Fallen Mage Regressor

A pin could have dropped and it would have been heard for a mile around.

Savaly was still on the ground, lips kisisng the dirt. The students in the stand were dead silent.

Mal rushed forward and brought out his blood-red Nettleleaf dagger. He stabbed it forward at her stomach—ready to stop as soon as it had pierced the fabric. Suddenly, an Arcane Sphere appeared in front of her and shaped into a square block above the impact site. Mal’s dagger clanged against the shield and bounced off.

Mal backed up, then sent another pulse of mana into his Bramblevine bracelet. More of the seeds cracked open. Thin tendrils of vine and plant matter crawled from behind her and ran up the surface of her cloth robes. She jerked to the side and ripped the vines off, even as they grew around her hand.

Mal circled to her side, eyes narrowed and mind working at a mile a minute.

The shield she’d made didn’t cover her behind.

Of course it didn’t. Complex shapes were more difficult for her. And the human body in motion was an incredibly complex shape.

Mal sent one more pulse of intent toward the remaining seeds. Elderroot and Sleepleaf and even a handful of Fireglove and Waterrose seeds all erupted into a frenzy. All focused on Savaly. They came from every direction, she wouldn’t be able to dodge—

She jumped into the air, then summoned an Arcane Sphere below her as a box. Her feet landed on the box, then she used that to jump straight again.

With the arc she was taking, she’d be far outside of the seed’s radius.

Think, think—!

Mal stiffened. He jumped himself and his Airgrass boots propelled him into her. His shoulder met her solar plexus with a loud crack and the two of them fell to the ground. With one swift motion, he lined up his dagger with her stomach.

She went still.

Quiet.

”And that’s my win.”

She didn’t respond. He stood up, and offered her a hand. She took it, her expression dazed and distant.

”Are you hurt?” Mal said.

At that, she blinked, then shook her head. ”I’m fine.”

She winced and gripped her chest. ”Mostly.”

The two fell into silence again. Mal noted that nobody in the stands had said anything. There hadn’t been any cheers. Even Igna and Vigil were quiet. Mal turned his gaze over to them curiously.

Igna’s jaw was dropped. She reached up and rubbed her eyes. Vigil, meanwhile, had a smirk on his lips.

What’s the surprise? Mal thought. This was what they wanted me to do, wasn’t it?

Mal narrowed his...

Unless...

They might have thought I have the best chance, tut they were likely expecting a loss. Strictly speaking, it makes sense—they probably had contingencies in place. They might have even been planning to call off the tournament if Savaly won.

And now I’ve gone and thrown a wrench into their plans.

Of course, Mal was simply theorizing. He didn’t know for sure, and it didn’t particularly matter to him either way.

He turned around and walked out of the stadium and back to his stand.

When he arrived back at the arena stands where his circlemates were, he was greeted by a flurry of words.

”You’re Malfrasius Patoal, right?”

”You were amazing out there. What was that plant magic?”

”How did you beat Savaly—?”

A low grumble cut through the din.

”Pardon, but can Philo speak to his circle mate?”

The voices stopped, and each of the students returned to their own seats. Philo stood at the other end of the pathway and nodded at him. Mal walked up and sat next to him. I’m not sure what we’re doing.

”So who’s next?” Mal said.

”None other than the half-elf.”

”What about Lusia?”

”She’s in the other free-for-all round.”

”So if they both win, they’ll both have to face off against each other.”

”They will, but what are the odds of that?”

Higher than you’d think.

Mal didn’t know of any heavy hitters that were in the other bracket. Technically speaking, Rolam and Lusia had the theoretical disadvantage. However, they both had much more going for them than anybody here realized. Rolam had begun training as a spellsword, a path of specialization that didn’t normally occur until around the third year. Even before she obtained magic, Lusia had been a fearsome combatant.

Mal was fully expecting that they would meet in the semifinals, which would mean he’d either be facing down Lusia or Rolam in the final round.

Mal didn’t want to put Lusia in the middle of a cult attack.

Really, the cult had been too quiet. He’d heard nothing from his circlemates about the cult contacting them. Then again, maybe Mal had been the wrong choice for this mission—maybe Nima had already ruled out Circle Turkey as potential allies, given what he’d done to them.

Maybe nothing would happen at all, and the tournament would be a quiet affair.

I’m overthinking this. We’ve all been overthinking this. They’re not going to attack the academy. Not with the Keepers of the Wall, not with Headmaster Puck.

The gates opened. Rolam strode out into the arena, his lips thinned, and a sword on his hip.

The other two fighters appeared, both members of Savaly’s group.

They looked at each other, then at Rolam.

”Really, why did they put people of the same circle in the free-for-all? That’s ridiculously unfair, ”Philo said.

”That’s part of the goal. Real life typically doesn’t involve a fair fight, and we do need to keep in mind that this was originally a military academy.”

”How barbaric.”

”Besides that, I think that they’ll need the help against Rolam.”

”True.”

If Mal remembered correctly, both of them were B-grade cores. High quality, certainly, but not up to the level of Savaly or Hypode.

Rolam unsheathed his blade.

Then he moved.

In one second, he’d dashed halfway across the field and toward the first member of Savaly’s group. The first member startled and raised his hand for an Arcane Sphere. Rolam slashed through the air, and mana in the shape of a viridian crescent moon shot toward the first member.

Panicked, the first member released his Arcane Sphere. It flew into the air in a total miss. Rolam’s own mana slash struck true and hit the first member with a loud thud. He was thrown backward into the ground and lay limp, unmoving.

The second member yelped and fired three Arcane Spheres in a row. Rolam weaved between them, then sprinted the remaining distance. He put his sword to the second member’s throat for several seconds, then pulled back and sheathed his blade. The second member hit the ground with her knees, eyes wide and hands trembling.

There was a few beats of silence, then a cheer roared from around them. Multiple students sitting next to Mal stood up and clapped.

”A completely dominant victory by...” The next words came out through gritted teeth. ”Rolam Knilum. Congratulations.”

The students erupted into another flurry of whispers.

“Circle Turkey is unstoppable.”

“This is absolutely ridiculous, at the rate things are going, it’s going to be a member of Circle Turkey versus Malfrasius.”

“I don’t see who could possibly stop Rolam with moves like that.”

The students fell quiet at the sound of footsteps. Mal tilted his head back to see who had walked in.

Rolam walked over to their bench and sat down. Philo nodded at him. “Excellently done, half-elf.”

“Looks like I’ll be getting along further than you did.” Rolam tilted up his chin.

“And I’m sure you would have been able to beat Savaly were you in my position.”

Rolam opened his mouth to respond when Igna’s voice yelled out.

“For the next round—” she said.

She listed off two names that Mal didn’t recognize, a member of, and then Lusia.

Lusia strode out, robes ill-fit to her body, and a complete lack of enthusiasm in both her posture and her gaze. She looked like she was standing in line at a food stall, not about to face off in a tournament.

“Rather relaxed, isn’t she?” Rolam said.

“That’s the ideal, isn’t it?” Mal chuckled under his breath. “It’s important not to be overly tense before the battle even begins.”

“They say that, but Philo feels like that’s a pretty difficult thing to do.”

“Not for her.”

The other two in the free-for-all—a member of Savaly’s Circle and a member of Hypode’s Circle—rushed at each other. Hypode’s group member tried to land a kick, but Savaly’s circle mate dodged with a quick side step. The two went back and forth, Lusia staring at them.

“They think because she recently got her magic, she won’t be as much of a threat. At least, that’s what Philo is guessing.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Mal said. “An unfortunate decision on their part. Not that it would have made much of a difference either way.”

After another minute of scuffling, Hypode’s circlemate came out victorious. He turned his gaze over to Lusia.

Lusia sprinted toward him. Hypode’s circlemate steeled his gaze and dug his heels into the dirt. He summoned an Arcane Sphere and it flew out and hit the ground in front of Lusia.

Lusia ran straight into the cloud of dirt, eyes shut.

Hypode’s circlemate smirked, then fired another one straight down the line.

He lowered his hand.

And then Lusia burst out of the cloud of dust, eyes still shut, and dagger glistening in her hand.

”How did she dodge?” Philo said, eyes wide.

Mal’s gaze swept across Lusia’s robes. There was dirt and dust on her back.

She knew that would be her opponent’s move and slid along the dirt.

Hypode’s circlemate jerked backward and tried to summon another Arcane Sphere. Lusia ducked underneath her opponent’s hand, then swept his legs. He tumbled to the ground, and she placed a dagger tip against his side. All of the energy in the circle mate’s posture dropped, and he flopped against the dirt.

Rolam stood up.

“And that’s my cue.” He looked at Mal. “So who are you rooting for, her, or me?”

“I don’t think it would be fair for me to play favorites.”

“It’s fine. You can say it’s your maid. I’m not sore about it.”

He walked off toward the stand exit. “Don’t come crying to me when I win, though.”

“Are you going to keep bouncing your foot like that?”

Mal looked down and saw that his foot had indeed been bouncing. He forced it to stop with a grunt.

“Philo thinks that you should relax. Neither of them are going to get hurt.”

“When did I say I was worried about them getting hurt?”

His voice had come out sharper than he’d intended. His eyes widened and he coughed into his fist. “I don’t care one iota about the results of this match.”

“Philo cares,” Philo said. “He’s worried and he doesn’t know who to root for. Rooting for either of them feels like a betrayal. If Philo is honest, though, he’s a little bit closer with Rolam. It’s only recently that the maid joined us properly.”

“Did you just admit that you’re rooting for Rolam?”

“Philo doesn’t know what you’re talking about. Philo didn’t say anything to that effect.”

What a pair of idiots, Mal thought.

The arena grew silent. Both of them slight and lean, the robes, despite their thickness, not helping with that perception.

Rolam drew his blade and set it into a guard position. Lusia shifted her left foot back, and a dagger slipped into her hands from her sleeve.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Vigil said. “But regardless of the outcome, three out of four individuals in the semifinals are all members of the same circle. Not only that, but the finals will—”

“It’s just beginner’s luck. They’re only first and second years.”

“But—”

“Vigil!”

Vigil raised his hands in the air, a smirk on his face. Igna, meanwhile, had strands of hair hanging raggedly around her cheeks, and she looked to be on the verge of strangling someone.

Mal wished that he could have had the chance to laugh at Igna, or have any other number of reactions, but Rolam’s sword lit up and Mal had to rip his eyes away from the announcer’s box to watch..

Mal watched in awe as Rolam closed the distance.

He’s going for a direct attack, not a ranged slash?

But that must mean—!

Rolam’s blade swept through the air and extended, and at the same instant, the glow turned blinding and the tip of the blade grew to nearly double the length of the sword.

The second form of the traditional spellsword techniques, Extended Blade.

Lusia leapt out of the way with an easy jump. Rolam shifted his blade and went in for another swing. Before he could do so, Lusia’s feet touched the ground and she shot forward, dagger aimed at Rolam’s throat.

So he wanted to try to end the fight early using a new ability, Mal thought. But it wasn’t nearly as effective as he was expecting?

No, that couldn’t be the end of it. The second form of the spellsword techniques is obviously more dangerous than that. Granted, it’s more meant for area attacks and dealing with large groups, not for a single agile fighter, but the extra range still wasn’t anything to sneeze at.

So Rolam was intentionally refusing to take advantage of his range. Why?

Lusia’s eyes widened with shock. Mal searched to see what had surprised her when Rolam abruptly snapped his foot into her stomach.

Her body flashed gold and her own leg shot out at the exact same speed as Rolam’s. Meanwhile, her stomach didn’t look injured in the least.

Her foot landed against Rolam’s guard—his forearms—hard enough that the thud was heard from in the stands.

Mal couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t blocked with his blade.

Too fast. Lusia’s response was completely unexpected. And why wouldn’t it be? She hadn’t been practicing with her kinetic redirection—at least not in front of Rolam and Philo. They were vaguely aware that she had something like it, but the exact specifics of the ability hadn’t been told to them.

Not because Mal was trying to hide it, but simply because both Lusia and him had never bothered to explain it, and the other two hadn’t asked.

Now I feel kind of like a terrible Circlemate.

The fight was decidedly leaning in Lusia’s favor. She still had an arsenal of weapons she hadn’t even brought out up to this point.

As if to make her point, she pointed her hand at Rolam and a white Bolt appeared in her hand.

A gasp rippled through the audience.

”And Lusia brings out a Bolt?!” Igna slammed her hands against the announcer’s table. ”What’s even the point of our curriculum at this point?!”

”A rather impressive accomplishment, though,” Vigil said.

The bolt shot out toward Rolam, and he dodged with a roll. He sprung back up, then twisted his spine to avoid another bolt.

The two bolts landed against the wall, and two thuds echoed out, one after the other.

The bricks were caved in where the bolts had landed.

Rolam’s forehead glistened with sweat and he gulped. ”I don’t suppose we could ask for a time out?”

”No.”

Something shifted in Rolam’s stance. He lowered the tip of his blade toward the ground and breathed out slowly.

Mal leaned in. What a foolish guard stance. The tip of the blade was low, and that would make it harder to block mid-range and especially attacks to the head. What was he planning?

Lusia tilted her head. She’d made the same calculations as Mal, probably even faster.

She circled Rolam, her hand taut and ready to summon another bolt in an instant.

She paused, stared at Rolam, then dashed forward.

Rolam’s grin widened and Mal realized she’d fallen into a trap.

He shifted his feet and brought the sword around in a counter-strike. The movement was so smooth, so well-practiced, that Mal didn’t even realize the sword was touching Lusia’s neck until the instant it happened.

The entire fight, it was all to put her guard down. Faking his strength, faking his abilities. All for that one moment.

Lusia stopped and looked at the sword.

”A false guard. That’s against your character.”

Rolam’s smile slipped down, then it came back in full. His eyes flickered toward Mal in the stands.

”I’ve been trying to figure out what honor means, and I don’t think this is dishonorable. Not really.”

She nodded. ”I am beaten.”

She sheathed her dagger back into whatever hidden compartment she had up her sleeve and walked away.

Screams and hollers ripped from the spectators.

”A D-grade core versus an A-grade core,” Vigil chuckled. ”I don’t think the Exodi Triumph has ever had such an unusual matchup in the history of the event. The students have made history.”

Igna stood up and walked out of the announcement stand. The cheers kept on and on, though Rolam didn’t seem to be paying attention to it. He turned toward Mal, his eyes locked on Mal’s own. The challenge was clear.

We will meet on the battlefield, Rolam’s eyes seemed to say. Get ready.

”Looks like Eternus has decided that we didn’t deserve snow this year.”

Mal could see the sense in her statement. It was the Cold Moon, the eleventh month of the year, only one year away from Oak Moon, the final month, the Winter Solstice. He was preparing for a ritual for that time, though he wasn’t expecting significant gains anymore, based off of his last performance during the Autumn Equinox.

The two of them were in the warehouse, where Hemp was going over reports related to the gang.

”I don’t think we deserve snow after all of the horrors we’ve wrought,” Mal said, unsure if he was joking or serious.

”No kidding.” Hemp leaned back in her chair. ”So how’s that tournament of yours going?”

”We’re taking a break for the final round. Just a week.”

”I heard that the elf boy who came here earlier is going to be your next opponent. Are you going to beat the shi—stuffing out of him? Wake him up to reality?”

”I think he’s well on his way to discovering reality on his own. He’s made significant strides.”

Knowing his luck, Rolam would pull out some third secret form or something.

Not that Mal was planning to win, of course. Mal was fully intending to lose with grace. After that, people would assume that his performance was nothing but a fluke. Besides, Rolam’s story was more interesting anyway. He was essentially an elven prince who had struggled all his life to gain his father’s approval, then he goes to another academy and becomes a spellsword prodigy, winning the Exodi Triumph?

Granted, there would be a number of asterisks attached to that title, but still.

The warehouse door swung open, and a man with a pale face and sweaty palms rushed over to them.

He stumbled over to Mal, then bowed his head,

”Lord Patoal,” he said, ”The—the other Three Quarters, they—”

”What is it?”

”They want to meet with you. They’ve sent a representative. He’s on his way now—”

The door, which had been shut behind the messenger, exploded into fine wood splinters that scattered all over the floor.

A figure clad in a dark gray cloak with white highlights strode through, his face also pale, shoulders relaxed. He strode up to Mal, bowed his head, then raised it,

”Greetings, Lord Patoal, Master of the Black Quarter.”

He knows we’re the bosses.

Well, Mal hadn’t been doing a great job of hiding it, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

”What do you want?”

”I wish to have a discussion. The outcome of which will decide whether or not the Black Quarter is razed to the ground.”