The Broken Cat

"Hmph." Skala Barnabas barely regained her composure, squinting suspiciously at the avant-garde candidate before her. Her complexion was like someone had sculpted the words "frail noble lady" into human form. A scrawny, tiny frame peeking out from under her vest. She looked too feeble to even lift her own weapon. No matter how you sliced it, putting her up front would make Skala look like trash.

"You sure you're okay with this? I'll give you one more chance to back out."

"Yes, I'm confident."

Harné answered calmly, her expression unchanging. Her face, emotions pared down to the bare minimum, didn't inspire much trust.

"...Hmph. If you say so."

Instead of replying, Skala drew an arrow from her quiver. She spun it between her fingers like she was just fiddling around.

Darvin started to voice his doubts at that moment—

Shwick!

The arrowhead, laced ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with mana, traced a silver streak toward Harné's throat.

"...Huh?"

Darvin couldn't track Skala's movement with his eyes. He opened his mouth in delayed panic.

"!"

But the one truly shocked was Skala.

Clang!

The arrowhead ricocheted off with a burst of sound. Harné had raised her sword, neatly deflecting the attack's trajectory.

She blocked it?

Skala had tested her to see if she was really avant-garde material... and to knock her down a peg. She'd launched an attack Harné shouldn't have handled.

Yet she'd blocked it perfectly.

Harné lowered her taedo with a faint smile tugging at her lips. That inscrutable, characteristically meaningful expression.

"Even if you don't trust me, team-killing deducts points, you know?"

Snapping back to reality, Skala hurriedly recalled her arrow. She shrugged nonchalantly.

"...Heh. Just a light test to see if you're avant-garde material. Obviously, I planned to stop short."

"Y-Yeah, that must be it! You scared me there."

Darvin chimed in hastily, and the tension eased, thankfully. But Skala's mind was a whirlwind.

This is weird! Her mana feels like a mouse tail—2nd Hierarchy at best. But she blocked my attack, which rivals 4th Hierarchy?

To Skala, Harné's specs screamed "subpar." Yet she'd deflected an attack from Skala, who prided herself on top-tier talent among her peers—even if she'd pulled the punch a bit.

Two possibilities sprang to mind.

1. Her mana quality was absurdly high, making quantity irrelevant.

2. She had combat sense surpassing Skala's own elite level.

...Both sounded ridiculous. Laughably so.

Yeah, she just got lucky.

It left a sour taste, but that was the most realistic explanation. Still, she'd reacted to the attack, so credit where due.

"Eh, you're decent enough. Fine. You take point as avant-garde."

"Yes, leave it to me."

For someone who'd just had an arrow at her throat, her response was remarkably straightforward. Ignoring that composure, Skala jerked her chin at Darvin.

"You're the mage, right? What attribute?"

"Ah, I don't have one... I'm a telekinesis mage."

"Ooh, telekinesis?"

Skala's expression brightened at the rare specialized mage.

"...But I can only pull things toward me."

"What the hell?"

Her face soured instantly. Even for a rare telekinesis mage, one who could only pull was a first.

"You can at least yank weapons away, right?"

"Maybe if they're exhausted. Otherwise, it doesn't work well."

"Hmph, that's annoyingly vague."

Skala's cat ears drooped limply. With a sigh, she pulled out the rulebook again, skimmed a few lines, and decided.

"We'll target the sub-points mainly."

"Sounds good. Safer than the central point, and quick captures rack up points fast."

Harné agreed calmly. Darvin nodded hesitantly, then voiced his worry.

"But sub-points are luck-based, right? We could waste all our time searching."

"...Yeah, true."

Skala glanced up at the ceiling. The dark, towering expanse over the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠entire maze bore ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a massive glowing pattern at its center.

"That pattern lights up the central point, probably. Sub-points have nothing, so we gotta feel 'em out. Annoying."

The rulebook had a diagram at the bottom—a square with dots for the center and three sub-points. Too vague to navigate by.

Then Harné held out her rulebook.

"We can probably estimate roughly?"

"Huh, how?"

"Look at the diagram. The central point's ceiling pattern is centered."

"Yeah?"

"It looks symmetrical, but one corner is subtly off."

Skala squinted, and Harné pointed precisely. Then she indicated the ceiling.

"The ceiling pattern matches—one side's different. Use that as a reference, and we can pinpoint our position anytime."

"Whoa, for real?"

Darvin, now peeking over, alternated between ceiling and paper in awe.

"I thought it was just decoration. Didn't expect a hidden clue like that. Harné, your eyesight is insane!"

"Yes, quite the discovery, right? Come on, Skala, praise me too."

Harné smiled, blatantly eyeing Skala. Skala turned away dismissively, then glanced back.

"...Pfft, whatever. I might've noticed before we started, but... not bad."

"Eh, I doubt you'd have caught it otherwise."

Darvin muttered unwittingly, then clammed up under Skala's glare.

"Alright, let's head that way first."

Skala pointed toward the nearest sub-point. Right then, a voice echoed from above.

The broadcast made the air feel heavier. Skala reflexively gripped her bow tighter. Darvin swallowed, clutching his wand.

But one person seemed unfazed. Harné, still calmly composed, stepped confidently to the front.

"I'm pretty good at maze navigation, so leave it to your avant-garde with peace of mind."

"...Fine. We'll see."

Rumble...

Vibrations echoed from all sides. Some gray walls slowly shifted, exuding menace. They plunged into the depths of the living maze.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

About three minutes into navigating the maze, Skala started feeling off.

Too smooth. Just my imagination?

Mazes meant dead ends, backtracking. Yet they'd hit none. And the walls' movements were suspiciously perfect—clearing paths toward the sub-point like they were helping.

...No time to dwell. A bigger annoyance loomed right ahead.

"Too slow, aren't we? At this rate, it'll take forever to reach the sub-point!"

The avant-garde who'd confidently led had ragged breaths already.

"Hah... hah... Sorry. Doing my best...!"

"That's your best?!"

Skala grumbled but held back. Harné's face had gone ghostly pale—not just fatigue, but inherent frailty.

"Hmph, fine. Don't push—"

Then, rounding the corner opened up a wide space.

"Huh?"

In the center, a mysterious floor marking. Unmistakably a sub-point.

Already?

Absurdly fast. No other teams around—a golden empty-house chance. Eerily easy, but good was good. Skala hopped onto the marked zone, Darvin and Harné following.

Fwosh!

Faint light spread from the pattern, inking identical runes onto their vests. Score tracking, apparently.

"Great start! If we're lucky, we can bag 10 points doing nothing."

Darvin bubbled excitedly. Beside him, Harné caught her breath, looking troubled.

"Hah... hah... Usually, you don't... say stuff like that... out loud..."

"Breathe first."

Skala forced Harné to sit, then eyed the wall that'd bugged her since arriving. There, massively carved, was a score guide.

No way the academy chiseled that into a disposable exam site. Must be the headmaster's doing.

"...What're those doodles?"

For a serious exam, it was briefly absurd. But Skala's bafflement didn't last.

Thud-thud!

Footsteps from the opposite passage. Had Darvin's mouth jinxed it?

"Uh, uh-oh?"

As Darvin flailed, the owners appeared.

"Nice! A point!"

Three burly melee guys. They paused spotting the occupants, then grinned slyly upon recognition.

"Thought we got lucky, but someone's here first."

"They look manageable, though? All scrawny, one already winded."

"Right, rush 'em. Free point."

Tank with huge shield up front, closing fast. Speed blitz strategy—trust the tank, crush before archer or mage reacts.

But—

Ping!

No one reacted to the instant shot. In a blink, one guy's torso jerked back.

"Gah!?"

Vest barrier triggered, deflecting the arrow. But not the impact. He staggered, and second, third arrows hammered home before he recovered. The tank tried blocking late, but Skala had already dodged sideways for the finisher.

Crack!

Glass-shattering sound. The guy's vest mana shattered—barrier depleted. Eliminated.

"One down~"

Skala stuck out her tongue teasingly. The remaining two paled.

"Damn, Bessy's out! I'll block the archer—you finish the rest!"

"Got it!"

The tank charged Skala shield-first, betting body contact would turn it. But Skala ditched her bow astonishingly.

"What the—"

In that split-second confusion, Skala vanished from view.

"Hee hee, time to panic?"

She slid past the shield, slamming a fist into his side.

"Guhk!"

Mana trumped size differences. And Skala wasn't mana-reliant. Talent for nearly all weapons meant superior pure physical prowess. She toyed with him barehanded.

"You two handle one—I'll clean up quick!"

Skala grinned wickedly, cat-with-mouse face. She kicked, stole the shield, and started bashing.

"Damn!"

The last guy went all-in on Harné—grab the easy kill since it was doomed anyway. Her pallor and wobble egged him on.

"Not on my watch..!"

Darvin desperately yanked the guy's leg with telekinesis, trying to topple him. But the foe countered fast, mana-reinforcing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his leg to resist.

"Damn. Harné, danger!"

Darvin paled and yelled, but too late. The guy closed in, greatsword raised high.

"Don't look sorry enough to spare ya!"

The blade dropped without hesitation toward Harné's head. Darvin squeezed his eyes shut.

Crunch!

"...?"

A far lighter sound than expected from the greatsword. The innocent floor split neatly.

Simple reason: the sword had arced perfectly around her.

"Wha..?"

The guy's eyes shook. Not incomprehension—rejection. His attack deflected effortlessly by the frail girl's slow-raised blade.

And that blade, flowing the greatsword aside, curved smoothly to graze his throat.

Crack!

His vest barrier shattered a beat late. He clutched his neck belatedly, then collapsed powerless.

"..."

Silence fell.

Darvin. The slumped guy. All stared blankly at Harné.

"Cough. Cough."

She sheathed her sword quietly. Only faint coughs from her bloodless face.

Thud.

Another dull sound—the shield slipping from Skala's limp hand.

She'd witnessed it too. Mid-bash on her foe, Harné's swing.

Skala, with far deeper sword knowledge than peers, failed to comprehend Harné's technique.

"..Nyaack?"

And she short-circuited.