Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

30 – Midterm Evaluation (5)

After waking Lianna and showing him to her,

her reaction was a true sight to behold.

Like she’d witnessed something utterly foul.

A feeling of genuine contempt.

Truly repulsed,

she tried to avoid Derrick at even his smallest word,

Naturally, the punishment was mine to decide.

And so, as I saw fit, I hammered stakes through his limbs and heart.

The look on his face then? Quite a sight.

An expression that was becoming rather familiar.

One I’d seen often enough back at the academy.

After asking her to watch the perimeter, I closed my eyes for a moment in the tent.

When I opened them again, I was in an entirely different space.

*

A space of the purest, stark white.

Before me, an incongruous ebony door.

Without conscious thought, I found myself opening it, possessed.

In that instant, it felt as though I were falling into an endless ocean.

Like Icarus, his wings melting in the sun, plummeting,

I was alone, utterly detached in a space of blackest black.

Falling and falling, as if reaching the very bottom of the deep sea.

My body stopped, blocked by something.

And in that moment, a sound echoed within my mind.

『..To you, I offer ■■..』

『..The price is the offering of ■■..』

『May eter■al ■■ be with you..』

What is that supposed to mean?

It wasn’t that I couldn’t hear the words,

but I couldn’t comprehend them.

Was it even a sound, truly?

Who is it you are addressing?

What is the meaning of this price,

and what is it you are asking of this person you call “you”?

*

The instant I heard those words, my head began to throb as if it would shatter.

The pain persisted, accompanied by the touch of someone’s hand,

forcing my eyes open against my will.

My body was drenched in cold sweat,

every muscle screaming in protest.

Soon, I realised it had been a dream,

and I decided to dismiss it as just that – a meaningless dream.

As I sat up, something fell from my forehead,

and I realised it was a wet towel.

My brow felt damp, as if something had been pressing against it.

“Are.. you okay?”

“….”

The moment I turned my head, her face swam into view, and

I found myself speechless at the sight of her.

The clothes she should have been standing guard in

were caked in mud, marred with rents and the lingering

traces of magic.

It wasn’t the work of other students – the tent remained

untouched – so questions arose unbidden.

Why she was in such a state.

“I.. I uh.. fell into a trap…”

“A trap, you say?”

“I saw you looked feverish…went to the river for a cool cloth…”

“And you triggered some traps then?”

“Mmm…”

She had no reason to be so glum.

After all, they were my traps.

But this presented a problem.

The tent, once defended by a web of deterrents,

was now vulnerable.

Rebuilding the traps, carefully crafted as they were,

would take time.

Even then, if we encountered another wolf like yesterday’s,

I doubted they would offer much real security.

Wild beasts are sensitive to human scent, so

they likely wouldn’t be fooled anyway.

With that in mind, we decided to alter our strategy somewhat.

We would move from place to place, hunting monsters.

Confronting students held too much risk, our strength

too meager.

I might manage an assassination, one way or another, if I were alone,

but leaving her alone would inevitably put her in danger.

Therefore, it seemed more efficient to stick together,

hunting monsters for extra credit instead of the students.

“Then I’ll pack up the tent!”

“You don’t have to…”

“Jennison… you’re hurt, aren’t you? I can handle this!”

Anxious as I was, I left the cleanup to her,

and began to break down yesterday’s wolf.

Having not been prepared properly,

the carcass was crawling with all manner of insects.

I resolutely ignored them, and proceeded to drain the corpse of its blood.

Blood, as it always has been, was prime alchemical fodder.

Magic circles drawn with blood were said to yield immense power.

The summoning of ominous entities invariably involved it.

And there was the belief that to become another, one must ingest a part of them.

Thus, blood was an indispensable component, a staple in alchemical concoctions, and I intended to put it to use.

It was also a favored ingredient for curses,

Surely, I’d find a valuable purpose for it somewhere.

Having spent a considerable time drawing the blood,

I realized she had already finished the cleanup and was approaching me.

As it happened, I had a question for her, so without turning around, I spoke.

“Lianna, what are the limits of your power of Transmutation?”

“Limits…?”

Every ability, as always, possesses its boundaries.

These limits are further shaped by one’s innate talent and the effort expended.

This held true for her gift as well.

As far as I understood, Transmutation lacked any definitive medium.

The criteria for what could be transmuted were undefined,

Theoretically, it could transform into anything.

And that extended to the creations themselves.

“Lianna, can you transform an object into mana?”

“…What?”

“Precisely that. Can you transmute an object into mana, or magical energy?”

“Of course not! How could I possibly manipulate something I can’t even see?”

“Then, what about a magic circle?”

“Huh…?”

“Is it possible?”

Magic circles possess physical form.

Each has its own unique structure.

If one could decipher the composition of a magic circle,

could it be transmuted into something else?

It was a conception she clearly hadn’t considered.

The one before me was deep in contemplation.

Could she keep pace with the deployment speed of a magic circle?

Could she rapidly discern the composition of the caster’s intent?

And could she, in that instant, conjure another magic circle and transmute it?

Many obstacles would undoubtedly arise.

It might take a long while to unravel all of this.

Yet, the reason she worries nonetheless is because

it feels achievable.

Quite literally, an unimaginable notion, an ideal.

A magic circle is counted among the most delicate of endeavors,

a single misdrawn line rendering it useless.

But what if one could interfere

with another’s magic circle at will?

For mages, there could be no greater hell,

while for her, it would establish an exceedingly convenient battle.

“Can you do it?”

“Not yet…I can’t…not yet…”

With those words, no further questions were asked.

For it was as good as a confirmation from her.

*

As time passed, the number of students began to dwindle.

What was originally around 250 students had shrunk to approximately 180,

and the bracelets displayed the lists of students who had dealt with others.

The most renowned were undoubtedly Isabella and Princess Kiana.

Isabella, who never really mingled with anyone, and

the Princess, who gathered subordinates into her own faction and ruled over them.

Though drastically different, their shared quality was strength.

Discarding strategies only such people could employ,

we decided to search for monsters and began combing the forest.

Even as we took brief moments to appreciate the peaceful scenery,

like squirrels in trees or a sweeping valley, a scent of blood began to linger nearby,

and the surrounding air grew steadily peculiar.

Squirrels scurried into hiding,

wild boars, previously grazing peacefully, began to run in agitation, and

the birds perched in the trees sang no more, instead taking flight en masse.

The leaves began to tremble gently, and

as the unpleasant odor, the metallic scent, intensified,

the strange behavior of the animals continued unabated.

Sensing something amiss, we

deduced that there was something in that direction,

and slowly, holding our breaths, we began to approach the source of the bloody scent.

*

*Mamul* (魔物)

Twisted entities born from the remnants of magic.

Byproducts born anywhere magic exists.

It bore the semblance of all things, yet possessed a power unlike any other.

And that presence, it existed on this island as well.

Its body taking the form of a massive wolf,

Its eyes holding a crimson hue that chilled to the bone,

A violet magic stone, symbol of fiends, embedded in its brow—

Too bizarre to be called a creature,

Yet pulsating with life, too vivid to be merely an object.

A howl that transcended any wolf’s cry,

Movements too unnatural to belong to any beast.

Though its shape shifted, defying true recognition,

It undeniably existed.

From what could be presumed its forepaws, blood trickled.

The fluid that dripped from its maw dissolved the very earth beneath.

The rising black aura evoked visions of devils themselves.

The flesh it devoured with such ravenous hunger was unidentifiable,

mangled beyond recognition.

Splatters of blood sprayed haphazardly, a scene that churned the stomach.

Animals had long fled its presence,

And even people sensed a disturbing energy, refusing to draw near.

Nearby, trees lay uprooted, their roots exposed in gruesome display.

Rocks were scored with deep gashes, claw marks etched into their surfaces.

The beast that lurked behind one such rock, hunting only to silence the breath of man,

The she-wolf, breathing black aura, stood high and alone,

The Black Wolf King, Birang.