Fierce Duel Practice
"I've been wondering about this for a while, but okay, fine with the other classes? But why do we have Duel Practice?"
"Nice, you're really laying on the country bumpkin vibes."
"What? Can't help it... I bet Wiyu hasn't even been to a debutante ball. Even if you got invited to a dance, you probably don't have a dress to wear."
"...Yeah, don't have one. No money either."
At my words, Beatus and Kali looked at me with pity. They were utterly shocked, wondering how the child of a duke—no, a hero party that defeated the Demon King—could be raised like this. In my memories, they were good parents, but in their imaginations, I was probably some kid abandoned in the countryside.
Not just Noble Family Studies, but there was just so much I needed to learn that it was hard to keep up. My common sense was lacking, and what little I had was ridiculously outdated. Among my friends, only Meru Lume—who has a grandfather—knew what a video tape was.
"Enough pitying me. Can you explain it already?"
"Obviously? Duels to protect a noble's honor are super common."
Beatus scratched his head, saying that learning martial arts for self-defense was basic etiquette for nobles. Noble ladies learning swordsmanship was commonplace, and even proxy duels were more frequent than you'd think. So, no refined debates with manners between ladies—they just drew real swords and went at it.
He used some pretty vulgar terms, but wasn't that exactly why we had the Duel Practice class?
"For tarnishing my house's honor, I shall hold you accountable!"
"How pathetic. What honor do you think you'll reclaim with a blade like that?!"
Beatus pretended to draw a sword, raising his pencil, while Kali recited her lines like some stage actress and thrust her fountain pen like a duel. They clashed skillfully a few times, then dramatically sheathed their "blades" at their waists, turning to me with looks that said, Get it now?
"To think all the villainess stories I've seen were total fakes...!"
Gracefully sipping tea, speaking with refinement, scheming in the shadows(?). None of that was noble lady training? I'd thought coming to the academy had taught me a lot, but I'd imagined noble ladies grew up like delicate flowers in a greenhouse. From my friends' stories, high society sounded like a brutal battlefield. If you were weak, you'd get trampled as an example, learning the law of the jungle firsthand... Dizziness hit me at the thought of hiring swordmasters just for social debut training.
"If only I had my male body, I'd ace the tests, no problem!"
"Don't put words in my mouth."
"No, it just seemed like your shtick."
"Who pushes that crap?!"
My friends shot me looks like, So you're not the type to force the manly act? Annoying.
Anyway, I tried to grab my sword—which had basically become dead weight—but since even the pink dumbbell was too much for me, maybe I wasn't ready yet. I left it and headed to the classroom.
"Whoever my opponent is... count yourself unlucky if you can't use a sword."
I'll flip causality and smash a witch punch right into your philtrum!!
"Welcome to Duel Practice. Note that this is a required course—you'll have to take it every year to advance."
Damn it all.
I'd thought it was just for first-years, but this bad news hit right away, plunging me into despair. The other kids looked just as crushed, heads bowed. No matter how much you trained or tried, talent gaps between noble ranks were inevitable. You might beat someone above you somehow, but reaching the top? Impossible. More than any other class, this one seemed to judge "talent and effort." You could skip others if you lacked the gift, but not this.
"For the first matches, we'll go by grades, from bottom to top."
The classroom buzzed.
Fair enough—no combat data on fresh first-years yet. For the first lecture, the professor would rank us separately within Duel Practice based on overall grades. Worst case, you could face an overwhelmingly strong opponent and get crushed.
"Grand Duke... if it's another class, maybe, but in ours, I'm confident! I can get good grades here!"
"Using violence for points? So very Witchcraft."
I couldn't use my Witch powers properly, but between manga club and such, I'd gotten a feel. I could summon simple stuff like food, so I'd fight with that. Creation from nothing was taboo, but Grand Duke said if I could do it, go ahead. I'd use every means to win—my eyes gleamed.
"Then, this class's dead last and the one above, step up."
"My grades suck, but not dead last, right?"
"Dead last: Wiyu Witchcraft. Average 7 points? A bit low, isn't it? Next: commoner Zard. Average 49."
"Dead last and second-last have a 42-point gap?!"
There were walls, and then there were walls. That gap? No point challenging it. I wasn't dead last!! That hope shattered in an instant.
"Damn, no grudge, but!! Zard!! I'll beat you and get good grades!!"
"I might have a grudge."
Stepping into the arena, there stood my orc friend with octopus-tentacle hair. Oh, you're Zard... Sorry, I bowed awkwardly, but only briefly. Beatus and Kali said nobles ruled by strength...! Steel yourself for the path of carnage!
"Alright, avoid vitals as much as possible, no familiars, no intentional cruelty. Duel begins!"
"First strike wins!! Come forth, pot!!"
Projecting thoughts was hard, and no incantations allowed. So I just yelled dumb and loud. I imagined a huge pot crashing on the orc's head.
*Plop.* A pot fell to the floor.
'Oh yeah, skipped breakfast to save money.'
*Gurgle.*
Warm steam and savory aroma spread, captivating hungry nobles and commoners alike. Mouths watered at the hot pot packed with meat—we forgot we were fighting. Priciest mushrooms and premium ingredients had Witchcraft sighing. Of course! I'd tried making breakfast with my powers to save cash and failed miserably!!
"Why'd the breakfast bread fail from hunger, but this works?!"
Desperation difference?! Meanwhile, Zard—enchanted by the smell—dropped to his knees.
"Hotpot from a black gal beauty's body... irresistible!!"
"Opening!!!"
Secret pot flip attack...!
"Gaaah!! Attacking with food!!!"
Horror at the unimaginable waste for a commoner!! I could tell he'd steeled himself to win at any cost!
"Damn, targeting Zard's food weakness!"
"Nah... he's an orc."
His friends in the stands fumed at the scene. Goblin Norris marveled, Is this bottom-tier first-year fighting? Usually, you'd swing weapons, but these two couldn't even handle those—bare-handed brawl!
"If the broth wasn't scalding, I'd have caught and chugged it! Waste!!"
"What waste?!"
You called me black gal something, you perv orc. I kicked his gut with all my leg strength—barely fazed him.
"Regrettable. Orcs get 7x combat power boost against women."
"Don't wanna know why..."
I was attacking one-sidedly, but size difference crushed me. That absurd gut was rock-hard—no damage. I'd hit openings now, but if grabbed? I'd get pummeled and stay dead last. Still, hope remained—powers worked! Hot pot on head = fatal!! Then full-body dropkick to ring-out!! More concrete, I clenched my fist and bellowed.
"Pot on the head!!"
"Damn, where?!"
"Wh-why won't it come off...!"
Two idiots with pots on heads flailed in the arena. Dead last vs. second-last: breathless, choke-inducing deadlock!! Witchcraft wobbled precariously trying to yank hers off. Zard swung wild arms like just one hit. Eventually, exhausted and blind, they collapsed, panting.
"High obesity vs. zero strength showdown...?"
"This is our first-years' Four Heavenly Kings...?"
Impossible to predict the winner—palms sweated. As tension peaked, Zard sniffed Wiyu's sweat and perked up.
"Sniff!!"
"Here it comes!! Zard's pheromone tracking!! He's top-class at finding girls!!"
"Didn't notice as a guy, but as a girl? Creepy."
Zard went quadrupedal, morphing orc to boar, charging the arena. Wiyu heard the snorts, swung wide in response. Mana whip followed her arm's arc—everyone gasped in awe. But missed the prone-charging Zard.
"It's over, dead last!!!"
Uniform pants bulging, frog-leap from the floor. Orc strength plus mass—like a tank shell.
"Zard's win!"
"Uh, ughk."
Voice gave her a desperate twist, but too late. Zard's body slam hit Wiyu Witchcraft───.
"Zaaaaard!!!!!!!"
Full-power ram meant massive self-damage too. Wiyu lagged in strength, but her body's toughness was absurd. Clashing that mass? Wild boar vs. truck. Dented pot told the tale. Orc tumbled, teeth flying; friends' screams echoed.
"What? Huh?"
And Wiyu, still pot-blinded, clueless. Grand Duke facepalmed with wings, sighing.
"Duel over! Wiyu Witchcraft wins!!"
"I wiiiin!!!!"
Would've been cool without the pot. Beatus clapped pityingly as she victory-posed, pot stubbornly on.