Slave Exploitation

"Is it done yet?!"

"Almost there! But this Soul Prison—the wards are woven so tightly...!"

"Then blast it open with raw mana! Bring down the caster and the demons will weaken with him!"

Inside the Main Arena, the evacuation of the spectators was nearly complete.

The academy guards arrayed across the stands unleashed spell after spell in unison. Their target was the violet Soul Prison that wrapped the stadium like a colossal cylinder.

"Where is Professor Alencia?!"

The Academy Principal sprinted along the spectator seats in search of Phelia of the Water Hall. If anyone could break this deadlock, it was the sage.

At last, at the base of the stairwell, he caught sight of the halfling—a small body curled up under a cloak, trembling uncontrollably.

"Professor Alencia!"

The Principal seized her shoulders and shook, but she only shook her head back at him, again and again, utterly unresponsive.

I suppose there's nothing to be done.

He had dared to hope, but it was as expected. The Principal turned instead to Professor Vande.

"It's merely a Soul Prison cast by a Warlock! Why in the world is it so blasted sturdy?!"

Professor Vande hammered at the prison with his enormous holy flail, but the moment a crack appeared, a fresh evil spirit rushed in to replace the broken one, and the wound sealed itself instantly.

At his true strength, Vande could shatter ordinary magic or black magic with physical force alone, as much as he pleased.

But Vext's current state—having summoned a horde of high-tier demons—was, to anyone's eye, anything but ordinary.

Vande ground his teeth. It wasn't only anger at Vext, who was steadily etherializing inside the arena and ratcheting up his firepower.

It was the slave merchant, barely clinging to life as he dodged the bursts of black mana. That sight burned itself into Vande's eyes.

The man had ended up trapped inside that prison in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the first place because he had put the students' rescue first. And now Vande understood why he had insisted on personally joining the battle, dangling those conditions of expulsion and rules of his.

Wicker Phedia. Every action the man had shown until now had been built on a single principle: the students came first.

Survive, Professor Phedia...!

His mane bristling, Vande cried out in his heart.

If you die, then my head is gone as well...!

That was when it happened.

Wicker abruptly came to a halt. He looked as though he had noticed something—realized something.

What is he thinking? Don't tell me he's given up!

Wicker gripped the wooden sword in his left hand, as though bayoneting it into an invisible sheath, and drew it down to his hip.

His lips moved, murmuring something.

The next instant.

I couldn't say I understood it all, but I was in the mood to borrow a rabbit's foot if one was on offer—so I chose to open the list.

Hmm.

Are these skill names really the ones I think they are?

Heat Haze. A powerful offensive fire spell of the 6th tier. Given that among elemental magic, the fire attribute is the most specialized for destruction, it would carry enough firepower to blow this entire stadium sky-high.

Mass Purification. An advanced holy spell capable of dispelling curses and negative effects across a vast area. A high-end skill that no ordinary healer could hope to cast.

Either one would have been enormously effective right now, if only I could use it. Burn Vext to ash outright, or nullify the black magic itself—either way, the situation would turn on its head.

But.

Dimension Slash.

The moment my eyes landed on that word, the corner of my mouth curled up all on its own.

Elemental magic and holy magic I knew only as knowledge—neither was my field.

But the sword was different. It was my partner, the one thing I had never once let leave my hand in my entire life.

And as far as I knew, Dimension Slash was the strongest ultimate technique the sword had to offer.

Which was only natural.

After all, it was a technique that didn't exist in this world to begin with—one a certain brat and I had invented while goofing around, slapping on the setting that it was the ultimate of all ultimates.

Why is it strong? Because battoujutsu is cool.

There is no other reason.

I loosened the grip of my right hand on the wooden sword and let it spin in a smooth whirl between my index and middle fingers.

Then, as though bayoneting it into an invisible sheath, I slotted it into my curved left hand and brought it down to my hip. I flexed my right hand a few times, shaking the tension out of it.

All necessary preparation. With this technique, style mattered above all else. A draw without flair lost exactly that much of its power.

The gap ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠between my feet, two fists wider than my shoulders. Weight sinking slightly forward. My gaze—not wasted on some worthless enemy.

"Keh-hah, given up, have you? Slave merchant."

I ignored Vext's words.

I focused on myself alone.

Breath. Joints. Every last muscle fiber, from the hair on my head down.

The instant the sword and I became one—the absolute apex—

Now.

"Dimension Slash."

—Tak.

The hand had already left the hilt before my mind even registered the motion. In the next instant, the sword was resting in my left hand again.

The aftermath was enormous.

—KWAAAAAANG!!!

Space itself split cleanly in two.

The shockwave of the strike rippled outward, and the air, robbed of anywhere to go, convulsed violently into a roaring vortex.

"Wha—what is—"

Vext, standing dead center on that trajectory, was cleaved in two without ever understanding what had happened to him.

"Whew."

Yellow was right.

My whole body was drenched in sweat. My ears rang with a dull hum, and every muscle felt stretched to tearing from the inside out. Not an easy technique to use, that was for certain.

Vext's remaining body was swallowed whole—soul and all—by the spell. It lost its shape and melted away. Not even a dying scream escaped him. It was over.

The pillars of black magic, all consumed, gave off a small black shimmer, like a tiny burp, and went out.

"...Wh-what just happened?"

Every single guard on the scene blinked. To them, none of it made the slightest sense.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

Vande, who had watched every arc of Wicker's blade with his own two eyes, burst into a booming laugh.

"To think I doubted the Goddess's discerning eye all this while—how foolish of me! Professor Wicker Phedia! If not he, then who could possibly deserve the title of Chair Professor?!"

The Principal, watching the same scene, allowed himself a satisfied smile.

He truly is no ordinary man, to be the Heroes' teacher.

With Professor Phedia having dealt with Vext, the situation had improved considerably. The demons summoned beyond the city walls, their caster now vanished, would lose their direction and become far easier to suppress.

The Soul Prison's effects had run out as well, the violet walls steadily dissolving. The guards moved into formation for the charge.

"All units, advance!"

"Advancing!"

The moment the guards vaulted over the stands into the arena—

—KWAAAAAANG!!

"GAAAAH!"

"What now?!"

The charging guards were flung backward by a sudden explosion of mana, slamming hard into the outer wall.

The Principal, shielded by the barrier he had spread from his artifact, understood the situation at once.

"A rampage! No one could command demons of that caliber without even a high-tier class. He must have made some twisted contract!"

It was the backlash of a contract with demons. From the black mana where the dissolving Vext had been, a Void Expansion phenomenon erupted.

A pitch-black hole like an abyss—an entrance to the void dimension where the demons dwelled. Like a black hole, it widened its radius by the second with the ferocity of something that would swallow everything around it whole.

"Evacuate, everyone evacuate! Rally the mage corps immediately! We have to purify it!"

The Principal barked his orders in desperation. But the rampage spread far too quickly.

With no way of knowing what contract Vext had made with the demons, no one could guess how far the damage would reach.

Then, beside the Principal, someone who had come sprinting from a distance leapt high into the air.

"My sword is for my mother's justice, and my justice is for every living soul on this continent that hears this song."

A soft west wind, utterly unfitting for a space menaced by death, began to blow.

Sword Saint Aisha, charging in a straight line at the black hole without a flicker of hesitation, felt wind whirl instantly around her bastard sword.

"I grant it leave to reveal itself—bind my enemy here. Aura Release: Western Wind Divine Realm!"

Aisha reversed her grip on the sword and slammed it down into the open air.

A colossal gale, worthy of being called a true tornado, engulfed the entire Main Arena. It pierced inward with such intensity that it seemed to sever the world itself.

"The West Wind of the Three Swords?!"

"How is she here—?!"

"The void's been contained!"

"Ooooh, look at that noble figure...!"

Rather than simply rejoicing at their survival, the guards fell into rapt admiration of Aisha's timeless elegance—the beauty she refused to surrender even in the midst of battle.

In the middle of a colossal crisis, knowing full well they were in a fight, they found both their eyes drawn helplessly away.

KWAAAAAAAA—

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wind-aura Aisha had unleashed locked the remnants of the rampaging black magic inside.

'Hnngh, YES! This is it, this is the stuff!'

Never dropping her lofty expression, Aisha marveled inwardly at her own perfection.

'That chant just now was absolutely killer, right? How many people saw it? Hey, hey—go spread the word! Tell them Sword Saint Aisha is the coolest thing on this continent!'

A little-known fact, since barely any Sword Saint alive can handle aura release to its limits: chants are not required for aura release at all.

And yet Aisha recited her self-composed chant every time she used her aura. She even practiced it from time to time, so as not to fumble a single syllable.

Because it looked cool.

Only in front of Luka—who knew the chant was pure theater—was she too embarrassed to recite it, and so right now Aisha's hype level was soaring.

'Huh? What's wrong with this thing?'

Mid-thrust into the void, riding high on her momentum, Aisha sensed something ominous.

Her wind-aura had only caged the rampaging void—it hadn't destroyed it.

'Why is this thing so damn finicky?!'

The rampage was scattering in every direction at once, making it a nightmare to pin down. The moment she let her concentration slip, it felt like it would burst out and explode.

Aisha cast her gaze around from midair.

On the arena floor stood a single man with a nametag reading Slave Merchant. The stands were mostly filled with combat ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠personnel—but the Academy Principal was there too.

'Damn it all. I have to hold it somehow.'

Aisha clicked her tongue. To sharpen her focus, she invoked her incantation of victory.

Aisha released still more aura. A second and third layer of vortex spun into being, wrapping the void tighter and tighter. Watching the sight, another wave of awed exclamations rippled out from the guards.

"Pfft."

Except this time, someone's snort was mixed in.

'Who the hell was that?'

Aisha frowned and turned her head. And there she found the very face she never wanted to meet on this continent. Aisha's mouth fell open in involuntary despair.

The Emperor was stretching his lips into a long, delighted grin as he looked at her.

'Oh, for the love of—'

Why is that bastard HERE? This is the academy, the ACADEMY! I was so excited, reciting my chant all loud, thinking nobody here knew me!

The only two people in the world who know my aura chants are pure posturing—Lucas and the Emperor—and one of them just had to show up in person?!

'AAAAARGH!! This is SO INFURIATING!!!'

Aisha detonated her frustration straight into her aura. The wind blanketing the arena thickened and thickened until, like someone burrowing under a blanket to hide, it shut out every line of sight around her completely.

"Done! We took down every last one!"

Yuri, the final 4th-tier demon bursting apart under her fist, shouted out triumphantly.

"Everything on this side is burned to a crisp!"

"Complete."

Tia and Luka exchanged confirming looks as well. Not a single demon remained beyond the city walls. The three of them turned their gaze as one toward the heart of the academy.

"Let's go."

"Yes."

"To our master."

Their footsteps quickened.

It was time to see him.