Chapter 8

　　Bahil’s assistants moved through the aisles, distributing practice sets to each student. On the right was a sand tray containing a plant that resembled a cactus; on the left was a ‘magic circle frame’ that looked like a mold—a guidance tool for novice necromancers.

　　"It’s shameful for a Kizen student to use such a tool," Bahil remarked, "but for the first class, it can’t be helped. It’s fine for getting a feel for the magic, but be warned: relying on it will breed bad habits. Now, let’s begin practicing the exhaustion curse, ‘Exhaust’!"

　　Bahil patiently explained how to use the device, and Simon followed his instructions to the letter. He gripped the two handles and channeled his Jet-Black into them. The dark energy flowed through the frame’s grooves, gradually taking the shape of a magic circle.

　　"The key," Bahil’s voice echoed, "is the perfection of the main rune."

　　A ‘rune’ was, simply put, a letter imbued with magical power. By drawing it with Jet-Black, one could manifest a magical effect. Simon focused intently, forming the main rune before tracing the activation formulas along the circle’s edge. The frame made it possible to draw the circle without fully understanding its complex structure.

　　"Alright, those of you who have finished, try to float the magic circle into the air."

　　Simon swallowed hard and lifted. The deep blue magic circle detached from the frame and hovered gently in the air.

　　A thrill shot through him.

　　A real magic circle. He had created the very same technique his father sometimes used! He felt a surge of excitement, wondering if it would actually work. Looking around, he saw that about half the class had their own circles floating before them.

　　His focus wavered.

　　Distracted for a moment, he watched as one edge of his magic circle dissolved like ink in water and dripped to the floor.

　　"I see some of you have collapsing circles," Bahil said, as if on cue. "This happens when your Jet-Black is not properly refined, or the binding force of the circle is weak. Try again."

　　Simon clenched his jaw and started over.

　　"For those who can maintain a stable circle, let’s move on to practical application! Cast the curse on the plant at your desk!"

　　The successful students took a collective deep breath and activated their magic.

　　A black mist shot from the circles toward the cactus-like plants. Half of the plants remained unchanged, but the other half instantly drooped.

　　"Congratulations," Bahil announced. "If you see a significant change in the plant, your magic circle worked properly."

　　"Yes!" the boy next to Simon hissed, pumping his fist.

　　Swallowing his envy, Simon returned to his task.

　　"The gap is already widening," Bahil observed coolly. "Those of you who succeeded, practice repeatedly to increase your casting speed. If you feel your speed is sufficient, try creating the circle directly in the air, without the guidance tool."

　　Time flew by. Simon failed for the fourth time. He could form the circle without issue, but the moment he tried to float it, it would turn into a formless sludge and splatter on the floor.

　　What am I doing wrong? he wondered, growing anxious as more and more students succeeded. He knew Kizen was home to the continent’s greatest talents, most of whom had studied necromancy long before arriving. It was natural for a complete beginner like him to struggle, but that excuse brought him no comfort.

　　Why did I fail?

　　Your Jet-Black still has the properties of mana. The fact that it’s shimmering like a flame means it hasn’t escaped its gaseous state.

　　You’ll have to learn how to use your Core more effectively.

　　Recalling the words of Nephthys and Lorraine, Simon released the handles of the guidance tool. He closed his eyes, focusing on the mana flowing within him.

　　Back to basics.

　　He drew mana into his body with each breath, guiding it to the Core below his heart. So far, so good. But this time, instead of letting the mana flow in steadily, he gathered as much as he could in front of it, compressing it.

　　Argh!

　　A sharp pain lanced through his chest, but he gritted his teeth and endured it. When he could hold no more, he shoved the entire, dense mass of mana into the Core at once.

　　The forceful injection of so much mana at once produced a far denser stream of Jet-Black. It was a crude, stopgap measure, but it was the only solution he could devise without proper training.

　　Here I go!

　　Simon’s eyes snapped open. He grabbed the handles, and the higher-purity Jet-Black filled the frame with incredible speed. After quickly tracing the rune and formulas, he floated the magic circle into the air.

　　It worked!

　　It held its shape, solid and stable. Simon aimed it at the plant. Now that he had a feel for it, he was determined to succeed in one clean shot.

　　"Exhaust!"

　　As he activated the circle, a plume of gray smoke shot from the central rune and struck the plant. Simon held his breath, watching with desperate hope.

　　The plant, once stiff and upright, wilted completely.

　　Yes!

　　Simon pumped his fist, a thrilling current of energy shooting up his spine. He was so ecstatic he almost shouted aloud in the middle of the classroom.

　　It was his first black magic spell.

　　"Alright, that’s enough," Bahil called out, clapping his hands. "Those who were unsuccessful, please practice in your dormitories."

　　A collective sigh of disappointment swept the room. Bahil returned to the lectern and picked up the attendance sheet.

　　"Now, for the time we have left, we will hold a practical match using the magic we learned today. Will the student whose name is called please come forward?"

　　A palpable tension descended upon the classroom. Students suddenly found the ceiling fascinating or busied themselves with their notes, avoiding Bahil’s gaze. He simply smiled, enjoying their discomfort as he scanned the attendance sheet.

　　"Oh? It seems Special Admission Number One is in this class."

　　Every head in the room swiveled to look at Simon.

　　"Simon Polentia. Please come forward."

　　"…Sure."

　　He’d had a bad feeling this was coming. Simon took a deep breath to steady himself as he walked to the front. I succeeded towards the end. There’s no need to be nervous. I just have to do what I did before.

　　"Now, who would be a suitable opponent for our excellent Special Admission Number One?" Bahil mused aloud.

　　The students flinched. Bahil grinned, flipping through the attendance sheet.

　　"There are two students here with impressive entrance scores." After a moment of feigned deliberation, he made his choice. "Hector Moore. Please come forward."

　　"Yes."

　　It was the large student whose name Bahil had promised to remember. Hector rose and ascended the stage. Soon, the two of them were facing each other.

　　Simon swallowed hard. Up close, Hector seemed even larger, more imposing.

　　"I will now explain the rules," Bahil began as assistants placed stand-up desks before both students, each holding an ‘Exhaust’ guidance tool. "The only magic permitted is ‘Exhaust.’ Complete the spell and cast it on your opponent. The first person whose knee or hip touches the floor loses."

　　The rules were simple. Simon steeled his resolve. Since he was up here in front of everyone, he was determined to win.

　　"Professor," Hector said, raising his hand.

　　"Yes, what is it?"

　　"I will compete without using the guidance tool."

　　Whistles and murmurs of approval came from the crowd. The other students, now relaxed, settled in to enjoy the show.

　　"An excellent mindset," Bahil praised him. Hector had clearly noted the professor’s earlier disdain for the training aid and was now using this opportunity to showcase his confidence and skill, scoring points with Bahil. Despite his rugged, bear-like appearance, he was shrewd.

　　Bahil turned his gaze to Simon. "Polentia, what will you do?"

　　Simon’s lips felt dry. Everyone was watching him, their eyes filled with expectation. The pressure to accept the challenge was immense, but…

　　"I will use the guidance tool."

　　Facing reality was better than succumbing to childish pride. The absolute worst-case scenario would be to accept the challenge, fail to cast a single spell, and retreat in humiliation.

　　Bahil offered a wry smile and glanced at Hector, who replied as if he’d been waiting for it. "I have no intention of retracting my statement."

　　"Very well."

　　Hector had completely won over the room. It was the petty Special Admission Number One versus the steadfast, confident Hector. It was painfully obvious who the crowd would be rooting for.

　　"You will begin on my signal," Bahil announced. "I expect you both to put on a magnificent show for your peers."

　　Hector lowered his stance. Simon gripped the handles of the guidance tool.

　　"Begin!"

　　Simon immediately summoned his prepared Jet-Black and channeled it into the device. The dark energy spread quickly, filling the frame.

　　I can do this!

　　Perhaps it was the tension, but the Jet-Black flowed more sluggishly than it had in practice. He patiently waited for the circle to complete. The central rune took shape, and just as he began to inscribe the finer formulas…

　　A wave of heaviness washed over him, and his legs began to tremble.

　　No way!

　　Simon snapped his head up. Hector, having already completed his first spell, was grinning triumphantly.

　　"Oooooh!"

　　"Go, Hector!"

　　"He’s so fast!"

　　Riding the momentum, Hector immediately began preparing his second spell. Simon gritted his teeth, trying desperately to maintain his own pace.

　　I only took one hit, but my body feels like lead!

　　Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as his legs shook. He was experiencing firsthand just how debilitating a curse could be.

　　It’s complete. Now to float it!

　　The moment Simon lifted the magic circle from the frame, one side of it collapsed like melting wax.

　　A collective sigh of disappointment rose from the crowd. The spell was ruined. Without a second thought, Simon abandoned it and started anew.

　　Hector’s second ‘Exhaust’ slammed into him. He felt his stamina drain away, the weight on his body doubling in intensity. This was the worst possible situation. It was hard enough just to stand, let alone focus on casting.

　　The battle was completely one-sided. Hector mercilessly landed a third, fourth, and fifth ‘Exhaust’. Simon’s knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle at any moment. The students, who had initially cheered for Hector’s onslaught, now watched Simon with a sort of pity.

　　It’s over. He’s no match.

　　He can’t even land a single hit?

　　Is he really Special Admission Number One?

　　His concentration shattered, Simon failed to construct a magic circle twice in a row. As Hector unleashed a sixth ‘Exhaust’, he spoke, his voice laced with contempt.

　　"Surrender. This is pathetic."

　　Fueled by sheer spite, Simon forced strength into his legs. He would not—could not—back down like this.

　　Again!

　　He began his third attempt. Hector sighed and prepared his seventh spell. Bahil watched the fight with his arms crossed. The boy, Hector, was undoubtedly the real deal. He not only had a talent for Cursology but also possessed the proper mindset of a Kizen student. He was destined to survive until his third year.

　　I’ll definitely take him as my disciple, he decided.

　　On the other hand, Special Admission Number One is…

　　Frankly, he was a disappointment. Any student admitted to Kizen was expected to have prior training; some even had practical combat experience. Yet this boy, the top admission, had no grasp of the fundamentals. He fought like someone who had never touched black magic before.

　　Why did Nephthys choose a boy like this?

　　The top four Special Admissions were meant to be generational geniuses, hand-picked to bypass the notoriously difficult entrance exam. The number one spot, chosen by Nephthys herself, had always produced formidable figures. But this boy showed no such promise. His only remarkable trait was his stamina. An average student would have collapsed after four ‘Exhausts’, yet Simon was still standing after nine. He was clearly physically conditioned. And the fact that he was still trying to cast magic while struggling to even stand spoke to a considerable mental fortitude.

　　But that was all. Professor Hongfeng from Combat Magic might be impressed, but Bahil was not.

　　Simon grunted as he lifted his fourth magic circle from the frame. This time, it was perfect. It floated in the air, stable and solid. He immediately activated the spell. A stream of gray gas shot out and struck Hector.

　　"Ah—!"

　　Hector, in the middle of preparing his next spell, staggered violently. His knees buckled, and he nearly lost his balance, catching himself at the last second with a hand on the floor.

　　I finally hit him! Simon thought, pumping a fist internally.

　　When Hector looked up, a flicker of bewilderment crossed his face for the first time.

　　What is this? Why is it so heavy? Hector had practiced with ‘Exhaust’ before. He didn’t remember the curse being this potent. He’d nearly been taken down by a single hit.

　　Still, the score was nine to one. He held an overwhelming advantage. But having allowed that first hit, Hector felt a strange anxiety creeping in. This opponent, clinging to him like a leech, was incredibly irritating.

　　Just fall already!

　　Hector focused all his concentration and activated the tenth magic circle hovering in the air.

　　With a thud, Simon dropped to one knee. He had finally endured ten full ‘Exhaust’ curses.

　　"Stop. The result of the match is decided," Bahil announced, stepping forward. "The winner is Hector Moore."

　　Applause filled the room. Hector wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced over at Simon, who was slumped on the floor, sweat pouring from him like rain.

　　For some reason, it didn’t feel like a win. From the first hit, Hector knew his opponent was a complete novice. The match should have ended right then and there. It should have. But he just wouldn’t fall. Even after nine curses, with his legs trembling, he had somehow managed to complete a spell and land a blow.

　　…Disgusting bastard. He needed to be crushed now, while it was still possible. Before he grew into something unstoppable. The thought was a serious one in Hector’s mind.

　　"Polentia, you fought well. You may return to your seat," Bahil said. With a snap of his fingers, the ten stacks of the ‘Exhaust’ curse weighing Simon down vanished. The magic was gone, but the bone-deep fatigue remained. His mouth tasted sour.

　　Still.

　　He let out a long breath. He had no regrets. Simon pushed himself to his feet, feeling strangely lighthearted.

　　That was fun.

　　He was glad he had come to this school.

　　"Alright, that’s all for today’s class," Bahil declared.

　　As the students filed out, Bahil sank into a chair and leaned back, closing his eyes as if in meditation.

　　"P-Professor." A female student approached him cautiously. "I have a question about the lesson…"

　　"Just a moment," Bahil said, holding up a palm without opening his eyes. "Come to my research lab after your classes are finished for the day. I will answer all of your questions then."

　　"R-Really? Th-Thank you!" The girl let out a small shriek of delight at being invited to his lab and practically skipped out of the classroom.

　　Bahil glared at her retreating back, his eyes narrowed to slits.

　　I need to control myself. A string of curses had nearly escaped his lips. This feeling, this lingering resonance from the match… he refused to waste it on someone so trivial.

　　He closed his eyes again, savoring the memory of the class.

　　…Simon Polentia.

　　He wasn’t thinking of Hector. He was thinking of Simon. At first, he’d dismissed him as a boy with good stamina, nothing more. But he was wrong. The other students likely saw the match as a 10-to-1 landslide.

　　But that final ‘Exhaust’ Simon had landed on Hector…

　　To the discerning eye of a professor who could read a student’s true potential, that single spell was worth ten, no, a hundred times more than all ten of Hector’s combined.

　　Simon’s ‘Exhaust’ replayed in his mind, over and over.

　　Perfect! A huge, predatory grin spread across Bahil’s face. A genius like that… I must have him major in Cursology, no matter what it takes!

　　A latent, obsessive desire began to stir within him.