Chapter 1
Part 3
-Flat Escardos.
The name of a young man, born in the Mediterranean, who had gathered the hopes and expectations of all sorts of people.
While the Escardos family itself was one with a long history, it had no particularly grand achievements to speak of. They had spent generations refining their magecraft and building up their Magic Circuits, but they had produced nothing beyond what could be described as mediocre - that was, until the birth of Flat, whose outstanding talent could be considered nothing less than an anomaly.
An excellent number of Magic Circuits, guided by an overwhelming talent.
Lauded as a prodigy, he was quickly sent off to the Clock Tower, but even that venerable institution couldn't match up to his potential. Beginning in the sub-faculty of Necromancy, he had been entrusted to Rock Belpheban, the head of the Faculty of Summoning. However, in only a few months, he had already transferred to a new faculty. With each faculty being unable to keep up with his talent, he rapidly moved between them, much to the vexation of his lecturers. His constant resubmission of his paperwork got to the point where he was on the verge of being expelled.
The reason was simple.
No matter how much his talent as a magus exceeded the ideal, no other attribute he had lent well toward the life of a magus.
His attitude was just too loose, he was often told.
In reality, what really forged the magus of the modern day was not a supernatural power or transcendent conscience, but a tenacity built and reinforced over generations. Clinging to a shadowed, intense ideology for hundreds, or in some cases even thousands of years, developed its own sort of extreme power. Even if science were to exceed magecraft in all other respects, as long as that ideal survived, magecraft itself would be ineradicable.
But, in that respect the boy was hopeless.
Really, it may have been due to his enormous talent rather than in spite of it. While the reason wasn't clear to those around him, it was at least obvious that the young man known as Flat Escardos lacked that key trait of persistence. Eternally lax, he would always invest himself in the business of others around him, yet as if he was a sponge he fully absorbed all the information presented in his classes, maintaining an almost perfect grade. In the worst cases, he would even interrupt his lecturers with a bright smile, adding his own tweaks and changes to improve the lecturer's own formula in the blink of an eye.
For a lecturer, there was no greater humiliation.
Like a flawless diamond set before them that needed not even a single cut. His talent was so extreme there was nothing they could do to develop his skill further, and as such he earned a wordless disdain from those around him. While the Clock Tower, which existed ostensibly to develop the talents of new magi, could ill afford to let such a talent go to waste, any instructor which tried to work with him found themselves driven away.
This situation persisted for about a year.
As a result, after being passed between different faculties and factions, as if bitterly letting go of a prized treasure, he was finally entrusted to the El-Melloi classroom. The classroom which had already taken on a number of problem children of the Clock Tower accepted him without reservation. Their ability to offer him guidance that led to easily recognizable growth drew all sorts of attention. In exchange, the pain it caused to the stomach of a certain Lord El-Melloi II was similarly devestating, but that was another story.
At any rate. Now, Flat was pursuing the magical energy of the attackers.
In the forest.
Having detected their magical energy from out on the hill, he had run off through the grass and into the forest after them. Despite the poorly maintained path, he travelled at a speed that would be difficult to match for a professional marathon runner. Of course, that was mostly thanks to his own Strengthening.
As he ran, he peered up at the dark clouds in the sky between the gaps in the foliage.
"Wow, that's amazing! Since the side effects of Weather Manipulation are pretty intense, you can basically never see it at the Clock Tower. Hmm...this person is being pretty inefficient about it though. They've got thirty one...thirty two people working together on this? But number seven and number twenty should probably be switched out. I should really let them know!"
With an honest brightness, he spoke those absurd words.
Just by listening to that, one might think he had nothing but good intentions. But it was those good intentions that had destroyed many Clock Tower lecturers. At this point, if one were to classify it as some new breed of curse, it was unlikely the claim would face much challenge.
This time, however, the chastising voice that answered him was born of a different purpose.
"...Flat."
"Whoa! You found me already!" Spinning around, Flat's eyes went wide.
Standing on a branch above him was the curly haired young man. Leaning against the trunk of the tree, he held a finger to the tip of nose as he looked down at his classmate with a dirty look.
Svin Glascheit.
Having joined barely a month before Flat, he was the most senior student currently active in the El-Melloi classroom. That being said, Lord El-Melloi II's policy was to let go of his students after they had surpassed the basics anyways, graduating them out one after another as if he was sick of looking after them.
"What do you mean, 'already'? There's no way I'd ever mistake your fluffy, frivolously yellow scent. Now come on, let's get back to the profesor."
"Oh come on!" Flat complained, as if he was a child being told it was time to leave the toy store.
"...you'd rather I brought you back by force, then?"
"Whoa whoa whoa, hold on! Think about this, Le Chien! The professor's in trouble right now, right?"
"And you're just adding to the problem!"
"Not at all!" Flat waved a hand dismissively, laughing with a smile. "The professor's going to be happy about this!"
"...what?" Svin frowned.
"The Iselma family took Trim, right? So if we go beat up the guys attacking Iselma, they might give Trim back out of gratitude! And the professor will rain thanks on us too! It's a perfect plan, don't you think, Le Chien?"
Rather than being perfect, it was the sort of plan that deserved to be struck down immediately. It was like after seeing a trap hole before them, they were politely throwing a bunch of poisoned blades into it before jumping in.
But,
"First of all, stop calling me that," Svin said.
For a time, he was quiet. It was the kind of silence that would drive the Lord El-Melloi II straight to massaging his stomach were he around to witness it. Because rather than the quiet of things calming down, it was more like the calm before an awful storm.
"They were the people that tried to hurt my G...tried to hurt Gray," he muttered. At long last, scratching his head and licking his lips, he continued.
"Alright, I'm in."
**********
In the middle of the forest, a number of shadows ran through the thick undergrowth.
Pushing through the waist-high growth with their own bodies, they rushed on towards the Twin Towers of Iselma. With their unwavering course and with their entire lack of regard for the uncertain footing and dense ivy growth threatening to trip them up, had it been a few generations earlier, they might have been described as a march of demons.
One of the figures raised their head.
In the open space before them stood a well-dressed man with a cane.
"...Lord Byron."
"Most impressive. Making the elements themselves your ally. While this area is particularly susceptible to changing weather, I've never been faced with someone capable of such a brilliant display."
At once, the gentleman assessed the levels of the invaders.
For modern magi, how difficult was that magecraft - or perhaps, regardless of difficulty, how possible was it? In a battle between magi, the most critical skill was the ability to see through to the nature of the opponent's favored formulas. Faithfulness to the basics, following an unwavering history, Lord Byron walked a path that was tried and true.
"...if you understand that much, how about just giving us what we want?" One of the intruders said with a playful lilt, as if their objective was explicitly clear from the start.
But.
The gentleman before them responded with a fearless smile.
"If you think Iselma is defenseless, I'm afraid you are quite mistaken."
Byron stuck his cane into the ground. As he did so, a flurry of globes appeared around him. The clearing rapidly filled with a cloud of bubbles, reflecting the mottled light of the setting sun peering through the leaves in a breathtaking display.
It's true nature was, of course, nothing so benign. Heedless of the air currents in the forest, the bubbles filled with Byron's magical energy moved unnaturally to surround the intruding magi. As the soapy surfaces spun, the bubbles reflected the image of the invaders.
Without a word, the intruders watched the bubbles.
None of them were foolish enough to carelessly break the bubbles before them. That was of course the very lowest level of prudence required of a magus.
But that meant those countless bubbles were able to spread out unchallenged, rapidly surrounding the intruders and cutting off their means of escape.
"What do you think of the Rainbow Spheres of Iselma?"
Was that the name of the spell that Byron had just whispered?
With a snap, the bubbles burst.
No monster or any such thing appeared from within them - at least, not that could be seen. Nevertheless, a number of the invaders fell to the ground, clawing at their throats.
"-Byron!!"
The enraged attackers unleashed a volley of bolts of lightning.
As expected, the bubbles that still floated around Lord Byron himself moved to intercept the attack, but they were unable to entirely protect him. As about a third of the attacks pierced through the bubbles, the bolts struck true, driving Byron to his knees.
"Hah! The collector who confined himself to his wilderness retreat falls after all!"
The attackers that had previously collapsed began to recover, and soon they began a new spell with their enraged companions.
Clutching a hand to the burn wound on his shoulder, Byron struck his cane into the ground again. The number of bubbles in the air doubled, forming into a rainbow fortress before the invaders. Considering that he was a member of
Value
the Faculty of Creation
, that meant this battle was a question of whether Lord Byron's art could sufficiently oppose the intruders.
But.
"Whoa, the fight's already started!"
A hysteric voiced echoed from the depths of the forest.
In response, Lord Byron's collection of bubbles spun behind him, descending into the undergrowth in the opposite direction from the invaders as they autonomously responded to the new threat.
The primary function of the bubbles was to destroy the oxygen latent in the air, thus robbing his opponents of the ability to breathe. So to see someone completely unaffected by that kind of attack was the ultimate surprise for Lord Byron.
"What?!"
"One of Iselma's dogs?!"
The attackers at once tensed up at the new arrival.
But the expression of the youth that emerged from the undergrowth was anything but hostile.
"You're Lord Byron, right? From House Iselma?" he asked with a smile.
The fact he was somehow managing to keep the shock from showing on his face spoke volumes of Lord Byron's disposition.
"...and you are?"
"Flat Escardos, from the El-Melloi classroom! Reporting for duty!" With a sharp salute, the blonde haired boy turned to the invaders.
Folding his arms with a triumphant smirk, he called upwards into the trees.
"Now, take 'em out, Le Chien!"
"I told you not to call me that!"
With an angry yell Svin dropped to the ground. Muttering under his breath about having his cover blown, he lightly stroked his nose.
"You guys all smell like sharp metal, you know? Nothing but an ugly, disgusting thirst for blood coming from the lot of you."
Up until that point, the attackers had been looking down on the two boys.
It went without saying that anyone who would jump into this situation had to be recognized as a certain sort of dangerous. It was even more crucial for magi not to write off their opponents based on outwards appearances, as well. And that was why, even as they laughed at them, they wasted no time in activating their magecraft.
But before they could finish,
Svin howled.
The shockwave of that roar was enough to blow away the attackers' magecraft.
In many Asian countries, it was said that the voice of a dog had the power to expel evil. As if the boy's voice had similar properties, the magical energy that should have been flowing through their Magic Circuits vanished entirely.
"No way, you...!"
"-El Melloi Classroom, Svin Glascheit." Declaring his name before the wide-eyed intruders, Svin's howl changed to another form.
"
."
Was that the boy's spell?
With a soft hum, Svin's hair began to move. As if the hair itself had been transformed into a different creature, it began to squirm. As they watched, that hair grew, stretching down to cover his back, while his canines grew into bladelike fangs. Though the beauty remained unchanged, its nature had shifted.
He jumped.
Even so, the attackers responded as appropriate.
At once, they released the magecraft they had been holding back. Though the lightning they released was no more than a One Count spell, thanks to the enhancing effects of the Weather Manipulation, it should have had no issue tearing apart their unlucky opponent.
But instead, the hand one of them had extended forward vanished.
In the same way as his teeth had become fangs, Svin's fingernails had likewise become razorlike claws. Perhaps even unaware of that change, the magus was relieved of his hand, and collapsed to the ground unconscious due to the sudden mass blood loss.
Without pausing, Svin leapt into the trees. From trunk to branch, to trunk again, he soared around the forest as if gravity itself was no obstacle for him.
One of the magi managed to bring his wits to bear in time to try and give answer to the attack, but upon seeing Svin's form he gasped, eyes wide.
Svin's body had transformed.
Close enough to be mistaken for that legendary Phantasmal Species, the muscles of his body rippled and the hair of his body stood with the firmness of metal, giving the impression of a werewolf. No, his actual self couldn't have changed. Looking closely, one could see that his clothes and shoes remained undamaged by the transformation. The bizarre magical energy that wrapped itself around the young man's body was simply attempting to give off the impression of a werewolf.
Rather than werewolf, perhaps the term Phantasmal Wolf was more appropriate.
Bestial Magecraft.
Across many lands, magecraft was a pursuit that sought to replicate the abilities of animals in people.
No, it wasn't just magecraft. The number of Chinese martial arts, like Xingyiquan and White Crane Boxing, that took hints for their movements from those of animals was too high to count. In the west, motifs of swans and lions frequently appeared in dance and art as well. Since the time when mankind split itself off from the animal kingdom, it had revered it as a source of Mystery.
Such was the nature of Svin Glascheit's magecraft.
Just as the term Berserker originally referred to warriors who clad themselves in bear skins, his art was to draw forth a tremendous bestial nature from within himself. Infusing his body with the Mystery of beasts, he acquired an overwhelming level of speed and strength that far exceeded simple Strengthening magecraft.
Even if his opponent was a magus, his was a speed that could not be tracked.
As if they were no more than straw, he struck through the magi.
The fact they were in the middle of the forest no doubt also contributed to Svin's supremacy over the other magi. With the failing light of dusk cut further by the surrounding trees, even if they Strengthened their eyesight there was no way they could track his speed. But every time they made even the slightest contact with Svin's raging claws, flesh came away with them.
"If that's how it is, then...!"
The remaining magi shifted strategies.
Breaking from their tight-knit formation, they scattered themselves around the clearing as they activated another spell. If they couldn't match him at close range, then they would dispatch him from a distance. Being able to rapidly shift into a different fighting style, it was clear that they were all magi experienced in battle.
But they didn't have any experience dealing with this ability.
"Right, right, now spin it, like this!" Flat said, waving his hand in a circle.
For an observer well versed in sports, one might have observed that Flat's posture just prior to waving his hands matched that of the other magi. In psychological terms, this mirroring was the act of adopting another's posture and mannerisms in order to set them at ease. In this case, however, the action had a completely different purpose.
"
Play Ball
Intervention Start.
"
With that, the vector of the magical energy changed.
Just as the lightning left the hands of the magi, it immediately turned, changing directions completely. Screams filled the air as the magi were struck down by their own lightning. Using a doll that resembled the target in order to place a curse on them - Flat's movements earlier had been for the purpose of replicating an effect similar to that well-known kind of sympathetic magecraft.
It was a curse one could see from time to time in various schools of southeast Asian magecrafts.
...in the Clock Tower, where European magecraft served as the foundation for all study, such a curse would never be taught.
But, the same thing went for Flat.
His style of magecraft was also unique.
Owing to his incredibly rare affinity of Void, the spells he would use were all but guaranteed to be bordering on heretical. Within the study of Modern Magecraft, the idea of collecting the strong points of various styles and combining them into a single art was categorized as Chaos Magecraft, but after Lord El-Melloi II had evaluated it as something that 'sounds more like Strange Magecraft,' Flat himself began spreading that name, proud of having his magecraft specially christened by his teacher.
Normally, such a formula wouldn't work at all.
Chaos Magecraft itself was brittle from the foundation up. Since one could only include variations of magecraft they were personally familiar with, though the idea of taking the strengths of other styles of magecraft and combining them into one made it sound almost omnipotent, the reality was that properly codifying those strengths into workable spells was a difficult endeavour. And yet, Flat's approach of 'I just did it that way and it worked' was certainly very maverick of him.
Above all, his ability to interfere with the magecraft of others was unreasonably potent.
"...the...El-Melloi Classroom...?"
With a moan, one of the attackers spoke.
The twin jewels of the El-Melloi Classroom. In short, the figureheads of the newly rising powers of the Clock Tower. Both having long and storied bloodlines, neither could be called part of the New Agers, but for that reason they were able to demonstrate true ability without restraint.
A marriage of the might of old magecraft to the flexibility of new instruction.
Whether they realized it or not, the two moved in perfect sync.
"Alright, Le Chien, let's pick up the pace! Let's show them what it means to be the aces of El-Melloi!"
"Stop trying to give me orders!"
Despite the face of the words coming through his muddled voice, Svin dutifully struck the invaders after Flat's interference nullified their magecraft. Though they were both of exceptionally strong egos, and the ability for anyone to smoothly cooperate with such vastly different schools of magecraft was unlikely to surpass mediocre at best, the two of them nevertheless executed their teamwork like twins that had trained together since birth.
At the same time, both of them came to a stop.
Not just them, even the attacking magi had stopped, turning away from the El-Melloi students. The fear written on their face was one of a completely different breed than that of earlier.
"...and what exactly is going on here?" the deeply tanned young man spoke.
As he spoke, Atram Galiasta's lips curled into a sinister smile.
Originally Posted by TwilightsCall
Chapter 1 Part 1
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