The Magician's Forest (3)
Bartel's innate magic, 【Assimilation】, was, as the name suggested, the ability to merge his own body with something else.
A boulder. Vegetation. Even another human being — provided the gap in power between them was overwhelming enough.
This was the wellspring that had earned him the name Soundless Blade, and the reason he was so often assigned reconnaissance and assassination work.
And in a place like this especially — where the mana saturating the air ran thick and his presence was nearly impossible to detect — the ability truly shone.
Exploiting that advantage, Bartel had claimed the spot where the Blessing of Astesia would bloom well in advance, concealing himself within a conifer and waiting.
This is boring.
Watching the Medium Spirits meandering about the area, he found himself yawning with tedium. If he'd managed to kill one or two along the way, the emptiness might have been a little less unbearable. Unfortunately, he hadn't crossed paths with a single cadet, and so his blade remained unstained by blood.
Had today's objective not been the Blessing of Astesia alone, he would have dearly loved to play a little more enthusiastically — but the mission came first, and so for now he swallowed the urge. The forest would soon be an infernal chaos of rampaging spirits anyway; surely the cadets would never reach this place.
Scratch, scratch.
"…!"
Then, at the sound of footsteps, he held his breath — so intently that he momentarily forgot he himself was hidden inside a tree. When his gaze shifted, he spotted a black-haired male cadet awkwardly concealed behind a trunk some distance away.
A deep smile spread across Bartel's lips unbidden. Like a predator that had caught the scent of prey, his nostrils were already drinking in the smell of the blood this man was about to spill.
So he's tracking the movements of the Medium Spirits, is he?
From the cadet's behavior alone, he could easily read the man's intentions. The fool had no capacity left to notice Bartel's presence melded into the very tree beside him. Which meant he would stay crouched, breath held, until the moment of blooming aligned with the spirits slipping out of sight — and then he would bolt for the flower.
And in that case, Bartel's task was simple. The instant the flower bloomed, he would slice lightly through the cadet's throat, leisurely watch the fountain of blood erupt from a face frozen in disbelief, pluck the flower, and vanish.
The distance is perfect, too.
With a fishy smile, Bartel focused every nerve on the prey hiding behind the tree. Most assassins possess an intimate awareness of their own killing range — the precise distance from which they can guarantee a kill in a single strike. By that measure, the gap between the cadet's likely path and the tree sheltering Bartel was exactly right.
At this point, one might almost call this a god-given quarry for a man who'd been lamenting his bloodless day. So much so that even Bartel — an atheist — found the thought crossing his mind unbidden.
Whoosh!
That was the moment. From beneath an ancient tree that must have stood for several hundred years, a golden light burst forth.
At the same time, the branches that had been blocking out the sunlight eased themselves gently aside. A single shaft of light poured down upon the source of the glow, and as if emboldened by it, the golden radiance burned ever more fiercely against its surroundings.
The blooming of the Blessing of Astesia — said to be witnessed only once every ten years — had begun.
Good.
Even as he stared at the scene, so surreal it bordered on sacred, only one thought occupied Bartel's mind: the bait to lure in his prey had finally appeared. Nothing more.
Shhh.
Drinking in the clear, pure vitality seeping in from all directions, the Blessing of Astesia steadily grew, and before long it was born into a true flower, complete with stem and leaves.
At that very moment, the body of the male cadet hiding behind the tree tilted minutely forward. Bartel recognized the man was preparing to spring, and resolved to shed his Assimilation at a moment's notice.
Rustle.
So it went — a silent standoff measured in seconds. Then the black-haired man's figure burst forward through branches and undergrowth, loosed like an arrow from a bow.
The instant the man's body drew within reach of the Blessing of Astesia—
Now.
Bartel's body belatedly erupted from within the tree, aiming for the blind spot to guarantee the kill. Like a serpent gliding through scales, sound swallowed to the utmost as it lunged for its meal.
He reached the male cadet's back just as the man reached for the Blessing of Astesia, and swung the dagger in his hand without pause.
Shlak!
A viscous red liquid welled up along the immaculate silver blade, and with a cold, clean sound, a spray of crimson bloomed into the empty air.
Pretending to pluck the flower, I swung the sword sheathed at my left hip with all my strength, straight toward the presence bearing down on me.
A crimson arc sprayed from my opponent and washed over my arm. I lifted my head to confirm his face — and was greeted by an upper body exactly as it had appeared in the illustrations.
It really is Bartel.
The moment I caught sight of his expression, baffled at having his throat half-sliced open, a thrill of exhilaration shot through me in an instant.
Clatter.
Presently, Bartel unconsciously dropped the dagger he held in his hand — the one meant for staunching his wound. He seemed to realize his own mistake even as he did it, and both his eyes wavered. I didn't miss the opening.
"Rone!"
Signaling to Rone, who was hidden up in the tree, I pressed straight into the next strike.
Fwoosh!
At the same instant, a torrent of hail-like ice came pouring down on Bartel from the sky. Since we had predetermined exactly where the spell would fall, I was free to move untouched by its effects. Exploiting that difference, I closed the distance to the limit and immediately drove for his throat again, granting him no room to breathe.
Clang!
But regrettably, my blow was stopped cold — Bartel had abandoned tending his wound entirely and caught my blade with daggers crossed in both hands. Because he'd forgone dodging Rone's assault to defend instead, lacerations like stone bruises had broken out across his body, but this alone couldn't help feeling like a letdown.
"Kgh…!"
Letting out a groan thick with anguish, Bartel rolled backward in a somersault and tore open the distance between us.
So my opening move was too shallow after all. He'd come charging in with his presence suppressed to the absolute minimum, which meant he'd likely failed to fully gauge the gap between us — that might well have been the fatal flaw. I'd hoped to finish it in that one exchange, though.
"Haah… haah…. You little bastard…."
Clamping a hand over the blood pumping from his neck, Bartel glared at me with eyes swimming in killing intent. From the look of him, thankfully, he didn't seem to have the strength left to counterattack. To be fair, the spell he'd taken from Rone was no light blow either. And even if the cut hadn't landed perfectly, with his throat opened and bleeding that heavily, moving wouldn't come easy.
Still, the trap worked beautifully. For a scheme improvised on the spot, it had come together remarkably well, and I nodded to myself in satisfaction.
The original plan had simply been to strike at Bartel's back while he reached for the Blessing of Astesia. But somewhere in the planning, I'd felt that alone wasn't quite enough. After all, this was a professional assassin, past the point of mastery when it came to noticing the slightest stir or movement around him. Moreover — against an opponent whose power roughly matched Arden's at present — could we really count on landing a surprise attack? That had been my first question.
The answer I arrived at was this: stake myself out as bait for the homicidal maniac. As a rule, that breed of predator lets its guard slip the moment it believes it's become the hunter. And with an assassin's pride to boot, he'd scarcely entertain the notion that his prey might counterattack once he'd taken its back. Those two blind spots, woven together with Rone's strike from hiding, were what had cornered him this cleanly.
Though it stung that we hadn't managed to kill him.
"Rone! Come down!"
"Okay!"
Having judged that Bartel could no longer resist, I called Rone down from the tree for the time being. In my heart I wanted to land the finishing blow, but there was no real need to force it. Cutting this man down here had merely been the best outcome; even without it, so long as we carried the Blessing of Astesia away safely, this was our victory.
"Vel, you're not hurt?"
"I'm fine."
I answered Rone's anxious question as she landed, giving her a roughly appropriate reply before patting her head. It was a relief things had resolved so cleanly. Above all, I was glad Rone had come through unharmed. Now I could only hope we made it out of the forest safely — for once we held the Blessing of Astesia, the escape magic woven into the spirits' touch would be beyond our reach.
With Bartel sprawled where he'd fallen, I bent down to retrieve the flower.
No — to be precise, I tried to.
Had it not been for the grotesque laughter that rang out behind me.
"—Kihiihiihit!"
A sound that crawled up my spine. I whipped my head around on pure reflex — and there was Bartel, his body contorting with an eerie, jerking creak, like a broken marionette. The lacerations across his body and the blood still leaking from his neck only sharpened the revulsion at the sight. What the hell is wrong with him? Has he lost his mind?
But I barely had time to wonder.
"Vel. Ignore him and let's go. Okay?"
"…Right."
Rone took my sleeve and tugged, offering her advice, and I turned my head back in a daze. She was right. There was no reason to waste attention on a creature like that now. So long as we secured this flower properly, there would be no variables left, and my duty here would be done.
And yet that laughter was far too grating to pass over with indifference. To be precise, it wasn't the laughter itself that bothered me. It was the fact that I couldn't read the emotion inside it. Because as far as I could tell, that was not the hollow, surrendering laugh of a man who had given up on everything.
It was closer to a sneer — the kind of smirk one casts at prey caught in a trap.
Wait. A trap?
The instant the thought connected, my eyes flew wide open. My hand, still reaching for the flower, withdrew, and my gaze snapped sideways — not so much a decision made by my mind as the spinal reflex of a beast that has sensed danger.
Something pale and whitish shifted into view behind Rone's shoulder. It didn't take long to recognize it as a figure in a robe, worn for camouflage.
Of course. Why had I assumed there was only one enemy? From the moment Arden had landed in Class E, this episode had been warped from its course — why had I ever imagined it would end so easily?
There wasn't even time for self-recrimination. Forgetting to shout Rone's name, I threw myself at her, wrapping both arms around her head and shoulders.
Sreee— Just as it descended behind her shoulder, I saw a golden flash streak loose.
And then—
KWAAAAAM!
Every sound in the world was swallowed whole by the roar of the explosion.