Games of the Sky

When delving into the labyrinth, parties of five or six were highly

encouraged. But if you could stomach the fact that no friends would be

there to save you, there were benefits to solo runs.

For one, it was easier to hide yourself. In a group, there was just that

much more noise to stifle. Where a group might be discovered and forced

into combat, a solo explorer could often weather the crisis. Even if found,

the lack of encumbrance increased the odds of a successful escape.

"...…"

In fact, Oliver was currently using a camouflage spell to disguise

himself as part of the wall, waiting for a group of students to pass by.

The labyrinth's first layer had the most foot traffic, and that could often

lead to trouble. Deceiving other mages was even more important than

beasts or ghosts. And depending on the mage, that could be rather

challenging. A simple disguise might be enough for second-years—like this

passing group—but against a skilled upperclassman, more advanced stealth

techniques were a must… Although in that case, it was best to just turn

around and head in the other direction.

"…Whew."

Once they were a safe distance away, he released the spell and set out

once more. There were three key rules for traversal without backup:

maintain a safe distance, don't get reckless, and minimize time spent. By

following all three rules strictly, Oliver could currently manage the top two

layers on his own.

He kept this up until he reached his destination. He stood before a blank

stretch of wall and said the password. The blocks shifted, forming a door—

one of the first layer's many hidden entrances.

"…Sorry I'm la—"

As he stepped in, someone grabbed him by his shoulders. Pale-golden

hair—his "sister," Shannon Sherwood, now a sixth-year. Looking very

intense, she was inspecting every inch of him.

"Stand still, Noll."

"Wh-what's this about…?" he stammered.

His cousin Gwyn's voice echoed from the back. "Leave her to it. She's

been concerned about your condition. You've not been yourself since the

Ophelia thing, right?"

Oliver winced. He'd known he couldn't hide it from them, but this was

the first time they'd actually brought it up.

Shannon finished her fervent inspection and blinked at him.

"…Huh? …You're all…better…" She peered into his eyes, and he

gulped, feeling an arrow to his heart. "You…had it taken care of? Who…?"

" !"

"Ohhh?" Gwyn said, rubbing his hands together. As Oliver squirmed out

of Shannon's grasp, his brother insisted, "Don't you run, Noll! No secrets

from us. What're you getting from him, Shannon?"

"…Turmoil. He's blaming…himself… And…lots of self-hatred. But

also…affection. He doesn't…resent this person."

Shannon proceeded to straight up plow the depths of his heart. Oliver

clenched his jaw. He'd known there was no point trying to hide. She always

knew what he was feeling.

Gwyn folded his arms, thinking. "So someone close caught him by

surprise? …Gotta be one of the kids in his core group, then."

That was enough information for anyone to narrow down potential

candidates. When his little brother still refused to speak, Gwyn shot him a

soft smile.

"Don't get upset. I'm surprised you've let anyone get that close; it's

actually a good thing," he insisted. "You know you'd never have let us

handle the problem."

"…Hrmph…"

Shannon spun around and headed into the back room. Gwyn watched

her go, then pointed after her.

"See? She's sulking now. Go let her fuss over you!"

Oliver did, of course. He found her standing at the sink, her back to him

—and couldn't think what to say. All he managed was a faint whisper.

"Um, Sis…"

"Sit. I'm…making tea."

He did as he was told. Feeling awful, he moved to the table, and Gwyn

took a seat across from him.

"Just to be sure," his brother said, "you did use protection?"

"…Didn't do anything that would require that."

"Hmm. So they just nibbled at you?"

Oliver made a face at the euphemism, but that sort of talk was standard

at Kimberly. He knew full well he was the touchy one here, so he left his

gripes unsaid, sitting in sullen silence—until there was a thump behind him.

He jumped, turning toward the noise.

"...?!"

"Oh, nothing to worry about. If you're curious, go pry it open."

There was a wooden box in the corner. Gwyn waved him to it, and

Oliver gingerly approached, lifting the lid.

"…Zzzz…zzz…"

"...…"

There was a girl in the box, curled up like a cat. His covert operative—

Teresa Carste.

"She says she feels…safest there. Just…leave her be, okay?" Shannon

asked, eyes on her tea prep.

Oliver had a lot of questions but didn't want to disturb the girl's slumber.

He carefully closed the lid and went back to the table.

"She'll wake up soon enough. Let's get these frying."

Gwyn hopped up and moved to the stove in the corner. He lit the fire

with his wand and put a frying pan on top. When it was warm enough, he

cooled the bottom with a spell, and once he was sure the temperature was

completely even, he poured in the contents of a bowl that had been left on a

nearby shelf.

A sweet scent filled the room. Oliver sniffed.

"Pancakes…?"

"You want one, Noll?"

But before Oliver could answer, the box lid popped open, pushed

upward by a girl's head. She stretched—very catlike.

"Good morning, my lord."

"…Morning, Ms. Carste."

Greetings exchanged, Teresa came over and sat down at the table with

him. After several seconds of silence, he decided he had to ask.

"…Why a box?"

"I find dark, cramped places relaxing."

"…It doesn't take its toll on you, physically?"

"I am in peak condition."

Her stoic responses drove home the fact that this was just what she

always did. While Oliver tried to figure out if he should say anything else,

Gwyn came over with a steaming plate.

"All done! Use all the syrup you like."

He pulled the syrup bottle close and put the fresh pancake in front of

Teresa. The very color of her eyes changed.

Shannon brought the tea over and whispered in Oliver's ear. "Don't…be

alarmed, Noll…"

"Mm…?"

As he blinked, Teresa poured a lot of syrup onto her plate, then reached

out, grabbed the pancake with both hands (heedless of how sticky they got),

and bit in.

" Uh…"

This was not how he'd expected her to eat. It was extremely…

carnivorous. Sensing his surprise, Teresa glanced up at him, licking syrup

off her fingers.

"…Something amiss, my lord?"

"…Wh-why bare-handed?"

"It's faster."

"But…your hands get dirty…"

"I can simply wash them," she replied, a baffled expression on her face.

Unable to think of any further arguments, he looked up at Gwyn, who

shrugged.

"Side effect of her covert upbringing. We've mentioned it before, but…

she won't budge."

"…How do you eat during school hours?"

"Not a concern. I don't eat with anyone else."

She dug into her pancake again. At least she seemed to be aware that

this was not fit for the public eye. The fact that she was eating like this here

was because all three people present were close enough to count as private.

Still, he thought. Not eating with anyone else? As in, she doesn't eat in

public at all?

"..."

That wasn't something he could let slide. After a long moment of

contemplation, he turned to his brother again.

"…Can I ask for two more?"

"Coming right up!"

Catching his drift, Gwyn headed back to the kitchen. Oliver turned back

to the girl.

"Ms. Carste, stop for a second."

Teresa paused, returning her half-eaten pancake to the plate.

"…That's an order?"

"It is. And go wash your hands."

Figuring half measures would get him nowhere, he deliberately chose a

harsh tone. She rose mechanically and moved to the sink. Once her hands

were clean, she returned, and the pair sat in silence a few minutes until

Gwyn brought two plates over. One was for Oliver; the other was placed in

front of Teresa.

"Now I'll teach you table manners," Oliver said. "You'll eat the new

pancake per my instructions."

"To what purpose?"

"To instill behavior appropriate for my covert operative. Save further

questions until we're done."

With that, he put his knife in his right hand and his fork in his left. A

flicker of a smile crossed his lips—he remembered teaching Nanao the

same thing a year ago.

"There's a marked difference between individual nutritional acquisition

and eating around a table with others. For the former, you need only fill

your belly, but with the latter, the meal is a means by which to relate to

those with you. To prolong the social act, you want to avoid eating too

quickly; and keeping things tidy will make a good impression on your

peers."

Oliver was cutting his pancake into bite-size pieces. Nanao had merely

been unfamiliar with foreign table manners; Teresa, meanwhile, was

familiar yet rejected them. It was a rational, efficient decision in light of her

role and lifestyle, but it was a bit too extreme for her current position.

"There's no need to tie your every action to your mission," he said. "I

think it's a shame to miss out on the social opportunities life brings.

Especially since you're a student now."

"My current approach has yet to cause any issues."

"Are you sure?"

Teresa frowned at that, which proved Oliver was right to be concerned.

He sighed. She was definitely not making friends.

"I'm aware you've received no training for this…but if you're going to

attend Kimberly as a student, it's a problem if you can't blend in. What I'm

teaching you will help you avoid unwanted attention and make your life

here seem normal. I'm speaking both as a fellow student and as your lord,

here."

He let that sink in a moment.

"And to start with, you'll dine with me. We don't want these pancakes

getting cold, do we?"

"…Understood."

She nodded emotionlessly and picked up her silverware. He'd explained

the basis behind his orders hoping to convince her of the logic involved, but

her poker face gave him no insight into how successful that had been.

He sliced off a bite-size piece of pancake, and Teresa copied him. One

eye on that, he made conversation.

"My brother's pancakes are something else, aren't they? Do you have a

sweet tooth?"

"Sugar converts quickly to energy."

"It does, but we hardly go around sucking down rock candy, do we?

What do you make of the coloring?"

He pointed at the fried surface of the cake. Teresa stared at it a moment,

thinking.

"…It looks like a fox's pelt."

"Right, and every bit as consistent. Unless the pan's surface temperature

is completely even, you get a much more mottled look. He's taken extra

time and effort to make your dining experience enjoyable."

Oliver shot his brother a quick glance and got a smile in return.

"The batter shows extra care as well. You'd never get this consistency

just by mixing milk and eggs into store-bought flour. I can tell he's stirred

in a meringue, but I could never make it melt in your mouth like this. There

must be some other secret," he deduced. "And this pancake is crafted so

that it tastes better when cut into bite-size pieces. Compare eating it like this

to your handheld approach. You can tell the difference, right?"

She took another bite, considering it.

"...Mm..."

That sounded like she could tell the difference—and she started eating

faster. Oliver concluded that she'd never been taught to enjoy her food.

"And taking a sip of tea between bites refreshes your taste buds. When

you go back to the pancakes, the flavor will be as striking as it was the first

time. So there's meaning to the beverage pairing, as well. Your tea isn't just

a liquid for clearing your clogged throat."

Teresa heeded this advice, following a sip of tea with another bite.

"...!"

Her eyes went wide. Pancakes had a very simple flavor, and that could

easily grow dull halfway through; strong-brewed tea was an effective palate

cleanser. Something everyone else knew from experience—but her

operative training had kept her mealtime to a bare minimum.

"..."

And that upbringing had all been so she could serve him. That fact had

never sat well with Oliver—but then her eyes turned toward him, gleaming

with the thrill of new discovery. For once, she looked her age—perhaps far

younger.

"...I could eat this forever."

"Precisely," Oliver replied, stifling his emotions. Now was not the time

for self-reproach. "My sister brewed the tea extra strong to match the

sweetness of the syrup, something you might not notice from shoveling it

in…and manners dictate we take the time to appreciate the care she took."

Teresa was still a little clumsy with the knife and fork, but she was

thoroughly absorbed in her meal.

"I've learned three things about you today," Oliver said, smiling. "You

prefer a practical approach, have a sweet tooth, and show your true self

while enjoying fine food. Quite a productive meal."

"...!"

Teresa paused, mid-slice. For the first time, she realized her observation

subject was observing her right back.

"There's a crumb on your cheek. Turn toward me."

"…I-I'll get it," she said, raising her arm to her face. He stopped her.

"Wiping with your sleeve would be a faux pas. Must I make this an

order?"

She froze, and he cleaned her up with his handkerchief—gently wiping

her mouth and cheeks, careful not to hurt her. She had her eyes closed and

was turning rather red.

"All better now. By the way, do you own a mirror?"

"…No. Not much use on duty."

"Then take this one."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hand mirror. The one he

always used.

"Mirrors allow you to check your appearance and gauge how others see

you. Keep this on you and be mindful of that."

He held it out. She reflexively accepted it with both hands and then

examined her face in its reflection.

"…Thank you very much," she said with utmost formality. She put the

mirror in her pocket and went back to her pancakes. Eating even faster than

before, she quickly polished off the rest. When she was done, she turned

back to Oliver, but for a long moment, she couldn't meet his gaze. At last

she asked, "…Is the meal over?"

"Yes, that's enough for now. Join me again sometime."

He smiled at her, and she nodded, then stood up. As she slipped behind

him, she whispered, "…Just say the word, and I am there."

When he turned back to her—she was gone. He scanned his

surroundings but could find no traces of her presence.

"…Where'd she go?"

"The rafters. I think she hit peak embarrassment."

Gwyn pointed, and Oliver looked up.

"She's a born operative. Great at observing people but not at all

accustomed to being observed. Your conversation here was uncharted

territory."

That explained a lot. She'd abruptly changed her demeanor before, and

in hindsight, that had always been prompted when she herself became the

object of conversation. Grasping this principle alone deepened his

understanding of her.

As he finished Shannon's tea, more and more comrades joined them,

taking seats at the table. Once all eight chairs were filled, Gwyn spoke.

"Everyone's here, Noll."

Oliver reached into the pocket of his robe, took out his mask, and put it

on. He could feel his mood shift with the gesture. In that moment, he

became lord of the insurrection running rampant in the labyrinth.

"With the new year, our preparedness improves. It's time we act again,"

Gwyn said. "Let us hear it directly from you, Noll. What are we to do?" he

asked as his younger brother's vassal.

This was no discussion; what Oliver decreed was law. Mindful of that,

he gave voice to the decision he'd reached.

"Before the year is through, we take out Enrico Forghieri."

Oliver's brief statement echoed heavily through the hearts of everyone

present. After several long seconds, Gwyn nodded gravely.

"Acknowledged. Our second target is the mad old man, then."

"…M-may I ask the reason, my lord?" a sixth-year male inquired. His

voice was halting despite the advantage of age. "N-not arguing, of course.

J-just…of the remaining six, he's…incredibly dangerous. I don't think we

can win without losses—which isn't a p-problem, but…I don't want to

leave the why unsaid. I—I want to do this convinced, i-if that makes sense."

A direct request from a man whose life was in his lord's hands. Oliver

was not one to take that lightly.

"First, a simple process of elimination. At present, who do we stand a

chance against? Based on our current combat readiness, the strengths

derived from our specialties—we're a good match for a builder like Enrico

Forghieri. We all know that without me providing specifics."

Their silence signaled agreement. The vassals here were key members

and well aware of what magic their comrades had mastered. It was clear

those skills could be combined into an anti-Enrico hit squad.

"Next, his position within Kimberly. Esmeralda may be at the top, but

the 'box' of the school itself belongs to Enrico Forghieri. No teachers know

the labyrinth or school building better than that mad old man," Oliver went

on. "Which also means that with his loss, we can expect significant

oversights in the management of the campus itself. It will be easier for us to

move through the shadows."

There was a long road before this revenge was complete, and any

directive had to consider the effect upon the future. That had influenced

Oliver's decision.

"So we wanna take him out early on. That much, I get," said a seventhyear girl across the table. "But if we're talking current odds, I dunno if he's

the easiest target. Honestly, I think we've got a way better chance against

several others."

She leaned forward, looking him right in the eye.

"Your Majesty, do you get what it means to fight him inside Kimberly?

Really?"

Oliver didn't even flinch.

"I appreciate your concerns. You want to be sure I am correctly

assessing our opponent's threat level. But the best way to alleviate those

concerns is concrete strategy," Oliver replied. "How do we fight the mad

old man, you ask? How can we take him down? …Allow me to explain."

From that point out, it was all business: a method to pry away each

obstacle and slay the warlock named Enrico Forghieri, and more

importantly, Oliver's own role in that struggle.

Oliver was not alone. Advancing a year placed all students a big step closer

to the madness of the spell.

"…Urgh…"

"Yes, yes, that's it."

Katie was gingerly moving her hands, the Snake-Eyed Witch behind her,

giving instructions.

On the worktable before them was the corpse of a kobold. Miligan had

brought it in for them to dissect. Katie had insisted they not use one brought

in for labyrinth entertainment, but rather a kobold exterminated for causing

harm in the outside world, with all the proper paperwork complete.

"…Sorry," she whispered to the corpse.

Her athame sliced its ribs open, revealing the organs beneath, lungs and

intestines alike. It felt like sin seeping its way into her through her

fingertips. But her hands did not stop. No one was forcing her to do this;

she'd made the decision for herself.

"You're still a tad stiff but getting used to it. With this many under your

belt, are you starting to get a sense of how magical fauna are built?"

"…I think so. There's still a lot that shocks me, though…"

Katie wiped the sweat from her brow with a sleeve. She'd cut open far

more than a handful of creatures by this point. Miligan had had her start

with ball mice and work her way through a variety of species. And building

on that experience, today she was attempting her first demi-human

dissection.

"Everyone's like that at first. Organs and nerves are often located where

no ordinary animal would have them. You could also say that unnatural

construction is the hallmark of magical fauna. There is always a specific

logic to it—it's never just crazy."

"…Right…"

"Wherever your path takes you, if you wish to study magifauna, you'll

have to dissect them. Reading about them in books and doing it yourself are

worlds apart. For now, you need quantity. Especially if you intend to be a

magifauna vet."

Katie nodded several times. She'd known this lay ahead since she

enrolled—Miligan had simply helped her get here faster.

Ordinary folk thought mages could heal illness or grievous injury with a

wave of the wand. They weren't completely wrong, but—not quite right,

either. Healing magic itself was a vast field with a dizzying range of

disciplines.

And given their sheer differences in physiology, healing a human was

very different from healing other creatures. Even among humans, treating a

mage and an ordinary might require completely separate treatments. Katie

had learned only the most basic level of human healing; that is, only the

fundamentals taught in spellology class. If her troll, Marco, were ever

seriously hurt—there was little she could do about it.

"But you certainly are picking the thorny path for yourself. You don't

need veterinary skills to campaign for civil rights, you know. The antidissection crowd will have it in for you. Not that you should care, mind."

"…I know that."

Katie scowled but kept cutting. She reached for the tray next to her, and

the familiar on it—Milihand—handed her the forceps. If Miligan was the

brains here, this was literally her right (well, left) hand.

Once the skin and muscles were held open, Katie spoke again.

"Regardless…beast or demi, I want to do everything I can for them. And

treating injury or illness is the best thing I can do."

At Kimberly, nobody listened if you spoke of ideals. She'd had that

point driven home her first year. That's why she was doing her best to

acquire practical skills. And a comprehensive knowledge of healing magic

for magifauna and demi-species was one of the most critical therein.

Learning that required real understanding of the physical construction of

the patient. Reading documents and papers would never be enough. What it

really took was seeing and touching the creatures herself, observing them,

and learning. As she was doing now.

"I agree, but a healthy share of the movement would consider that

cultural invasion. The demis have their own standards of living and should

perish when their time comes—they argue we shouldn't interfere with that

process lightly. And there are parts of that worth listening to. If kobold

survival rates increased, they'd be a blight upon the lives of ordinaries.

What's your take on that?"

"I've been thinking about that since my trip to Galatea… If our habitats

are overlapping this much, then I don't think the arguments for maintaining

ancient demi lifestyles hold much water. Regardless of how we got to this

point, now we've got to find ways to survive together."

"Once again, I agree. I was trying to teach trolls to speak because I was

sure that would be the first step toward interspecies communication."

"…And whatever my gripes about your methods, I get that part. I often

wonder what it would be like if I could just talk to them."

She looked down at the lifeless eyes of the kobold. Even within the

activist community, there was a clear line drawn between demis you could

or could not converse with. It was much easier to justify protecting a

species that was capable of communicating with humans, especially if they

had actual language skills. Which meant any demi-humans that didn't meet

those standards were looked down upon and treated that much worse. Like

these kobolds.

Naturally, Katie took issue with that. She didn't believe being able to

speak to humans was the sole factor in determining a living thing's

intelligence. But in a purely human-centric society, her voice didn't carry

far.

"There's no easy right answer. I've gotta feel my way between a rock

and a hard place… That's why I'll do these dissections. I just won't ever

enjoy it."

Silently, but with purpose, Katie kept working—until Miligan's arms

wrapped around her shoulders from behind.

"Honestly, you are so cute."

"...…Um, you can't even see my face, though."

"The top of your head is plenty. Pay me no mind."

Katie thought this was ridiculous, but her pace didn't slow at all.

Even if she wound up under the knife someday, she'd have only herself

to blame.

"Once you're done with that one, let's take a quick break and then check

out the labyrinth. That's a lot for one day, but if we don't push ourselves

that hard, you'll never be satisfied. Right?"

"Of course not," Katie snapped.

Focus and energy seemed to well up as fast as she could use them.

"…Hahh, hahh..."

"Almost there. Don't falter now, Guy!"

The bustling forest—the labyrinth's second layer. This was where

Oliver, Nanao, and Chela had their first perilous fight with a chimera on

their way to rescue Pete. Two students were scrambling up a bunch of the

layer's landmark irminsul.

"…Hahh…hahh…"

"Well done! Catch your breath here."

Their long climb reached the end—of this stage, at least—and the

expedition leader, year seven's very own Survivor, Kevin Walker, finally

gave Guy permission to keel over.

"…They climbed this thing while fending off chimeras, then kept

fighting on the other side? Are those three even human…?"

"It's certainly not something your average underclassman can do. Here,

rations."

Walker tossed him some fruit. Guy caught it and peeled the rind with his

athame, tearing into the scarlet flesh beneath. Faintly sweet but with the

rich umami of fat—the nourishment his tired body craved.

"Mm, tastes good… Thanks for helping me like this."

"Hmm? I'm merely training a new club member," Walker replied, biting

into his own rations. "Not many as gung ho as you, so I'm happy to pass on

what I can."

Grateful for these words, Guy stared down at his hands.

"It really helps," he muttered. "I'm done being left behind."

An oath that made Walker fold his arms.

"Not to brag or anything, but you've come to the right place. Here at

Kimberly, the vast majority of problems arise within this labyrinth. Only

way to deal with them is to plunge its depths. Which means…"

"The more I know about the place, the more options I'll have, right?"

"Exactly! And there's no better person to teach that than me. There are

plenty of better fighters here, but I feel confident in my claim to being the

best at staying alive. I didn't repeat a year for nothing."

His grin was indomitable. The kind of grin that made you feel safe, like

if you stuck by his side, you were guaranteed to come back in one piece.

Guy had come to the Survivor for help because he wanted to smile like that

himself.

"And—though risks abound—that's what makes the labyrinth so

fascinating. Especially from a gourmet perspective." Walker caught his eye,

then continued, "So don't take this too seriously. Joining me down here

means you get good grub. And before you know it, you'll be owning the

place. I guarantee it!"

"…Right on! Can't wait."

Guy finished off his fruit and scrambled to his feet. Walker nodded, then

—a flicker of sadness crossed his face. He looked away, out across the

bustling forest.

"Wish I could've convinced her, too," he said. "This place isn't all dark

and hostile."

But the girl he spoke of was no more. And these regrets, this grief,

would remain with him the rest of his life.

"Oh, there's Guy! And he's with Walker!"

"Unh. Guy, good?"

Katie was peering up at the irminsul through a telescope—riding on

Marco's shoulder. She and Miligan had brought the talking troll with them

on their walk through the second layer.

"Firsthand instruction from the Survivor?" Miligan said, sounding

impressed. "He's no slouch, huh? Every bit as proactive as you."

"You bet! We've made up our minds that the next time something

happens, we're not gonna let Oliver leave us behind."

Feeling thirsty, Katie took a swig from her canteen.

"You're such a tight-knit group," the Snake-Eyed Witch said, smiling.

"Which brings me to an important question."

"?"

"Who you gonna bang first?"

Katie coughed so hard she almost fell off Marco's shoulder.

"Cough, cough…! Wh-wh-where'd that come from?!"

"What's there to be so flustered about? You'll be a third-year soon

enough, and everyone here knows this is when you get your first time over

with. Most go for someone close to them. Pete's trait means some delicacy

would be required, so that makes Oliver and Guy your leading candidates."

Miligan was clearly just speaking the truth as she knew it.

"O-Oliver and Chela told us not to rush into things!" Katie stammered.

She was bright red and couldn't meet the older girl's eye. "They said don't

let the mood sweep us along and be sure it's really someone who matters!"

"…Are they your parents?"

"They care about their friends! A-and we're done talking about this!"

The girl had Marco push on through the trees. Miligan followed,

repeating what she'd just heard like it was an entirely new concept.

"Be sure it's someone who really matters, huh…? There was no one to

tell me that when it was my time."

Miligan shrugged, a strained smile on her face.

"My, my…I'm envious," she said. This girl had friends who genuinely

cared about her.

Ten AM on a sunny day. Second-year students were nervously gathered in a

first-floor room, waiting for magical engineering class to begin.

"…This class alone I'll never get used to," Guy grumbled.

"Quite a few students have stopped coming," Chela said, glancing

around. "At least a ten percent drop since our first class."

Standing one row ahead of her, Oliver didn't blame them. The magical

trap disassembly had only been the beginning; in this class, failing to

complete an assignment always resulted in injury. Withdrawing was one

way to protect yourself.

"..."

"…You okay there, Pete?"

Next to him, the bespectacled boy had a tight grip on the fabric of his

pants. It was clear he was fighting his own fear. He'd been like this every

time—but had never once missed a class.

"I'm fine," Pete insisted, steeling his nerves. "No matter what he throws

at us, we just do the best we can."

Oliver nodded—and as he did, the floor beneath their feet disappeared.

"Wha—?"

"Augh!"

"Whoaaa?!"

Forty-plus students went plunging into darkness—but soon hit a sloped

surface, which they slid down. A few flailed around in search of clues or

tried stabbing the slope with their athame to stop their descent, but to no

avail. It was like the whole slope was made of hardened gel.

Their descent did not last long. In less than a minute, they were flung

into a wide-open space. Oliver caught himself and rolled to his feet, athame

at the ready, assessing the situation. A rectangular room, at least ten times

the size of any classroom. Three things spaced out on the floor, and at the

center of this triangle—an old man with one lollipop in his left hand and

two in the other.

"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Welcome to today's arena, children!"

His loud laugh proved more than capable of filling this space, and the

students shuddered—he seemed exceptionally sinister this morning, and all

of them knew what that meant. There was a clear indicator of how

dangerous today's magical engineering assignment would be: the number of

lollipops. Only one: comparatively doable. Two: caution required. Three or

more—

"Our usual classroom was a tad cramped for today's undertaking! So I

wasted no time dragging you into the labyrinth. As you've no doubt

noticed, today's class is a joint one, involving all second-years enrolled in

magical engineering!"

There were three holes in the walls of the room, and students from two

other similar-sized classes were tumbling in. Clearly, everyone had met the

same fate and were looking just as confused and alarmed.

"You're going to be dismantling and observing three golems. Naturally,

they'll be live. Everybody sees them, right?"

Enrico glanced at the three objects around him. Each of them was maybe

five yards wide and rather different looking—if equally intimidating. One

was a white sphere; another, a rhombus with six insect-like legs; and the

last, a mass of pitch-black gel with ripples cascading across the surface.

Pete looked at each and gulped.

"They're…"

"Go on! Approach! Prod away! Magical engineering has given rise to

countless successes, but golems stand above the crowd! Each of these three

is a work of art, constructed by yours truly! Worth a look for any mage."

Learning what these things were did not really reassure anyone.

Oblivious to their concerns, the mad instructor prattled on.

"Nonmagical people often confuse them with familiars or with

marionettes and automatons. Certainly, they employ similar techniques, but

this impression comes from a failure to discern the true essence of a golem.

Why do you think that is, Ms. Cornwallis?"

Enrico suddenly spun around, pointing at a girl—Chela's half sister,

Stacy Cornwallis.

"…The core concepts are distinct," she answered, her voice trembling.

"Golems are constructs born of magical architecture, a specialty field of

magical engineering. Their nature is closer to moving buildings than

familiars or dolls."

"Most impressive! A hundred-point answer! Have a small lolly!"

The old man waved his wand and a piece of candy flew out of his pocket

toward Stacy. She caught it without smiling, and Enrico spun around to face

a new section of the room.

"Yes, golems are buildings, not pets or toys. Thus, they aren't

necessarily humanoid and come in all shapes and sizes. There are constructs

so big you might well mistake them for castles! Doesn't that very idea make

you positively giddy?"

He took a big slurp of his lolly, then threw his arms out wide.

"These three golems are much more sensibly sized, but you'll find they

are stuffed to the gills with functionality. Use everything you've learned to

date to observe and dismantle them, learning every inch of what makes

them tick. That is today's lesson."

That sounded entirely too normal. Nothing was ever normal in this class.

The students braced themselves for the inevitable…and Enrico held his

white wand high.

"Let us begin! Satus sursum!"

The moment his incantation ended, the golems shuddered to life. A

single thought crossed every student's mind: I knew it.

"The toll upon your bodies will be greater than usual, but never fear!

They've been ordered not to crush your skulls or hearts. Come! You've

gone up a year! Let me see how much you've all grown!"

His expectant cry echoed through the room, and the ground shook with

the multi-legged golem's footsteps.

"Y-yikes…"

"Back off before it steps on you!"

Students nearby scurried away. The rhombus golem's legs might be buglike, but they were articulated, allowing for smooth movements akin to

some sort of mollusk. They supported the entire construct's weight, and

mechanical tentacles mercilessly pounded anything nearby. The pointed tips

easily cracked the stone flooring.

But even as the students braced themselves to handle this threat, their

ears caught an altogether different sound—the noise of something hard

scraping the stone floors. The sphere golem, bearing down on a group of

students—by rolling at them, much as its shape implied.

"I-it's rolling this way!"

"Move! Now!"

Fearful of getting run over, the student body parted in both directions.

The sphere golem rolled through the gap, slowed as it neared the wall, and

turned—rolling in a new direction. Several students were casting, but their

spells were just bouncing off its surface. They weren't even slowing it

down.

"Scatter, everyone! Crowding together will only make you a prime

target!" Chela cried, already running.

People instinctively moved together when fighting large enemies, but

this gave them no room to maneuver and could leave the whole group

downed at once. Chela's friends followed her, moving away from their class

and spreading out—but staying within earshot. Others were doing the same,

following the instructions of experienced students.

"Single incantations ain't doing shit… These things are hard as hell!"

Guy yelled.

The two golems were each drawing concentrated fire but not even

wavering. Clearly a worrying level of resilience. They'd have to find the

right element and focus their attacks or locate a weak point to target—but as

Oliver scrambled for a viable approach, Katie suddenly yelled, "L-look

out!"

She'd seen the sphere golem curve its course, rapidly closing in on a

group of students fleeing in that direction. Katie broke into a run, but a

moment later, several students were caught under the golem, unable to get

away in time. The sight of them twitching, their lower bodies crushed, made

her stop in her tracks.

"Augh…! This is awful…!" She impulsively took a step toward the

injured.

"Don't, Katie! If we run in without a plan, that'll happen to us!" Oliver

yelled.

It might seem cruel, but this was no time to be worrying about the fallen.

He looked up at the sphere—its white sides now stained with the blood of

the crushed students—and was about to start barking orders, but a forceful

voice interrupted.

"Quit screaming, nobodies."

Light shot from multiple athames, hitting the ground beneath the sphere

as it neared a wall and slowed to turn. The stacked barrier spells raised the

floor levels, trapping the golem between the walls.

"Ball golems aren't a threat if they aren't up to speed. Hit 'em by the

walls or when they slow down to turn. Barriers and obstacles will get 'em

stuck easy."

The large boy leading this defense was using an amplification spell to

project his voice—Joseph Albright, already barking further orders. Oliver

blinked once, then grinned. This was exactly the approach he'd been about

to suggest.

And a different voice was calling out in the other direction—Tullio

Rossi.

"You are surely not allowing these six legs to alarm you, no? You see

how it must 'ave three on the ground at all times or it cannot maintain its

balance. You need merely watch out for the uplifted leg nearest you."

Oliver turned to find the Ytallian boy dancing through the multi-legged

golem's flurry, not one limb coming anywhere close to hitting him.

"""""Flamma!"""""

Multiple fire spells all hit the same leg, striking the joint closest to the

body. Oliver glanced at the source and found a blond girl—Stacy

Cornwallis. Like Albright, she was leading several others into battle.

"The joints are a clear weakness," she called. "From this distance, we

can still hit the upper joints with their limited mobility. Keep the element at

fire and focus your attacks."

"I admire your courage, but stay out from under it. No telling what'll fall

on your head," the half-werewolf Fay Willock added.

While Rossi kept it engaged from up close, they continued the barrage

on its weak points. Not long after, lids popped open on the main body's

sides, and dozens of smaller golems came spilling out—shaped just like the

host.

"Impetus!"

But all of them were swept up in a gust of wind. As the small golems hit

the ground, off-balance and not braced for a landing, a long-haired student

strode into the midst, blade raised high.

"Crush any that get near you!" Richard Andrews yelled. "We can't have

these running around underfoot!"

His confidence got several students attacking the small golems.

Rossi pinned one to the ground and stabbed it with his athame, grinning.

"Ha-ha! What a lark. Well done, Signor Andrews!"

"Fay, finish them."

"Mm!"

Rossi and those in Stacy's group were making quick work of the smaller

golems. New attack patterns were a constant threat but also proved their

approach was effective. Oliver looked back to the sphere golem to find it

had extended several drill bits and was trying to demolish the containing

walls. Like the multi-legged golem, it had a second form.

"A futile effort. Match my lead, nobodies. Lutuom limus!"

Albright's spell hit the ground just before the wall the drills were

gouging. The students around him followed suit, magically softening the

floor around it. The sphere golem punched through the wall and rolled out

but sank into the mud a few yards away. With the floor itself a quagmire,

the creature was trapped again.

"You see how to handle it? Then take it from here." Albright turned and

stared across the room—and Oliver did the same.

"That one's the real problem," Oliver noted.

As they watched, the third golem began slithering across the floor. Its

slimy black liquid body had a metallic luster—clearly a very different threat

than the other two.

" ! Katie, Guy, Pete, back away!" Chela called, figuring it out.

She, Oliver, and Nanao stepped forward. A dozen other skilled students

joined them at the fore.

As they drew within twenty yards of the new threat, Oliver spoke its

name.

"A liquid golem…!"

The third construct slid toward them. A part of its body extended, a

gesture that reminded Oliver of an upswung arm—which spelled trouble.

"Jump!" he yelled.

Nanao, Chela, and several others all leaped into the air—and something

passed rapidly underfoot. They landed a moment later—and eight students

who'd failed to react in time hit the floor.

"Gah…!"

"M-my legs…my legggs!"

They had good reason to scream. Not one of them had anything left

below the knee. Oliver gritted his teeth—that had been much faster than

he'd expected. The attack that claimed their limbs had been a high-velocity

liquid metal whip, enhanced by centrifugal force. If you failed to read the

premotion, it was nigh impossible to dodge.

"Quit squealing and back off!" Albright yelled, stepping up next to

Oliver. "Only room here for those who can read the attacks!"

Several front liners admitted they were outclassed and backed away,

replaced by Stacy, Fay, Rossi, and Andrews. Rossi glanced down the ranks

and grinned.

"Ha-ha-ha! We meet again, eh? All my favorite faces!"

"Skip the chatter, Mr. Rossi. This is hardly the time for a reunion."

"First, we need info. Anyone here got facts about this thing? Fought one

before?" Andrews asked.

Faced with this unknown threat, everyone was looking to one another.

"Afraid it's a first for me," Albright said. "All I got is that there'll be a

single brain in the center controlling it. Any corrections or addendums, Mr.

Horn?"

His voice was free of the scorn it once held. That alone was admirable

progress. However—

"…I don't know much more," Oliver admitted. "But be careful about

touching the liquid itself. I've heard there's a lot of corrosive—"

"It's black lidium!"

A voice came from behind. Though surprised, Oliver kept his eyes

locked on the liquid golem. "Pete?" he called.

"There's only three magic metals used in liquid golem creation," the

bespectacled boy said. "Silverized miarki, kaja dwerg alloy, and black

lidium. And the last one's the only one that's this color. Melting point at one

atmosphere is minus ninety, boiling point is three thousand two hundred

and eighty-eight!"

"Minus ninety…? Then if we get close and use freezing spells, they'll

work. Hat's off. Good intel, Pete Reston."

Pete looked surprised, clearly not expecting a compliment from

Albright.

Armed with this new info, Oliver quickly put a plan together.

"…Anyone capable of dodging its whip attack should move in and

freeze the liquid parts. Then we've just got to dig through the frozen metal

with our athames and reach the core to destroy it. We clear on that plan?"

Everyone nodded. They all knew one another's skills, so no one argued.

The sheer speed of this consensus made Oliver wonder if the canceled firstyear battle royal had actually not been a total waste of time, after all.

"Go!"

All dashed forward. The liquid golem shifted shapes, once again

thrashing with the whip. This blow came at waist height, but they'd all

spotted that from the premotion and ducked under it. The golem

transformed again, now swinging multiple whips both horizontally and

vertically.

"Gets worse as we get close! But so far—"

"Hahh!"

Chela's fancy footwork got her through, and Nanao knocked them away

with her blade. Everyone was fending off the attacks their way. Five yards

out, they stopped, going back and forth until Rossi spied an opening and

soft-stepped up to the golem's side. Fully expecting a counterstrike, he was

about to chant a freezing spell—

"Augh?!"

But before he got a word out, the golem's body shot a spike right at him.

His natural instincts were all that allowed him to dodge, but it still scraped

his side. He hastily backed away.

"Hup…! W-wait, this thing—it 'as no eyes?! Is it not detecting us with

sound?"

" ?!"