A Wall Named Serne

"Chatel. Wake up now. Chatel."

Chatel had been born in a deep mountain valley.

A place without people, without contact with the outside world. A world where everything he could see was all there was. For a long time, Chatel believed that all fathers were simply that small.

"Today we're going down to the village."

But on the day of his fifth birthday, when he came down to a village for the very first ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time at his father's side, Chatel finally understood.

He was the one who was big.

The villagers froze in terror at the sight of him and fled. Some pointed fingers and whispered omens; others snickered and laughed outright.

"Why are you so obsessed with that giant freak?"

"You got run out of the village and you still haven't come to your senses."

Each time, his father spoke up for him to the villagers. He said he was big in body, but a good child at heart. And then his father said it to Chatel, too. Bodies come in different sizes, but every heart is the same size — and all of these people, in truth, were good people. His father, wrinkles carved deep into his face, had smiled as he said it.

That was the last smile his father ever gave him.

FWOOROOROOOSH!

That night, on his way home from a hunt in the mountains, Chatel found the house in flames.

The soldiers had received reports of a wild giant living in the hills — so they had burned down the house and the fields.

FWOOSH! FWOOROOSH!

To avoid ever having to face a giant, they had simply burned the whole region to ash. Joking that giant whelps must be full of fat, the way they went up like kindling, the soldiers marched back down the mountain.

"......"

Staring at the burning house, Chatel set down the game he had carried back and wailed.

Father was wrong.

They're small in body — and small of heart, too.

When he found his father's corpse among the scorched ruins, Chatel gave up everything and began the slow, lumbering walk toward the village. In his hand was the hunting knife he used to sever the heads of monsters.

"Hello there~?"

Partway down the mountain path, a human blocked his way. Small as humans already were to him, this one was smaller than most — a silver-haired girl radiating an aura he could not dare approach.

"I was too late."

The girl murmured it with sorrowful eyes, then pointed at the knife Chatel was leveling at her.

"Are you going to kill them all?"

"......"

Chatel clenched his jaw shut and simply charged, questions be damned. And then—

When he opened his eyes, he saw a bluish pre-dawn sky. He had been knocked out in a single blow. A short distance away, the girl crouched in the dirt, idly playing with the very knife he had brought.

Chatel ground his teeth and forced his battered body upright.

"Your father, really and truly."

Then the girl spoke in a voice far too restrained for her appearance — flat, measured, and impossibly old.

"Do you think he wanted a bloody revenge?"

At that question, Chatel bit his lip until it bled.

He knows.

He knows this isn't what Father would have wanted.

Only after confirming his hesitation did the girl finally break into a radiant smile.

"Forget revenge! Let's do something way more fun!"

Chatel met Nephthys and learned dark magic. He learned how to become strong.

But the looks of discrimination never went away. Everywhere he went, fingers pointed at him. Those stares made him stumble over his own words, until he stopped going outside at all. For years, he buried himself in a cave, speaking to no one but Nephthys.

It festered.

His father had died because the villagers looked down on him. Pointed at. Ignored. And still his father had grinned through it all.

I decided I would not live like my father.

Born a monster, I would live thoroughly as one. I would crush them all under overwhelming terror so that no one would ever dare raise a hand against me again.

That was how I would survive.

After making that resolution, Chatel's life changed. He no longer avoided fights, and he never lost one. At the Necromancer Academy, a place built on merit above all, everyone looked up at him. No one even dreamed of opposing him anymore.

That's how it was supposed to be—

SHWAAAAAAAAK! SHWAAAAK!

The excited roars of the crowd thundered through the arena.

Dozens of skeletons wielding emerald blade-light as if it were an extension of their own arms. And beyond them, the blue-haired boy commanding the undead.

But Chatel no longer had so much as a handful of Jet-Black left to squeeze out. All that remained was this sturdy body of his.

Frustration boiled over.

In this match, hitting 0% on the Barrier Gauge was the condition for defeat. That was why he had been careful — and that very caution, that inefficient habit of shrouding himself in Jet-Black, was what had drained his reserves dry.

Bare-handed, a sword slash like that would mean nothing to me.

SHWAAAAK!

A teal blade of light raked across his back. His barrier flared crimson once more before settling back to its original hue.

Because these are human rules — is losing my only option?

'No. I'm not—'

Swish.

'—defeated yet!'

Reading the Royal Guard's movement in an instant, Chatel dropped his stance low and clenched his fist. Simon and the Royal Guard were linked. He would smash one of them, and in the instant Simon took the backlash, he would lunge.

WHUNG!

A sword swung down straight at him. And Chatel's fist was faster than the falling blade.

CRACK!

The blow landed clean. The skeleton's entire frame shattered as it was sent flying.

Chatel whipped his head around to lunge straight at Simon — but.

"!"

Simon stood there, completely unharmed.

"I saw you going for the Royal Guard."

Simon had been worrying over the Royal Guard's weakness just as much. Right before Chatel's strike landed, he had released the Cloud enveloping his troops. What Chatel had shattered was nothing more than an ordinary skeleton's bones.

"You really are incredible, Chatel."

Simon raised his hand. The emerald radiance that had cloaked every skeleton was drawn back and poured into the magic circle spread at his side.

"As a show of respect — I'll give this everything I have, right to the end."

Lowering his stance, he began to draw something out of the magic circle at his hip.

FSSSSSSH!

Like a blade being drawn from its sheath, teal-blue Jet-Black gathered and coiled together. What finally revealed itself was unmistakably a sword.

<Simon Remake — Blood Sword>

VWOOM!

Simon raised the blade upright. A greatsword wreathed in wavering teal-blue haze.

Until now, he had only ever unleashed his finisher as Blood Arrow, in the form of a bow and arrow — but the weapon Simon was truly most confident in had always been this one.

Gripping the crackling greatsword in both hands, Simon lifted it high above his head.

"Whatever the result of this match, I won't think of myself as standing above you because of it."

Chatel had been at a elemental disadvantage, and he'd had to face Herseba and then Simon back-to-back.

"I still don't really know what it is that keeps driving you so hard."

Chatel roared and charged like a raging bear. The last dregs of Jet-Black squeezed into his two fists flickered faintly.

"But there isn't a single person in this school who doesn't acknowledge you."

"!"

Chatel's pupils trembled.

'The sense of —'

The greatsword hovering above his head.

'— cleaving through the very space itself.'

It carved down along a perfectly clean, straight line.

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The teal-blue slash tore through Chatel's charging body. The instant it touched him, the detonation triggered a secondary explosion that hammered his barrier with insane force.

KUGUGUGUGUNG!

Within the pitch-black smoke, both boys froze where they stood.

The referee, drenched in sweat from watching, thrust his right arm straight up and bellowed.

"Match over! The winner is Simon Polentia of Class A!"

WHAAAAAAA!

A thunderous cheer erupted. Only then did Simon bend his knees and let out a long breath, and as if they'd been waiting for exactly that, Dick, Camibarez, and Benya came rushing down from the stands to share in his joy.

"......"

Chatel, who had sunk to the ground and quietly watched it all, swayed as he pushed himself up.

I lost, utterly powerless. Now people will point their fingers at me again.

"Chatel!!"

"You fought well!"

But encouragement came pouring down from the stands. Before long, his classmates from Class I were running up to him too.

"Chatel. Can you stand?"

Despite the enormous difference in build, his friends strained and groaned as they tried to help him up.

"......"

There isn't a single person in this school who doesn't acknowledge you.

It didn't exactly shore up his resolve.

But just draping his arms over a couple of their shoulders like this —

the walk somehow didn't feel so heavy.

"Run, run, RUN!"

Dick, freshly out of his own arena, was leading the sprint, with Simon and Camibarez huffing along behind him.

"This match's been taking way longer than we thought! They've gotta be right in the thick of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it by now!"

Dick glanced at his wristwatch. Camibarez, running at Simon's side, looked at him with worried eyes.

"Simon, are you really okay? The medics said you should get checked out."

"I'm fine."

Simon said with a smile.

"Herseba did almost all the work in that match, not me."

The moment the match ended, Herseba had all but passed out.

For both Simon and Herseba, it had been the first time they'd properly unleashed a 2nd Authority and 3rd Authority for that long — and for Herseba especially, the ability to raise mummies was a technique gained only after becoming a Lich, so even she hadn't known her own limits.

When the barrier shattered at the end and the backlash slammed into her, it had been dangerously close to damaging her Life Vessel. Fortunately, when Simon opened his subspace and inspected the Lich's true body, the Life Vessel was still pulsing — barely, with only a sliver of Jet-Black remaining.

"Kheheh! There is no power without its price, boy."

That had been Pier's assessment after examining Herseba's condition, and Simon nodded along.

'It really was overkill, though.'

Building a city. Raising mummies. Chances were good that what pushed her to the brink of unconsciousness at the very end was that dragon-shaped mummy she'd summoned last.

Simon resolved to train Herseba to use her abilities more efficiently going forward — and to learn how to pace her power properly.

"Ah, there it is!"

Camibarez shouted. The No. 1 Indoor Arena — home of Meilyn's match — came into view.

"Meilyn versus Serne! Forget that she's our own teammate — a marquee matchup like this is one you just cannot miss!"

The three of them burst into the arena and sprinted up the stairs to the stands.

"Ugh."

The moment they crested the stairs, a blast of scorching heat hit them, and a thick, acrid smell hung in the air from every direction. A few spectators, unable to bear it, were fleeing the arena as if from a fire.

'Did something catch fire in here?'

Looking around, Simon saw dense black smoke filling the entire venue. Worse, searing black flames were roaring with their maws wide open like some demon lord.

And this much heat, with a barrier active across the whole stands?

Simon hurried over, gripped the railing, and peered down into the arena.

FWOOROOOOROOSH!

The arena had become a sea of fire of absolutely vicious intensity. And there, huddled in the middle of that pit of flames, panting for breath, was a girl with sky-blue hair.

"Meilyn......!"

Even the oxygen-tank magic circle she'd used in the ocean-themed BMAT was deployed, and she staggered under a coating of ash from head to toe. The smoke kept catching in her throat, and she kept coughing, wiping away the endless stream of tears and snot with her sleeve.

And a short distance away — calmly, elegantly smiling — stood the ivory-haired girl, Serne Eindark.

It was hard to believe they occupied the same space. Serne wasn't merely unscathed; she was immaculate. Arms crossed over her chest, chin lifted like a queen, a smile of perfect composure played at the corners of her mouth.

Above her head floated no fewer than twenty Dark Flare magic circles, hovering at the ready.

"Time to give up now~ Meilyn."

Serne said it in a voice like she was taunting a losing opponent over a game of cards, stretching out her index finger to mock-wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Sernie's heart just hurts too much to keep fighting."

"......"

Meilyn, charcoal-black from head to toe, staggered to her feet.

"......Tch."

"Hm? What was that?"

"I said SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

Bloodshot eyes blazing, Meilyn thrust out both arms. Two jet-black flame-caste bolts shot from her outspread palms.

"Yawwn~"

Serne gave a bored yawn and flicked her index finger lightly — and two Dark Flares launched from the twenty circles floating in the air.

The jet-black flames collided mid-flight and erupted in a massive explosion. Blistering heat poured over the stands, and the crowd screamed.

"Boom~ boom~"

As Serne held up her index finger and waved it side to side, more Dark Flares fired from the circles in the air. Meilyn threw herself desperately out of the way.

'Even the sheer number of spells they can wield is on a different level!'

Simon bit his lip, his face grim. Each time a bolt fired from the sky, a feather drifted in to fill the empty spot, unfurled a fresh magic circle, and slotted itself back in.

"......Wow. That's straight-up cheating, isn't it?"

Dick let out an incredulous, hollow laugh.

"Meilyn......!"

Camibarez trembled, hands pressed over her mouth, staring toward the site of the explosions.

Simon's grip tightened on the railing.

Why is she sealing her specialty — the Jet-Black Frost system — and fighting with fire alone?

"Can't be helped,"

Dick answered.

"Look at the heat inside that arena. Anything made of ice would melt in a blink."

Where Simon's match against Chatel had put him at an overwhelming elemental advantage, this match was absolutely stacked against Meilyn. It was ice versus fire.

"But......"

Camibarez continued in a shaking voice.

"Meilyn doesn't look like she has any thought of giving up."

Through the explosions, Meilyn's figure emerged, still gasping for breath. Simon nodded.

The reason Meilyn had come to Kizen was, from the very start, to surpass Serne Eindark.

The Ivory Tower had originally planned to send Serne this year and Meilyn the next — Meilyn enrolling a year early had been entirely her own decision. And the reason she'd sealed her Jet-Black Frost spells for the entire first semester, relying only on her jet-black flames, came down to one single reason: her elemental disadvantage against Serne.

But since teaming up with Simon and the members of Group 7, she'd gradually found breathing room in her heart, and her personality had grown livelier. She'd begun bringing her Frost spells back out, and her true potential had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been bursting forth in waves.

And yet—

'This is dangerous.'

Of all times, right here and now, she was being made to feel the full height of the wall called Serne all over again.

The final showdown with Serne at the end of first year — in a sense, this mattered more to Meilyn personally than any exam.

How much had she caught up to Serne since coming to Kizen?

If she lost here without so much as grazing Serne, and her heart broke under the weight of it — Meilyn might seal her Frost magic all over again and revert to exactly who she'd been at the start of first semester.

"Oh, I get it! You're mocking me right now, aren't you? Fine! It's all my fault, then!"

Back to the Meilyn of those early days ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— heart shut tight, nothing but reckless haste.

Back to the days when the mere mention of Serne's name would plunge her into darkness.

'If she loses like this, something in Meilyn's heart will break. Something—'

Simon's face hardened as he sank deep into thought.

'Isn't there something I can do?'