Chapter 140

The second phase was about to begin. Mikhail watched the basilisk as it finished molting.

Rummmble….

The coiled mass shifted sluggishly. The body it revealed had clearly failed to complete a full transformation.

The scales bristling across its hide were wildly uneven in size, and its skeleton had only grown marginally larger than before.

The ridged protrusion beneath its jaw—the organ that detected threats and triggered counterattacks—had half-crumbled away. It wouldn't function properly.

Well. That's what I call solving a problem without lifting a finger.

Mikhail savored the thought and stole a sideways glance toward the research institute's formation.

"Hah—! Hhrgh—!"

Verte, who'd been pouring out mana with savage intensity moments ago, was flushed and gasping for air.

Elation flickered across his wide-open eyes. The results of his barrage had clearly pleased him.

But his body's got to be reaching its limit about now.

Mikhail confirmed the faint tremor in Verte's outstretched hand, let one corner of his mouth twist upward, and faced forward.

Verte. Your performance in this arc—your role—it all ends here.

He'd just turned his gaze toward the basilisk as it readied its next move.

The announcer's voice rang out, breaking down the results of the attack that had just landed.

"It looks like that barrage prevented the basilisk from completing its molt! Wonderful work! The organizers have awarded bonus points to each faction based on their contributions!"

The announcer rattled off each faction's name alongside their added scores, then cleared his throat and raised his voice.

"With faction scores shifting all over the place, we have a notable development! The magic research institute, now in second, is trailing first-place Salvator by a razor-thin margin!"

"What?"

"A razor-thin margin means…."

Murmurs erupted from every direction. The announcer seized the momentum without missing a beat.

"The gap between the two factions is a mere fifty points! One standout play is all it would take to flip the rankings. …Ohhh, the situation's turned on a dime. You really can't predict how things will end until the very, very last moment! Everyone, stay sharp and get ready for the next bout!"

That wrapped up the contribution report.

The voice carried on butterfly wings dissolved into the blue-black air and faded to nothing.

"Fifty points between us and the research institute? No no no—if we lose first place here, that's gonna sting so bad!"

"Mmgh. Did we hold back too much? Time to show what we can actually do, yeah?"

Mikhail listened to the protagonist's party murmuring behind him and glanced sideways at Ethan.

"……"

Ethan showed none of the agitation the others did. He simply stared at the basilisk ahead, his expression settled into a stillness like a forest on a rainy day.

Then again, he was never the type to make small talk with an enemy staring him down.

Mikhail let a quiet breath trail out as a sliver of the original story surfaced in his mind. He gave Ethan's shoulder a light pat and turned toward the rear.

"Don't tense up too much. This won't be that hard."

"……"

"I'm heading back. Hold the front for me."

Mikhail brushed past Ethan's side. His footsteps fell in steady intervals, one after another—until Ethan's reply cut across the rhythm like a note missing its beat.

"Yeah."

Mikhail paused mid-step and glanced back at Ethan over his shoulder.

All that entered his field of vision was the same quiet profile as always—nothing more.

Mikhail pulled his gaze away and picked up his stride again.

Tap.

Each footfall settled like autumn rain guiding the current of his thoughts.

Mikhail lowered his eyelids and fidgeted with the tip of his chin as he sank into recollection.

The second phase isn't all that different, really. If anything, it might be easier than the first.

The second phase of the basilisk subjugation.

Gone were the mana-draining curse and the threat-detection patterns from the first phase. In their place, the window of incapacitation had shrunk, and the requirement was to cram a threshold amount of damage into that narrower opening.

If they failed to deal enough damage in time, the basilisk would take no harm at all.

The longer the fight drags on, the worse it gets…. Between luring away those relentless serpents and rallying maximum combat strength for each charge—following the original playbook, it was a pretty hectic stretch….

Mikhail was chewing through the second phase's progression when he came to a stop at the rear of Salvator's formation.

Beneath the foot he planted on the stone floor, a sound rang out—like a chess piece striking the board.

Tak.

The ripple born from that sound spread outward in a quiet circle across the still air, expanding in every direction.

Mikhail let the faint echo linger at his ears and curled his fingers inward.

But this time's different. The firepower I need is already in position.

He gathered the mana stirring across his palm and raised his head toward the front.

"……"

The basilisk drew a breath that sounded like iron being dragged across stone and craned its head high into the air.

GROOOOOO!

The roar that followed sent ice crawling down every spine in the cavern.

The piercing cry wheeled through the air like a honed blade, shaking the vast chamber to its walls.

"…Nngh. We slashed and stabbed that thing to hell and back, and it's still going strong. It really is a monster, isn't it?"

"Damn it. I let my guard down when they said the molt didn't finish…. Whatever the case, it's definitely way stronger than before."

Voices heavy with dread and frustration murmured back and forth among those facing the basilisk.

Across the air still trembling with the beast's roar, the butterfly-shaped broadcaster bobbed and weaved like a small boat tossed on rough seas. A voice streamed from it.

"—Attention, everyone! Brace yourselves! The basilisk before you may not have completed its molt, but it is still a stronger specimen than what you faced before! Its attacks and defenses will be simpler but far more powerful, so do not let your guard down!"

"…!"

Tension gripped every face as they squared up against the basilisk's new form—yet even so, every pair of eyes tracked the source of the cautionary voice.

"However, I do have good news to share! This time, there are no restrictions on your attacks! When the basilisk enters its incapacitated state, as many of you as possible should rush in and strike! A war of attrition does us absolutely no favors!"

The moment the announcer finished, every participant turned toward the basilisk and gripped their weapons tight.

The tension was written all over them. But not a single person looked ready to back away from the confrontation ahead.

"What? No attack restrictions? I've been saving my strength for exactly this kind of moment—talk about perfect timing!"

"So now's when we unload everything we've been holding back! Ha—first place isn't going anywhere!"

Salvator's members were just as unwilling to give an inch.

Mikhail listened to the fired-up voices pouring from the front and tugged the corner of his mouth, then shifted his gaze to Tibeau of the defense unit.

"—Come and get it, beast! Shed your skin a hundred times and you'll still be nothing but a lizard!"

Tibeau hurled the taunt in a voice even louder than before.

And with that, the second phase began.

---

The exchange of blows with the molted basilisk had now cycled through three rounds, and each time, Verte had poured every shred of his strength into manifesting spells and launching his mana.

The fourth opening had just arrived.

"Hah—! Hhrrgh—!"

The only sound escaping Verte's cracked lips was breathing as parched and fractured as a dried-out wasteland.

He scraped the sweat clinging to his face like mud and moved to fire another spell—then cut his eyes to the side.

What Verte was looking at was the spot where Mikhail Senit's faction—the students of Salvator Academy—had gathered.

"Hey, check out Ethan! Must be feeling good right now? He's moving even better than usual!"

"No kidding. Saving his energy really paid off, huh? He smashed two scales in one go! Where'd he pick up that kind of technique?"

"Having reserves definitely helped, but… Dian, wasn't that the weak spot Mikhail pointed out?"

The academy's members had turned their earlier sluggishness into a launching pad for a comeback.

While the ones who'd burned themselves out stopping the molt hung back, Salvator's fighters stood out with conspicuously sharp performances, commanding everyone's attention.

"Oh my! Was that earlier lull just a warm-up for this? Salvator is showing through their actions that first place isn't going anywhere!"

Verte bit down on his lip. He knew the announcer's breathless commentary was nothing more than hype for the crowd.

That didn't stop his stomach from turning inside out.

"Kh."

Verte forced down the nausea clawing at his chest and swung his bag off his shoulder to rummage through it.

The mana potions he'd packed for emergencies.

There should still be one or two bottles left—

Click.

The instant Verte's fingers found a vial, a powerful grip clamped down on the mouth of the bag.

"……"

Verte scowled and glared at the one who'd stopped him.

Noen wore his usual flat expression, though his complexion had darkened as he spoke.

"That's enough. Verte."

Verte let nothing but raw irritation show on his face and didn't answer. There was no time for a tug-of-war.

He wrenched the bag from Noen's grip with a sharp yank, fished out the potion, and downed it in one swallow.

"Hah…."

A sigh that sounded more like a lament fell from Noen's lips. Verte spun toward the members standing nearby and barked orders for support in a voice edged like a blade. The others looked far from pleased—but in the end, they fell in line and moved to follow his commands.

Whirrrr—

Verte watched the mana gathering above his outstretched palm. The mass of energy swelled larger by the second, yet kept warping and buckling as though it might shatter at any moment.

A little more… just a little more.

Verte hauled in every last thread of mana—what his teammates channeled to him, what still circulated through his own bloodstream. He chewed the inside of his lower lip raw and advanced toward the basilisk one step at a time.

He'd been looking away from it until now, but the truth was, he'd sensed it all along—however faintly.

That his next strike might be his last. Or maybe this one already was.

I'll pack as much force as I can into this… and make sure I don't fall behind. At least not to Senit…. No matter what it takes…!

The desperate refrain hammered through his skull over and over.

Across the vast open air, the announcer's voice rang out—pitched differently from before.

"—The basilisk's fourth incapacitation is about to wear off! Everyone, wrap up your attacks!"