The Knight's Footsteps

Just before the duel began, in the student council seats, Rachel Campbell was drinking the tea Julbert had left behind—a brew that gave off a strange, elusive scent. The moment it passed her lips she twisted her whole face into a grimace and turned on Yulia.

"Yulia, what in the world is this tea? Don't tell me this sort of thing is in fashion in Caipol."

"The scent is lemon."

"You're not drinking? I'd like you to feel a little of this anger of mine."

"How about sharing something pleasant, rather than something foul? More to the point, your brother has gone out to duel, and you don't look the least bit tense."

"And why should I be tense?"

Rachel snorted and went on.

"If Greig loses to that bastard, it means he did something worse than drop his guard. Look at that red hair. His mana's a wreck."

When Yulia offered no answer, Rachel pressed her.

"Even I can see the gap is that wide. You're a mage—don't tell me it looks different to you."

"There is always a variable."

"Then all that redhead can do is slam a spell out the moment this starts."

The words had barely left her when the referee's signal to commence rang across the grounds.

The flame Blow hurled struck Greig dead-on, and a cry broke from the stands.

"Whoa!"

Rachel, unlike the rest of them, only snorted.

"As if he'd fall for a trick that shal—"

She never got to finish. Greig, hit square by the spell, was wrapped in fire and reeling, unable to get his head straight.

"That dullard... he's actually taking that?"

"Ah. Might I have a cup of that lemon tea as well? My mouth was just growing bored."

Yulia said it with the corner of her mouth lifted, and Rachel shot her a razor-edged look. Another detonation rolled across the field. Neither waited on the other; both pairs of eyes snapped to the dueling ground.

He's actually letting it land.

Even so, it would not be over. Blow opened the distance between himself and Greig.

"You bastard!!"

Sure enough, Greig's voice reached him, thick with rage. A basic defensive spell had stopped most of the blaze, and the flames that had slipped through were canceled outright with mana.

What mages called Magic Neutralization was a final line of defense every one of them had to learn. When an opponent's spell broke through one's barrier, it worked like a suit of armor, wiping away the shock dealt to the body. But neutralization was the last bastion, triggered only after the defense had already failed, and the mana it burned was savage. That was exactly what Blow had been aiming for.

"I knew you were insane, but casting while a man is in the middle of talk—"

"Dear me. And here I thought you'd be roasted through."

Blow cut him off, and laughter burst from the stands. Before the furious Greig, orange magic circles began to unfold.

Waves came driving in from every direction. He had to keep his mana spending as low as he could, so Blow did not answer them. He worked his feet and simply got out of the way. Boom, boom, boom, boom—the swells struck the barrier set to keep magic from leaving the dueling ground, and the impacts thundered.

"Blow! You just going to keep dodging?!"

Blow gave no answer. He put everything he had into staying clear of the spells.

Up in the stands, the first-years who had been watching with their necks craned shouted in voices gone wild with excitement.

"He's only dodging?"

"Idiot. Getting wet isn't where it ends. Those things are lumps of mana."

"Who said I didn't know that? He's just running around! There's defense magic, and there's neutralization—he ought to be able to tank a few hits!"

"But... if Senior Greig sprays magic like that, he'll burn through his mana in no time."

"I doubt it. He's a fourth-year, and he's got a spirit besides."

Skadi, who had been listening, murmured to Jane and Linne beside her.

"Blow really hasn't dueled in a long time."

"W-was he always like that?"

"Blow's the type who takes it with his body. Early on, he always drained the other side's mana like this."

Greig paused his casting for a moment and bellowed at Blow.

"Same as ever, scurrying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠around like a rat, Blow Deblique!"

Water, it seemed, was not working out. Flame began to leak from Greig's circles.

Blow, who had done nothing but evade, stopped and answered, and a cheer poured out of the stands. His flame was a different color from the first glance, and it ate Greig's fire whole.

Magic duels were still a strange sight to Megan, and she watched with her heart in her throat. Beside her, Hervena followed the match in silence.

"I'll give you this much—your flames aren't bad!"

Unlike the wild spray from before, Greig sent his waves along the lines Blow was likely to take. Sharp changes of direction began to eat hard into Blow's stamina.

It isn't the mana. It's the stamina. A few months flat on my back, and I'm already this winded.

Blow glanced down at the scroll wound around his right hand. From the stands, shouts hammered at Greig.

"Hit him harder!"

"Do it properly!"

Greig spared one look for the heated crowd, then suddenly stopped and stretched, rolling his shoulders as if he had all the time in the world.

"How about I show you what I can really do!"

The sheer cringe of it raised the hair on Blow's arms, and his face crumpled. Greig was undeterred. He slammed his palm into the floor, and a magic circle large enough to hold that heavy body spread out around him.

A ring of mana rippled outward from him. The farther the wave traveled, the taller it grew, until it loomed over Blow, who stood at the farthest reach of the ground.

"This is a bit much."

Judging he could not dodge it, Blow jammed a potion into his mouth and threw up a wall of flame. He blocked all he could. Even so, the masses of mana he failed to stop slammed through him, striking here and there across his whole body before tearing past.

In the breath he stood still, magic circles sprouted like weeds in front of Greig.

The swell was plainly larger, and thick besides. The instant Blow saw it come crashing in, he shut his Magic Neutralization off. Take a hit like that with neutralization still running, and the mana cost would be far too great.

Keep spraying like that, and he'll hit his limit. He has to.

Blow clenched his teeth and wrapped himself in flame. In that same moment, one of the swells swallowed him.

While he reeled from the clean hit, Greig stepped in front of him, wearing a thin, unpleasant smile.

Startling speed gathered in that fleshy fist as it drove for Blow's face. It was only a somewhat faster swing, in the end, and Blow dropped his waist and slipped under it.

"I did think it over. What to do with you. And in the end... better to grab you and beat you with my own hands."

"I'm tearfully grateful."

The merciless sarcasm made Greig grind his teeth.

"Ought to use what you learn in class, no? Magic I picked up while you were lying still in a bed."

"And here I was, supposed to have been there to hear it."

Even as he said it, blood was beginning to trickle from Blow's mouth. The water spell had landed clean.

The dull fist came again. Blow dodged it somehow. In Greig's left hand, though, another spell was already blooming.

He had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not managed a proper defense, and the wave swept him away.

"Hahaha! Now I see why you were so mad for duels. Crushing someone is more fun than I thought!"

"Yeah. It was fun when I crushed you, too."

"You little—!!"

Set on grabbing him and beating him where he stood, Greig closed in until a reach of the arm would do it. And that was the moment Blow had been waiting for all along. He did not hesitate. His hand locked hard onto the thick of Greig's shoulder.

"I said thank you."

The letters along Blow's right arm began to blaze, then clung to the magic circle taking shape there. Greig sensed the change and strained to tear free, but panic kept him from building a proper spell. Blow had already set his palm against the man's solar plexus. He leaned in and whispered at his ear.

"Enjoy your meal."

The shock was so great that the spectators were on their feet before they knew they had moved.

"H-huh!?"

"What was that just now?"

"Incredible..."

Everyone in the stands stared at the dueling ground, where black smoke was boiling up. A little later the smoke thinned enough to show Blow on one knee, shaking blood from himself, and Greig stretched out on the stone.

"I-I think he ate it!"

Linne said it clutching Jane's hand. But then—

"You bastard!!"

Greig's shriek, raw with pain, rang across the whole of the grounds. Blow was groaning from the backlash of his own attack, and into his swimming vision came a spirit in the shape of a fairy, mischief written all over it. He looked at the thing glittering orange and let out a long, deep sigh.

Greig's magic had shrunk from what it was at the start. That last blow should have ended it. The damned creature must have sprung out at the last instant and built a defensive circle in Greig's place.

"Kagh— kagh—"

Greig clutched at his chest and dragged in rough breaths. Even so, some of the blow had clearly landed. Meanwhile Blow was looking down at his right arm, soaked in blood.

"Ha... haha!! That all you've got? Look at you. Mana Overdrive."

It was not only Greig's thought. It was everyone's. The scroll was gone, and red mana was rippling over his right arm. Skadi watched, let out a breath, and closed her eyes.

Which was why, when the first Burst Flame failed to end it, Skadi had no choice but to bite down on her lower lip.

Something that absurd...

She glared at Greig's spirit with open resentment and clenched her fist until the hand went pale. All that remained was the scroll on the left arm. Her eyes, and Jane's, fixed there. The trouble was that Greig, as he was now, was fighting from a distance, leaning on ranged magic. Skadi clasped her hands and prayed, fiercely, that Blow would be given one more chance.

While Skadi's gaze was locked on Blow's left hand, Rachel Campbell sat with her chin propped on her hand, looking down at the dueling ground, and clicked her tongue.

"This is why I hate mages' duels. A little pain and they wail like that."

Julbert, back in his seat, narrowed his eyes and asked,

"You mean Greig, just now?"

"That one went to a magic school because he hates being hurt. Still. Not bad."

"About that level, I'd say."

To his eye, what they had seen so far was a perfect bullfight. Blow had rampaged just enough, and Greig had put on a showmanship of his own. Don't draw the spirit if you can help it. Eat a few hits. Greig had carried those orders out faithfully. Blow forcing even the spirit into the open had been outside the plan—but that, if anything, had worked out well. The mood in the grounds had only grown hotter for it.

"Huh? Hey—!!"

His quiet self-congratulation ended as the people in the stands rose. Down on the dueling ground, an unbelievable sight was unfolding. Blow, who had done nothing but dodge, was walking toward Greig one step at a time, blood dripping from him as he came.

Blow Deblique had not yielded, and he had not fallen. The duel was not over. At that unexpected advance, Julbert's face twisted. Rachel watched the steps carrying him forward, little by little, resettled herself in her seat, and let the words out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like praise.

Julbert looked at her with an uneasy heart—and, past all belief, a smile was spreading across Rachel Campbell's mouth.