1-Second Invincible Player in the Game

137. The Ten Coins (2)

The reason Dorothian found herself in the contest for the Ten Coins was simple.

The audacious challenger was a third-year student from the Adel School of Magic, known as Aros from the second round…

Her goal was the title of having defeated Dorothian.

The more witnesses to squeeze every drop of sweetness from the victory, the better.

Thus, Aros proposed a duel to Dorothian, wagering the Ten Coins to draw attention.

Of course, Dorothian had no one to enlighten her about what the Ten Coins were, nor did she care to know, but the reason she accepted was painfully obvious.

—A rabbit has come to me on its own?

Among the herbivores that were all too busy fleeing, one rabbit approached her.

A hungry fox would never let such an opportunity slip away.

Dorothian would treat Aros like a toy, using this duel as a pretext to quench a long-standing thirst.

For that reason, I shall pray for the poor woman, Aros.

“May you find peace.”

* * *

The setting was a parade ground bustling with a crowd.

In the center stood a spacious rectangular stage made of stone.

This was a dueling arena, materialized as a portable magical tool, akin to a mobile fortress known as the “Multi Fortress.”

Scattered around the outskirts were various stalls selling simple snacks and souvenirs, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of a festival.

“Who wants candied apples?”

“I’m selling Aros plushies. Ah, but this isn’t for sale; it’s a prototype. The duel came up suddenly, so I don’t have the finished product yet, but I’m taking deposits for reservations…”

“Anyone need souvenirs?”

Beside her, Mircel gasped in awe.

“There’s so much for sale!”

“They’re all from clubs on a sales trip.”

With the infamous Dorothian set to duel Aros from the second round, what else could be expected?

Such a provocative spectacle had emerged for those who had been cooped up.

It was only natural for nearly the entire student body to gather, along with merchants eager to lighten their pockets.

And of course, gambling could not be overlooked.

“Come, come, place your bets, place your bets.”

A makeshift megaphone, perhaps procured by Atra, rattled as it announced the gambling ledger.

At that, a throng of people surged forth, chattering excitedly.

Among them, one voice rang out so thunderously that it pierced through the din.

“I’m betting on Aros!!”

Aros of the two victories.

I wanted to call it a foolish choice, yet from that man’s perspective, it made sense.

Dorothian was cloaked in three layers of armor, and Aros was a high-ranking sorcerer with three awakened senses.

Moreover, the second and third years would surely know.

Those crafty little devils were secretly buying outrageously expensive doping potions with the hefty sums they received from the student council.

Having already met with Atra and placed my bet, I brushed past the commotion.

After walking a short distance, Mircel cast a furtive glance at a stall.

It was a cooking club selling skewers.

“Why? Do you want to eat something?”

When I asked, Mircel fell into thought.

“Well, I’m not sure.”

“You’ve been staring at it for a while.”

“No, it’s just… I think I’ve seen it every time we pass the market in the carriage.”

It was understandable to be intrigued. Street food was far removed from the bourgeois nobility.

“For something commoners eat, it’s quite tasty.”

“Now I’m curious. I want to try it too.”

I handed a skewer to Mircel, of course buying one for myself as well.

We chewed on the meat, our steps carrying us toward our next destination.

“Hey, where are we going, anyway? It feels like we’re straying a bit from the arena…”

“That’s a place for the poor to crane their necks up at. We’re heading to the VIP section.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Of course.”

Beyond the cooking and souvenirs, and the gambling, the variety of services offered was astonishing.

The place we were headed now was a club that provided a splendid view.

I pushed through the throng of hawkers and customers, making my way to the tent where the figure artists gathered.

At the entrance stood Rix, greeting me with a familiar smile.

“Hussel? What brings you here? Ah, you must be Mircel. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Yeah.”

Mircel greeted politely. I turned to Rix with a question.

“Are you working here?”

“They said to come if you’re confident in manifestation magic. The pay’s decent, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

Rix’s job involved conjuring seats for the arena with magic.

Given the sudden festival, sourcing materials for the seats on time was nearly impossible.

But for those talented in manifestation magic, that was a non-issue. If you could conjure it, then it was done.

“Two of the best seats, please.”

“Then I’ll take two.”

Rix pulled out a pocket watch.

Just then, as if the duel was about to begin, he dashed toward a man visible beyond the tent’s entrance.

He seemed to be the representative of the club.

“Senpai, it’s about to start.”

“Oh, right. Is everyone ready?”

At the representative’s question, the members of the magic department streamed out of the tent like a flowing brook.

They controlled the crowd, securing space, and in an instant, began tracing spells with their wands toward the newly created clearing.

A strange hum resonated in the air. Was it the result of their collective magic?

A few seconds passed, and the club representative shouted loudly.

“You all remember the blueprints, right? Just follow them exactly as you’ve memorized. Don’t worry if it’s a bit off. We can adjust it.”

As his words faded, a massive viewing platform took shape. It resembled a quartered section of a baseball stadium, sliced like a piece of cake.

Ultimately, it was a magical illusion, destined to vanish with time, but it seemed it would last until the duel concluded.

“The VIP seats are this way. Follow me.”

Mircel and I ascended the stairs under Rix’s guidance.

True to its name, the spacious area had only a few seats, and side tables were equipped with telescopes.

Mircel plopped down onto a cushiony seat, bouncing her back against the rest.

“It’s surprisingly soft for something made with magic, isn’t it?”

“I made that. What do you think? Doesn’t it feel real?”

“Wow, you can do stuff like this. Magic is truly amazing.”

“Isn’t it?”

Mirsell looked up at me, tearing his gaze away from the boasting Rix.

“Can you do something like this too?”

“…Ahem, someday.”

As I mumbled a vague response, Mirsell nodded in admiration.

“That’s why you want to learn magic.”

A pang shot through my chest.

The cursed sword didn’t miss the chance to jab at me with its sharp tongue.

‘Do you really think you’ll wield such magic someday?’

‘Shut up…’

I pulled out my pocket watch and settled into my seat.

In a few minutes, the professor who would judge us would appear, and from both sides, Dorosian and Aros would make their entrance.

I kept my eyes fixed on that spot, waiting for their arrival.

Mirsell, seemingly reveling in the moment, looked around and let out a series of exclamations.

“Is this what a festival is like?”

“Yeah, this is a festival.”

…Not the kind that kills people like your mother does.

“Look at all this spectacle. I’m really glad I came here with you.”

His generous praise lifted my spirits.

I had worried he might regret coming, but he seemed quite satisfied.

“Glad to hear that.”

Minutes passed. As the pocket watch pointed to six, the raucous training ground fell silent.

In the center of the arena stood the professor in a black robe. It was Rockefeller.

Rockefeller swung his arms inward, a signal for them to come forth.

Dorosian and Aros stepped onto the arena, climbing the stairs.

At last, the moment had arrived for the fight that would determine the second match.

* * *

Cheers erupted from the throng of spectators toward the arena.

Amidst the noise, Dorosian calmly focused on his opponent, sharpening his senses.

Though I was reluctant, it was necessary to pay a bit more attention to the fight.

—

It was no wonder, for this place was stifled by three layers of cursed mana, and there was no staff in hand.

In contrast, the flow of mana from the opponent was greater than that of this realm, and in his grasp lay a staff of exquisite quality.

‘Awakened senses manifesting as shape, element, and peculiar lineage. The most prominent among them appears to be the elemental lineage, suggesting that the tactile sense has awakened first.’

Dorothian blinked in surprise as he observed Aros.

“Hmm?”

From the opponent’s mana, an alien energy pulsed.

It felt as if a seasoning had been mixed into clear water.

This was undoubtedly an artificial force, added to the innate mana of the flesh, as if conjured by alchemy.

‘Oh, how intriguing…’

Dorothian instantly grasped the nature of that power.

He had seen countless humans come prepared like this before.

“You’ve consumed a mana enhancer, haven’t you? Am I right?”

Aros flinched, his eyebrows twitching.

“Do you think I would stoop to such a thing?”

The look of guilt was evident to anyone, yet Dorothian merely smiled slyly, his lips curling.

“Such matters are inconsequential; go ahead. Use your most confident spell.”

Aros quickly began to weave his incantation.

Dorothian frowned at the sight. The air had already deflated from the start.

‘As expected, it’s only natural that he falls short of the mages of the tower.’

Though he had cast a protective spell, it was exceedingly clumsy.

At the very least, he should have drawn two as a backup or encrypted it more intricately.

Otherwise, like this…

Crackle—

The mere discharge of mana from his fingertips could unravel the very incantation itself.

“Ugh.”

Aros wore a bewildered expression, clearly unable to comprehend what had transpired.

“Ugh…”

With a nervous face, Aros etched the incantation once more. This time, Dorothian resolved to take no action, choosing to observe.

Fwoosh!

From the incantation, a wooden trunk burst forth.

—

Aros beamed at the sight, her smile wide and bright. It seemed she had brushed off the recent failure as merely a slip of her own making.

As Dorothian considered the delusion that must have taken root in her mind, he stifled the laughter bubbling forth with a hand.

Aros shouted in a voice laced with fury.

“Are you just going to stand there!!”

It appeared she had caught him in the act of laughing. Dorothian flicked his fingers at the wooden tendrils that lashed toward him like a whip.

Snap!

At that, the tendrils halted abruptly, standing tall.

Dorothian extended his index finger and spoke.

“Security is a crucial element. Especially with a life-manifesting magic like this. Otherwise, you could easily lose control.”

With a slight nod of his finger, the wooden tendrils shifted direction.

Aros’s eyes widened in shock, cold sweat trickling down her brow.

“What, what nonsense is this…?”

Suddenly faced with the very magic she had conjured, Aros swung her staff in a panic.

Countless sigils began to etch themselves into the air.

Dorothian would not let this go unchallenged; he released mana from the tip of his finger, matching the number of sigils.

Crackle—

The sigils, just like before, fizzled with static and dissolved into dust.

Aros refused to yield, swinging her staff with relentless determination.

But the moment had already slipped away.

The wooden tendrils surged forward, casting shadows like a wave.

“Uh?”

The tendrils seized her wrists and ankles, stretching her out in a great X.

“Ugh!”

“With that level of skill, it’s a waste of mana, isn’t it?”

Dorothian snatched the staff from Aros’s grasp with telekinesis, a sneer curling his lips.

“Why bother acting tough when you’re barely better than a common fool?”

He swung the staff leisurely, continuing his taunt.

“This is your last chance. If you come crawling back like a dog, I might just forgive you.”

Aros flinched, lowering her gaze.

Yet, laughter escaped her lips regardless.

“Khkhkh…”

Aros felt a flicker of doubt pass through his mind.

“Yes, that’s it.”

Theoretically, it was possible to unravel and seize a spell.

If one’s understanding of magic transcended mere perception.

Yet, this was a phenomenon that made no sense, no matter how monstrous the woman before him might be.

“If I think about it calmly, there were signs to notice.”

The magic he had just cast was a complex incantation, far beyond a mere manifestation spell.

He had conjured a moving wooden trunk, after all.

And as if that weren’t enough, he had even secured it as a habit…

Thus, there was no answer other than this.

“Is this all an illusion spell?”

Aros was certain that everything was just a trick of the eye.

“To unravel such a complex spell without a staff? Ridiculous. That’s no different from trying to pick a lock with a mere stick found by the roadside.”

And the fact that his opponent was demanding a forfeit.

It was clear she wanted to end this quickly before her deception was revealed.

‘…Still, this is surprising. To cast an illusion curse without me even realizing it.’

Aros hastily traced a purification spell with his fingers. With this, he would soon break free from the illusion.

“Too bad. I’m not the kind of fool who gets easily tricked by such childish antics.”

“Is that so? An illusion, you say.”

Dorothian chuckled, twirling her index finger.

“For now, just an arm.”

Before her words had fully left her lips, a wooden branch lashed out like a whip, striking Aros’s right arm.

Swoosh!

Aros’s eyes widened in shock. The pain felt as if his flesh were being torn apart. It was a blow to his pride, and a scream escaped him.

“aaaH!”

Only then did Aros come to the realization.

What he had dismissed as an illusion was merely a misjudgment.

Dorothian had made the impossible possible—seizing magic without even a staff.

‘Ah, it hurts! To the bone!!’

Aros glanced desperately at Rockefeller before the second lash could strike.

‘Hurry, forfeit—’

Just as he opened his mouth to declare his defeat.

“Ahh…”

His speech began to falter, and then a sound came from beside him.

“Shh.”

Rolling his eyes, he saw Dorothian approaching, her finger pressed to her lips.

Aros tried to ignore her and squeezed his voice out.

But he was distracted by Dorothian’s gesture.

“Hmm?”

She spread her fingers, then cupped her palm, opening and closing it.

The shape resembled a dog’s snout, as if she were mimicking a beast.

Aros shook himself back to focus and spoke toward Rockefeller.

Yet, for some reason, words contrary to his will spilled forth.

“Pro, Professor. I… I can do more.”

‘Why am I saying this?’

Aros rolled his eyes at his own mouth, which moved of its own accord.

“Professor. I can do more. I feel like I could win if I push further. It’s not over yet.”

No matter how hard he tried to express his desire to give up, only parrot-like phrases echoed back.

A wave of anxiety washed over him, and he glanced at Dorothian once more.

A chill crept down his spine, and his pupils constricted.

“Gah!”

With each time Dorothian cupped and opened her palm, his mouth began to move against his will.

“Professor. I… still more…”

“Oh, how delightful! Your mental fortitude is quite commendable! Well then, shall we continue?”

This was undoubtedly the foundation of a curse, a puppet magic of sorts.

Cold sweat trickled down Aros’s forehead.

He had never heard of a mere basic spell stripping away one’s ability to speak.

“Now, next is the left arm. Here we go.”

Dorothian raised her staff once more. Aros’s eyes trembled with the deep-seated terror that welled up from within.

In the end, she spoke through ugly tears, her voice trembling before those who watched.

“P-Professor… I…”

It was then that Dorothian attempted to slice the air with his staff.

“Enough, Dorothian El Grice.”

“W-What?”

Rockefeller had snatched Dorothian’s staff away with telekinetic magic.

“If you say you can still do more, why do you stop?”

“Your skill is a bit excessive. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize a puppet spell?”

“Oh dear, caught red-handed.”

At Rockefeller’s gesture, the roots of the trees shimmered like a mirage before fading away.

Aros found herself free, yet her legs gave way, and she collapsed to the ground.

In her mind, only the thought of being alive filled her; it was a blessing, after all.

Just moments ago, she had been no different from a rabbit trapped in a tiger’s den…

* * *

From the terrace of the Adel Hall, six figures gazed down upon the arena.

In the first match, Kerndel set down the telescope with trembling hands.

As memories of the duel between Dorothian and Aros resurfaced, his eyes began to twitch.

“That… that monstrous creature. That Aros…”

The reactions of the others were no different. Faces turned pale, and it took a while for color to return.

Once calmness settled in, Kerndel spoke of the gravity of the situation.

“This is not good. You all know, right? Recently, Bernald and Emerick have been scheming with the first-years.”

It was strange not to know, given they were openly gathering in Shulafe Hall.

Their intentions were all too clear.

What else could it be but to seize control of the ten?

“For them to harm us, they would have to usurp our positions. But look at how Aros from the second match has fallen so miserably. This will only give those b*stards false hope.”

The new master of the second match was Dorothian.

Taking the road from him was nearly impossible.

Moreover, everyone was aware of the unusual challengers lurking in the shadows.

“There are far too many capable ones among this year’s first-years. That’s why Emerick and Bernald have focused on recruiting them.”

If that were the case, it was only a matter of time.

—

If it were a matter of growth, the pace would surely be swift, and perhaps before graduation, the power of the Ten would be snatched away in the form of defeat.

“If the Ten cannot hold their ground by graduation… it would be meaningless. If we were to be outdone by mere first-years, it would be a shame to even present it as experience.”

While everyone wore serious expressions, Meldon offered a suggestion.

“Then how about we crush the sprouts before they can grow?”

“…They always swarm together. There are too many eyes watching. Yet, as the Ten, we cannot challenge them outright. They would simply refuse, thinking the time is not right.”

Meldon let out a thoughtful hum, resting his chin in his hand. He seemed to be deep in contemplation.

Then, as if a brilliant idea had struck him, his eyes widened.

“Oh, right. Riamon. That first-year who dares to compare himself to Berndal already? He usually wanders alone. If we play this right, it might be easy to deal with him. What do you think?”

Kendell thought it was an exceptionally good idea.

A first-year, and yet, even before the second semester had begun, he was getting close to Berndal.

This meant that Riamon was indeed the most likely candidate for a formidable challenger.

For them, this would be a secret weapon, a core force.

“That sounds good. It would serve as a fitting example.”

Kendell’s eyes gleamed with a fierce light as he commanded the Ten.

“That Riamon, make sure to thoroughly trample him so he cannot even meet our gaze.”

—