Chapter 123

Mikhail shifted his gaze from the blazing flames and settled it on Verte's face.

Verte was smiling with smug satisfaction.

Nothing but ease—the composure of a man convinced he held the upper hand. That was all Mikhail could read from his expression.

But the telling moments were elsewhere.

Mikhail narrowed his eyes and recalled the signs that had betrayed Verte's true condition.

[Clink.]

The empty potion bottle tumbling from the edge of Verte's carriage during transit to the ruins.

[FZZT. FZZZT.]

The erratic mana sparks crackling at Verte's fingertips just before their spells had collided.

Verte pushed himself pretty hard in Round One. He might've patched up his mana with potions, but his body took a real beating. And on top of that…

Mikhail cut the recollection short and fixed his attention back on the Verte standing before him.

FWOOSH.

The flames born of mana coiled at Verte's side—and for a split second, their shapes warped and flickered.

From the looks of it, Verte hasn't noticed his own condition. …Or maybe he just doesn't want to.

SNAP!

Verte flicked his fingers, and the flames hovering beside him surged toward Mikhail in unison.

Fireballs closing in from a wide arc, boxing him in on every side.

Mikhail thrust his staff forward. A barrier breathing frost materialized and intercepted the charging wall of fire.

CRASH!

The ice barrier shattered on impact with the blazing spheres, scattering fragments in every direction.

Translucent shards caught the golden light off the walls and glittered as they fell.

With the dazzling spectacle still hanging in the air, Mikhail cast his next spell a half-step faster than Verte.

FZZZT!

Blue light crackled from the tip of his staff, and an ice crystal far larger than any before took shape.

"Oh…"

Verte let the murmur slip between his lips, then instantly dismissed the fireballs he'd been forming.

His fingertips shifted downward—toward his own ankle.

FZZT.

The moment Mikhail's projectile locked onto its target and the spark ignited at Verte's ankle were one and the same.

BOOM!

Verte launched himself forward in a dead sprint, clearing the attack's range just as the ice crystal buried itself in the floor behind him.

KA-THOOM!

Tch. Senit. That one cost you a fair chunk of mana too.

Verte pulled the corner of his mouth back, leaving the thunderous impact behind him. He charged straight at Mikhail, now barely an arm's length away.

Mana condensed inside Verte's clenched fist.

This'll rattle him! He won't be used to a situation like this.

What filled Verte's mind was every detail of Mikhail's movement he'd catalogued during Round One.

Rather than leading attacks from the front, Mikhail had supported his teammates or provided cover from a position one step removed.

The behavioral pattern of someone who never strayed from a mage's standard role.

"……"

But even as Verte closed to striking distance, Mikhail didn't flinch.

Why?

In the instant confusion seized Verte, mana lashed out from Mikhail's staff like hooked talons and coiled around his wrist.

WHIP.

"…What the—!"

Verte's eyes flew wide and a strangled shout tore from his throat, but he clenched his jaw and wrenched his bound arm backward.

He'd already confirmed Mikhail's mana color. An unremarkable blue.

If the binding was water-attribute magic cast from ordinary mana, Verte only needed to manifest the opposing element to break free.

FWOOSH!

Fire-laced mana blazed to life across Verte's arm.

But even after pushing out the expected output, the mana shackling his wrist refused to cancel.

"Wh… what? How?"

Verte stared blankly at his wrist, mumbling—then jolted and snapped his head up.

Mikhail's face was as expressionless as before.

Except on his drawn-back right hand, mana shaped like flames was flickering to life.

"Son of a—!"

The curse had barely left Verte's mouth.

KA-BOOM!

The detonation shook the air. Verte took the clean hit and was flung helplessly backward.

"Ghkk—!"

He slammed into the wall, slid down its surface, and choked out a ragged breath.

His vision lurched as though the ground itself were quaking, and a shrill ringing looped through his skull like an alarm that wouldn't stop.

But none of that—none of it—grated on him as much as the realization that he'd just eaten a direct hit.

"Tch."

Verte bit down on his lip, swallowed the groan clawing up his throat, and forced his crumpled body upright.

The one saving grace was that the instant he'd registered Mikhail's spell, he'd thrown up a mana barrier in front of his body to offset the blow.

Even caught off guard, he'd kept the damage to this much.

CRACK!

But there was no time to catch his breath. Verte looked up at Mikhail, who had already formed another ice crystal.

The razor-edged winter conjured at Mikhail's fingertips was poised and ready to fly again.

"Tch!"

Verte clicked his tongue, irritation sharpening every motion, and thrust his hand forward while hauling every scrap of mana in his body together.

He didn't have the stamina left to sprint forward and dodge like before.

KA-CLANG!

The projectiles Mikhail and Verte launched simultaneously collided in midair and canceled each other out.

A violent shockwave slammed into both sides.

"……"

Verte stood his ground against the blast of wind.

Then he stared across the gap at Mikhail—expressionless, deep blue hair whipping in the draft—and his brow creased.

At this point, there was only one play. The same approach as before. A move that would secure a decisive advantage in both space and resources.

Build the pressure around Expansion again and force—

Shff.

But while Verte was still plotting his next move, Mikhail did something he hadn't done before.

He pulled a hardening agent from inside his coat, sprayed it onto his shoes, then—just as Verte had moments ago—placed his hand against his ankle and faced forward.

Verte flinched, his eyes darting to Mikhail's face.

Mikhail's deep blue irises glinted with a cutting edge, as if they meant to lay bare everything his opponent was hiding.

FZZT.

A spark cracked at Mikhail's fingertips.

He burst toward Verte in a straight charge, firing the mana gathered in his hand as he closed the distance.

KA-BOOM!

Their mana collided at point-blank range.

Verte and Mikhail locked eyes through the clash of energy erupting between their outstretched hands, neither giving an inch.

Verte had been glaring at Mikhail as if he meant to devour him whole—but soon a voice boiling with fury forced its way out.

"You… Senit, don't tell me you're sticking to me so I can't use Expansion's range advantage."

Mikhail didn't answer.

He simply fired a hard pulse through their colliding mana, used the recoil to kick himself backward, then ignited fresh mana and surged right back in.

BANG! KA-BOOM!

Impact after impact filled the lobby in rapid succession.

Mikhail charged in as though he'd never let Verte draw a single breath, and Verte could barely keep up on defense.

"Ghhk…"

Verte ground his teeth and chewed over the position he'd been cornered into.

The disadvantage he was facing wasn't because he lacked close-quarters skill—and it certainly wasn't because Senit possessed some unexpected hand-to-hand prowess. It was something else entirely.

What the hell? Why does my body feel this heavy?

Every time their mana made contact and broke apart, an impact heavier than anything he was used to seeped deeper into his body.

His reactions to Mikhail lagged by half a beat each time.

The mounting pressure rattled his composure. But Verte pinned his gaze on the enemy in front of him and wrestled his focus back into place.

No—this is the perfect opening. From the way he moves, the way he channels force—Senit isn't comfortable at close range. He'll show a critical opening. I know it.

Then, in a single instant—

KA-BOOM!

Verte sensed that the moment he'd been waiting for had arrived.

He deflected the force of Mikhail's pressing hand to the side, throwing off the center of gravity bearing down from above.

"…!"

Mikhail's body pitched hard. His knees buckled. His expression locked tight as he stared at Verte.

A wild, manic grin split across Verte's face. He poured mana into the fist he'd pulled back behind him.

WHIIIIRR—

Verte's fist shot forward and buried itself in Mikhail's solar plexus. A heavy, blunt impact echoed through the lobby.

"Ghhkk—!"

Mikhail choked out a gasp and doubled over.

The blow must have landed with devastating force—his face drained to chalk white as he curled in on himself.

Verte didn't let the opening slip.

His right hand seized Mikhail by the collar. His left gathered every drop of mana he could wring out.

Eyes half-rolled back, barely clinging to consciousness—Mikhail hung limp in Verte's grip as those wild, gleaming eyes bore into him.

"This is the en—"

But the elation soaking Verte's voice never reached its conclusion.

CRACK!

A brittle splitting sound tore through the air, and killing intent surged upward.

A staff tipped with a razor-sharp ice crystal lunged toward Verte's chest.

The translucent point radiated a ferocious edge—like a honed spearhead driving straight for his heart.

"!"

A lethal blow if this connects. The shock of it seized Verte and he abandoned his attack mid-swing, stumbling one step back—

TWEEEEEEE—

—just as the whistle signaling the end of the stage pierced the air.

The razor edge hurtling toward Verte froze in place.

"……"

Verte stood rooted to the spot and swallowed hard.

The realization that the threat which had surged out of nowhere was a spell cast by the same Mikhail who'd been crumpled and helpless—the chill that had raced up his spine in that instant still hadn't faded.

"Attention, everyone! The first stage of Round Two has just concluded! All participants, please cease any ongoing combat and make your way to the center of the ruins! I repeat—!"

Inside the golden lobby, silence settled like dust.

The only thing passing through the still air was the announcer's voice calling the stage to a close.

The mana condensed in Verte's hand trembled, lost its strength, and dissolved into nothing with a quiet hiss.

"Haah…"

It was Mikhail who broke the stillness. He exhaled a long breath and staggered upright.

"……"

He spared Verte a single glance.

Then he let the ice crystal fade, lowered the staff to his side, turned his back, and walked away.

Tap.

A handful of measured footsteps had crossed the floor when Verte—standing frozen, watching Mikhail's retreating back—ground his teeth with an audible creak and clenched his fists.

He stormed after Mikhail, voice rigid with fury.

"Senit! Stop right there! This isn't over. Who said you could turn your back on—!"

Mikhail halted where he stood and looked back.

Cold eyes met the approaching Verte head-on, and the staff rose.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

It happened in an instant. Blue light flashed from the staff's tip and a splitting roar tore through the air.

A massive ice wall erupted from the floor between them.

"!"

Verte flinched to a stop.

The barrier looked as though every last drop of mana had been poured into its making—enormous, impossibly thick, radiating a biting cold.

Like a wall of permafrost. Verte bit down on his lip and hurled his voice, hot with fury, toward Mikhail beyond the ice.

"What kind of stunt is this, Senit! Take this thing down! Now!"

"…Huh. That was nothing special, in the end."

The self-mocking murmur that followed embedded itself in Verte's mind with perfect clarity.

Verte stiffened, eyes locked on Mikhail through the translucent wall.

Mikhail's gaze had dropped. A deflated laugh escaped him—then he looked up at Verte again and spoke.

"Good work out there. Cool your head for a bit, then go back and rest."

"Are you… mocking me right now?"

Verte glared at Mikhail through bloodshot eyes, his voice seething.

Mana began to spark inside his tightly clenched fist.

FZZT.

But every flicker that appeared was nothing more than another erratic, formless spark.

Mikhail stared at the space where Verte stood for a long, quiet moment—then turned away in silence and walked on.

"Senit! Stop! I said stop, you son of a bitch…!"

Verte lost himself to rage and slammed his fists against the wall again and again.

He looked ready to charge through it and seize Mikhail by the collar.

But Verte's mana—unable to coalesce into anything stable—shattered uselessly against the solid surface and scattered.

It couldn't produce a single meaningful crack.

"—Senit! Senit!"

Verte was screaming the name over and over when something caught his ear.

A sound that didn't belong in the quiet air.

An instinctive wrongness seized him. He froze mid-motion and spun toward its source.

Flutter. Flutter.

A butterfly-shaped observation magic tool hovered behind him, wings beating in a steady rhythm.

Verte stood locked in place, eyes wide, staring at the device. His voice came out in a halting stammer.

"Wh… what. Since when has that been—"

"Ah, um… so. Right around when the whistle blew… I think?"

The announcer's voice—dripping with unmistakable awkwardness—answered Verte's mumble in a sheepish ramble.

The weight of reality crashed over Verte all at once. He staggered back a step, unable to withstand it.

A mangled breath burst from his lungs. His face flushed scarlet and his fists clenched tight.

"Oh, for f—! Who said you could just—!"

Verte's voice cracked upward to a shriek, and a mana-laced hand shot toward the observation tool.

FZZZT!

The screen the broadcaster had been relaying went dark. The announcer's shriek rang through the air.

"AAAAGH! Mr. Fischer! If you break that— no, don't! Those things are really, seriously expensive—!"