The Isekai Police [Books 1 + 2 Complete!]

It had been three months since he'd enrolled at Evergrail School of Magic, and Artyom's knowledge of fundamental arcane theory had grown by leaps and bounds. But at the end of the day, this was school; when he stopped actively needing that information for exams and projects, he would forget just about everything.

A multiversal truth that applied here and back on Earth alike.

Of course, there was one skill he knew he'd never forget. Not just because it was so ingrained into him now after the War of the Seven Kingdoms, but because his life was now utterly dedicated to it, whether he liked it or not. It was now his personal truth. His means of etching his will into reality.

Artyom hoped the introductory class on the subject would have filled in anything he might have missed from his own adventures, but years of practical experience apparently trumped textbook knowledge in this particular domain. At least, for the basics.

So he had to petition the school to do something about it.

Artyom slowly opened the classroom doors and walked inside on the balls of his feet, trying to mask his presence like some sort of wannabe ninja.

"So you must be our new student, welcome!" said the smartly-dressed figure in the back. They had white silk robes that loosely wrapped around their frame, akin to the stereotypical image of a Greek philosopher. Their polished bald head only completed that image. The smile they gave Artyom was bright, if not a little peeved. From how the blackboard was already half-covered in chalk, it was obvious why.

"Sorry, I thought this class started at the same time as 'Introductory Magical Combat'."

"Introductory?" asked another student sitting at the front. "Isn't that three levels below this one? How'd you confuse it for this?"

"That's what I was taking before this," replied Artyom with a shrug. "I'm kind of pressed for time, so I need to learn fast."

"So you think you're so special that you can just skip all the prerequisites? Ever thought of taking your head out of your ass, because I bet you've got more shit than actual brain."

"Pavol, watch your language!" shouted the teacher. "You might be the top duelist of your year, but that doesn't give you the authority to speak with such impunity."

Their words went ignored however, as Artyom just looked at Pavol with a disinterested glare. "Ever thought of not being such a dick? You might actually have friends if you tried a little. But I'm not here for you, I'm here to learn."

"If you want to learn some combat magic, I'll be glad to show a newbie the ropes. In the arena. I challenge you to a duel!" shouted the student.

"Oh Pavol," said the teacher, putting a hand to their forehead. "Artyom, right? You don't have to duel him, please just take a seat."

"Sorry for interrupting your class even more," said Artyom with an apologetic shrug. "I'll duel him after this."

The rest of the class all turned to look at him with wide eyes.

"Oh, that can't be a good sign…"

Artyom walked into the dueling hall with Fenn ahead of him, who was trying his best to look disinterested despite speeding up to remain at the front.

The other students quickly got out of their way as they approached the grandest looking of the arenas, the one where the previous match had just taken place. The duelists ran off the field as soon as they saw who was coming to use it next.

Artyom and Fenn walked to either side of the arena and faced each other.

"So are there any rules? How much force we can use, when we start and stop, that sort of thing."

"Rules?" asked Fenn in a confused sneer. "Just do whatever, the arena will take care of everything."

"Seriously? Just like that?" asked Artyom with a raised eyebrow. He looked to the edges of the arena and sensed a thrum of magic resonating from it. Most of it was subtle and weak, but reminiscent of the computational logic of TOAL's computer-based magitech. One part of the structure had a stronger magical presence, like a coiled up spring set to shoot out at a moment's notice. "It's a smart arena, isn't it?"

"Obviously, and the only one that we still have working, that's why I chose it. I can go all out and it'll block any fatal damage."

"Oh wow, you're so kind," said Artyom, rolling his eyes.

"Not that kind. Every attack will still hurt just as much, and you're going to be leaving here crying like a baby."

A crowd was beginning to form around them. Not just the students watching the previous duel, but many new ones that came running up to the arena. Did Fenn have some sort of fan club? The headmistress herself said he was a good enough duelist to put the combat instructor out of commission, so seeing him go up against a member of the hero's party was probably something a lot of people here wanted to see.

"Alright, let's get started then," said Fenn, turning to the gate of the arena they'd come through. "Dueling Arena, start countdown."

The magic in the structure came to life, and a voice coming from the center of the arena began to speak. "Ten, nine, eight…"

"Oh for the goddess sake," said the headmistress, as she pushed her way through the crowd. "Dueling Arena, activate barriers."

A translucent shield suddenly appeared in a dome surrounding the field.

"You need to remember to turn on the barriers when you duel, Fenn!" shouted the headmistress. "I don't want any casualties from one of your recklessly thrown projectiles!"

Fenn shrugged an apology and turned his attention back to Artyom. He regarded his opponent with a predatory smile and pulled out some kind of a rusted badge or medal out of his pocket and began to rub its surface with his thumb. It had a light enchantment on it, but nothing that would aid him in this duel. He put it away before Artyom could get a better look.

Artyom took a deep breath and cleared his mind. This was a fight, he knew what to do.

Artyom stared down Pavol. To say he wasn't nervous would be an outright lie.

The dueling arena they stood in was surrounded by a growing crowd of students that had formed to watch the newbie beatdown. Pavol was their star duelist, after all, and it would be hilarious to watch him kick the ever-living tar out of some kid who thought he was good enough to skip ahead three classes.

Nobody liked unbridled and undeserved arrogance, after all. Not even Artyom.

But it wasn't his own pride or arrogance that got him into this situation. He showed the school administration what he was capable of and told them what he wanted to learn, and they put him in the advanced class. Did they think he was as strong as the other students there? Or did they think he would learn the most in their presence?

It didn't matter to Artyom, he wasn't here to show Pavol up. What he was interested in however was learning how he measured up to the guy; the relative power he was competing against. If it ended up being too high and Artyom got his ass beat, he'd just work even harder to catch up and surpass it.

Iori's careless words echoed in his head. What if everyone taking part in the War of the Seven Worlds was actually weak in the face of the multiverse? A few years of practical experience and a good number of levels put Artyom and the rest of his friends at the upper echelon of their crafts there. And his schooling here proved there were entire worlds of strength to gain, to surpass.

With the thirty levels he'd earned in the past six months, only half of them applying to combat as opposed to studying, he was about as strong as he was at the end of the war.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

And what if Pavol was just as powerful without any of his levels?

Artyom would need to reach that precipice if he wanted to stop anyone else from suffering like he did.

"Alright, pipsqueak," said Pavol with a sneer. "On the count of three. One."

Fighting mages wasn't something new to Artyom. He'd done it plenty of times before on the battlefield.

"Two."

He had a strategy that took out all but the most prepared enemy mages. Thankfully the Skills he'd unlocked in this world worked perfectly to let him pull it off again. He'd been missing the sense of security having it in his pocket gave him.

"Three!"

"Six," said the arena's countdown.

A memory of a time long ago flashed past, and Artyom couldn't help but smile in a fit of nostalgia.

"Five."

Iori ended up being correct, the worlds out there were much more dangerous, and the threats even more powerful. But Artyom's friends were young, bright, and had the tenacity to keep on improving.

"Four."

Now all these years later, Artyom's strength without any levels was equivalent to when he first dueled Pavol. When he was at his peak during the War of the Seven Worlds.

"Three."

Despite his [Aura Commandment] Skill being quite useful, he sadly had no levels here, thus no enhanced physical or mental capacity that they would provide.

"Two."

But he still had his own expertise. And in the years since that old duel, because he'd always find himself in new worlds where he might not unlock the Skills he wanted or needed most, he learned how to use his mage-killer trick without them.

"One."

Artyom focused on a series of spells and began to channel magic where they were needed. Fenn did the same, but pushed all of his into each of his hands.

"Begin!"

Sonic Waverider. Artyom disappeared in an instant.

Fenn had a clever quip about his opponent's supposed cowardice for running away on the tip of his tongue, but before he could open his mouth to gloat to the audience, he felt a hand on his neck that made him choke on his words before he could speak. He instinctively went to grab at the hand that dared touch him, but then realized his own hands were each readying massive fireballs, causing him to hesitate lest he cast them on himself.

Artyom only then appeared to Fenn and the rest of the audience watching. They flinched or shouted in surprise at what to them looked like a teleportation spell. Their words didn't even reach the two duelists by the time Artyom acted.

Lion's Strength. He tightened his grip on Fenn's neck and swept his feet out from under him, using the momentum of gravity to help him choke slam his opponent into the ground.

Fenn's eyes opened wide as he tried to let out a scream, only for it to come out as a gurgle thanks to the hand still firmly grasping his throat.

By the time he realized he was on the ground in a chokehold, he noticed Artyom's hand a few inches above his head. Magic was coalesced in a way that was… different, wrong. For fire spells, it would move fast like the magic itself was a dancing wisp of flame. For force spells, it would be all organized into an unmoving grid or sponge-like pattern. Here, the magic was trying to rush into a single point, but while spinning around itself in a dizzying pattern that drew him in.

Casting an elemental spell required a strong enough representation of that element to be present or a true fundamental understanding of it. Fire mages would begin their training by casting near a bonfire before they cultivated their own 'inner fire' they would then channel. That was how Fenn learned. But what kind of element even was this, and how did he internalize it?

"W-what spell is that?!" shouted Pavol, eyes wide at the Gravity Blender mere inches from his head. His voice sounded more like a series of gurgles with how tight Artyom's hand was wrapped around his throat. "Are you trying to kill me or something?!"

"This is WAR, what do you think?" asked Artyom. He blinked and realized what he said, suddenly feeling guilty for his excessive use of force. "I mean, this spell probably will kill you if it touches, so maybe I should've toned it down a-"

"I yield, I yield! You win!"

"Hey, hey!" shouted Artyom.

"Huh?" asked Fenn. The grip on his neck loosened and he was able to both breathe and speak normally again.

"Match is over, you lost."

It took him a moment to get out of his stupor, but he soon frowned. "The match isn't over until the arena says it is."

"This spell is meant to bypass shields, I don't know if the arena is advanced enough to block it. If it isn't, it'll kill you and I don't want that. So the match is over."

"Rule one of war, never trust the enemy! You're just saying that because it's a bluff!" he shouted. "This is an illusion spell meant to disorient me, isn't it?"

"I would be eager to agree, but I'm pretty sure my hand around your neck and you being on the floor is the real deal. You can't do anything like this."

"Sure I can!" Fenn said with a mocking laugh as he channeled his magic into his hands. The pain of detonating a fireball at this close range would be tremendous, but it was a common enough sacrifice he made for the sake of his goal. He'd even earned a Skill to increase his pain tolerance as a result! "May the March's walls hold! Fireball-"

Artyom looked at him unimpressed as a wisp of smoke left each of his hands.

"I said, fireball!"

This time, nothing came out.

"Null Magic Field," said Artyom. "I'm close enough to disable your spellcasting by nullifying your magic as soon as it tries to form into something coherent."

Fenn blinked again. He didn't know what else to do, what else to say. Never in his life did he feel so… powerless.

"Alright, match over everyone, I win," Artyom shouted to the watching crowd as he got off of his opponent and began to walk towards the arena exit. He got about halfway there before Fenn rose to his feet.

"I-I can't give up. I won't! I have to prove my strength!" he shouted.

Artyom turned around and looked into his opponent's eyes with a silent fury. The weight of countless lives both saved and taken bore down on Fenn hard enough to make him visibly flinch back. No aura required.

"Too much is at stake for me…" he whispered, summoning a fireball on one hand.

Artyom disappeared before Fenn could throw it.

He still did, and the blast of flame struck open air, before being absorbed by the arena's barriers. But Fenn knew what to expect now. He summoned a barrier in front of him with his other hand while summoning arcing lightning in place of fire.

Artyom appeared behind him this time, bypassing the barrier entirely. He drove a fist into Fenn's back, making him flinch and drop the barrier, but the lightning was still active.

Fenn just channeled more magic into the electricity and let it arc all around him like a magical tesla coil.

At least he tried to, but a Gravity Lance struck his hand and threw it away from Artyom. Artyom then grabbed Fenn by the shoulder and activated Null Magic Field again, cutting off the spell from its source.

"I've got one more-"

Artyom didn't let him finish. He stepped in front of Fenn and punched him in the chest, making him lose his breath.

Fenn tried to counter with some kind of magic, any kind. But the very energy in his body refused to do what he wanted.

"You have some kind of pain tolerance Skill, don't you?" Artyom asked. "That's why you could still get your magic out even after I punched you with Lion's Strength active. Those Skills only work on your brain's pain receptors by the way, it doesn't stop the rest of your body from reacting."

Fenn tried to focus, but the lack of air in his lungs made it too difficult.

Artyom punched him in the stomach this time. Hard.

Fenn felt what was left of his lunch try to rush up his throat.

Another leg sweep sent him to the floor, and only a drop of vomit came out of his mouth as he reflexively swallowed the rest before it could come out.

"I-I need to… this means everything to me!" Fenn managed to let out as a weak shout.

"A kid's life is at stake!" said Artyom in his own whisper-shout between clenched teeth. "And yours too."

"My life was always at stake. I can't give up-"

Artyom punched him in the face. And again, and again. The glow of the arena's barrier flashed on his skin every time he struck, but he could still feel the force of his strikes connecting against flesh and bone. After one more punch, the arena sounded the bell, signalling the end of the duel.

The man from Earth rose from his position and held out his hand to Fenn to help him back up.

His opponent only looked at it, and then him, with sheer roiling hatred from his place on the floor. So it didn't surprise Artyom when Fenn slapped his hand away and slowly got up on his own, trudging his way out of the arena and through the silent crowd which readily parted for him.

The audience continued to stay silent for a full minute as Artyom watched his opponent leave, only then slowly making his way out of the arena himself.

He didn't blame Fenn for his reaction, being beaten into submission was one of the lowest ways for a mage to lose a duel. But Artyom knew he did the man a favor. If he did manage to replace him in the party, someone of his caliber would be dead within a week after his 'initiation'.

"I guess I've proven my place on the team. Again," said Artyom as he made his way back to the party.

They were all speechless too.

He wondered why, they could have all won just as easily. Though they probably wouldn't have embarrassed Fenn like that, and would have gone straight for the kill, arena defenses or not. Or maybe they were just pissed they missed a perfect opportunity to get rid of him. The score was still 1-0 for Artyom.

"M-my goodness, what a duel," said the headmistress, the next person to speak. She was flushed and didn't have it in her to look Artyom in the eye, but he could tell there was still something calculating underneath it all. He didn't like that. "I would continue the tour, but that diversion was unexpected, and it's close to dinner time. I just remembered I'll be extremely busy tonight, so I'll allow you all to eat and explore at your own leisure!"

With that, the party was left to their own devices. The other students were still staring at him and talking amongst each other in hushed whispers.

"Alright, let's get dinner and start looking for the armor piece," said Artyom. "I don't want to stick around here any longer than I have to."