Quit The Hero Party

EP.38 The Stench of Decay (3)

Apuria Academy is a place where talented mages gather. Although there may be differences in the magnitude of that talent, every student possesses a unique gift.

Whether it be mana.

The depth of magic.

Or an instinctive nature, each one has something exceptional about them.

And that talent shines brightest in moments of crisis.

“This way.”

In the Battle Magic department, Rina points the way. As a hunting dog from an aristocratic background, she has an exceptional talent for tracking.

“This way leads out.”

Even in the darkness, she accurately finds the path.

“Hmm, got it.”

As she shows the way, Lac pulls out his axe and leaps into the fray against the beasts blocking their path. The students run in the wake of the path he clears.

“Belnoa?”

“Lac?”

As Lac tears through the monsters, he encounters Belnoa. He emerged from the chaos to survey the scene.

“……”

In the slums, quick situational judgment is directly linked to survival. Having lived there, Belnoa’s assessments are sharp.

He swiftly grasps the situation and draws his shadow weapon, taking a stance beside Lac.

No further dialogue is necessary.

“I’ll lead the way.”

“I’ll support you.”

Lac dashes ahead. Belnoa extends his shadow thorns, following closely behind Lac. The beasts fall in rapid succession, the number of monsters besieging the Central Academic Hall dwindles.

From the third floor down to the first, as they reach the entrance.

There are no remaining beasts on the first floor.

To be more precise, there are no alive beasts left.

The only thing moving there are a student’s summoned creatures. A wolf-like summoned beast has a chunk of beast flesh caught in its jaws.

“Ah.”

She glances back at Lac.

A girl with light violet hair.

Summoner, Resti.

She points to a door.

“Let’s go.”

They don’t fight all the beasts. Some are too formidable for students to handle.

Sometimes they hide. Sometimes Resti lures them with her summoned creatures to change the course.

When escape and concealment become impossible, Belnoa snaps his fingers. Lac charges forward with his hatchet in hand, followed by Resti’s summoned creatures providing support.

Thus, they advance inch by inch.

“I’ve found the students.”

“Requesting support.”

Eventually, knights spot the students.

Having cut through the beasts, they guard the students and guide them to safety.

“Is that you, Prince Lac?”

“Here in Apuria, it’s just Lac.”

One of the knights recognizes Lac. He rushed over after seeing the students in combat with the beasts from a distance.

He glances at the gathered students.

‘As expected, remarkable.’

Among them, three stand out the most.

Battle Mage, Lac.

Shaman, Belnoa.

Summoner, Resti.

‘Is this truly a party made up of three mages?’

The balance is so well-maintained it raises questions.

‘The shift between front and back ranks is seamless.’

To the knight’s eyes, that party’s composition hardly pales in comparison to his own knights order.

‘Impressive.’

As he lets out a short admiration, he takes the lead. Soon, they arrive at the Central Spell Training Room where students and professors gather.

“……”

The moment Lac steps into the Spell Training Room.

“Mm.”

Lac murmurs suddenly.

“The stench of decay.”

2.

Battle Magic assistant professor, Kelt.

He is a professor with a background as a soldier.

Having been a soldier on the battlefield, he sustained injuries and retired, alongside the knight he served, Mackhart.

And at some point, Kelt became a betrayer.

Kelt doesn’t clearly know why he became a betrayer.

Was it due to his inferiority complex against the geniuses?

Was it because of the wounds he received on the battlefield?

Or could it be that filthy Mackhart deliberately withheld his promotion to professor, leaving him as an assistant professor for years?

‘Perhaps, all of those reasons.’

But now, it hardly matters.

Kelt became a betrayer following the prophet.

The prophet had spoken. Soon, their army would engulf the Royal Capital. Humans would not survive.

The only ones who can survive there would be betrayers like him, who had turned against humanity.

‘And he promised a reward.’

Patience was exercised, and corruption was sweet.

Having lived on nothing but bitter experiences, he had no reason to refuse sweetness. Thus, Kelt became a betrayer.

‘The power now is incomparable to before.’

At this point, he felt he could crush Mackhart’s skull with a single hand. Kelt internally chuckles sinisterly as he gauges the beasts.

Many beasts have already died.

Though the pace at which the beasts fall is abnormally rapid, it hardly matters.

‘That’s not my objective.’

His objective is to buy time for the prophet. To draw attention so the prophet can act.

The beasts are just a smokescreen.

They may be quicker than expected, but it’s not a problem.

‘It’s about time.’

Kelt fiddles with the piece of the ‘Altar’ he has tucked away in his robe. By detonating it in this place where the students are gathered, his mission will be complete.

‘Then, I can go to that one’s side.’

He could abandon this human form and acquire a completely new one.

Thinking so, just as Kelt was about to pull out the piece—

-kiiiing!

The door creaks open.

The stench of blood rushes in. A foul stench mixed with the smell of blood, yet within it, Kelt senses a faint scent.

‘The scent of the altar.’

The magical aroma emanating from the altar.

He lifts his gaze towards the door.

There stands a girl.

“Ah.”

She pulls something out from her robe.

Kelt’s eyes widen. An altar. The altar that should have been hidden deep inside is in her hands.

She grabs it.

Crack—a noise follows as the altar begins to twist.

Kelt unconsciously reaches out to her. How could something so precious be treated like that…

And then—

“Ha.”

She bursts into laughter.

“I found it.”

3.

Found it.

At that single phrase, Kelt gasps.

The distance is far. Between her and himself lies a barrier set by the professors. It would take time for the professors to rearrange the structure of the barrier to accept her.

‘There’s enough time to escape.’

However, the moment he saw those blue eyes.

Kelt felt every part of his body freeze.

‘I can’t escape.’

Instinct warns him.

He unconsciously takes a step back.

And that gives Rania certainty.

Crack.

The girl slams her foot into the ground.

The floor of the Spell Training Room, designed to withstand high-level spells, cracks. The distance between them decreases in an instant. The barrier obstructs her, but it’s of no use.

-Crack!

Something flashes.

The barrier set by the professors crumbles feebly.

Shards of the destroyed barrier scatter.

Amidst the fragments, the girl takes another step forward.

‘Fast!’

Kelt thinks.

Is there any way to escape this situation? It’s impossible to run away on his own feet.

He makes a judgment.

‘After all, as long as that one retrieves my soul, it doesn’t matter.’

This body can be discarded.

Concluding this, Kelt reaches out to a nearby student.

‘Take a hostage and buy some time.’

As long as it takes until the prophet retrieves his soul, he can stall by taking a hostage. With that intent, Kelt reaches toward the student.

The movements of the betrayer Kelt are swift. The student is unaware of Kelt’s reaching hand.

‘I’m faster.’

Calculating based on the incoming speed and distance, he figures that he will grasp the student’s nape first.

And that calculation proves to be accurate.

The girl, now within close range, reaches out. However, Kelt’s hand was slightly quicker.

‘I was faster!’

And so—

“Ah?”

Kelt miscalculates.

Smite.

Crack!

The finger that was about to catch the student’s nape bends awkwardly. His arm snaps upwards towards the sky. An intangible shockwave crunches his arm.

A spell.

A spell completed in an instant while utterly unnoticed destroys Kelt’s arm. He has no time to moan in pain.

The hand that had come within reach now grips—

Crack!

Kelt’s head.

“Ugh, Aaaaaah!”

As his head is squeezed, Kelt screams. The girl disregards him. She stomps down with her foot.

Boom!

The floor of the Spell Training Room sinks.

Yet even so, she cannot fully slow her momentum. Screeeeee her shoes drag across the floor.

Twist.

Carried by her momentum, her body spins around. Kelt, whose nape is held, spins along with her.

“Hey.”

A voice only he can hear.

“Tighten your grip, you little brat.”

Kelt meets the girl’s gaze.

Through the gaps of her fingers, he sees her eyes.

Those blue eyes.

Those blue eyes gaze unflinchingly back at him.

Chills run down his spine. The open animosity contained within those eyes closes around Kelt’s throat.

That meeting lasts but a moment.

His body feels as if it’s floating in mid-air.

There’s a sense of buoyancy. Balance is lost. Direction is lost in that imbalance.

The lost direction.

The girl’s hand assigns the trajectory.

Downward, it strikes.

‘How?’

With his skull grasped.

‘Where to?’

Toward the ground.

Though he knows it, he has no means to resist. Kelt opens his eyes wide. Every sensation of death sharpens to its limit.

Tick, tick.

From the fingers gripping his skull, sparks fly.

Tiny sparks. The girl’s five fingers shine.

Then, the spell bursts forth.

Even Kelt, watching closely, cannot precisely tell “what” spell was triggered “how,” and “how many” were activated.

Light flashes.

Multi-Casting.

Spell Reinforce.

Spell Boost.

Kelt reflexively draws forth his mana.

He encircles his body with magic to protect himself.

Anti-Spell.

Anti-Shield.

But it’s all in vain.

As if waiting for this, the consecutive bursts of light strip away his defenses. All of it happens in a heartbeat.

And then, the girl’s palm touches Kelt’s forehead.

Crush.

The grip tightening around his head shines.

The reinforced spell emits radiant light.

Thud, thud thud.

Kelt’s skull meets the ground.

What happens in an instant feels like an eternity to Kelt.

His vertebrae crack.

His skull fractures.

And then.

A moment late, ashen mana overwhelms him.

Boom!

A resounding shockwave erupts. The professors are swept away by the oncoming wind pressure. In a rush, the knights burst into the Spell Training Room.

“What—What happened?!”

Dust rises.

“What is this…?”

As the dust settles, the first sight that greets them is the floor of the Spell Training Room.

A specially constructed area for testing spells.

The floor is deeply sunken.

Broken fragments lie scattered.

Next, they see a man lodged into the depressingly deep floor. Black blood flows from him. The mark of a corrupt betrayer.

“Ah.”

Finally, the last thing they see is—

“……”

The girl standing at the center.

Wind blows through the open door.

Rustle.

The ashen hair that symbolizes her sways in the breeze. Her expression is as expressionless as always.

“Is that… Professor Rania?”

Someone utters her name.

Some do not speak it aloud.

But they all recall her name in their minds.

‘Rania van Trias.’

Professor at Apuria Academy.