Chapter 50

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Translator: MadScientist

Chapter: 50

Chapter Title: The Star Witch Versus the Shaman

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Just before the second match was set to begin.

Dilia arrived at the arena a step ahead.

As she scanned the surroundings, observing the flow of mana, her gaze locked onto the black-haired girl approaching from afar.

'Noa Darshen.'

From the same plains tribe as Ullan.

From what she'd heard, she was a fairly capable shaman. Particularly famous for earning an S-grade in the curse section of the entrance exam.

Still, Dilia wasn't worried.

'Shamans have their limits.'

Shaman arts require tools or materials, and their spells activate far slower than magic.

There's even a saying for it.

If a shaman and a mage clash with equal power, the mage has about a ninety percent chance of victory. Confidence was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only natural.

'Sorry, but I have no plans to go easy.'

In truth, Dilia had no interest in the qualifiers.

Participating gained her nothing.

She was the duchy's princess, after all. Noble investments and sponsorships were utterly unnecessary.

'But...'

Her mind had changed. For one simple reason.

Ullan.

At this rate, he'd undoubtedly rank in the top ten and qualify for the mock battles.

'Then of course, I'll join too.'

I'm Ullan's friend, after all.

And she wanted to learn more about him. Only then could they grow far closer than now, their bond deepening accordingly.

'To make that happen, I need more time together.'

An odd obsession glinted in her eyes.

That's when she sensed a presence nearby.

Thud!

Noa had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠finally reached the arena.

She glanced over with a faintly tense expression. The moment their eyes met, a booming shout rang out across the arena.

"Match start!"

The signal to begin battle.

Noa moved first. She flung the talismans clutched in her hand into the air at once.

Flutter! Flutter flutter!

The talismans deployed in perfect unison.

Dilia paid it no mind.

No matter what Noa did, she'd deploy only her own magic.

'I'll make it hurt as little as possible.'

With that modicum of consideration.

The chant completed in a flash.

Flash!

This was an attack spell called "Starlight Flash."

As the name implied, it compressed star mana and hurled it at the foe—a basic attack spell. Low power, but blindingly fast. Far quicker than any arrow.

'Farewell.'

Along with a parting that wouldn't reach.

Dilia raised her hand.

To unleash the Starlight Flash. But in that instant, her eyes widened.

"Huh?"

Right before the chant finished and the spell fully formed.

Suddenly, the formula crumbled. The arranged mana scattered and vanished like mist.

What? The structure had been flawless. Tilting her head in confusion, she caught Noa's expression.

A faint smile.

Dilia's eyebrow twitched.

'No way.'

Did she just dismantle my magic?

At the very brink of completion?

'But that's only possible for...'

Someone with her exact talent.

One who could see all mana with the naked eye and read its flows.

She narrowed her eyes.

'Could be a fluke.'

Time to test it properly.

This time, she thrust both hands into the air.

To weave a stronger spell.

But the outcome was identical. Every spell she tried to activate dispersed right before completion.

There was only one implication.

Dilia's gaze wavered.

'...The same talent as me.'

Loved by mana.

A being who could visually perceive all mana. To think another existed besides her.

She was genuinely astonished.

But that was all.

'Noa Darshen is still a shaman.'

Shaman spells activate slowly.

This stems from their fundamental principle.

'A spell is activated by envisioning the formation in the shaman's mind, then infusing it with curse power.'

And curse power—a force that can't be stockpiled in the body—must be generated fresh each time.

In other words, every cast requires converting mana into curse power anew.

'Magic is different.'

Simply rearrange stored mana to match the desired formula.

Instant activation follows.

That's the source of the speed gap.

'So, make it impossible to counter.'

Overwhelm with sheer volume. Too many to individually disrupt.

Dilia put the plan into motion.

Humm! Hummmm!

Vast mana bloomed in the air.

Over half the mana residing in her body surged forth like a deluge.

'First-grade through third-grade.'

She arrayed formulas for every spell.

Twenty in total.

Her mind overloaded midway, but she bit her lip and held onto reason.

Moments later.

Dilia completed the chants.

'Perfect. This will...'

End it for real.

Infusing mana into every arrayed formula, she flashed a triumphant smile. Then boldly thrust her hand toward Noa.

And.

Nothing happened.

"Wha?"

Dilia's eyes bulged.

As a flustered yelp escaped her.

Horror flickered in her golden pupils.

"...!?"

Realization dawned.

All twenty spells arrayed in the air had scattered into nothingness.

'T-That means...!'

Noa had dismantled the magic.

Faster than her, even.

The instant she witnessed it.

Dilia recalled Ullan's lunchtime words in the cafeteria.

「Got it. You be careful too.」

Ullan's abrupt caution.

She'd dismissed it as pleasantries.

Like a good-luck wish. But Noa's prowess reframed it entirely.

'Ullan was warning me.'

Yet she'd brushed it off as mere courtesy.

Dilia bit her lip. Irritated at her own complacency.

'What "sorry" was he supposed to relay?'

Recalling her words from an hour ago: since she'd win anyway, pass on her apologies to Noa. Her cheeks flushed.

Forcing down the embarrassment.

'Fine. I'll admit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it.'

Noa Darshen is strong.

As strong as her. Perhaps stronger.

'But I'm not giving up.'

She's the one entering the mock battles.

To spend more time with Ullan.

She steeled her resolve.

Too absorbed, perhaps?

Dilia failed to notice.

A peculiar pile of shredded talismans at Noa's feet.

9.

Meanwhile.

Noa gazed steadily at Dilia.

Fluster plain on her face.

The reason was obvious. Dozens of spells cast, none activated.

'No surprise there.'

Shaman arts lag behind magic in speed.

Hence, one-on-one, shamans inevitably lose to mages.

Common knowledge in this world.

'But.'

This holds only for this world's shamans. Strictly speaking, Noa wasn't one.

'I'm a possessor, after all.'

Originally, an ordinary South Korean student.

Thus, she possessed unique possessor abilities. Blinking to glean foe intel was one.

And another.

A truly special one.

The skill system.

Noa could register and wield every shaman art in this world as skills. Most activation steps skipped as a result.

'To register one as a skill, I need perfect theoretical mastery, though...'

Just a matter of time.

Noa had 'Exploration' and 'Memorization' among her traits. Consequently, she'd registered sixty-eight shaman arts to date.

Still insufficient.

'My mana pool is smaller than Dilia's.'

Skill system or not, lacking mana meant defeat. Hence the plan.

A strategy tailored solely for Dilia.

'She has absolute faith in her prowess.'

Understandable, given the talent.

Dilia thus unleashes mana-intensive attacks in a blitz for victory.

Her style.

'So...'

Prioritize evasion over defense, defense over offense. Nullify every assault with minimal mana.

Noa's strategy.

The blue talismans orbiting her now? Core to it all.

'Magic Spirit's Devour.'

Magic spirits: souls cursed.

Their sole liberation? Devouring mana.

Bind them, seal into talismans, release—they gorge on ambient mana before vanishing.

Exactly like now.

Spells winking out like mad.

Dilia must be in agony by now.

No spell firing, regardless.

Hence her apparent strategy shift.

'Hoping my talismans run dry, probably.'

Proof: descending to lower-grade spells. Logical—one spirit per cancellation.

Futile all the same.

Why?

'Plenty of spirits left.'

En route from the plains to the academy.

Ullan and Noa faced bandit camps to rugged peaks, brigands galore. Their souls? Noa's magic spirits intact.

'Talismans aplenty too.'

Skipped lunch sealing them one by one. Yield: one hundred eighty-two talismans, spirit-laden.

'This'll...'

Hold till mana runs dry.

Her blue eyes gleamed with hope.

How much time passed?

They waged relentless close combat.

Magic chant ends—talisman flies, nullifying. Brutish, intense grind.

Issue was—

Only they perceived it so.

"Hey, just checking."

"Match actually started, right?"

"Yeah, think so?"

"Then what're those two even doing?"

Stands' students eyed the arena.

Mage versus shaman duel.

Expected spectacle of flash and ruin.

Reality differed.

One pawing air nonstop; other hurling paper like confetti.

"Uh, this is... what?"

"Zero thrill. Like, none."

"Questionable if it's even a fight."

Precisely put.

To onlookers, mere air-fumbling.

Yet they were dead serious.

"Haa, haa!"

"Huff! Hooo!"

Ragged breaths spilling.

Shoulders quivering fitfully, legs wobbling. Mana near ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exhaustion.

Noa eyed Dilia in awe.

'Wow, genuine mana freak.'

Unlike Dilia's on-site chants, Noa brought prepped talismans.

Less drain relatively—yet matching depletion. Sans talismans? Instant loss.

'Daytime this bad; nighttime...'

Noa gulped dryly.

Tension warranted. Dilia peaked under night skies.

Her mana: stellar.

Starlight bathing her? Endless regeneration. Inner sigh of relief—

Drip!

Dilia's nose suddenly bled.

Mana depletion sign.

'Now!'

Sole chance.

Eyes flashing, Noa steadied shaky legs, closed in on Dilia.

"Ugh, urgh!"

Dilia scowled, hand lashing out.

No spell triggered. Formula ready, mana absent.

Meantime.

Noa reached point-blank. Final strike seals her win.

But then.

"Ah."

Drip drip!

Noa's nosebleed joined.

Arena hushed. Mana-empty mutual sense; blank stares exchanged.

'Win conditions explicit...'

Surrender.

Or judge calls combat incapacity. Those alone.

Judge silent. Continue, then.

'W-What now?!'

Noa froze briefly.

Fair enough. Curses and arts? Plenty. Fists? Never.

'Cheek pinch to start?'

Pale, plush cheek.

Hard tweak prompts yield? Naive reach—

"Huh? H-Huh?"

Noa yelped in shock.

Dilia abruptly tiptoed, hands shooting out. Tiny palms snagged Noa's locks, yanked.

"W-Wait! Kyaaak!"

Root-ripping agony.

Writhing, Noa—eyes half-rolled—clutched Dilia's hair.

Dilia scowled likewise.

Hair-tufts gripped, they shrieked at each other.

"Ugh, let—go."

"You first! Let go!"

"No, never."

"Then neither me! Kyaaak!"

Arena devolved to chaos swift.

Judge stepped in as it worsened; second match drew to a close.

10.

Post-second match.

Arena resetting; stands abuzz with recaps.

Lackluster bout, finale's ugly tussle. Prime chatter: gutsy barbarian lass yanking princess hair.

Among them, Ivela—back from her first match.

"Huh, what even was that?"

Ivela blinked wide eyes.

Gear return delayed viewing; still baffling.

"They fought, right?"

"Probably."

Ullan nodded.

He knew not the details.

But Noa's frantic talisman-shredding? Fierce war inferred.

"Yeah, profs there look like it."

She indicated faculty.

Magic department profs.

Shocked, flustered—fervid debates.

More.

Magic Dean Deplin Chernio stared at Noa, stunned.

Reactions screamed hidden depths.

"Draw means what?"

Qualifier draws rare. Mana-zeroed rematch? Implausible.

As eyes fixed on verdict—

"Third match commencing soon!"

"Called students, prepare!"

Arena-shaking call.

Third match roster revealed.

"Himmel Deorg!"

"Ullan Bator! To the arena!"

Ullan's turn.

He rose promptly.

En route, arm snagged.

"Ullan."

Ivela.

Hand's faint quiver.

Turquoise gaze quivering too. Ullan regarded her, queried mildly.

"Words for me?"

"...N-No, nothing."

Ivela clamped lips post-attempt. Vigorous headshake cleared mind; resolute face.

"Win. Win absolutely."

"Naturally."

"Yeah. Mock battles together."

Smile-cheered by Ivela.

Ullan seized axe. Strode arena-ward.

Soon.

Third match ignited.

Chapter 14. What Does It Matter?