Just for Fun?
Dawn was beginning to break.
Meilin, still wrapped in Simon's robe, stirred with a low groan and pushed herself up. She blinked around in a daze for a moment, then whipped her head from side to side, scanning her surroundings.
“……Simon?”
Simon was nowhere to be seen. Only the dying embers of the campfire, a few abandoned fruits, skewers of meat ready to roast — and a note in Simon's handwriting.
Sorry — something personal came up, so I'm heading out ahead of you.
She frowned at the note.
“……Whatever. It's not like I wanted to team up with you anyway.”
Muttering it aloud for no reason at all, she pouted and coaxed the campfire's flames back to life.
Be careful out there, Simon.
“Out of my way! Move! Move!”
At that same moment, Haren Coke and his teammates were combing through the jungle, turning over every leaf in their search.
Where the hell did that bastard go?
He'd spotted Simon the moment he crossed the bridge onto Kera Island and given chase immediately — but between the maze of dense jungle terrain and the constant monster ambushes, he'd lost him in the end.
It was a bad situation. He'd finally been handed a chance by that person, and if things kept going like this, he might end up back at Kizen having accomplished absolutely nothing.
Tch.
Haren slipped a hand into his pocket and fiddled with the feathers inside. Two of the five were already spent.
Irritably scratching his head, he glanced over his shoulder.
“Hey, you! What do you think you're doing? Search properly, you brat!”
“Yes! Yes! I'll find him!”
The male student, nose pressed to the ground and pretending to sniff about, didn't even dare look Haren in the eye.
The other teammates watching the scene were utterly bewildered.
And it was no wonder.
……Why on earth is Malcolm groveling like that for that nobody?
The student snuffling at the dirt was none other than Special Admission No. 10 — Malcolm Randolph, the same Malcolm who'd fought Hector Moore to a standstill.
Every one of the teammates here had followed along because of Malcolm. Haren himself had been one of the strays who'd latched onto the group midway, drawn by Malcolm's power and influence.
Yet at some point, the master-servant dynamic had completely flipped on its head.
Worse, Haren wasn't even leading the team toward the center. He was just circling the same stretch of forest over and over, insisting that the only thing that mattered was hunting down Special Admission No. 1, Simon Polentia.
“Hold on a second, Haren.”
A girl finally stepped up to him, unable to watch anymore.
“How long are you going to keep dithering around out here? It's already day three. If we can't push into the mansion grounds soon, we're in real danger. The entire central island is about to turn into one giant battlefield!”
Haren picked at his ear.
“You've been yapping in my ear this whole time. If it bothers you that much, feel free to leave the team.”
“Your team? Since when was this your team? The leader of this team is Malcolm!”
“Oh, is that right?”
Malcolm twisted his lips into a crooked smirk and turned around.
“What do you think, Malcolm?”
The instant Haren asked—
Thud!
Malcolm slammed his forehead into the dirt and groveled, hips thrust up in a deep, servile bow.
“You're obviously the leader! Haren! There's no leader but you!”
“Ahaha!”
At this utterly un-Malcolm display, the girl bit down hard on her lip.
Something is definitely wrong here.
Her name was Amelie. She'd been in the same Class M as Malcolm — same squad, too.
The idea of that proud, competitive, can't-stand-to-lose Malcolm groveling like this was beyond imagining.
“Be honest with me. What did you do to Malcolm?”
Haren shrugged at her question.
“What kind of nonsense is that? Did I do this? He's doing it because he adores me, obviously.”
“Don't lie to me!”
She spun up her core and spread her palm open. A magic circle bloomed across Amelie's palm in an instant.
“Turn Malcolm back to normal. Right now!”
“Ah — that's hilarious.”
Haren let out a scornful laugh.
“Look, use your head. Is there really some dark magic out there that just makes people submit to you? Well, sure, probably. But could a first-year like us actually cast a mind-control spell that powerful?”
“……”
Not just Amelie — no one here could argue with him. Whatever trick he'd used, whatever leverage he'd found, it was all speculation. What made it truly maddening was that Malcolm himself, the one person who could clear it all up, offered no explanation whatsoever.
And this girl keeps pestering me. It's getting on my nerves.
Haren let the corners of his mouth curl up slyly and spoke to Amelie.
“Fine. You win. I'll give you a hint.”
“……?”
“But not a word to the others, got it? Come here.”
He beckoned, and her eyes went sharp with suspicion.
“Amelie! Don't go.”
The male student standing behind her spoke up.
“I don't know what he did, but Malcolm's finished. We need to split off from these guys while we still can—”
“No. I'm going.”
Amelie strode right up to Haren.
She had to learn what the curse on Malcolm actually was. If he tried to use that power on her, even better.
Amelie possessed a constitution rare even among necromancers — one that curses barely took hold of. If he cast one on her, she could analyze it on the spot. And if things went south, she had five teammates watching her back.
When Amelie stopped in front of him, Haren grinned like a snake.
“Closer. The others mustn't hear, remember?”
“……”
Irritation crawled all the way up her spine, but if she wanted to save Malcolm, she'd have to swallow it.
Amelie squeezed her eyes shut and stepped in close. And the moment she did, Haren yanked her by the shoulder.
“Kyah!”
“Amelie!”
The male student watching immediately drew his jet-black blade.
But nothing so dramatic happened. Haren really did just whisper a few words into her ear, and she gave a small nod and backed away.
“Hooaam — I'm bored.”
Haren yawned and looked her over.
“Hey, girl. Sit like a dog.”
“……!!”
At those words, the surrounding teammates' expressions flared with fury.
“You little bastard! Now you've crossed the—”
But.
Amelie really did squat down right there, sticking her tongue out like a dog. Every face around her went ghost-pale.
“What? See? She does whatever I tell her.”
Haren shrugged and snickered.
“Now, next — dance for us.”
“Amelie! Don't!”
The moment she actually rose to her feet to do it, one of the teammates grabbed her from behind and held her fast.
“What's gotten into you?! Snap out of it, please!”
“HAHAHAHAHA!”
Haren doubled over, clutching his stomach.
“God, this is a real piece of X-ing comedy! Ah, I can't breathe!”
“HAREEEEEEN!”
Finally, the male student lost all restraint and charged at him, jet-black blade raised.
CRACK!
A staff flew in from the side, smashed into his face, and sent him sailing off into the distance. The other students scrambled backward, faces tense.
“Oops. Guess someone forgot there are people standing next to me?”
As Haren spoke, Malcolm was already in a combat stance beside him, swinging the staff with murderous ferocity.
“Tch. These idiots aren't worth wasting more feathers on. They wouldn't listen anyway.”
Haren made a lazy gesture with one hand.
“Just take care of all of them, Malcolm.”
At that single sentence, Malcolm threw himself at the survivors like a demon possessed.
It didn't take long before every remaining student lay sprawled on the ground.
Meanwhile.
Simon had returned to the exact spot where he'd fought Meilin, hunting for clues. But no hint was coming to him.
Why did Big Kroom appear right at that moment, of all times?
He kept replaying the battle with Meilin in his mind. Had the roar of their fierce clash stirred the creature awake? That seemed unlikely — the entire island had been mid-battle at the time. Or maybe it had reacted to fire specifically? That felt shaky too.
“Pier. Nothing coming back to you?”
[……]
Pier, who normally loved the sound of his own voice, had grown unusually quiet ever since they'd encountered Big Kroom.
“Is something wrong?”
[Hmm. No, nothing at all. If I had to say one thing, it's this: the single greatest trigger for Big Kroom's growth is rage. Which means—]
‘He may well harbor hostility toward me, is what you're saying?’
Simon folded his arms. If that were the case, he briefly wondered if this might be something like Erzsébet — another Ancient Undead with a grudge against the Legion.
But that line of thinking didn't add up either. Big Kroom had been fiercely devoted to the Legion — devoted enough to sacrifice himself for it.
[That said.]
Pier's avatar spoke up.
[I'd need to step out of the subspace and check for myself to be certain, but the creature's aura was definitely not quite the Big Kroom I remember.]
‘Hm.’
[Stay careful, boy. I have a bad feeling about this.]
‘Understood. We'll push toward the center and search thoroughly as we go.’
Simon pressed onward without hesitation.
Sure enough, the closer he got to the center, the less frequently monsters appeared — but traces of Kizen students became more and more common.
It was day three now. With every student carrying a hefty Tongue Pad score, hunting the odd monster was no longer worth much. This was the stage of the exam where taking down a fellow student yielded far bigger gains.
Crunch.
Simon stopped mid-stride. At some point, all the sounds around him had gone quiet.
As he swept his tense gaze across the area, he spotted someone hiding behind a tree.
……What?
They were hiding behind the tree, yet their hand was visible — wrapped around it in an embrace.
If that's how you're going to hide, why hide at all?
“If you need something, come out.”
At that, the figure behind the tree obediently stepped into view.
“……!”
The color drained from Simon's face until it went dead white.
She wore a Kizen uniform — but it was a face that could not possibly appear here. No. A face that should not appear here.
“Why are you…… here……?”
The expelled Efnel student he'd met during his mission.
Ellen Zeil.
She waved and smiled at him.
Simon took a step toward her, and she immediately spun on her heel and bolted into the woods.
“Hey, wait!”
Simon rushed after her, gasping for breath, chasing her deep into the forest — and found Ellen crouched down, gazing at a flower blooming on the forest floor. When he approached, she flashed him a bright smile and darted off again.
Who the hell is playing this kind of prank on me?!
His head was spinning. He could tell at a glance that this wasn't the real Ellen — and yet he couldn't stop chasing her.
This Ellen Zeil climbed a tree. Danced like a ballerina. Even pressed her palms together in prayer.
No matter how fast Simon ran, he couldn't catch her.
And then, at last—
“Hah! Hah!”
He burst into an open clearing in the woods.
“……!”
What lay before his eyes was a massacre.
Nearly twenty Kizen students were crawling across the ground, screaming in agony.
“S-save…… me……!”
THUNK!
A blood-red spear plunged down from above the trees, pinning a student's body to the earth. The boy, wailing as if genuinely impaled, went limp.
A moment later the forced teleportation took hold, and nothing remained of him but the clump of mana his Tongue Pad spat out.
Shunk! THUNK! THUNK!
Everywhere he looked, hell had broken loose. The screams rang out across the clearing like a twisted harmony.
Nearly twenty students were being wiped out without being able to lift a finger. One by one they vanished, leaving nothing behind but the mana clumps their Tongue Pads disgorged.
“Stop it! Stop!”
One student screamed at the sky.
“Why are you doing this to us?! What did we ever do to deserve this?!”
In that instant, solid chains seized his body and locked him into a frame.
The frame was a bloody cross. During the 100-Year War, whenever Efnel captured a necromancer, they would hang them on the Red Cross and put them to death.
The symbol of execution.
The cross rose toward the sky, where sharp spears had been waiting in the air, and leveled their points at its ends.
The student, out of his mind with terror, tears and snot streaming down his face, shrieked—
“SAAAAINT!”
Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! Shunk!
The spears stabbed into him again and again, without end, until his body went limp. His protective suit's barrier dissolved, and the forced teleportation carried him away.
At the very last moment, Simon saw a single white feather drift down and touch the boy's forehead.
On the ground, the surviving students were still thrashing in desperation. Then the chains caught them too, and they were bound fast, necks locked into a colossal guillotine.
“Stop! Stop it, please!”
“I'll do anything! Just let me li—”
The blade fell without mercy, and they fell silent.
“……”
Simon watched it all with a face like ice. Then he lifted his head.
Up in a tree sat someone, lounging comfortably, savoring the spectacle like evening entertainment. The shadow beneath it was so deep that only a silhouette was visible.
“Everyone's being awfully melodramatic, aren't they?”
A boyish voice rang out from the darkness.
“You're all wearing protective suits, and no one's actually dying. When you get back, your memories will be wiped clean anyway.”
“……”
Simon's fists clenched.
Why is someone doing this?
Out of the darkness, a girl with ivory hair smiled — a smile that crawled over the skin.
“……For fun?”