Part Seven

In the midst of the frenzied battle, Calder approaches Knox, his eyes wide with a mix of respect and apprehension. "Wow, she's stronger than Azura..." he mutters, his gaze fixed on Isadora, who continues her relentless combat. "How are we going to beat her?"

Quinn, overhearing Calder's comment, rolls her eyes and scoffs. "It's all of us against her, how can we not beat her?" Her confidence is palpable as she brandishes her larger daggers. "No matter what terrifying reputation she has, no matter how scary the rumors regarding her are. We are all freshmen; even if she's ahead of us, there's a limit to her strength. Let's fuck that bitch up."

She scans the area, her frustration growing. "Where the hell is that bitch with the cook? They should've gotten out of the monster's corpse by now, right? I want to beat the bitch up!" Her impatience is clear, eager to confront not just Isadora but also the mysterious cook who had vanished into the monster.

Knox, taking in the situation with a more strategic mindset, exhales a heavy sigh. "Before that, let's deal with that one," he says, nodding towards Isadora. His voice is steady, betraying a hint of the challenge they all recognize in taking on someone of Isadora's caliber.

As the intensity of the battle escalates, Azura stands out with his characteristic bravado and ferocity. He turns to his teammates, a fierce grin on his face, and yells, "Don't you fucking interfere! This is my fight!" His tone leaves no room for argument, and his eyes are alight with the thrill of the upcoming challenge.

Azura launches into the fight with a burst of speed, his body a whirlwind of motion. He throws a series of jabs, each one faster and more forceful than the last. His fists cut through the air, aiming at Isadora with lethal precision. With every strike, his grin widens, a clear sign of his exhilaration. He moves with a fluidity that belies the power behind his attacks, his muscles coiling and uncoiling like a spring.

Isadora, in stark contrast, stands almost like a statue, her movements minimal yet effective. As Azura's fist comes hurtling towards her, she raises her sword with an elegant, almost effortless motion, deflecting the blow with the flat of her blade. Her movements are a study in efficiency; there's no wasted motion, each parry and counter-strike executed with clinical precision.

The clang of fist against steel rings out, echoing around them. Azura's relentless assault meets Isadora's unwavering defense. He throws a hook, aiming for her head, but she ducks, her sword slicing through the air where his head was just a moment ago.

Azura doesn't miss a beat; he spins, using his momentum to launch a roundhouse kick. Isadora steps back, her sword moving in a swift arc, creating a barrier of steel. The kick and the sword connect with a resounding clash, sending sparks flying.

Despite the ferocity of the exchange, Isadora's expression remains unchanged, her eyes focused and unyielding. There's an eerie calm about her, a stark contrast to Azura's wild energy.

Azura leaps back, putting some distance between them. He sizes her up, his grin never fading. Then, with a laugh, he charges again, this time feinting a punch and going for a low sweep. Isadora reacts instantly, jumping over the sweep and attempting a downward slash. Azura rolls away, narrowly avoiding the blade.

The two combatants circle each other, Azura bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready to pounce, while Isadora stands grounded, her sword ready. The tension is palpable, a dance of death unfolding with each passing second.

Azura lunges forward, throwing a flurry of punches. Isadora deflects each one, but the sheer speed of Azura's attacks is beginning to wear on her. He sees an opening and throws an uppercut with all his might.

Isadora sidesteps, and Azura's fist passes harmlessly by. She counters with a swift thrust, but Azura twists his body, the tip of her sword grazing his clothing.

They break apart again, both taking a moment to assess the other. Azura's chest heaves with exertion, his grin now tinged with respect. Isadora waits patiently, her sword an extension of her body.

"Hahahahaha! Come on, Isadora, don't tell me that's all you got?" he taunts, his voice echoing with excitement and challenge. "Let me show you something really cool."

Azura's stance shifts, his entire demeanor transforming as he begins to channel his aura in a way that's distinctly different. Instead of simply coating his body with a dense layer of aura for defense or power, he integrates it directly into his martial arts techniques. This unique application of aura results in a noticeable change in his combat style.

"My martial arts is meant for speed and precision," Azura muses internally, a smirk playing on his lips as he gauges Isadora's reaction. "Let's see just how well you can keep up." With this thought, he launches into action, his movements becoming a blur, each strike and feint infused with a constant burst of energy. His aura, now an integral part of his fighting style, amplifies his speed in a way that's both relentless and awe-inspiring.

Isadora, who until now had managed to parry and counter Azura's attacks with her stoic precision, finds herself facing a new challenge. The sudden increase in Azura's speed forces her to adapt quickly. For the first time, a flicker of response crosses her usually impassive face, a sign that she acknowledges the shift in the dynamics of their duel. But make no mistake, her interest is not in Azura but in her technique. 

Responding to Azura's enhanced speed, Isadora begins to channel her aura to augment her own movements. The aura cloaks her like a shimmering veil, enhancing her speed to match Azura's newfound velocity. Her sword moves in swift, fluid arcs, cutting through the air with enhanced force, meeting Azura's aura-infused strikes with precision and power.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

In the thick of the chaotic battlefield, the air crackles with energy and the scent of scorched earth. Amidst the tumult, Cassia stands, her figure illuminated by the fiery glow of her latest spell. The remnants of a monster smolder at her feet, reduced to mere dust.

"Hahahaha! How do you like that! I'm the best mage here!" Cassia exclaims, her voice brimming with confidence and a touch of playfulness. Her eyes shine with the thrill of battle, her crimson robes billowing around her as she surveys the aftermath of her magic.

Orion, not far from her, hums a tune, an air of nonchalance about him despite the chaos. "Ah~ Are you all ready for the fun?" he asks, his tone light, almost teasing. His dark hair sways with each movement, his star-shaped birthmark catching the light as he brandishes his sword with a practiced ease.

Tara, standing gracefully with her fan in hand, sweeps it across herself, creating a gentle breeze in the stifling heat of battle. "So we all decided it's the best choice, right?" she inquires, her voice calm and measured. The serenity in her eyes is a stark contrast to the aggressive energy of her surroundings.

Elina, casually chewing gum, pops a bubble and nods in agreement. "Rito got sick so he couldn't join us, and I doubt there's anyone here that can deal with her one-on-one. So, we should wait for an opportunity and strike Isadora together," she says, her strategy clear and calculated. Her auburn hair frames her face, and the intricate patterns of her glowing armor add an otherworldly quality to her presence.

Cassia, her energy undiminished despite the surrounding chaos, declares assertively, "I'm the king so I say we attack now!" Her grin is infectious, a reflection of her eagerness to leap into the fray.

Orion, quick to temper Cassia's impetuous nature, jumps up and playfully slaps her head. "As if," he chides, pulling her down to ensure she's looking directly at him. "Listen here, Cassia," he continues, his voice a mix of sternness and amusement. "You are not going to do anything stupid like walk off on your own. Your sense of direction is the worst." His words carry the weight of experience, tempered with a brotherly concern.

Cassia, not one to be easily deterred, clicks her tongue in frustration. "Come on, look, the other team is about to join in, why can't we head in there~?" she complains, her tone reminiscent of a child being told they can't have dessert before dinner.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

In the shadowed room, lit only by the flickering flames of the fireplace, a man sits, his attention absorbed in the pages of a hefty tome. The soft sound of pages turning is intermittently broken by his cold, mocking laughter. "Hmhmhm," he chuckles, an unsettling undercurrent in his voice.

He begins to read aloud, his voice resonating with a grim tone. "Professor Rigwy, accused of conducting forbidden experiments on students," he sneers, his laughter sending chills down the spine. He continues, "Attempting to use mind control spells to manipulate colleagues and students alike for personal gain."

The man's voice grows colder with each accusation he reads. "Sexually assaulting women, children, and even men. Groumming and manipulating children. Murdering and torturing innocent people... Hmhmhm. And worst of all, the alleged sacrifice of innocents in an attempt to breach the forbidden realms of dark magic... Hmhmhm."

The fireplace crackles in the background, casting ominous shadows that dance across the walls. Each statement he utters paints a more horrifying picture of the professor's hidden atrocities.

Interrupting the eerie recitation, Professor Rigwy, bound and desperate on the floor, suddenly screams, "These are all false accusations! Look at my reputation, I would never do something like that!"

In a burst of magical energy, Rigwy conjures a field of fire, a horizontal pattern of flames surrounding them, scorching the air with its intensity. He follows up with another spell, a high-caliber restraint that wraps around the man.

"I don't know who you are, but how dare you mess with me!" Rigwy exclaims, his voice seething with anger. "Today is the day we can finally release our great lord! You're nothing but an insignificant obstacle. Now, die!"

The fire encircles the man, its heat intensifying by the second. But then, in a moment of unforeseen power, the flames dissipate into nothingness. "Hmhmhmhm... How plain," the man comments nonchalantly. He effortlessly neutralizes Rigwy's magic, absorbing it with a simple gesture.

The man, his presence as menacing as it is mysterious, holds his dagger aloft, the blade catching the flickering light of the fire. With a deliberate motion, he licks the blade, his eyes locked on Rigwy, who scrambles back in fear.

Taking a menacing step forward, the man watches as Rigwy, in a desperate bid for survival, casts dozens of magic circles. These circles pulse with energy, spawning a myriad of creatures conjured from elemental magic, all lunging towards the intruder.

Rigwy, his voice laced with a mix of panic and arrogance, sneers, "You're a nobody! I've practiced magic way longer than a man like you!" He believes his mastery over the arcane will protect him, his confidence bolstered by the sheer number of magical creatures he's summoned.

The man surveys the imitations with a cold, analytical gaze. "Interesting... for a moron like you to be able to create imitations," he remarks, his tone dripping with disdain. With a swift, fluid motion, he swings his dagger, slicing through the conjured creatures in a single, sweeping strike. The blade moves with such precision and speed that it also cleaves the classroom's air, leaving a tangible mark of its passage.

Rigwy, now visibly shaken, falls back onto the ground, his previous bravado evaporating under the weight of his adversary's unrelenting advance. The man stands over him, his presence dominating the room.

"Do you know why the use of sacrificial magic and the study of dark magic is banned?" the man asks, his voice as cold as the steel of his blade. With a single step, he activates countless glowing magic circles that suddenly appear all over the room, each one pulsating with ominous power.

Rigwy's eyes widen in terror, realization dawning on him too late. "N-no, this can't be, you're—" he stammers, but his words are cut short as the man swiftly slices his neck. The professor's life ends in a single, clean stroke.

"You can't use dark magic without the affinity for it, and you can't make a sacrifice since there's a chance it might create a rift," the man states coldly, his words echoing in the now silent room.

As he turns to leave, his demeanor unshaken by the act he just committed, a figure suddenly appears behind him.