13

Corbelli’s voice had run dry, his throat spinning uselessly.

His right eye was dyed a deep red, on the verge of shedding tears of blood at any moment.

Beyond the restraints, his right hand had completely burned through what remained of its life. As a result—whether fortunate or not—Corbelli no longer felt any pain in that hand.

“It’s not over yet, you know?”

His withered right hand began to make a sharp cracking sound, like a thin shell splitting apart. The sound grew louder, and cracks spread across the hand, now closer to ash-gray than earth-toned.

“……”

Corbelli’s spirit itself had not yet broken. His eyes were still alive. But with the prolonged agony suddenly gone, the momentary relief and confusion—combined with his crushed throat—left him able to do nothing but watch in silence.

Drool slipped from the corner of Corbelli’s mouth, dripped from his chin, and splashed onto the stone floor. His awareness was focused entirely on his right hand.

As he hovered on the boundary between the living and the ruined, his right hand emitted another sound—lighter than the cracking shell, yet unmistakably the sound of something snapping at its core.

With a clatter, the manacle detached from his right hand, leaving the restraint dangling loosely from his left wrist alone.

“……i… h…”

Unable to produce a voice, Corbelli’s gaze fell to the floor.

Where his eyes landed, there was nothing but a collapsed mound of sand—the remains of what had once been his right hand.

“Well? Isn’t it interesting? With the manacles off, you might even be able to escape from here, you know? How generous I am.”

Lizelotte opened her closed fan, hid her mouth behind it, and chuckled softly.

“But repeating the same method as with your right hand would lack artistry, wouldn’t it?”

“A… wh… at… are… you…?”

Reading Corbelli’s soundless words from the movement of his mouth, Lizelotte replied, “Let’s see.”

“My name is Lizelotte. …Hmm, it seems it means nothing to you. As I thought, my nickname has spread far more widely than my name.”

She revealed her hidden mouth, her glossy lips—enough to stir desire in anyone—parting as she spoke.

“I am apparently called the ‘Eternal Witch.’ A name that makes me sound like a withered crone—I do not like it, but…”

The Eternal Witch. The Next-Era Luminaries were a group built on a magic-based ideology of chosen superiority. The woman who had shattered that superiority was the one who produced countless copies of the Original Canon and spread magical knowledge equally to all. To Corbelli and his ilk, she was a detested existence.

And now that very person stood before him, her cheeks flushed, smiling at him.

“…U… uuaaahhh!!”

Filled with hatred, Corbelli forced a roar from his broken throat.

“No need to get so excited. Our sweet time together is far from over, you know? Don’t go finishing on your own—I would be troubled if I weren’t allowed to finish as well.”

Her moist, alluring lips wove those words.

“Limit Release: ‘Arbitrary Flow—’”

Within an endlessly long ‘instant,’ Corbelli tasted despair, while Lizelotte reveled in delight.

Some time later—“some time,” according to Lizelotte’s perception, but only an instant to Mireine waiting outside—the cold, thick iron door opened, and Lizelotte emerged, releasing a heated breath.

Mireine felt a sense of unease at Lizelotte’s flushed cheeks, but she did not comment. She sensed it would only invite trouble.

“Lady Lizelotte, is everything all right?”

“…Ah, sorry to keep you waiting, Mireine. It is fine now. I asked what I wished to know. The rest may be handled by the kingdom as it sees fit.”

“No, it truly was only an instant…”

The door closed behind Lizelotte.

Through the small inspection window set above it, Mireine caught sight of Corbelli’s state and gasped.

“That said, I do not know if that thing still has any value left. It has been completely broken.”

Lizelotte hugged herself tightly with both arms as she exhaled a lingering, heated breath. That sight alone would enchant and ruin countless men.

Behind her, Corbelli was alive—but reduced to a mindless wreck. Lizelotte’s elation in contrast was grotesque.

‘…As expected, it would only have stirred the hornet’s nest.’

“Shall we return, Mireine?”

Walking across the unstable stone floor while producing crisp heel sounds, Lizelotte cut a striking figure—one so captivating that even Mireine, a fellow woman, found herself enthralled.

“…A holy relic, hm. Since when did it start being called something so grand and pristine? In the end, it’s nothing more than—”

Mireine, walking behind Lizelotte, never heard the rest of her mocking mutter.

At one of the examination halls, now emptied after the entrance exams had concluded, Ains stood facing Talidge.

A short distance away sat Darius, whom Talidge served, alongside Laika, Kirishiya, and Seidel.

Standing between Ains and Talidge as the judge of this bout was Haral, the first prince of the Santia Kingdom.

“We will now conduct a bout between Ains and Talidge. The weapons used will be imitation swords. Offensive magic is prohibited. Victory will be decided by surrender or when continuation is deemed impossible. Intentional killing is, of course, forbidden.”

Haral sent his gaze toward Talidge and Ains, gauging their reactions.

Talidge was already boiling with excitement. Without taking his eyes off Ains, he nodded and replied,

“Yeah.”

In contrast, Ains looked utterly fed up as he glanced over the lined-up imitation swords.

Seeing both reactions, Haral took it as agreement and instructed them to choose their weapons.

Each selected a sword and faced the other.

Talidge chose a two-handed sword. His robust physique swung it with ease.

Ains, on the other hand, chose a standard one-handed sword. With only his left arm, he could not wield a two-handed weapon, so he ignored them entirely, picked it up with a sigh, and took hold.

“Are you both ready?”

Talidge gripped his sword with both hands. Ains, meanwhile, held his sword loosely in his lowered left hand, without even assuming a stance.

The difference in intensity between the two was stark. Feeling mocked, Talidge issued a threat.

“Hey, you! Don’t think you’re safe just because killing’s forbidden! Even an imitation sword can shatter bones!”

A heavy two-handed sword, swung with brute force like Talidge’s, could break bones—and with a bad hit, could even kill.

Intentional killing was against the rules, but Talidge was implicitly threatening that an ‘accident’ during the bout was possible.

“Seriously, why am I even doing this? …From what I saw of the exams, the Sorcery Academy isn’t as impressive as I thought, and before I knew it, I was dragged into a sword fight.”

As Ains muttered that, he noticed Talidge’s glare and replied casually,

“Ah, scary, scary.”

“…I’ll kill you.”

Talidge muttered it under his breath, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

“Then—begin!”