.”
The wooden sword Iria had raised in defense snapped cleanly in two. The broken half of the blade spun into the air and clattered onto the sparring ground.
Lucia wore a leisurely smile as she leveled her wooden sword at Iria’s throat.
“For something you learned on your own, that swordsmanship wasn’t bad. I’ll give you that, Iria. You just picked the wrong opponent.”
“…….”
“Better not move. Think a wooden sword can’t cut? If I put just a little more force into it right here, you die.”
As if she could sever the neck at any moment if she chose, Lucia pressed the mana-coated edge against Iria’s throat.
Victory and defeat were already decided; the intent was for her to surrender quietly.
Yet Iria’s expression did not change. That colorless, emotionless face was not the look of someone whose sword had just been broken.
She calmly lifted her head.
And spoke.
“Have you ever killed a person?”
“What are you talking about?”
The utterly casual tone only made Lucia flustered.
Had she ever killed a person? Of course not. As an academy student she had never even killed a monster, let alone another human being.
While Lucia remained silent, Iria continued slowly.
“If you haven’t, you shouldn’t make threats like that. And the place you’re pointing the sword is wrong, too. I’ve tried it—that spot doesn’t cut well. Even when it does, they don’t die.”
“……?”
Then, as if it were nothing, she reached out, seized Lucia’s wooden sword, and crushed it with a squeeze of her hand.
The mana-imbued blade shattered as lightly as a thin twig.
“What the—?!”
After destroying the sword, Iria immediately clamped a hand around Lucia’s throat. At first Lucia tried to escape with mana, but she could not.
“Ghk—khhk!”
The sword strikes Iria had used during the duel had been carefully controlled.
Even if Lucia poured every last drop of her mana into reinforcing her body, she could not come close to Iria’s little toe.
Only after her throat was seized did Lucia finally understand.
Iria was a monster.
“Sleep well, Lucia. The dream you’re about to have will hurt a little.”
“Hhk—ughh…”
Just before consciousness faded, Lucia met Iria’s crimson eyes.
When she closed her eyes and opened them again, she was already inside the dream.