The Obsessive Regressor of The Academy

24. The Second

As light returned to the world, the moon-strike cleft the lightning asunder.

Instead of vanishing, the lightning, split vertically, fractured and fell to the earth on either side. A roar followed soon after.

콰아아아아아!!

The immense shockwave of lightning washed over the forest, intending to obliterate all. Yet, where Fernan stood, all remained untouched. He slicked back his rain-soaked hair, a cool smile gracing his features. Asel, on the other hand, reeled, his face a mask of agony from mana exhaustion.

High-level magic, conjured by layering and resonating enchantments upon enchantments. The very act had drained his core dry, and then he’d faced Fernan’s inner landscape head-on. His core was slowly replenishing, so there was no immediate threat to his life, but he couldn’t stave off the scattering of his consciousness. Asel, through blurring vision, fixed his gaze on Fernan and spoke.

“…Did I… pass the test?”

“You ask that now?”

Fernan chuckled, sheathing his sword.

“You cleared the baseline with ease. You might even take the top spot.”

“That…is a relief.”

He had passed. That was all that mattered. Asel relinquished his grip on consciousness and collapsed. His face plunged into a rain-filled puddle, startling Elena beside him, who hastily shook his shoulder.

“A-Asel? Asel, are you alright?”

“…Mana exhaustion. He pushed himself too hard, it seems.”

Elen muttered, taking Asel’s pulse.

Thankfully, his heartbeat was steady, but mana exhaustion itself was a condition rife with unforeseen variables, demanding swift action. Many mages had succumbed to it on the battlefield, dying suddenly. To assume Asel was safe simply wasn’t an option.

She arbitrarily manipulated the bracelet on Asel’s wrist, activating a teleportation spell as she spoke to Fernan.

“We’ll transport the injured one, then.”

“Aye. You two go as well. Oh, you’ve both passed too, so keep that in mind.”

“…We did not exactly distinguish ourselves as Asel did.”

“What matters for vanguards who move alongside mages isn’t distinction, but paving the way for the mage. You fulfilled that role admirably.”

Fernan replied, flicking droplets of blood from his body. Elen’s brow furrowed, a hint of dissatisfaction in her expression, but she nodded nonetheless.

“…Understood.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“….”

“Forget it. Just remember this: warriors who distinguish themselves more than the mages are either far more skilled than the mage, or reckless fools with a death wish.”

He received no response. Fernan waved a hand at Elen, whose lips twitched as if about to retort, and simply collapsed to the ground. Elen, without another word, swiftly moved towards the triage tents with Elena, carrying Asel.

Swaaa!

The forest, emptied of all souls. The deluge drums against the ears. A lingering echo of lightning cracks through the air in sporadic bursts of thunder, and the rain batters Fernan’s face without mercy. He stares vacantly at the heavens, then smiles faintly and closes his eyes.

“Damn, that smarts.”

A searing pain, like a furnace in his brain, radiates from the point of magical impact. The wound wasn’t deep, but the nature of electrical magic—directly assaulting the nervous system—intensified the agony, irrespective of the physical damage. Even a Master couldn’t fully fortify their nerves; writhing in torment was unavoidable.

He’d feigned composure before the trio, but Fernan was also teetering on the precipice of mental collapse.

Had he been struck by the full force of Asel’s final spell, he wouldn’t be lying here, master of his own body. Either he would have blacked out from the overwhelming pain, or he would have swiftly subdued the three of them to purge the lightning that had burrowed into his flesh.

“…Unique magic is indeed unique.”

A spell capable of affecting a Master with such a vast difference in skill. It was rightly classified as unique. Or perhaps, more than the magic itself, it was the caster who was extraordinary.

Fernan took a long, slow breath, using his aura to devour the lightning that had infiltrated his being.

It wasn’t easy. Asel’s mana writhed with a seeming will of its own, occasionally attempting to consume Fernan’s aura. He couldn’t help but think, *So this is what genius truly is?* Even Ena’s mana hadn’t possessed such autonomy. Where did such a monster spring from?

‘Although Asel overshadowed them, the Hargelin heiress and the Valdemia bloodline were quite promising. With refinement, they could be truly formidable.’

Their levels weren’t bad, either. Both possessed good bloodlines, undoubtedly benefitting from the rigorous training afforded by their families since childhood.

And then there was Grace Vaidel.

The sword genius born of the Vaidel Ducal House. A prodigy who, at her age, had mastered, at least in theory, the sword arts handed down through her family’s bloodline, and who possessed the potential to open her *Simsang* to some extent.

Where Asel had inflicted numerous minor wounds, Grace had carved a deep gash into Fernan’s arm. Because of her, Fernan could not easily overcome the group of three. Of course, had he truly exerted himself, their heads would have been sent flying in an instant, but with his power carefully moderated, and now with an injured arm, it wasn’t so simple.

As he mused, he had almost completely absorbed the lightning within him. Fernan groaned, pushing himself upright, brushing the rain-soaked hair from his forehead. He tore a strip from his shirt to staunch the bleeding from his arm, then sighed deeply and muttered.

“Ah, wouldn’t it be nice if all four of them transferred to my division.”

He knew it was a pipe dream, but the desire remained. He spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth and activated his communication device.

*Whirr.*

Infusing it with aura, he activated the device and formulated the message he wanted to send.

[Test complete. Grace Vaidel seriously injured and defeated. Ellen Hargelin and Elena von Valdemia returned via device manipulation. Disciple of the Dawning incapacitated and transported with the two.]

*Beep.*

The response arrived immediately.

[Ena’s disciple incapacitated during the test? Are you implying we should report this? Is this some new form of suicide I’m not aware of?]

*

“…”

Consciousness returned with a jarring sensation. A gripping pain, like a vise around his chest, flared briefly before gradually subsiding. A classic symptom of mana exhaustion. Forcing himself to move in this state would shatter the equilibrium between his core and his body, leading to certain death.

He had only read about it in books, but there was no harm in being cautious.

Instead of rising, Asel stared blankly at the ceiling.

Beneath the fabric canopy, a small mana lamp glowed. Turning his head, he saw other participants lying in similar postures. None of them looked to be in good shape. Among them, Asel saw a man whose arms and legs were bound by streaks of lightning.

“aaagh!! It hurts, it hurts so much! Please, just get rid of this…!”

It was a familiar face. Surely, this was the man who’d been knocked flat by a single spell. Thankfully, unlike what he’d feared, he hadn’t died. Well, if he had, Fernand would have come to mete out a summary execution, not a test.

Still, he was clearly in critical condition. Electric magic, by its very nature, inflicted double the pain of other magics. And the magical energy that spread after being directly hit by it couldn’t be purged with just any level of control.

Ruhan’s situation was no different. With his control, he couldn’t erase the lightning-aspected mana.

If left alone, he’d continue to cycle between shock and unconsciousness from the pain. If he hadn’t seen him, perhaps he could ignore it. But having confirmed his presence, there was no reason to leave him be. Acel forced his creaking mana to move, collecting the lightning that writhed around Ruhan’s body.

The twisted expression on Ruhan’s face smoothed out into vacant relief.

“Just kill me instead… huh? It, it’s gone. It’s gone! You b*stard!”

He shouted with gleeful abandon. He must have been in excruciating pain. Acel made a mental note to adjust the power of his electric spells more carefully in future sparring matches with people, then turned his head.

And that’s when their eyes met.

“Ah, hello…?”

The first thing that caught his eye was the shock of red hair. Her eyes shone like obsidian, and bandages were wrapped tightly around her arms and neck as she lay in bed, staring back at him.

It was a face he remembered. Acel frowned slightly and opened his mouth.

“You’re that… from the examination hall.”

“Grace! Grace Baidel!”

She started to sit up and called out, then grimaced as pain contorted her face.

“Ughhh….”

“Did you fail?”

Since they weren’t inside the examination hall, Acel spoke politely for now. Grace was startled and quickly replied.

“Speak casually, please.”

The emotion in her voice was so earnest that Acel could only nod with an awkward expression.

Where had their paths crossed to warrant such an attitude?

He pondered it, but no answer came. Their meeting a week ago had been the first, and today was only their second encounter.

Barely enough time to properly grasp someone’s nature. Yet, Grace was acting as if she owed him a great debt and harbored a multitude of feelings. Adopting such a submissive attitude from the start wasn’t healthy in any relationship.

“…I didn’t fail.”

While he was thinking, Grace spoke. She stroked her neck, a wry smile playing on her lips.

“Fernand showed up under the guise of a test and beat me to a pulp. He managed to wound my arm, but the result was still my defeat.”

“So you’re the one who gave him that wound.”

“…You met Fernand too?”

“Same as you. I took the test, and I lost.”

He wondered if describing it as a loss was accurate, but ultimately, he would have lost if he’d gone to the end. So, it wasn’t exactly a wrong way to describe it.

Thinking of Fernan, I suddenly recalled the ‘Mindscape Unveiling’ he’d shown. A technique, a unique world, attainable when one reached the absolute limit in any given field. What kind of mindscape Fernan harbored, I couldn’t know, but the ashen moon he’d conjured was beautiful, and desolate.

‘I wonder what Master’s mindscape is like.’

Ena habitually imbued her magic with mindscapes, but had never actually unveiled one herself. She’d vaguely discerned it had something to do with eternity, but the specifics remained unknown.

It felt wrong to directly inquire about someone’s personal mindscape; it seemed best to curb her curiosity until she chose to reveal it. Asel exhaled slowly and spoke.

“Do you know me?”

Other thoughts would have to wait. Asel felt the need to discuss this with Grace immediately.

Someone skilled enough to test Fernan would undoubtedly have enrolled in the Academy. He wanted to avoid any awkwardness from encounters with her there, if possible.

He sensed she harbored some odd feelings toward him, but if he didn’t get a clear explanation, it would be *he* who felt the most uncomfortable. With that thought, Asel glanced sideways at Grace.

Grace met his gaze but didn’t immediately respond. Countless anxieties flickered within her eyes, then vanished. All that remained was a sliver of hope. Forcing a smile, she barely managed to speak with trembling lips.

“…Asel, you really don’t remember me?”

“No.”

With that single word, Grace crumbled.

“…Ah.”

Tears welled in her eyes, then flowed freely, without resistance. No sobs. Just silently. Lying still, she gazed at Asel, tears streaming down her face. The emotion conveyed was so heartbreaking that Asel quietly waited for her tears to cease.

How long passed? Grace spoke, her voice thick with tears.

“It’s all…gone, then. The promise we made, the modest wedding we had, the house we built together.”

“…”

“It’s all, all gone.”

Asel didn’t understand her murmurs. But he understood the emotions she was projecting.

Despair, sorrow, grief, depression… nothing but negativity. Asel awkwardly shifted his gaze.

To be honest, he couldn’t quite empathize. A woman he’d met only twice, bursting into tears without any explanation… what was he supposed to say? He knew nothing; what could he possibly say?

Should he offer comfort, or just stay silent?

Asel hesitated, then decided to offer a brief response. If he left her like this, she might remain like this all day.

“Um… Grace?”

“…Hng?”

“I don’t know why you’re crying, but… wouldn’t it be better to focus on the present rather than dwelling on the past?”

“…”

No reply came. He hadn’t expected one, but the silence, now that even her sobs had stopped, made him wonder if he’d said the wrong thing.

Still, at least she’d stopped crying, right? Asel cleared his throat.

Grace stared intently at him, then offered a bitter smile and spoke.

“…Still as bad at offering proper comfort as you ever were. They used to say all I needed to do was just offer a hug…”

Never heard that.

“…Right, like you said, I won’t get anywhere dwelling on the past. I have to get up, if only to avoid repeating the same ending. But…”

It can’t be helped, being sad. Grace finished those words and pulled the blankets over her head. The faint sound of sobbing suggested she was letting out one final flood of tears. Asel sighed heavily, running a hand roughly through his hair.

*This isn’t exactly my forte.*

Even back in the slums, Eveline always took on the task of soothing any orphaned child they happened upon. All Asel had done was teach them how to survive. He had a few chances to soothe crying children, but each time, they’d only cry louder or he’d get frustrated and quit before long. He never imagined he’d be doing that sort of thing again as an adult.

Thankfully, Grace stopped crying quickly, unlike a child. She threw back the blankets and rubbed her swollen eyes with her hands as she spoke.

“I know you have a lot of questions. I’ll tell you everything, someday, when the time is right.”

“Is there a reason to hide it?”

“…I don’t know. I guess I’m not ready yet.”

*Is there something to prepare for?* He wondered, but nodded nonetheless. Grace gave a faint smile at that.

“Let’s spar later. I’d like to cross swords with you, for old time’s sake.”

“…? I don’t know how to use a sword.”

“?”

“?”

Both their faces crumpled in near-identical expressions.

“…Aren’t you a swordsman?”

“I’m a mage.”

“A mage? The mercenary Asel, famous for hating magic, is a mage?”

Grace asked, eyes wide. Asel’s brow furrowed deeply.

The difference in their memories…it started there.