Word by Banshee

"We've entered the final battle! Less than ten minutes remain! Facing off right now are Simon Polentia, the top-ranked student, and Merida Hugh Ikel, ranked fourth!"

The commentator had leapt from his seat in sheer excitement, shouting until the veins stood out on his reddened face.

"The final battle! Professor Aaron, how do you see it?!"

"……"

Aaron's face looked calm. And yet every so often, his fingertips would slide across his lips, or his right leg would start bouncing of its own accord. After staring at the mana screen for a long while, a single remark finally escaped him.

"It won't be easy for them at this rate."

"R-really? To my eyes, it's Simon and Merida who are pressing the attack! With the Castle Lord's dark magic sealed away, I thought the students had a genuine chance here!"

He turned to Jane, seated across from him, seeking agreement — but she, too, slowly shook her head.

"Do you know what kind of person Grand Duke Jean Arskalt is?"

"Er… pardon?"

"A genius of war. She has spent her entire life on nothing but battlefields."

Jane closed her eyes.

"She is someone who has instinctively internalized which actions lead to victory. Seal her arms and legs and throw her into an orc den, and a week later she'd have crushed every last orc with her bare teeth — and still have energy left over."

"Th-then you're saying sealing her dark magic poses no obstacle to the Grand Duke at all…?"

"None whatsoever."

Jane interlaced her fingers.

"The true problem is that someone like her was ever seated as the examiner of a school exam in the first place."

Her fury toward her own workplace superior — Nephthys — bled through every word. The commentator mopped the sweat from his brow.

"Th-then… is there any way at all for the students to defeat the Castle Lord?"

"Time and stamina both belong to her. She is executing a strategy designed to win at one hundred percent by simply running out the clock. The only path to victory is to manufacture a variable — however large or however small. Which leaves me wishing for exactly one thing."

She pressed her interlaced hands together, palm to palm.

"That she, too, is only human."

Simon stood gripping the Death Knight's Flag, studying the Volcano Castle Lord.

The mind-shattering confusion is definitely in her. So why.

She looked perfectly composed.

"Your refusal to give up is commendable. But when skill cannot follow, it is mere stubbornness."

She caught hold of her cracked helmet. Half of the Castle Lord's face was exposed through the broken visor — sharp, raptor-like eyes and a tear mole beneath one of them.

"Chipping my helmet a little — is that the full extent of your limits?"

Simon's Chaos had taken hold, and even Merida's Sleep on top of it — yet she stood rooted in place, speaking to him without the slightest irregularity. A truly superhuman, transcendent mental fortitude. Her combat abilities left no gap to exploit, so they had searched for an opening elsewhere, but it had proven elusive. Her body and her mind were both flawless.

Simon drew in a breath, almost reverently.

I've done everything I can do.

Flutter!

He raised the flag high and brought it crashing down into the ground.

All that's left is to trust myself — and stake everything on the very next move.

One chance. The expulsion of countless classmates hung on it. Not even the smallest misjudgment would be forgiven.

"Simon."

Merida emerged from within the toy palace.

"All set."

"I'm counting on you."

The instant of time he had begged Merida to open for him. It began now.

"So it comes. Knowing this is your final attack — proceed with care."

The Castle Lord drew back her chin and spoke with perfect composure, radiating the confidence of one prepared for anything. Merida unfurled her magic circle and slowly raised both arms. The eyes that had hung in the half-sleep of trance rolled upward.

"……!"

A flicker of alarm crossed the Castle Lord's face, which until that moment had watched Simon and Merida with equal wariness. The environment around her was violently, forcibly rewritten. As though brushed across a canvas in great sweeping strokes, her surroundings were painted over — and she suddenly found herself standing in a field of blooming lilacs.

Fighting spirit drained away. The mind grew drowsy and indolent. She could not even grasp hold of herself. She could do nothing but stare, entranced, at the peaceful flower field swaying in the breeze.

"So that's it."

The extreme of the Phantasus-Style Sleep curse. There was no need for the target to fall asleep at all — an extreme illusion-family dark magic that forced a dream upon someone who never slept. The fragrance of flowers tickled her nose, birdsong filled her ears, and peace flooded into her heart. The battle she had been fighting mere moments ago felt as distant as something from decades past — pain, worry, and fighting spirit all dissolving into haze. That was the signature of the Phantasus-Style Sleep.

But to display such a tranquil scene while, in reality, the enemy's blade was drawing near. The corners of her mouth lifted.

"This is the final attack you have mustered?"

She concentrated her senses into her fingertips. Even through the blurred haze, she felt a faint prickling of sensation arrive at their tips.

That was enough.

Even asleep, a person can move. Even deep within a dream, a person can recognize it as a dream. The Castle Lord gave her orders to a body she could neither see nor properly perceive — movements repeated hundreds of thousands, millions of times over her lifetime. Trusting the memory in her muscles, she commanded her body to execute it. The required action was simple.

Nock the arrow to the string. Raise the bow.

Fire.

Fwooooosh—!

The beautiful flower field spread around her tore apart like a ripped sketchbook, and reality rushed back in. The first thing she saw was Merida, sent flying by an arrow. And right behind her — Simon, who had closed the distance to point-blank range.

So you sacrificed your comrade, and in the end managed to reach me.

Her eyes swept the situation. Merida dropping out of the fight. Simon, betting everything on one final strike and charging in. One attack, she could afford to allow. Endure a single blow — whatever it was — and then—

Fwoooom!

Lava coiled up and around the Castle Lord's left hand.

Pierce them through with the counter, and it is done. Come as you please.

And yet.

Only then did she register that something was off. Simon was carrying no weapon. No magic circle had been unfolded. Which meant the technique he meant to use was martial arts. Martial arts, of all things, at this final chance.

Strange. Unrealistic. Why would anyone do that, in a situation where there was no need to?

A mind game? Or… am I still dreaming?

Simon within her field of vision grew closer and closer. By now she could tell that whatever he was about to do, it was not martial arts. He closed even the minimum distance needed to extend a fist, and through the hair scattering in the wind, the bridge of his nose and his lips came into view. His face was right there in front of her.

…Now you would mock me with a dream?!

Obvious. So obvious, so childish, that she was left speechless. Exactly the sort of idea a teenage girl at the height of that age, her head stuffed with nothing else, would come up with. And yet — why.

But why?! Why—!

Her pupils trembled. Her face burned scarlet, and her pulse hammered like mad. Richard Polentia — her benefactor, the man she had respected above all others. A boy who had inherited his blood so thickly, who so resembled him, was drawing near.

She never even noticed the Chaos sparks crackling and bursting beside her head.

Y-you—you—YOU BASTARDS!

Simon was closing in. She had spent her whole life rolling across battlefields and killing people, yet she had not a speck of experience for a situation like this. She had believed she would grow old and die alone, treasuring nothing but a lifetime of yearning. And now, the moment Simon's lips drifted toward her own—

Like a mouse before a serpent, there was nothing she could do.

She could not block it.

Shhh—

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

At that instant, Simon's lips stopped just short of hers.

At once, a voice given form flowed out from Simon's mouth and slipped into hers.

"?!"

The Castle Lord's flushed face stiffened with belated intensity, and she lashed out a desperate kick. Simon, the curse successfully planted, leaned back and retreated. Fire sprayed from the Castle Lord's eyes.

"How dare you—!"

She couldn't even finish the sentence. Simon pointed a fingertip upward. Through the violet mist Merida had unfurled, something was descending from directly above him. Simon's trump card. The power of the Imperial Guard, layered with Chaos — a finishing technique made complete.

A violet orb plummeted toward her head. The Castle Lord hastily raised her bow to catch it—

'!'

This was not the kind of attack that could be blocked.

CRUUUUNCH!

The bow warped on contact with the orb. She frantically crossed both arms to receive it — useless. Her body was crushed under its immense weight and mass and driven into the ground.

'No—!'

RRRRUMBLE!

Her body plunged straight through the fifth floor. It didn't stop there.

Fourth floor.

Third.

Second.

All the way down to the first.

KWAAAAAANG—!

Her body finally smashed through the ground floor of the volcano and out into the open. A hollowed sky spread out around her, and a cold wind whipped violently through the hair spilling from her broken helmet. She was falling from a great height.

"Hah—!"

Even so, the Castle Lord's response was lightning-quick. Lava igniting across her entire body, she twisted herself sideways and slipped free of the Chaos Orb. When she looked ahead, Simon — who had chased her all the way down to the first floor — was watching her, flag in hand.

"This exam ends only when I am taken down! What madness is it, then, to widen the distance?!"

Lava surged, and she restored the crushed bow in her grip. Then her hand closed around the bowstring. The mightiest technique she had been unable to use under Simon and Merida's relentless assault.

Vuuuuuum—!

A crimson circle traced itself around her drawn bow.

"If you fail to finish me here at the volcano, and let the distance open once more — your defeat!"

Simon, breathing hard and ragged, watched her aim the bow at his retreating figure.

"Simon Polentia!"

Hector and the students waiting on the first floor came rushing in a crowd. Hector's face twisted in irritation.

"Damn it all! This isn't how the plan went! What happened to that curse you were supposed to put on the Castle Lord?!"

Shk!

Simon, who had been looking down through the gaping hole, thrust out an arm.

"Don't come any closer."

"What?"

THUD—!

Simon slammed the flag down into the floor once more.

"Hngh!"

KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA!

Everyone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flinched and stumbled backward. From the empty railing, Jet-Black was splitting open in the shape of a cross. Hector's expression hardened.

…An inverted cross of Jet-Black.

The cross was a symbol of terror and dread throughout the Dark Alliance. And now that cross had risen in living Jet-Black.

What the hell kind of bizarre treasure has he gotten his hands on this time?

Simon clung to the railing, blood streaming down, staring straight ahead. The Castle Lord, her technique at last complete, loosed her arrow.

FWOOOOOOOM!

It struck Simon's abdomen with perfect precision.

Gripping the flagpole he had planted in the ground, Simon held firm and did not budge — but the arrow punched straight through his body, its tip jutting out from his back.

Thud!

Simon dropped to one knee.

"S-Simon took the arrow!"

"You idiot! Why didn't you dodge?!" Hector bellowed.

Hah. Hah.

Then Simon pushed himself up. Using the flag as a staff, he seized his trembling legs and forced his body upright. The students stared at him in astonishment.

"He took the Castle Lord's arrow and… he's still alive?"

"N-no, wait — his life gauge is actually going up?"

Simon curled the corners of his mouth and looked at Hector.

"…I had no reason to dodge."

"What?"

"We won."

One week before the group exam.

Simon had gone looking for a particular professor, to learn how to use this newly acquired flag.

"So — this armament possesses an unprecedented, large-scale wide-area restorative ability, effective upon necromancers, the departed, and undead alike."

The professor in question was Bahil, who taught Curse Magic.

"And you wish to find the proper way to wield it. Is that right, Simon?"

"Yes, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Professor. That's correct."

Simon looked at Bahil.

"The Four Great Curses you taught me in first year. And among them — the painless curse, Indolence."

A curse that spared its bearer from pain for a set time, then made the target share it all at once, afterward. Simon had once used that technique to shift the pain he received through the Imperial Guard onto his opponent, and taken victory with it.

"Just like that curse, I want to learn a curse that shares damage with the opponent — not only pain."

Bahil, sitting on the sofa with his eyes quietly closed, deep in thought, let a mischievous smile slip across his face.

"Why, of course it's possible. Naturally. But it would trouble me greatly if you took me for some convenient man who merely presses a button and hands you the answer."

Hearing that, Simon silently drew a stack of notebooks from his bag and spread them out across the table.

"And what might these be?"

"I've never just pressed a button. These are my own ideas for a damage-sharing curse."

Bahil's eyes gleamed as he paged through the notebooks. Five full notebooks, densely packed with formulas and study. The effort showed through every page — Simon wrestling with how to evolve Indolence into a true damage-sharing curse. Simon Polentia had studied curses on his own. And not just any curses — the original curse Bahil himself had taught him. This diligently, this thoroughly.

"The mightiest curse of all is the heart, you know."

"…Pardon?"

A smile at last broke across Bahil's face as he laid a hand over his own chest.

"To move a person's heart even when they know every one of your intentions — that, I daresay, is the strongest curse in all the world."

And so Simon received the new technique from Bahil. Since he had already mastered the Imperial Guard — a technique of a similar lineage — both learning it and wielding it came quickly. The curse drew upon the abilities of a banshee. The condition of transmission, mouth to mouth, was a demanding one — but once it took hold, the effect applied for five minutes, no matter how far apart the caster and the target might be.

"I,"

Simon said, watching the Volcano Castle Lord falling far, far below through the gaping hole, a faint smile on his lips.

"have won."

KA-KA-KA-KA-KWANG!

The cross surged up from the flag more violently than ever, and Simon's body knit itself whole. And in that very instant, the curse he had received came due — the damage, shared with the enemy.

KWAAAAAAAANG—!

The instant Simon took the arrow's direct hit, the armor worn by the Volcano Castle Lord shattered into fragments and burst apart. Simon, still gripping the flag, endured it without a scratch.

And with that—

The volcano. The crater. Before the Sealing Stones. All the way to Camp Island—

A colossal roar swept over everything like a tidal wave. Simon raised his clenched fist up toward the sky. From every direction, students came screaming with jubilation and hurled themselves at him.

"……"

A patch of grass on the volcano's slope. Scattered among the fragments of the shattered Castle Lord's armor, Jean Arskalt lay sprawled in her tights, staring blankly at the sky. Slowly, she raised a hand toward the volcano, watching the remains of her ruined gauntlet crumble apart and scatter on the wind.

"So you defeated me in the end, did you. You insolent brat."

The instant the scene replayed itself in her mind, her face flushed crimson all over again, and her heart began to pound. For her heart to waver on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a battlefield of all places. Only now did she realize it — that had been the very confusion effect that vaporized reason.

"My pure heart, treated in such a manner. …Haah."

She traced her own lips with a trembling hand, a strange, unburdened smile crossing her face, then let her arm flop back down into the grass.

"Grand Duke. We will come to collect you at once."

The aide's voice crackled through the communication rune. Still scarlet to the ears, Jean bellowed back.

"N-not yet! I'm in no state to be seen — come back in ten minutes!"

"…?"