1-Second Invincible Player in the Game

69. Sadomancy (1)

The lobby of Shulape Hall was as noisy as ever.

The Rix Legion lay sprawled on the floor, having been beaten like dogs, while Makdal gasped for breath.

Yet, what was peculiar was that the usual malice on his face had softened somewhat.

“Whew… Getting better, aren’t we?”

As Makdal laughed heartily, Rix bared his teeth and glared.

“…Are you mocking us right now?”

Makdal wiped his nose and uttered a plausible retort.

“Hmph, I can see you’re gradually compensating for your weaknesses. You’ve realized for yourself that the speed of your spells is lacking, haven’t you?”

Then he cast a lingering gaze upon the fallen members of Rix’s group.

—

—

“Moreover, the others are moving with a systematic precision. Well, I suppose it’s because they’re naturally drawn together, but it’s the first time I’ve felt their synergy to the point of resembling a single creature.”

Limberton scratched his head as he watched intently.

“Doesn’t that guy seem a bit more relaxed lately?”

“Indeed…”

I turned to Donathan.

‘Is it just my imagination, or does he seem to be moving better than before?’

‘What you see is the truth. He’s definitely stronger than when we first fought.’

The original purpose was to train the Rix Legion.

But perhaps it was due to enduring the battles alone without Bidon that he had grown.

Makdal must have been training in unseen ways to survive the harsh conditions.

…If this goes well, we might last three months?

“Today’s warm-up was quite fitting, you rookies. In return, I’ll point out what you lacked, one by one.”

Makdal pointed a finger at Rix.

“You there. The so-called leader really can’t find his position. If your specialty is shape-shifting magic, then adjust the environment from the back. Charging in front all the time will only get you knocked out first and dampen your comrades’ morale.”

Then he pointed at Klave.

“And you, the invisible woman. It’s good that you’re trying to ambush, but the problem is your comrades forget you even exist. You canceled your magic because of those blocking your path, right? Each time, you’re rewriting the spell, making a mess of it. Such latent destructive power wasted.”

Next, he clicked his tongue at the entire legion.

“Tsk, tsk, you lot are the biggest problem. Compared to those two, your abilities are severely lacking. I thought if you worked hard, you might be worthy of the Adel Corps, but was I mistaken?”

As he boasted, the Rix Legion bowed their heads, trying to hide their despair.

…The current situation is puzzling, but as long as the training goes well, that’s what matters.

As I tried to pass, Makdal bowed respectfully.

“Welcome! Good morning, Lord Hursel.”

“Yeah…”

I walked past Makdal.

Then Limberton asked with a puzzled expression.

“Doesn’t that guy seem a bit different? His expression seems a little softer.”

“Did you notice that too?”

Makdal’s face only looked fulfilled.

It seems he couldn’t bear the extreme neurosis any longer and had finally lost his mind.

He’s finally gone mad.

—

* * *

After the magic department class ended, I was on my way to an after-school supplementary lesson.

Limberton went to learn the intricacies of the crossbow, while Asley headed for martial arts.

I had come to study the obscure magics, but the classroom I arrived at was eerily empty.

There was only one man present.

As I took my seat, he glanced at me and scoffed.

“Are you a freshman?”

From what I recalled, he seemed to be a second or third-year student of the magic department, but he didn’t appear to be from Shulafe Hall.

If he were, I would have felt more at ease.

“Uh. Nice to meet you.”

As I replied simply, he frowned, clearly displeased.

“I’m a second-year. From Bürger Hall, no less. Judging by your choice of class, you can’t be from Adel Hall. You’re from Shulafe, right? Come here.”

He gestured dismissively, as if I were a puppy.

From the look on his face, he seemed to think he had found a plaything.

Not worth my time, I decided to ignore him and pulled out my notebook.

“…Can’t you hear what your senior is saying?”

Nodding, I saw him grit his teeth and rise from his seat.

“You little brat!”

At that moment, the old professor entered the classroom.

The guy shot me a glare, as if he intended to settle the score later, and sat back down.

The professor glanced at us both and let out a deep sigh.

“Only two students signed up. No need to bother with the attendance sheet.”

He set the attendance sheet down and shouted toward the entrance he had come through.

“Let him in.”

Then, a bearded man was dragged in by two professors.

Handcuffs were fastened around his wrists, his hair matted and unwashed, and he wore a tattered prison uniform.

“This prisoner will be your instructor in obscure magic. We’ve brought him in from outside.”

The second-year student beside me widened his eyes in shock.

In contrast, I remained unfazed; I had signed up for obscure magic out of curiosity during my novice days a few times, so I was somewhat indifferent.

The spells were either completely unlearnable for playable characters or so inefficient that they had faded from my memory long ago.

“Professor, why is that prisoner here? No, more importantly, are we really expected to learn from such trash?”

“Well, those who know the obscure arts are often criminals.”

“What?”

“Obscure arts, as they say, is merely a euphemism; this subject is about learning the dark sciences. It is a discipline born from the shadows, far removed from conventional magic, and who better to teach it than an expert like him?”

The old professor clicked his tongue as he glanced at the prisoner.

“Tsk, he should have been executed by now. Lucky fellow, indeed. You lot, make sure to come by when you have the time.”

Once the two professors who had brought the prisoner left, the old professor settled into his chair, as if to keep watch.

And from the prisoner’s lips, a torrent of coarse curses erupted.

“You there. The one who called me trash earlier. Want to die?”

“I—I’m a noble before I’m a student. Shouldn’t you show me some respect?”

“What a fool.”

The second-year student’s face flushed with anger.

The old professor lightly admonished the young man.

“Feel free to speak, but refrain from comments that disrupt the class. Your life was spared merely because it was deemed you had some utility.”

The prisoner swallowed hard, as if stifling his rage.

The second-year student, undeterred, voiced his discontent towards the old professor.

“Professor, this is unacceptable, isn’t it? Learning from a lowly criminal like that.”

The old professor rose from his seat and approached the student.

His once-kindly grandfatherly demeanor faded, and the glint in his shadowed eyes was nothing short of menacing.

“Is that your complaint?”

Under the professor’s imposing presence, the young man shrank back and replied.

“Ah, no… it’s just that…”

“If you have nothing to say, then stop grumbling and focus on your lessons.”

“But…”

“But what? In terms of skill, you don’t even measure up to the tips of his toes. Had he not been a criminal, he could have brought glory to the Empire. To have the chance to learn from such a man is a stroke of luck.”

The second-year student’s expression shifted to one of shock, and he cautiously asked.

“W-who exactly is that prisoner?”

“Henderson Aola. The man who killed the commander of the Third Knight Order.”

At those words, the color drained from the second-year student’s face.

Henderson Aola.

Once, a notorious crime syndicate known as the Shadows’ Sentinel held sway over the Empire.

He belonged to the underworld’s elite, publicly declared executed, yet in truth, he was ensnared within the Frost Heart.

“Ah, this is vexing. I thought I might at least catch a glimpse of some women here.”

The cuffs binding his wrists were no ordinary shackles.

Crafted from a special metal that suppressed magic and aura.

The moment those hands sought freedom, even the old professor would find it impossible to restrain the man.

“Let us cease this idle chatter. Henderson, you too, start now.”

As the old professor spoke, Henderson spread his palms wide.

“You two over there. Show me your hands. Let’s get this over with and take a break.”

While the second-year student hesitated, I placed my hand upon his palm.

Henderson grinned, intrigued by my unresisting approach.

“You’re fearless. I like that confidence, but you…”

Henderson let out a deep sigh.

“You have no talent for magic at all. The mana within you is subpar, and judging by your pulse, your mana control must be clumsy. It’s almost strange that you’ve awakened any senses at all.”

His diagnosis was quite accurate.

In my case, it was all thanks to Camelo’s bizarre experiments.

Had I possessed any talent, I would have blossomed like a genius, rendering such experiments unnecessary.

At that moment, the second-year student approached with bravado.

“Hey, step aside.”

Seeing me unscathed after my demonstration, and with the old professor present, he seemed to think he could act recklessly.

“Hey, let me give it a try. I’ll show you this isn’t some low-level trick.”

As his hand rose, Henderson smiled faintly.

“Oh, you’re definitely better than that blonde fool. It seems you’ve awakened two senses. But…”

Henderson yanked his hand and slammed it into the student’s face.

Smack!

“Ahhh!”

“You’re such a piece of work.”

The second-year student clutched his bleeding nose and urgently turned to the old professor.

“Pro, Professor! This criminal dared to…”

The old professor regarded Henderson with an air of indifference.

“So, are you going to teach these two brats or not?”

“Ah, I suppose I have to. Otherwise, it’s back to the prison for me, right?”

Henderson scattered the pile of papers on the lectern and picked up a piece of chalk.

“Then the magic I’ll teach is origami.”

The old professor narrowed his eyes.

“…You don’t intend to teach them proper magic, do you?”

“Old man, we haven’t even agreed on what kind of magic to teach, have we? So, what I teach is up to me, isn’t it?”

The professor, gazing at the incantation he had etched on the blackboard, abandoned his previous demeanor and let out a low hum.

“Hm.”

With a smirk that dripped with disdain, Henderson completed the incantation.

“Just so you know, I can’t stand noble brats like you. Each one of you is so full of vanity it makes me break out in hives. Just look at my skin. I got a rash from touching your hands.”

Noble disdain.

Even though he laid his feelings bare, I diligently copied the incantation he had inscribed.

The thickness of the lines and the patterns were certainly different from the usual ones.

One could say the formula was a bit more creative.

It felt like an IQ test, where one had to find the rules and deduce the answers.

“I wonder if you thick-headed, rote-learning fools will understand. Magic is like a language that can be expressed in many ways.”

“For example, even if it’s the same object, different countries have different names for it, right?”

Water is water.

In English, it’s called water, but the essence remains the same despite the different names.

That’s the kind of point Henderson seems to be making.

“Oh, you’re sharper than I thought.”

As Henderson expressed his admiration, a second-year student scoffed.

“I can’t believe this. In the end, magic is just about properly mimicking the incantation, isn’t it?”

The second-year student traced the incantation written on the blackboard with his wand.

Then, the paper that Henderson had thrown on the floor began to fold, and soon enough…

Crumple!

It turned into a crumpled ball of paper.

“Idiot.”

I too felt a sense of camaraderie with Henderson, looking at the second-year student with disdain.

The second-year student ground his teeth, as if in shame.

Henderson posed a question to him.

“Do you know why sadomagic isn’t considered regular magic?”

“Because it was born in the filthy streets, I suppose.”

“Bullshit. There’s a reason the scholars of the Magic Tower disdain it. We handle not just mana, but magic itself. If you keep using that, your mind will surely break.”

The second-year student stammered.

“M-magic?”

“Exactly, the inverted triangle drawn at the end of this spell. Distribution is nine spoons of mana, one spoon of magic. But you, without even grasping the principles, must have mindlessly filled it with just mana.”

Henderson clicked his tongue at the old professor.

“Crazy b*stards, really. Teaching students this kind of nonsense. Do they think they can just toss them aside like disposable tools?”

The old professor remained silent, unyielding.

I asked Henderson, even though I already knew.

“So how do you handle that magic?”

Henderson smirked.

“Do you think I’d teach you?”

As he acted smug, the old professor answered in his stead.

“Delicate psychokinesis. Unlike mana, magic can move through psychokinesis. It’s about embedding it within your body.”

With a flick of his staff, the old professor drew the magic that lay beneath the Frost Heart up to the surface.

Suuu—

A black mist gathered, taking the shape of a small cloud.

Henderson clicked his tongue and asked, “Are you going to try putting this in?”

Magic is a force that gnaws at the mind.

To harbor it within one’s body is something that would repulse any sane person, which is why the playable characters of Frost Heart adamantly refuse to learn it.

Even if the user desires it, only a monologue of inability appears.

Thus, the scope of what could be learned was limited to not handling magic, and naturally, there wasn’t much of value.

But now, it was enough for me to simply move my own hands and accept it.

I infused a portion of the magic the old professor had gathered into my body through psychokinetic magic.

Shuuu—

Thanks to the small amount, the ‘1-second invincibility’ did not activate.

Following the incantations that Henderson had drawn, I mimicked the handling of the magic.

Swish, swish—

As if a machine, moving of its own accord, folded the paper in place of my hands.

What emerged was a paper crane.

A gasp escaped Henderson’s lips.

“You’ve grasped the incantation correctly.”

It was not merely about imitation.

Though he did not write it on the board, there was a truth that one must inscribe into the incantation through the act of solving it directly.

Had I missed that, I would have conjured something absurd instead of a crane.

The magic this man taught appeared simple, yet it held considerable depth.

The second-year student, oblivious to such nuances, scoffed.

“Hmph, what’s so impressive about this? If I had just used magic, I would have completed it properly.”

“Don’t be foolish. You’d have ended up folding something bizarre at best.”

“It was you who claimed I had greater magical talent than this pathetic creature. Has your brain turned to mush from too much magic?”

“Is that so? Shall we test if I’m wrong? I’ll shove magic up your backside, so drop your pants.”

I approached the second-year student, who had been grating on my nerves, and spoke coldly.

“If you’re not going to take the class seriously, why don’t you just get lost instead of wasting my time?”

“What?”

“I’m saying the time wasted because of you is a pity.”

“You insolent…”

His eyes flared with rage as he clenched his fists, ready to strike.

He shot a glance at the professor, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Well, it doesn’t matter.

In my memory, he wouldn’t last more than a few days anyway.

* * *

Since ancient times, there have been many students of the Bürger Academy who looked down upon the Shulafe Academy.

In this place, filled with stress, it was easy to vent frustrations, and above all, they would do anything for a coin, making them perfect playthings.

Having lived a life feeling a sense of superiority over the attendants, they too were, in a way, nobles.

Even among nobles, there was a certain pleasure in hierarchy.

Contempt for the weak, those who could not retort even when prodded.

—

His satisfaction was all the greater.

Today, in the alternative magic class, the second-year student, Shubil, waited in the lobby of the Bürger Hall for his older brother.

‘I wanted to smack him in the back of the head and toy with him, but that arrogant little brat…’

Had the audacity to look down on him, a mere first-year from the Schulaffe Hall.

As if that wasn’t enough, he had stared at him like he was some pathetic fool, just like that damned prisoner.

What he couldn’t bear most of all was the way he had spoken down to him, as if he were superior.

As he ground his teeth in fury, his brother approached.

“Why is your nose like that?”

“Don’t ask. More importantly, brother. I heard you have some connection with that Makdal from Schulaffe Hall?”

“Oh, Makdal? We were on good terms back when he lived in Bürger Hall, but why do you ask?”

Shubil grinned wickedly.

Even when the duo was around, he had meddled with Schulaffe Hall thanks to his brother’s connections.

Recently, he had been thoroughly crushed by a guy named Hershel, but still, a rude first-year should be easy enough to handle.

“It’s just that there’s a brat who needs to be put in his place. I want to have a word with him.”

His brother’s expression turned serious.

“Don’t tell me, that nose. Is it the work of the guy you’re looking for?”

“Indeed. I fell for his cunning trick and ended up like this. So, is it possible?”

“Since the duo has stepped back, it might be a bit tricky, but not impossible, right? Even now, the Schulaffe folks haven’t said much when poked.”

As Shubil silently cheered, his brother grabbed a passing senior.

“Oh, Evil. What’s going on?”

“They say a first-year from Schulaffe Hall did this to my brother.”

“What?”

Perhaps realizing it was time to re-establish the hierarchy after a long while, the senior gathered passersby.

“Hey, they say a Schulaffe brat smashed Shubil’s nose.”

“Shubil?”

“You know, the one who’s Evil’s little brother.”

Like a spark igniting a fire, the crowd quickly gathered, and Shubil walked with his shoulders squared, thanks to his brother’s wide network.

That night, over thirty students from Bürger Hall marched toward Schulaffe Hall.