The Raging Demonic Sword
This year's 2nd-Year Group Exam featured an element known as the Sealing Stone.
It was a relic crafted personally by Andolard Baudville, the Necromancer of Cards. Once an examinee claimed a Sealing Stone, it would weaken the power of the 'Volcano Castle Lord' set to appear twenty hours later.
Of course, with the Castle Lord not yet on the field, the stone offered no immediate effect and no personal merit to speak of — and yet Simon was heading straight for it.
Points for discovering it, too. Two birds with one stone.
Being the first to find a new landmark earned you points, and the Sealing Stone was no exception. The moment Simon reached the central island, he spotted a stele jutting up crookedly from the ground nearby and started walking toward it.
Tap. Thud.
The soil was pitch black. Every step crunched and ground against the earth, kicking up a thick haze of dust. Remembering the briefing that this terrain could collapse at the slightest shock, Simon noted that caution was in order.
Next he checked the crater where molten lava bubbled up. It looked ready to boil over at any moment, though nothing much had changed since he'd first seen it.
I suppose it'll erupt only after the Volcano Castle Lord shows up?
He walked along analyzing the terrain around him, and before long he arrived in front of the Sealing Stone.
It was, quite literally, a towering stele. Runes were embedded in its body, radiating a faint, gentle glow.
How did it work again?
Recalling the guidebook's instructions, Simon slowly placed his hand on the stone.
Vuuuum—!
Before he had even poured any of his jet-black into it, the Sealing Stone let out a bright, resonant hum. Simon frowned slightly and pulled his hand away.
This one was already active.
Which meant—
Someone's already been here—
SHAAAAAA—!
The hair on his entire body stood on end, and the back of his neck went rigid. A presence he had never sensed was there pressed against him from behind the Sealing Stone.
Rustle—
The figure peeled his back away from the stone and rose to his feet.
A somewhat slight frame, wrapped in a coat-style cloak that reached up to cover even his neck, with a longsword as tall as himself hanging at his waist.
Tenth in the entire year. Representative of the Magic Combat Department.
The 'Demonic Sword User,' Juhl Vincere.
Simon had crossed paths with him a handful of times over his school life, and there was one striking change in his appearance now.
He sealed his eyes?
Before, a single eyepatch had covered one eye — but now both were completely bound in bandages, his vision sealed shut.
Chk.
The moment Juhl rested his hand on the demonic sword's hilt, Simon tensed and spoke up.
"H-hey, it's been a while! Juhl."
What poured off of Juhl's body was pure hostility. Pier's split form, watching from within Simon, cackled and muttered in thought.
[This boy has already been consumed by his demonic sword to a dangerous degree!]
Is he dangerous?
[Yes. Very.]
Even Simon could tell this was no ordinary state of mind. Sweat ran in cold rivulets down his skin, but he pushed on with the conversation anyway.
"Did you claim this Sealing Stone?"
Juhl gave a single nod.
Thankfully, there still seemed to be room for communication.
"Got it! We should claim as many of these stones as we can before the Volcano Castle Lord shows up. In that case, I'll just head this way—"
Grrrip.
Juhl, whose hand had been resting lightly on the hilt, suddenly clenched it with crushing force.
The tendons on the back of his hand bulged.
Simon reacted instantly.
SHAAAAAK!
A sinister, pitch-black sword slash tore through the empty air like a brushstroke. Simon wrenched his body backward at the last instant, then rolled his eyes to check behind him.
The surrounding trees were splitting apart, their pale growth rings exposed like fresh scars.
"Where do you think you're going."
He had only gripped the hilt — there was no visible sequence of drawing the blade or swinging it.
Cancel-style swordsmanship through the demonic sword was Juhl's exclusive domain.
"Hold on, calm down," Simon said, spreading his palms. "There's no reason for Kizen students to fight each other."
"Perhaps there is none for you. But not for me."
He corrected his grip on the sword.
"Did I not tell you last year? That next time, I would challenge you in a far more perfect state."
Sorry, but he genuinely had no memory of that. Still, racking his brain desperately, he vaguely recalled some exchange like that during last year's BMAT exam.
"The situation's bad right now! Once this exam is over, I'll accept a duel request or whatever you—"
SHAAAAK!
The demonic sword's slash curved in toward him this time. Simon tilted his head back to dodge, but a few strands of hair drifted away, severed. His guts went cold.
"Dueling within the school, with judges present, has far too many restrictions. Especially given the nature of my demonic sword."
Juhl lifted the sheathed sword at his waist up to his stomach, reversing his grip into a rising draw.
"This moment. This very instant. It is the only chance I will ever have to throw everything I am against you!"
Juhl meant every word.
Necromancers being mad was old news, but there was something about Juhl that felt deeper, darker — like the mire at the very bottom of an abyss.
This guy's insane!
Shak!
Shaaak!
Juhl's assault began. Simon frantically shifted away, and black slash-marks carved themselves into the ground all around him.
"I won't miss again!"
He's faster than before!
From the outside, Juhl appeared to simply stand still, gripping his demonic sword's hilt — but he was, without question, swinging it.
The entire sequence of drawing the blade, delivering the cut, and sheathing it again was omitted by the demonic sword's authority, converting what it would do into what had already happened.
For that fraction of a movement, causality was inverted — a power close to rewriting reality itself. No matter what his opponent tried, the swing of the demonic sword could never be seen.
Adapt, fast!
Sight and sound gave no hint of the blade's direction. He had no choice but to rely on instinct alone.
Just as Simon was driving every one of his senses to their limit—
Juhl Original — Upma
As if refusing to grant Simon even a moment to adjust, Juhl immediately unleashed his trump card.
SHAAAK!
SHAAAK!
A linked sequence of demonic sword strikes.
A long slash sweeping in from the left cut off Simon's charge, while a diagonal cut from above forced him to leap straight up from where he stood.
And the moment Simon rose into the air, where evasion was impossible—
"!"
Simon, lost in pure instinct, was seized by the sensation of a long, dark tunnel enveloping both himself and Juhl.
The distance between them: a single straight line.
Then an image flashed through his mind — a horrific monster spilling out of a scabbard, its eye snapping open.
A black line, firing from the sheath in a perfectly straight trajectory — a future in which it bored straight through his body flickered before his eyes.
I'll be hit like this!
If evasion was impossible, he had to block.
In that instantaneous moment—
Instinct first: he flung his subspace open. Countless simulations spun through Simon's mind.
Defensive magic? It would be cut through along with the spell itself.
Anything he pulled from subspace — zombie, ghoul, skeleton — would be bisected the moment it appeared.
The Dragonian Suit? Pulled out bare, without a barrier, it would be cut down too, and there was no time to raise a barrier now.
Something hard.
He needed something so hard it could stop a demonic sword.
The instant Simon identified exactly what he needed—
'—!'
his hand plunged into subspace without a flicker of hesitation.
CLAAAAAANG!
Simon pulled out the object and planted it in front of him, and the slash came crashing down upon it a heartbeat later. A blade of black jet-dark energy rattled and spun in an X-shape against it.
Juhl, observing the situation, furrowed his brow.
He blocked Upma?
SKRAGAGAGAGA!
Simon's body was driven backward across the ground for a long stretch before it finally, barely, ground to a halt.
Juhl likewise stopped his assault, catching his breath as he stared straight ahead.
I struck with that blow even at the cost of damaging my demonic sword. What on earth did he block it with?
Flutter!
The thing Simon had raised against Upma revealed itself.
A banner. Stiff, alien, and utterly jet-black, without any distinguishing features—
and atop it, a flag woven of pure jet-black snapped in the wind.
"That weapon of yours is—"
RATTLE!
Juhl couldn't finish the sentence.
Something had gone terribly wrong with him. The demonic sword at his waist began thrashing against its sheath.
Rattle-rattle-rattle-rattle!
The blade kept frantically half-drawing and slamming back down, over and over. Juhl grabbed the demonic sword with both hands.
"What— what's wrong! What's happening to you!"
Grrgh!
Juhl clutched the sword to his chest and dropped to one knee, straining to hold it down, but the thrashing only grew faster.
[KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!]
[I can bear it no longer! Give me your body — even yours will do!]
Voices poured out of the demonic sword.
Juhl froze.
His head suddenly drooped forward, and his two arms rippled and stretched like those of a soft-bodied creature.
A sense of dread seized Simon, and he thrust the flag in his hand forward at once. Sure enough — in the blink of an eye, Juhl, demonic sword in hand, came spinning down out of the air toward him.
CLAAAAANG!
The ground flipped over, and black dust erupted like wildfire. Through the smoke, Juhl — his body stolen by the demonic sword — swayed unnaturally as he raised the blade overhead.
He drew the demonic sword?
The demonic sword that split the dust cloud in half as it emerged spewed out a chilling, crawlskin-inducing gleam, pouring out of the sheath like something from a nightmare.
"Haaah!"
The sword-crazed Juhl began swinging the demonic sword with savage abandon. Each and every blow was sharp enough to carve through the Dragonian Suit like it was kneaded dough.
CLAAAANG!
CLAAAANG!
Simon had no choice but to hold the line behind his flag for dear life.
This flag is insanely sturdy.
But this was no time for admiration. Simon shouted urgently.
"Juhl! Snap out of it!"
[Kheheheh! That boy has finally had the reins stolen from him by his demonic sword!]
Pier, why did the demonic sword go berserk all of a sudden?
Even as he asked, Simon already had a vague idea of the answer.
His gaze drifted down to the flag in his hand.
—It takes the form of a flag, but this is a Holy Sword.
A holy sword.
Aaron had said exactly that. Granted, in its current state it was the furthest thing from one — but seeing Juhl's demonic sword fly into this frenzy, the problem clearly lay with this object itself.
He had to put this flag away. Now.
"Royal Guards!"
Skeletons erupted from Simon's subspace, and at the same instant an emerald flash crashed down like lightning, transforming them into his Royal Guard.
Trailing streaks of teal light, the Royal Guards surged forward like bullets, descending on Juhl from every direction.
[Do not interfere!]
The demonic sword controlling Juhl had no choice but to force him into defensive movements as well.
And in that gap—
"HUP!"
Simon flung the flag in his hand into subspace and slammed it shut.
He could have fought on with this flag's power, but stopping the demonic sword's rampage came first.
Thankfully, the effect was immediate.
Juhl, mid-clash with the Royal Guards, jerked his head up and came back to himself. He quickly retreated and forced the demonic sword back into its sheath.
The blade fought to the very end, refusing to go in, but in the end Juhl managed, through sheer effort, to seal it within the scabbard.
He looked at Simon, breathing hard and ragged.
"...You saw me at my most pathetic. What in the world was that?"
Simon, likewise calming his own trembling hands, answered.
"It'd take a while to explain."
Simon had been through hell himself. Just gripping that flag had made his insides twist and churn like nothing else.
This was the problem that arose when a bound weapon was held in the hand of someone other than its rightful master. This weapon truly had to be wielded by its original owner — the Corrupted Death Knight.
"...And yet, it seems you have finally gotten your hands on a 'Holy Sword' as well."
Juhl slowly settled back into his fighting stance.
"Now I hold not a single advantage over you."
Simon gaped at him.
"Whoa, hold on! You still want to fight?"
"Of course."
Killing intent began surging from his body once more.
"I, who cast everything aside — I wish to see just how far you, who possess everything, can be reached."
"You've got it all wrong! That thing from earlier isn't a holy sword, and it's not something I can properly use anyway."
"Take your stance, Simon Polentia."
He said it flatly, without a trace of jest.
"Unless you'd like to be expelled."
"..."
At those words, Simon lowered his hands and let out a quiet sigh.
"Don't regret this."
"Never."
Thud!
Chk!
Chk!
Skeletons, cloaks billowing around them, walked up one by one to surround Simon.
But these were no ordinary skeletons — and their weapons were not swords, but the massive lances of knights.
Undead newly replenished from Vanilla this term — a Royal Guard built from Colossan Skeletons.
Colossan Skeleton Lancer Formation
"Here we go."
Simon donned a coronet of Cloud upon his head.
Juhl gripped his sword hilt savagely, and Simon finished readying his charge.
At the very instant the situation hung on a knife's edge—
"Simon."
A girl's voice slipped between the two of them and rang out in their ears.
"...!"
BOOM!
An inexplicable strike slammed into Juhl.
Juhl blocked the bewildering attack with his demonic sword and was driven straight back.
Simon, equally thrown off by the sudden assault, turned his head in search of its origin.
"Stop."
Someone radiating a truly staggering presence was walking slowly toward them.
"The one with business with Simon is me."