I was in Seclusion for so long that everyone forgot about me

The hallway stretched on.

Too long, really—especially considering we’d taken an entirely different set of stairs this time. These weren’t leading us back up. No, they burrowed deeper. Down into the heart of the Academy.

Eventually, we reached a fork—three wide paths, each leading into separate plateau-like chambers. We took the right one. The moment we stepped inside, I noticed the runes.

They were everywhere. Crawling along the walls like living script, engraved in spirals and circuits that pulsed with distinct, humming mana signatures. Each one glowed a different hue—some soft and gentle, others sharp and aggressive, like languages I couldn’t speak but desperately tried to understand anyway.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Professor Jolford, wearing a rather pleased expression. “I personally upgraded this one to make it faster.”

“Faster doing what?” Asche asked before I could stop her.

I clenched my teeth. Damn it, Asche.

Jolford beamed like she’d just given him an excuse to monologue. “Wonderful that you’re asking! You see, we’re currently standing on the upper level of the magic platform. Once activated, it swiftly transports us down to the arena. Since teleportation is impossible in the capital, we had to develop alternate systems. Of course, these platforms existed when I was a student, but back then they were dreadfully slow. Now?” He tapped a rune on the wall. “Just under a minute. Truly marvelous.”

“How deep is this arena?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

“Over three hundred feet below the Academy,” he replied, voice full of pomp. “It’s one of our greatest marvels. Most major events are held down there. There are other access points, of course—less refined entries. For the more… common crowd.”

So I’d misjudged him. He was the kind who measured worth in power and prestige, and ranked everyone accordingly.

‘Aren’t you kind of doing the same?’ Asche asked in my mind.

‘No,’ I answered flatly. ‘Just because someone is weaker doesn’t make them less valuable. I don’t measure worth by power, prestige, or wealth. I measure it by usefulness. Talents that serve a purpose—my purpose. And those can’t be measured by titles or birth.’

‘Uh-huh. And what if someone’s talentless?’ she replied, cutting straight to the point.

‘Everyone has something,’ I said. ‘But even if they don’t know it… it’s me who decides what they’re good for.’

‘You know,’ she said slowly, her tone dimming with disappointment, ‘every time I think I might actually start to like you… you say things like this. You can’t just run around labeling people, deciding who matters and who doesn’t. What’s the difference between you and Jolford then?’

I didn’t hesitate. ‘Because I can,’ I said coldly. ‘And what is life to someone who can shape it like clay?’

Asche’s voice pierced through it, sharper now, like she’d been holding the question back.

‘Then why aren’t you destroying everything?’ Asche’s voice came through sharper now, cutting. ‘Why play along at all? Why pretend to care? Why not just end it, if you can do anything? Who are you really, mhm? A coward hiding behind power? Too scared to feel?’

I stopped walking and turned to Aska and the words fell out of me like splinters breaking through old wounds.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” My voice echoed, brittle. “Don’t you think I’m tired? Do you know how many times I tried to kill myself? To end it all? Nothing worked. Nothing in this realm is strong enough to kill me. Not even Eternal. Not even Calypso. They tried. Over and over again.”

I took a slow breath. It trembled. “I’m tired, Asche. Tired of watching the same cycle play out—civilizations rising, collapsing, mortals clinging to the illusion that they matter.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t stop. “So what if I’m a coward? So what if I sealed away everything that ever hurt? If I dulled myself so much I can’t even remember what it feels like to care?”

She said nothing. So I kept going.

“You want to know why I don’t destroy everything?” I asked, quieter now. “Because for the first time in a very long time… something changed. A seed grew in my garden that shouldn’t have. A mistake. A miracle. I saw hope—real, stupid, fragile hope. And if I have to play by their rules a little longer to keep it alive... then I will. Even if I hate it.”

Asche didn’t respond right away. She just looked at me with those eyes of hers—too sharp for someone so small.

Then, finally, she spoke. Softly. ‘Thank you… for being honest with me. I still don’t like the way you see the world and handle things. But… at least I understand you better now. I’ll leave it at that.’

‘But also… you shouted that out loud and undid your transformation. And your skin is cracking…’

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, turning toward Jolford—who now looked utterly horrified.

“F-Fiend!” he stammered, hand already rising to cast something.

I blinked and appeared right in front of him. He stumbled back in instinctive fear.

“This will hurt for a second,” I said calmly, almost soothingly. “Let’s hope your pride is big enough to handle this.”

“W-Wh—”

He didn’t get to finish. My hand was already on his head, fingers curled gently around his skull like I was cradling something precious.

Then I reached in.

My soul magic slipped through the outer shell of his mind like a needle through silk. No flair. No drama. Just cold precision. The part of his soul holding the last five minutes shimmered in front of me, neatly labeled by panic and judgment. I cut it free like trimming dead flesh from a wound.

He dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

I blinked back next to Asche, slipped back into my form, and pulled a few vials of medicine from my storage. I downed them without hesitation. Setting Richard as a seal the night before had turned out to be a lifesaver. Without him as a temporary seal, a few of the anchor seals might’ve snapped right then and there.

“What did you do?” Asche asked aloud, brows drawn.

“Ah,” I said lightly, brushing my hair back, “just took a little snip of his soul. Cut out the memory thread holding the last five minutes. Like trimming a bad dream.”

“Um… is he going to be okay?”

I tilted my head. “We’ll see. Depends if he comes back from it.”

“If? Please tell me you didn’t—”

She didn’t get to finish. Jolford groaned.

“Wh-What happened?” he mumbled, blinking in confusion.

I stepped forward quickly, tone laced with warm, sugary concern. “Professor? Are you alright? You were just telling us about your brilliant enhancements to the magic platform. You were about to activate it.”

“I… I was?” He blinked a few more times, then rubbed his temple. “Yes. Yes, of course. My apologies. I may have overworked myself lately…”

He shook his head and straightened his shoulders with a deep breath, clearly trying to recover his dignity. “Right then. Yes. The arena. Let me activate the mechanism.”

‘See? Everything’s fine,’ I grinned inwardly.

Asche rolled her eyes. ‘You simply lucked out…’

Jolford moved to activate the platform using what I could only assume was a skill. The moment he did, I watched the magic unfold—complex, layered, woven directly into the System’s framework. If I weren’t a soul mage, I wouldn’t have seen any of it. No—if I weren’t me, I wouldn’t have been able to see it at all. Even other soul mages wouldn’t catch this. And honestly? A safeguard—meant to keep its inner workings hidden from those who had no business peeking inside.

With a loud, stony clunk, the round platform began to descend. At first it was slow—stone grinding over stone—but it picked up speed with each pulse of mana until we were moving at a steady glide. I found myself wondering just how slow it had been before the upgrade. Right now? It felt like a halfway-decent elevator.

‘What’s an elevator?’ Asche asked.

‘This. Just… less runes, no magic,’ I replied absently.

Aska whipped her head around. ‘Sounds like dwarven-tech.’

‘Huh. Yeah. It really does. I wonder if they have anything like this in the city.’

‘Wanna bet?’ Asche said, flicking her tail.

‘About what?’

‘If there’s one, you owe me a nice meal,’ she grinned.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You were already unbearable as a human. Now you’re worse.”

‘Needs one to know one~.’

I sighed.

“So,” I said, voice casual, “what can you tell me about the students, Jolford?”

“Mhm? Oh, the students?” He blinked, still trying to shake off the aftereffects of the soul-edit. “Sorry, my head’s a little foggy.”

He paused, gathered his thoughts, then continued. “Yes, right. These little troublemakers. They were handpicked by the headmaster from various backgrounds. I’m not sure I should tell you all of this before you’ve seen them, especially considering your rank as a Matriarch. But… two of them are demon-kin. O-of course, not from the Ashen Realm,” he added quickly, as if that made a difference.

“They’re from the Kingdom of Origins. Exchange students. Then we have the royal princess of the Wolf-Clan. And two nobles from the frontlines—brother and sister, from Marquis Karoli.”

He hesitated before the last one. “And finally… there’s a dragon-kin. She apparently found the idea of studying at a human academy entertaining.”

“I didn’t expect this kind of diversity,” I admitted, folding my arms. “Ulrich’s really been collecting.”

“As the headmaster probably explained,” Jolford said with a small shrug, “the usual rules don’t apply here. The Empire benefits far too much from what we do. Even if they dislike our admissions, they don’t say anything. And you—” he looked me over cautiously, “even as a Jaeger, aren’t exempt from the Academy’s jurisdiction. Ulrich made that very clear.”

I smirked. “You don’t have to glare at me like that, colleague~”

His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. There was a pause. A flicker of realization.

“I see,” he said slowly. “He really did outdo himself this time.”

“He gave me something I needed,” I murmured, “and in return, I’ll entertain him for a while.”

With a final click, the platform locked into place. A large stone doorway rumbled open in front of us, revealing a corridor that stretched ahead.

“We’re nearly there,” Jolford said and took the lead.

We followed.

This part of the hallways felt different. Quieter. The Zyklus Crystals floated freely above their brackets now, no longer fixed but orbiting gently like they were thinking. Their soft hum filled the space—subtle, probing.

Their light was colder here. It spilled across the floor like oil, catching on the seams between the black tiles and casting strange reflections.

‘Everything’s made of this shiny black stone,’ Asche whispered into my mind. ‘Look! It’s so polished I can see my face between the cracks. Mhm… mhm, yes. I do look cute~’

I gave her a light psychic push. Don’t stop.

‘Fineee. But look at all these weird paintings!’

She was right. Paintings lined the walls—dead mages, mostly, or so I assumed. But it wasn’t just the art that felt off. The silence wasn’t natural. The walls were warded—soundproof, spell-woven, and heavy with enchantments that would make anyone without enough power make their skin crawl if they tried to concentrate too hard onto them.

And now that I was paying attention... the structure of the wards felt familiar.

“Is there any chance the wards here and the ones at the guild were made by the same person?” I asked aloud.

Jolford turned around, stunned. “H-How can you even tell? I can barely see them, and I work here!”

“Huh,” I said flatly. “Didn’t know it was that special.”

“Of course it is!” he exclaimed, indignant now. “These were crafted by the leader of the royal court mages. The only direct pupil Ulrich’s ever taken. She’s a genius!”

I had to admit… he wasn’t wrong. These weren’t your standard protective glyphs. They were laced, layered, precise—and far beyond what most could accomplish. Not enough to worry me, but enough to earn my attention.

‘I think you’ve got competition, Asche,’ I sent with a grin.

She flicked her tail across my legs. I laughed.

‘What a pouty little wolf~’

Her eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Say that again and I swear I’ll kill the professor. Just to ruin your day.’

I blinked dramatically, wiping away invisible tears. ‘You’d do that? For me? That’s so sweet.’

She groaned. ‘Urrgh, whatever. Let’s go kick the asses of those students already. I wanna see if the dragon-girl’s worth anything.’

I laughed again and followed her as she stomped ahead, tail swaying like a war banner. Jolford, utterly bewildered, scurried to keep up behind us.

Eventually, we passed the guards near the end of the hallway—same type, same armor as the rest stationed throughout the academy. One of them blinked and stepped forward, clearly about to stop us, but paused at the sound of Jolford wheezing somewhere behind.

I pretended not to notice and kept walking. If they wanted to interfere, they’d have to be faster than that.

With measured steps, we approached the tall, gate-like doors—just before we reached them, they opened on their own. A wave of warmth swept through the corridor, like sunlight spilling into stone.

No. Not like it—but close enough to feel real…

"Now that’s what I expected from a place called the Royal Academy," I said, pausing at the threshold.

Aska’s eyes gleamed. Her excitement was impossible to hide as she caught sight of the space beyond. Arena didn’t do it justice. It was a colosseum. A stage built for spectacle, a stage for greatness.

The seats were packed—students in uniform, some wide-eyed with anticipation, others already slouched in boredom.

‘The headmaster really wants to make a show out of this,’ Asche murmured in my head, and I had to agree.

‘How did they even get here before us?’ I wondered, scanning the crowd.

Aska shrugged. ‘Maybe there are separate platforms for the spectators? Faster ones?’

‘Could be. Not that it matters now.’

On the sidelines, instructors lingered near the walls—arms crossed, eyes sharp. Some whispered among themselves, clearly annoyed that their students had been pulled away from exam prep for this. The tension in the air wasn’t quite dread, but it was something close to curiosity sharpened into anticipation.

A show was coming. They just didn’t know what kind.

All of them wore the same kind of uniform I’d noticed earlier. The girls’ version was elegant in a way that felt deliberate—sharp cuffs, a bow that framed the face just right, and a cut that gave the illusion of softness without ever giving up control. The skirt said confidence: quiet, composed, maybe even a little smug.

And honestly? I kind of liked them. Even if they were basic.

The boys' uniforms followed a similar style, if not worse. Too buttoned-up for my taste, but they somehow made it work. The cravat was a bit theatrical, sure, but the rest? Sharp and structured—like someone had taken a noble’s jacket and trimmed just enough arrogance off to make it bearable.

Asche sneered at that. ‘I mean, it’s still the Royal Academy. There’s gotta be some noble nonsense left.’

‘Well, yeah. You’re right. I mean, I like their boots. They look comfy,’ I replied, my gaze drifting lower—to the base of the arena walls.

Countless runes glowed faintly along the stone, clearly meant to shield the audience if a spell went haywire. But beneath that layer, I felt something else—another enchantment, woven deep into the structure. Familiar. Almost like something I’d made in my own workshop. But I couldn’t quite place which.

And above it all, high above the arena floor, hung the sun-gem. It blazed like a second sun, flooding the colosseum with golden light so natural you could almost forget it was artificial. I’d seen sun-gems before, but never one this large. Never one this refined. Definitely not in the hands of humans.

Was it real? Artificial? Had they grown it somehow? I’d have to ask Ulrich.

A sudden voice boomed across the arena, echoing from unseen points—some kind of magic speaker, probably. Asche shot me a confused glance. I ignored it.

“Dear students,” the voice said, deep and clear, “I’ve gathered you here today to introduce you to a guest—your short-term instructor and combat examiner. Last of her name, and holder of the highest title her family offers. Please welcome: Jaeger Matriarch Aska von Asche.”

The words lingered in the air for a moment—then the arena erupted into thundering applause and cheers.

As soon as it began to settle, the voice returned. “She will be facing off against the champions I have selected to represent this academy in the upcoming Academia Tournament!”

More cheers followed—applause, whistles, and what I could only describe as overly dramatic proclamations of love. Then, on the opposite side of the arena, another set of doors opened. Six young adults stepped out. They were all wearing a variant of the school uniform—combat-issue, no doubt.

Whatever noble flash remained in the boys’ attire before was completely gone. Now it was all function. Reinforced sleeves, boots that looked like they could kick through a stone wall and keep walking, and faint mana-thread stitching that pulsed like veins. Not flashy. Not pretty. But it worked. I respected that.

The girls, though…

I’d never say this out loud, but the combat uniform looked good on them. Cute, in that sharp, touch-me-and-die kind of way. Sleek lines, armored seams, and just enough of the original silhouette preserved to remind you that this was still an academy—not a battlefield. The skirts remained, but layered over reinforced leggings. And it suited the non-human ones even more than the humans.

Well, I thought, brushing my own coat, they still weren’t my uniform.

‘Nothing could be your militia uniform,’ Asche scoffed. ‘I’m pretty sure the creatures you made it out of are extinct.’

‘Not my fault,’ I muttered internally. ‘That was the dragons’ doing.’

Asche narrowed her eyes. ‘Mhm. And I’m still pretty sure you had something to do with it.’

I gave a short, nervous laugh. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

Aska rolled her eyes beside me. ‘Yeah, yeah. Must’ve been the wind…’

“Go on,” Jolford said from behind. “Meet them in the center.”

I sighed and stepped forward.

As we stepped away from our place, the ground shifted beneath us—replaced after a few strides by the same structured white marble used in Queen’s Gate, laid out in broad, three-foot tiles. With each step, our heels clicked sharply against the polished surface.

Just beneath the gem, four water-like screens shimmered into view—one facing each direction, all zoomed in on us.

Well, that’s neat. Now even the ones in the back can get a good look at us,’ I mused.

‘Woah. That’s cool magic,’ Asche agreed, tail flicking.

With that kind of spotlight, it didn’t take long for people to finally notice my hat. The cheers and applause faltered. Muted whispers spread through the crowd like a slow infection. Fear. Recognition.

I didn’t mind.

We neared the center of the arena, where a mana-projection of Ulrich waited. My eyes flicked past him to the group standing opposite us.

The six champions.

The humans were predictable. Brown-haired, tall. The boy had dual daggers strapped to his sides; the girl held a Zweihänder forged from what looked like monster bone.

The beast-kin princess looked exactly as expected—taller than the humans, fierce, and clearly well-trained. Her weapon, though, caught me off guard: a massive fauchard polearm. Silver hair. Silver fur. And enough presence to back it all up.

Next to her stood the dragon-kin. About the same height as the humans, with black hair and patches of dark scales along her arms and collarbone. She wasn’t carrying a weapon—but the grin on her face said enough. Either a battlemage… or a martial artist.

So far, they looked like a fairly ordinary bunch—at least in terms of appearance. That is, until you got to the two demon girls.

I genuinely had to wonder how they were even allowed inside the human empire. Politics, probably. That, or it had something to do with the fact they came from the so-called Kingdom of Origin—which, let’s be honest, was definitely named that way because someone out there believed the ‘Origins’ came from there. Delusions of grandeur and all that.

Asche agreed, ‘Yeah, sounds about right.’

—Anyway.

The first demon-kin was a rare sight—an obsidian oni. She was small. Barely up to the shoulder of the boy she stood next to. But I knew better than to underestimate her height.

Oni were built like temple bells: all compressed power and dense, stubborn muscle hidden beneath flawless, polished-black skin. Her hair was braided into looping coils down her back, and funnily enough, she carried a mage’s staff.

‘Didn’t expect her to be the mage of the group,’ I muttered.

‘Same. Probably just our own bias showing,’ Aska replied.

‘She’s cute, though,’ I added.

Asche rolled her eyes, ‘Sure, in the same way volcanoes are cute right before they erupt.’

I laughed and my gaze went to the last demon—the one I was sure had been killed by the Jaegers a long, long time ago. Seeing her alive—here, of all places—was something else.

The girl had that kind of beauty that didn’t need explaining. Soft amber eyes framed by vermilion hair streaked with opal, braided through with gold and white like ceremonial thread. Her combat cloak was clearly custom-made, hanging off one shoulder to show pale skin and the sculpted suggestion of a waist—belted in tight with loops of strange crystal daggers and weirdly looking chakrams.

Even the way she held her hand—poised, fingers slightly curled—looked rehearsed, like she was already mapping out every move I might make… and how she’d counter it.

But below the waist, the human illusion finally shattered.

Her body gave way to a breathtaking centipede form—segments of gleaming emerald shell rimmed in electric orange, each jointed leg tipped in glossy black. It didn’t crawl. It coiled, shifting with the quiet anticipation.

I glanced at Asche to see her reaction—but her head was already full of one thing: beating the shit out of them.

We were only a few feet away now.

“That’s them?” sneered the dragon-girl.

Ulrich chuckled. “It would be unwise to underestimate them, even with your background,” he said mildly.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, clearly unimpressed. Ulrich stepped forward, his projection now raised for everyone to hear.

“This fight will have only two rules,” he declared. “The match ends when one side can no longer stand. The students are permitted to go all out—including killing intent—against Matriarch Asche.”

A few murmurs in the crowd turned to full-blown gasps.

“She, in turn,” he continued, “is permitted to use any means necessary to subdue you, so long as they are non-lethal. If you yield or are rendered unconscious, you are out. That is all. Begin whenever you are ready.”

And with that, Ulrich vanished. Just like that, the stage was ou—

Stage. Yes, that was it.

I smiled.

‘Asche,’ I said across the bond, showing her images in my mind, ‘Wanna do something fun?’

She grinned, wild and eager.

‘Truly a stage~’

“You don’t smell like a wolf-kin,” the princess said, sniffing the air. “And you don’t smell like a human.”

“Oh no, our cover’s blown,” I said, deadpan. “Quick, change forms.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, Asche shifted—reverting to her usual self, just younger, like the version I was mirroring. At the same time, I tossed my witch’s hat into the air and opened a tear in space just above it, letting it vanish neatly into my storage..

“Space magic and an elemental,” muttered the oni, voice neutral but eyes sharp.

“I refuse to fight with you if your weapons aren’t drawn,” said the Marquess’s daughter, already gripping the hilt of her bone-crafted blade.

“How proper of you,” I replied, stretching both hands out.

With a flick of my wrists, I tore space open on either side of me—two matching rifts that flared to life at once. From them, I drew the twin crescent scythes that once belonged to Aska, their blades forged from her mother’s scales, the grips carved from ashwood, wrapped in binding threads of violet ember silk.

The dragon-kin’s eyes widened the moment they appeared. Her grin faded. Her pupils shrank.

I smiled. “Oh? Suddenly interested in fighting?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

Because before she could react, I tossed the scythes toward Asche—and cheated just a little. I forged a second pair midair, weaving a mirror of the originals from ash and my own special magic. They shimmered like memory and death.

Then, simultaneously, we moved—mirrored pirouettes, spinning in opposite directions as our scythes carved wide arcs through the air. Each blade trailed a ribbon of ashen energy, curling like smoke from incense and dissolving into ember-laced mist in our wake.

The air shimmered with heat, and the marble beneath our feet began to darken—soot-stained, touched by mana, as if the ground itself was starting to burn with us.

They hesitated. That was their mistake.

Together, we darted in—synchronized, mirrored, unpredictable.

Our footfalls came in perfect rhythm, each impact leaving a smudge of soot. The colosseum echoed with the percussion of our heels—one, two, three—one, two, three—as the dance began. Not a fight. A performance.

As they scrambled to pull away, we spun into their midst—scythes singing, ash swirling behind us in storm-thick arcs. Each motion was a practiced stroke on a canvas of violence, our blades dragging trails of embers and soot that burst outward like a cloud of toxic volcanic ash.

They weren’t ready.

We shot past each other—arcing wide—and turned sharply inward, our blades grazing the air like twin comets. The Marquess’s daughter was the slowest. Too slow. She didn’t dodge.

Instead, we danced around her, crossing paths in a mirrored turn, and with one synchronized sweep of our legs, we sent her crashing into the arena wall. The stone cracked. She dropped to the floor, limp.

One down.

We stepped back in tempo. One, two, three. One, two, three.

Back-to-back. Scythes twirling.

Steel meeting steel in a ring that echoed like a bell—our tempo set.

The princess came next—her polearm glowing faintly with internal mana. The male human followed, blades drawn and eyes narrowed.

The wolf-kin was the first to falter. She brushed through the glowing ash still hanging in the air. Her skin blackened instantly—frostbite and heat burns searing into her arm in the same breath.

The boy avoided the cloud entirely. Good instincts. Still too slow.

He found himself caught in the center—sister unconscious, allies too far—and we were already on him.

Twin arcs of silver and ember crashed in from both sides. He blocked—barely. Sparks scattered as our blades collided with his daggers. His breath hitched. His grip faltered.

The others surged forward to save him. The dragoness lunged at me, fist wrapped in scales and fire. The oni launched a spell at Asche—crackling violet, chaos-woven.

We flipped back. Still in perfect mirror. Spinning, dancing.

Their attacks missed. We didn’t.

Scythes carved glowing lines in the air—lines that shimmered, refused to fade. The battlefield was a stage, and we were sketching death onto it.

Then came the second wave. The demoness—the centipede one—hurled her chakrams at me, spinning in unnatural precision. The wolf-princess, newly recovered, charged at Asche again with her fauchard raised high.

As one, we stomped the ground.

Ice bloomed outward in a flash, crackling over marble. The beast-kin’s footing slipped immediately. The others staggered, struggling to stay upright.

All except her—the centipede girl. She glided forward, unbothered. Chakrams still circling.

We side-stepped. The discs curved back, caught in her waiting hands—guided by invisible threads of magic.

The dragoness planted her foot, shifting her form slightly to resist the frost.

We grinned—and changed the rhythm of our dance.

We leapt, spinning mid-air—twisting around ourselves like twin blades in a rotating flip.

As we moved, our scythes scattered a burst of burning particles in every direction, each ember trailing frost. With a flick of thought, we conjured spears of ice—tipped in that same dual magic: fire and ice laced together like the original curse the Asches were made of.

They fell like a hailstorm.

We landed in perfect pirouettes and bowed—just as the oni girl’s spell and a returning chakram tore through the space we’d occupied a heartbeat earlier.

Around us, the damage had already taken root. Ice crept through their veins, fire burned beneath their skin, the twin forces weakening them from within—slow, inevitable, and merciless.

The human dropped first, the toxin already too much.

As we straightened from our bow, we struck our scythes together in perfect rhythm—then tossed them into the air. The students watched, wide-eyed, as the blades spun upward.

By the time they struck the frozen ground, we had already vanished—

and reappeared behind them, exactly where we needed to be.

Each of us stood flanking the group. Just a few feet behind.

Both tried to parry our kicks—but failed.

The princess and the oni hit the wall hard, crumpling on impact. Out cold before they even hit the floor.

Four down.

No weapons now. Just fists. Just breath. The dragoness snarled, eyes glowing, body half-shifted into her draconic form.

The centipede girl lunged, her movement too fast, too unnatural for something so massive. They came for us.

We didn’t fight. We danced.

Chakrams spun. Claws slashed. Fists flew. But none of it touched us.

We weaved through them, our movements fluid, eerily practiced. I didn’t have to speak—Asche followed my intent through the soul-link, every motion syncing with mine before I even finished thinking it.

Every dodge was a step. Every turn, a refusal. The air shimmered with heat, thick with ash. We moved like it belonged to us.

The girls grew slower. Heavier. And then, perfectly timed—we twisted inward.

Their attacks crashed into each other. The impact threw them apart. The centipede girl didn’t rise. The dragoness lay still, motionless in the settling ash. For a moment, it felt finished.

We turned together.

The crowd was silent, breath held.

Only one thing left to do: Asche and I took each other’s hand—and bowed. A thank-you to the audience. A curtain call for the performance they’d just witnessed.

And that’s when the dragoness moved. “Not yet!” she roared, lurching to her feet.

Her body twisted further—scales snaking down her arms, fangs pushing past her lips like her humanity was peeling away with every breath.

“It’s only over whe—”

I didn’t let her finish. I blinked. My fist sank into her gut. She gasped. Blood sprayed.

She dropped.

I turned back to Asche, brushing invisible dust from my coat.

“Too easy.”