Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 32
>Chapter Title: It Was Exactly 100 Hits
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The magic blasts, explosions, and groans of pain that had filled Starting Point No. 3 fell silent.
A low, rumbling voice.
“You bastard... just you wait. You think you’ll get away with this...!”
Boom!
The last man standing, Dibe, spat his curse with venomous eyes, but the compressed fireball didn’t wait for him to finish.
Starting Point No. 3 was now empty.
In the battle-scarred space lay six gray bracelets, abandoned.
Aster gazed at them for a moment before murmuring softly.
“Ten gold deducted.”
Ten gold out of 320.
Exactly 100 hits.
‘...Feels good.’
Rewarding.
He’d punched thousands in his time as a Black-White Slums enforcer, but today’s 100 felt special somehow.
The bracelets’ defense mechanisms triggered on magic like ghosts. No mana could mix with his punches.
So, just beat them without magic, right?
‘Not that simple.’
The defense only reacted to mana.
Physical clashes were strictly regulated inside the Trial Tower. That’s why he’d smashed the magic eye the moment the test began.
That’s what made it special.
‘Exquisite control to withdraw mana right before impact.’
One slip, and the defense would trigger?
‘Couldn’t land a hit, just send them packing.’
And that wasn’t all.
No Damian meant he had to control his strength perfectly.
One wrong swing, and boom—injury or worse. Victim and attacker swap roles in tragedy!
Of course, the victims here weren’t these guys.
Anyway.
Aster dusted off his hands and grinned.
“Calling it at ten gold today.”
Truth was, he couldn’t hit more.
Rough ’em up a bit, then cheaply blast them out with magic—good manners, right?
Test to pass, after all.
Speaking of.
‘Six bracelets.’
Aster scooped up the fallen losers’ bracelets into his pocket.
Barely twenty minutes since the test started.
Long if long, short if short.
While he tangled here, other participants were charging through the Trial Tower, eyes blazing.
The fast ones might’ve reached the first door already.
Twenty minutes wasted at the start wasn’t nothing...
‘But six changes that.’
Who else snags six bracelets in twenty minutes?
Sure, a few could.
He’d crushed them with brute force, but sharp guys who read the flow, seized chances—they’re everywhere.
Anyway.
‘Time to move.’
Aster sorted his thoughts.
Before the test, two paths had troubled him.
One: Stick mid-pack to avoid hassle.
Two: Go big for Professor Parun’s reward.
‘Caught those three idiots and their three recruits—second path it is.’
If just the three idiots, he might still waver.
But they’d roped in Starting Point No. 3 students. Bow to them? Hell no, mid-pack or not.
So, second path chosen.
Problem: how.
“Ugh.”
Aster squatted, clutching his head.
‘Standing out’s easy. But the reward I want... Parun’d give his recommendation easy enough...’
What about the other two professors?
That’s the issue.
‘Wave Parun’s letter and demand it? No way. Professors are independent.’
They respect each other—barely.
No camaraderie, no real bonds.
Show Parun’s letter? “Parun recommended you? Congrats. So?”
One way left.
‘Parun’s gotta push for it himself...’
Would Parun move for peanuts? No.
Needs big bait.
“Hmm.”
Aster glanced up at the ceiling.
Artificial cave.
Blueprints in his head.
Most use maps for paths, but Troubleshooter Aster saw more.
‘Underground, earth magic shaped. Structure like a building. Means load-bearing pillars...’
A tempting whisper.
‘Collapse the Trial Tower?’
Just four spots.
Doable.
Nothing flashier. No one’d even think it.
But.
“Damn it.”
Muttered curse.
‘Bad idea. Past life, Decullans. This life, Imperial Knights. Academy families’d swarm like dogs.’
Bracelets only block mana attacks.
Real collapse? Public enemy of the Eastern Continent.
Other ideas flashed— all grim ends.
Aster stood abruptly.
“No point overthinking.”
Best to leg it out.
Unconstrained brawl? Different story. But scheming? Not his forte.
Smashing everything? He’d excel. But continent-wide infamy? Pass.
* * *
Meanwhile.
An assistant fixing a magic eye outside yelped, “Wha?!”
Beyond the screen.
A gray-haired boy stepped into the unbroken feed.
“He’s out! But... just Aster?”
She’d kept eyes on Starting Point No. 3’s exit amid repairs. Professor Parun shrugged it off.
“Got word from dropout teleport earlier. Six from No. 3 failed.”
“Oh... No major incidents, then?”
“Dunno. Depends. No ID issues, but full-body bruises reported.”
She tilted her head.
“Bruises?”
Trial Tower’s rough, but defenses kept injuries low.
Bruises? Mages don’t brawl like fighters.
Physical contact strictly forbidden—reminded them!
Even without, mages pursue knowledge, mana’s truths. Barbaric scraps unfit—even for students.
But.
Parun’s next words shattered her assumptions.
“Beat ’em without triggering defenses. Bare fists.”
“...”
“Technically off-test fight. Our watch failed—no vision for response.”
Her face paled.
Bruises.
Student scuffle? Minor—drag to guidance, punish, done. Assistants get mild scold.
But mid-test?
‘Whew.’
Statement inevitable.
Then.
“Huh... All six like that?”
Sudden doubt hit; she eyed Parun.
Skipped details, but his tone felt off.
Parun nodded.
“Yeah, all six.”
“Wh-who...”
Parun, screen-fixed, turned then.
“Eep, s-sorry...”
“Good, at least sorry. Shut it—focus on test.”
Her head bowed at his sharp tone.
A colleague whispered—dropout teleport liaison.
“Aster.”
“Aster?!”
“Yeah, solo-fisted six. Malicious intent clear.”
Unexpected.
She’d figured group spat gone physical. One slum kid fists six undergrads?
‘Doranpega melee makes it believable...’
Either way, shocking.
Handled six alone.
No—perfect control sans defense trigger? Vastly superior skill.
“Anyway, he’s getting that reward for sure.”
“...Huh?”
“You missed Parun’s grin at ‘six dropped.’”
“...”
“Twelve total dropouts so far— he did half. Project ahead? He’s locked in.”
Assistants knew Parun’s reward bait.
Aster fit perfectly.
Simple math: six in twenty minutes. Hour? Eighteen. Solo sixth of total.
“Hey! You two! Quit yapping! Move it!”
“Y-Yes!”
“Coming!”
Far-off assistant prof’s call—they scrambled.
Magic eye fixer got scoring screens.
Ten tiny ones hers.
Not Parun’s big main holo.
‘Aster got in on Blandoga invite, right?’
Explains his edge.
Slum origins negative—yet Blandoga vouch? This is baseline.
Then.
She peeked at assistant prof, tweaked her holo.
Ten split to eleven; new one flipped, froze on one.
“Wha— ngh!”
Gasp escaped; hand clamped mouth.
Glanced around.
Watched Blandoga Young Patriarch quietly.
He blocked a passage, facing student group.
They yelled, veins bulging—inaudible via magic eye.
Faces screamed injustice.
And...
‘...’
Eyes on clash center.
Thick vine clump rooted there.
Not vines, though—described:
Near two meters tall—no, vines bulked to 2.5.
Arms, legs thick—blobs unless close; but bipedal mover.
So...
‘Golem.’
Yes, golem.
‘Wrapped golem in vines, puppeteering whole. Or... controlling vines on golem? What?’
Baffling sight.
Student-limited output, sure—but plant magic sheathing, freely moving golem?
Possible, but monstrous talent.
And...
‘...!’
‘...! ...!’
Not sluggish.
Each vine-golem shift—students recoiled in alarm.
They countered with spells desperately, but golem’s shield held.
Students powerless.
‘Ah... plant magic bypassed shield. Bracelets react to mana; golem field doesn’t.’
System exploit mastery.
Amid it, Blandoga Young Patriarch beamed innocently.
Screen silent, but laugh rang in ears.
She sighed faintly.
‘That’s genius.’
She couldn’t dream vine-golem control.
Innate talent, beyond magic realm.
‘I’m no genius.’
Old truth, reaffirmed.
But watching didn’t just depress. Talent limits known long ago—why she turned assistant.
Not genius, but everyman strengths exist.
Guide students right, teach genius blind spots.
Education: insight sans process—geniuses can’t.
She steeled herself.
Test proceeded smoothly after.
Damian’s odd moves aside—business as usual.
Some time later.
Beeeep—! Beeeep—!
“...!”
Red lights, alarms blared.
“Wh-what?! Who touched what?! Check now!”
“N-not us! Control panel inside Trial Tower...!”
“What?!”
Two controls: here, inside.
Final gate rear...
Inside control glitching?!
“Professor, halt test. Control issue...”
One assistant prof urged Parun urgently.
No issues yet—could change.
Golem settings shift? Bracelet links fail?
‘Can’t happen.’
Worst: casualties.
But.
“Too late, seems.”
“...What?! What’re you doing! Alert students, stop test!”
Parun shook head; assistant prof barked.
Overstep? Safety first.
But.
“Uh... can’t transmit! External controls dead too!”
“Then teleport in! Drag ’em out one by one!”
“Portals same! And... what?!”
Reporting assistant froze.
Comm crystal lit—message.
“Emergency exit reports. Doors won’t open...”
“What the...!”
Assistant prof fumed at nonsense.
All controls glitch sudden; comms severed.
Portals? No hope if controls dead.
Exits too?
Only magic eyes intact.
‘Damn.’
Rushing to assess, another yelled.
“A-Assistant Prof!”
“What now?!”
“Screens blanked!”
“Son of a...!”
Boom!
Kicked stray binder.
Even magic eyes died.
She gnawed lip at black holos.
‘Why...? What’s wrong?’
Checks perfect.
Humans imperfect, but no fatal flaws.
Trial Tower: decades of profs, assistants’ masterpiece artifact.
Stability unquestioned.
Then.
Noise.
Static, crackle.
Internal-external voice artifact.
One-way possible—dead one spat static, voice.
[Hello, Academy saints.]
Distorted, eerie.
[Most clueless who we are, but someone here guesses. Knows why.]
“You, who?! Who, you bastard!”
Assistant prof roared; no reply. Just monologue.
Simple message.
[To our guesser: No demands. Just price for offending Great One. Here, today—students die. That’s it.]
Click.
End.
“What?! You little...”
“Enough.”
Parun stopped her.
“Won’t hear us anyway. Save energy—find fix.”
Cold words.
Forty-ish students inside—to kill all? Who stays cool?
But.
“...Y-yes, sir.”
She clenched teeth, bowed.
Parun right.
Rage changes nothing; no deaths yet.
Duty: resolve fast.
“Call professors. Especially Professor Perina—fastest.”
“Contact Chancellor. Brief, hurry!”
Calm assistants ordered.
Some fetched aid; some brainstormed on-site.
And one.
“...”
Parun alone stared screens.
Not idle.
Unseen, his mana probed enemies’ sabotage keenly.
And he, preaching calm...
‘These damn vermin...’
Burned hottest inside.