(Mary’s perspective.)

  The Prince had left me to defend the castle. Something he always did.

  Not that I minded entirely. If I could choose—

  I cut that thought short. Combat was satisfying work, and I had been trained as a warrior from childhood. But propriety dictated that the Prince should not leave his future wife on the frontlines while he pursued personal glory. Of course I understood this. There were certain considerations that superseded personal preference.

  I ran through the defensive checklist with practiced efficiency. While the academy's best defensive mage was on the opposing team, we retained the second and third best, and that would have to be enough.

  I started with the basics. Defense against magical projectiles, magic from outside affecting the inside, and protection against rituals.

  As I inscribed protective runes along the castle walls, my mind wandered to the events likely unfolding elsewhere on the field.

  That new student, Kai. Aurora would almost certainly employ him as a diversion. He was clearly too proud to refuse her, much like Aurelius in that regard, though he would loathe the comparison.

  Aurelius would not harm the boy. Whatever his faults, he was neither cruel nor tyrannical. He would likely attempt to establish dominance through rhetoric, to make the boy surrender through words rather than force.

  The ghost of a smile threatened to surface, but I suppressed it with practiced ease.

  It would be an intriguing conversation, I imagined. If the boy performed adequately, he might even earn forgiveness and eventually be offered a position in Aurelius's future administration. He possessed courage, certainly, and demonstrable ability as evidenced by our brief duel.

  Though calling it a duel was generous.

  He had not used magic against me. His hand had moved, yes, but no mana had flowed. He had simply... pretended. The explanations offered by the faculty were sufficient to satisfy ordinary students, but those of us with proper training knew something else was at play.

  And now he trained under Professor Emberheart. Whatever power he truly possessed would be refined and amplified until, within a year's time, he would likely rank among the top A-rank students.

  My personal hypothesis was that his mana operated on an undetectable frequency, like some anomaly that functioned outside conventional magical perception. I could understand why he would conceal such an ability. Aurelius would certainly wish to integrate it into the bloodline, and being forced—

  I cut that thought short. Perhaps Kai simply wished to avoid the responsibility of marrying into such a prominent family. That would be understandable for someone of common birth.

  The act of inscribing runes was meditative. After several minutes, I had completed most of the necessary protective array. The enemy would not arrive for some hours yet, when we initiated our siege, but preparing early would conserve mana for actual combat. Perhaps I would even be permitted to finally dispense justice upon certain insufferable individuals who deserved to have their faces thoroughly beaten into the dirt until they learned some basic fucking respect—

  I froze mid-inscription, my hand trembling slightly.

  These were not my thoughts.

  I immediately jumped back from the wall, drawing my sword in one fluid motion and positioning it defensively before me as I retreated several steps.

  But what entered was not an enemy prepared for combat, nor a coordinated assault team.

  It was merely Erick, looking characteristically disheveled. His asymmetrical hair remained slightly messy from sleep, and his modified platinum uniform appeared as if he had simply rolled out of bed and walked here without adjustment.

  "Yo," he offered with a casual wave.

  I did not lower my guard. Erick was not to be underestimated.

  "Erick." I kept my voice neutral, though I found myself unsure how to proceed. Of course he would not follow proper strategic protocol and defend his own castle. Of course he would disregard every tactical consideration and wander the field alone.

  "What a drag," he said, his tone carrying that perpetual laziness that somehow never interfered with his effectiveness. "Was expectin a B-rank at most."

  "There is still opportunity to withdraw. I cannot abandon this position, but you remain free to retreat."

  "Yeah, I could," he confirmed with a shrug. "But that's what a loser would do. And I'm not a loser."

  Very little was known about Erick. He maintained friendships, but would occasionally simply abandon them as if his interest had evaporated. He neglected most class activities, yet consistently performed well on actual examinations. His magical ability was documented as proficient, but unreliable.

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  In many ways, he was my absolute opposite.

  And in direct combat, I held the advantage.

  "If you do not withdraw, I must attempt your capture," I said, making one final diplomatic effort. "Please do not force me to do it."

  "If you don't wanna do somethin, just don't do it," he replied simply.

  He had said similar words to me before, offering unsolicited advice with that strange perceptiveness he occasionally displayed. He possessed an unusual ability to see beyond the masks people wore, to perceive their true nature beneath layers of propriety and expectation.

  But I wore my mask with pride. And pride meant accepting that some choices were not truly choices at all.

  I felt my sword warming in my grip as my mana flowed into the blade, the familiar sensation of combat preparation settling over me.

  Erick noticed immediately, releasing a resigned sigh before raising his index finger toward me. A crude magic circle began forming at his fingertip—rushed, imperfect, barely holding coherence.

  I moved forward with purpose.

  Time slowed during combat. It always did.

  I knew three relevant facts about Erick:

  His mana possessed an unspecified property that occasionally made his magic unexpectedly effective.

  He was exceptionally agile but lacked physical strength.

  He only knew basic spellcasting.

  These three pieces of information were sufficient. A tactical plan formed instantly.

  If I maintained close pressure, he would be forced into constant evasion. This would prevent him from channeling sufficient mana for effective spells. Without proper mana concentration, his attacks would be deflected by my enchanted armor. In extended close combat, he would inevitably make a mistake before I did.

  His only viable victory condition was a fortunate strike to my head. Therefore, I simply needed to maintain proper guard.

  His circle required a second too long to form. My blade sliced through it before any spell could manifest, dispersing the incomplete magic. He dodged with practiced ease, retreating in measured steps like some casual dance, each of my strikes missing by minimal margins.

  I maintained vigilant awareness, tracking both his hands and the flow of his mana.

  His expression remained unconcerned. His mana continued circulating actively.

  "This is why I don't like sparrin," he commented, maneuvering closer to the wall.

  He leaped toward the vertical surface, index finger already pointing at me. A small pyramid of magical force coalesced at his fingertip. I recognized the structure: a basic projectile spell.

  He pushed off the wall, using it as leverage to reposition mid-air while the projectile launched, aimed precisely at my face. I deflected it with my blade, but the maneuver granted him the repositioning he'd sought.

  "That was a fast one," I observed, genuinely curious how he had formed a projectile of that density in such minimal time.

  “Wasted, really” He commented, which made me even more confused.

  My brief hesitation at his response proved costly. His hands were already weaving two more magic circles simultaneously. No time to disrupt both. I had to choose.

  But something felt incorrect. They appeared similar, yet one possessed noticeably stronger mana concentration than the other.

  Had he genuinely channeled mana into only one? It seemed counterproductive, yet...

  I targeted the stronger circle, disrupting it with my blade. From the weaker circle, a chair materialized, pulled from across the room directly into his hands. He used it to block my follow-up strike.

  Why is he using this right now?

  Every circle was the same. He was trying relentlessly to use the same spell with seemingly diverging amounts of mana each time.

  Another circle formed. I cut through it. The spell fizzled harmlessly.

  I increased pressure, but he began circling toward the doorway, repeatedly attempting those same crude pulling circles, each one disrupted by my blade before completion.

  Another circle. Cut through. Another. Disrupted.

  Was he attempting to force me to pursue him outside? Using my adherence to orders against me? Would he exploit my loyalty as a weapon?

  He continued evading toward the door, still forming those same circles, each one meeting my blade before manifesting.

  Another attempt. Cut. Another. Dispersed.

  He reached the doorway but suddenly halted at the threshold. My strike caught his sleeve, tearing the fabric as consequence of his unexpected stop.

  I hesitated for just a moment, wondering if he had given up.

  "And it all comes down to this!" he declared, forming one final circle.

  This one was different. This one was perfect.

  My hesitation to deliver what could have been the finishing strike made me react one critical moment too slow.

  He leaped backward through the doorway, a satisfied smile crossing his face.

  And in that instant, I understood.

  Erick had been employing his mana ability from the very beginning. It simply was not something to be controlled or directed through conscious will. In its way, his mana was precisely like him—uncontrollable, chaotic, operating according to its own inexplicable logic.

  Every circle I had disrupted. Every "failed" attempt at that pulling magic. Every seemingly wasted effort.

  They had all been attempts at the same spell. The same objective.

  And as the crown—our designated objective, worth one hundred points—flew from its pedestal through the window and directly into his waiting hand, I knew.

  Just like Erick himself, his magic always delivered results in the end.

  Even if it took twenty attempts and looked like failure until the final moment.

  I could only watch as he landed outside, crown secured, already running toward his team's safe zone with that characteristic lazy confidence.

  "Checkmate," I murmured to the empty castle. He had risked it all on that final spell, had I went through with an attack, he could be seriously hurt. Had the spell not worked, he would end up being captured.

  A small, unbidden smile touched my lips before I could suppress it.

  He never expected to beat me.

  Aurelius would be... displeased.

  Perhaps that was acceptable, just this once.