Division -3- A Fierce Wind Blows
A fierce wind blows. A chilling wind blows from the greatsword Valac holds. He could feel it—his blade had been honed sharper than at their first meeting.
Yuria and Mikhail swallowed hard, watching Valac's retreating figure as he strode toward the battlefield.
"Move, young ones."
"..."
"Bury the mistakes of the past and keep striving."
Valac walked lightly toward the battlefield. Thick trails of blood began to mark the path he left behind.
—Why you...! Tyranny. It was the gait of a tyrant, pure and simple.
*
"...Luin."
A small voice reached Luin's ears as he ran in a frenzy.
"...Fuck."
In the space thick with white steam, the low voice made Luin flinch. He stopped dead and slowly turned around. He had been planning to mop up the small fry, but the aura of whoever had called his name felt dangerous. Far too dangerous.
"Shit."
Luin spat the curse, dropped his backpack to the ground, and asked, "Who the hell are you?"
"Oh my. Have you already forgotten my voice?"
"Don't know."
"How disappointing."
"Fuck off."
"Hmm~ Very well. Greetings can wait."
The woman's voice beyond the steam carried a heavy, frigid presence.
"Where are you rushing off to in such a hurry?"
A chill ran down his spine. Her seductive tone was laced with killing intent.
"I need to have a little chat with my teacher."
From that single word, Luin pieced it together. Teeth grinding, he muttered, "Professor Shulia."
"...Oh my. You do remember me."
"Why the hell did the bitch who ran away come back here?"
"Running away? The Tower Master got in my way, so I simply stepped out for a moment."
"...Bullshit."
"Hohoho..."
Luin clenched his fists. The Archbishop of Despair. Could he even beat her? She had escaped the Tower Master's pursuit. Worse, she was Riven Shulia, the academy's mental magic professor—his worst matchup. His mental strength was already fragile; one wrong move and this battle might break him completely.
"..."
"Why are you shaking so much?"
"..."
"Because you got caught while trying to run?"
"Shut your mouth, you senile hag."
"Such poor manners toward your teacher."
At her nonchalant reply, Luin tightened his fists and lifted his head.
"Come closer. If you don't want to die."
He couldn't break. Not after finally pulling himself back together. He refused to shatter again.
"..."
Shulia clasped her hands behind her back and approached slowly. When her figure emerged from the steam, Luin struck his own chest with a dull thud, forcing the tension out.
"Huu..."
"Why so tense? You already know you're nothing but useless trash right now."
"..."
"Your friend stole your talent, so you can't even use magic properly."
"..."
"A fool who can't cast the simplest spells—what could you possibly do?"
"..."
"You're a talentless idiot. Why struggle so desperately to live? Wouldn't it be kinder to just accept it?"
Her sweet, poisonous words wormed into his heart. They sounded like comfort, wrapped in magic, even as they made him want to slap her.
"Give up."
"..."
"If you give up, it'll be easier for you too."
Luin's head began to droop. Seeing his will crumble, Shulia's lips curved into a smile.
—Thud.
As Luin staggered forward on unsteady legs, Shulia covered her mouth and trembled with barely contained laughter.
"Yes... you've been through so much, haven't you?"
"..."
"Ignored, looked down on..."
"..."
"Come to your teacher."
"..."
"I'll make it all go away."
The moment Luin leaned into her embrace—
"Haa... fuck."
His voice came out low and sharp, filled with stubborn pride.
"What...?"
"Cut the bullshit, lady."
Shulia had underestimated him. She had underestimated the entire war. In her mind, only someone on the Tower Master's level counted as a real threat. Last time she had fled because the Tower Master was there; without him, she could have slaughtered everyone. To her, the people on this battlefield were insects—easy to crush. She felt no tension at all.
But Luin was not so easily crushed.
—Thud.
His lips moved, reciting the familiar incantation every mage knew.
"Fireball."
The moment the words left his mouth, Shulia's eyes widened. She yanked out a long thread of magic power, but Luin had already slammed into her, wrapping his arms around her waist and gritting his teeth.
"Every last one of you—fuck! You all talk the same shit!"
"...He should be under mind-control magic...!"
"Like I'd fall for an ugly bitch like you."
"You little—!"
Luin endured the searing threads digging into his flesh and smiled.
"I'm not running anymore."
"..."
"Never again."
"..."
"If I can drag even one of you down with me—!"
—Boom!
The empowered fireball detonated against her stomach. Shulia winced. Even without his fire affinity, Luin's raw magical talent was real. He had traded precision for raw power—the only weapon he had left.
"Fireball!!!!"
"Kuaaak!!! Let go!"
"Why don't you cut me with that thread of yours?"
"Let go!!!"
"Can't control it, can you? If you slice me, you'll slice yourself too."
Shulia's voice shook. "You clever little—! But this crude magic won't kill me...!"
"...I know!"
"You know...?!"
Luin laughed, voice dripping with madness.
"Fuck, so what if I can't kill you? Crippling you is good enough."
"Don't act tough. Your hands won't survive this either...!"
"Fuck that. At least I'm doing something!!!"
He poured everything he had left into one final shout.
"Fireball!!!!"
"You insane bastard...!"
Shulia shoved him away. When she saw the state of his hands—bloody, mangled from point-blank detonation—she burst into laughter.
—Drip... Drip...
Luin's ruined hands hung limp at his sides. The magic threads had sliced through cloth and skin alike, stealing his warmth. His vision was starting to blur.
Shulia laughed and mocked him. "You played at being strong. What now? Your little tricks are all used up."
"...."
"I was going to spare you because I liked your face. But you're the one rushing to die."
"...Fuck off."
Luin laughed bitterly and gathered what little mana he had left.
"I already know, so save the sermon. It's fucking annoying."
He knew he was useless. But if running away meant watching everyone else fight while he hid, then losing here—fighting pathetically—was better than living with that shame.
He raised his fist.
"If it gets bad, I'll ask for help."
"You think anyone will come? They're all busy running."
"Heh... fuck."
"Praying to God now?"
Luin smiled and pointed at the sky.
"He's coming."
Shulia frowned upward. "What are you—"
"Just wait. He'll show up."
Luin knew the gap between them was enormous. But trying anyway was better than giving up. At least that guy—
—Rumble rumble rumble rumble.
—was his rival.
—KRAKAKAKAKAKAKAK!!!!
Luin let out a hollow laugh at the crimson thunderbolts crashing down above Shulia's head.
"Crazy bastard."
Fucking strong.
*
Malik sighed. "Insanely strong."
He was struggling against an opponent who outclassed him completely. Facing an Apostle for the first time, all he could do was survive.
"..."
He raised his hand and conjured a shining bow.
"Θεᾶ τοξεύτρια. (Divine Archer.)"
The radiant weapon made him want to laugh. Just looking at it made his knees weak. Even an empty shot would feel like it could pierce his heart.
"...A monster."
Malik readjusted his grip on his sword. The elf began drawing the bowstring. Brilliant light coiled around it—violent, explosive. If that arrow struck, the impact might be unbearable.
The space itself began to distort under the sheer pressure. Malik closed his eyes and muttered, "I should've built Fairy Unit 2 while I had the chance."
His life was full of regrets. The elf's fingers released the string without warning—no time for last words. Typical of long-lived races; they had no respect for elders.
Malik raised his sword. "Come."
The moment the arrow met his blade, a familiar voice rang in his ears.
—Fzzzt...
"Were you scared?"
Red lightning rained down on the elf's head. Malik let out a tired laugh.
"I thought I was dead."
"...Nah, that much won't kill you."
"..."
"Probably...?"
What a heartless guy.