Chapter 20
The crack spread, breaking apart the air like it was glass. It stretched to the whole width of the stage. The eye that was staring at Benoit moved up like he was staring it through a hole.
A purple, meter-wide pillar rose in the centre of the stage. Then, the tip of a blade jutted out of it, a purple blade. Followed by an arm, a right arm, gripping the said katana. The hand lifted the sword up in the air, preparing to swing.
Benoit gulped, the mana discharged from the sword as it charged for the swing made all his senses numb. His whole body felt like it was scrubbed with a rust cleaner and then dumped into burning chilli soup, and something poured magma on his brain.
He opened his mouth to give up. The giant hand moved ever so slowly, and Benoit could not shake off the feeling it was deliberate. The words were lost in his mouth as he watched Iris duck beneath the cleaved air and walk calmly towards him, flipping the glaive as she did.
He could not believe that a caster could do something like this without scraping every ounce of focus they could muster. Why was the girl not standing in a fixed magic circle, vulnerable until the spell charged?
Magic circle? His eyes widened even more at the horror of the situation. There was no magic circle, which meant— it was a basic spell. This abomination of a spell that could kill him just from the sheer pressure was a basic spell. It required no preparation, and she could spam it as many times as she desired.
“If you break the pillar before Mayumi swings the blade, the spell will stop,” Iris pointed out.
Benoit heard it differently. Make a futile attempt for my entertainment until that massive blade kills you. He was incapable of destroying something like that. He was a puppet dancing on invisible strings.
Benoit clenched his teeth, planted his sword on the floor, and took a step forward. An aura began to rise from his body like smoke. His muscles bulged, veins popped up, “I’ll show you my final STAND!”
Benoit gripped the sword handle, and orange mana flared from it like flames dancing. He planted his front foot into the stage and swung the blade with all his might. “WORLD CLEAVER!!” As the sword moved, the world lost its color, and everything was a hue of orange. The stadium turned white as the sword met the pillar.
A powerful gust blew through the Colosseum from the clash, making the audience cover their faces. When the flash cleared, Benoit was standing in the same place as before, his hands shaking from the impact. His sword was flying in the air from the impact. And the pillar was completely fine.
Benoit fell to his knees and closed his eyes as the sword swung like a giant serpent's tail uprooting the forest.
“...”
“...”
“...”
Nothing happened, there was no sound, no pain, nothing. Did he die too fast?
Benoit opened his eyes; he was still on the crumbling stage, which was completely empty.
“Boo,” Benoit’s breath hitched, his eyes rolled up, and he fell to the floor like a marionette without strings.
Iris dumbly watched him fall and tilted her head, “What happened?” She muttered. She crouched beside him and poked his head with her glaive.
“Hein? He passed out,” She said, her voice filled with childlike curiosity. She was curious why. The audience could not help but think she was an adorable child.
“Winner, Iris.”
The audience clapped and cheered. Iris felt everyone’s gaze on her. Suddenly, she felt self-conscious. She fidgeted, not sure what she was supposed to do now. Mechanically, she walked off the stage, trying not to trip on her toes like Hecate and fall.
“She is embarrassed,” someone from the crowd shouted. Iris was too overwhelmed with everyone’s attention to notice who said it.
“AWW….”
Iris walked even faster, her face tomato red, as she exited the stage, her body turned into a lightning spark, and she vanished.
….
Hecate was back, sitting in her seat, her left hand covered in bandages. Seeing her, Iris's self-consciousness vanished, replaced by worry.
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“Are you alright?” Iris asked.
“I’m more than alright. But that's not the point. What was that?” She was almost jumping from excitement. “I’ve never seen a spell so powerful and cool,” Hecate’s eyes shined as she spoke.
“It was an illusion,” Iris replied.
“Heh, liar—doesn’t matter. It was still super cool. I need to come up with something like that.”
“Of course.”
“And—oh, sit… looks like Winny was missing you.”
Iris, after god knows how many years, saw her familiar jump off the sofa and walk toward her. It was stiff and inorganic, but Winny was walking. Iris picked her off the floor and sat on the sofa with Winny on her lap. The Lingering Attachment.
“It truly was a spectacle,” Diantha said.
“I tried my best.”
“Thank you. Your opponent was underwhelming.”
“He was far too weak to be a Level 5.”
“WHAT!!” Hecate exclaimed.
“Neither his skill nor spell was on par with a real Level 5.”
“He is level 5, but he reached there through Inert Veil. His skill will be lacking because of that.”
“What even is the point, then?”
“Something you won’t understand right now.”
“I see.”
“Haha, now you’re getting my treatment,” Hecate laughed.
“She is not wrong. I fail to understand most of the human thought process.”
“You’re saying as if you’re not human,” Hecate’s brow knitted in confusion.
“I am inferior; I have been raised by hell. Saying I understand what humans think is presumptuous.”
“Hey! Nothing to become so overly dramatic. Lady Diantha, can we go home,” Hecate whined as she fell on the backrest.
“I’ll send a message to the inspector about our departure. The rest of the program is not something that would require our presence.”
….
They were received by the butler at the gate. He, of course, was saddened by the news of Felix's condition and Hecate’s injuries.
“I don’t feel like eating; I’m going to sleep,” Hecate declared.
“Hecate.”
Hecate’s step faltered. “Y-yes,” She turned.
“You will, at least, eat enough food to take your medicines…”
“I don’t want…”
“Or I can tell Ilona about your attempt to create an uprising against the Mercenary Federation.”
“Fine,” She said, her shoulders slumped.
Iris was very happy she was immune to such blackmail strategies.
“I shall take my leave. I want to rest,” She addressed Viktor, “The room where I changed is my accommodation, right?”
“Yes, Miss Iris.”
“Goodnight, Hella, Lady Diantha,”
Iris could feel Diantha’s eyes as she made her escape. She was grateful that Diantha did not ask her to eat. She was not feeling well.
….
Iris went to her room and tussled with her clothes as she tried to get them off. She wanted to just lay, her face was covered in sweat, her breathing uneven and laboured. She had an urge to rip off the clothes; it would’ve been easier. But she did not; it was a gift—she wanted to keep it safe.
After another few minutes, she got them off and fell on her bed. Slowly, her breathing began to calm, and she was relieved. Her consciousness began to drift into the realm of slumber.
...
Iris shot up from the bed. She could not breathe, her mouth wide open as air tried to escape her lungs but couldn’t. Her heart was stuck, it was not beating, and there was a stabbing pain in her chest.
Iris slid off the bed and rushed to the bathroom. Her nerves were stiff as if clogged up, and clearly swollen, visible through her ghostly white and thin skin. Her steps faltered; she fell face first, and her forehead met the sharp marble bathtub. The edge cut open her forehead. Blood splattered the edge of the bathtub and dribbled down on her skin.
Iris did not even register the pain as she pushed herself up and bent over the bathtub, emptying her stomach. First came out the undigested food she ate last night.
Then, black blood, filth. Her body violently shook as it repelled the filth out of her body. She fell lifelessly, hanging over the bathtub, its edge digging into her skin. Another repulsion came, forcing Iris up as she spat more filth into the bathtub.
...
Diantha heard a loud bang as she stepped into the corridor. The closer she got to her room, the louder the sound became. Her first thought was someone was trying to break into her room. Only when she reached her room did she realize it was from the room beside her. Iris’s room. Something was banging on her door.
Diantha opened the door and greeted the little cat that was knocking on the door. Diantha crouched and picked her up. “Did something happen?” Diantha whispered as she walked in.
As she walked in, she was assaulted by a ghastly amalgamation of odors. She recoiled, her throat tightened so as to repulse the acrid breath she had taken in. Her first instinct was to leave. The vile miasma in this room made her eyes tear up just from standing.
The cat in her hand tried to push her toward the open bathroom door.
Diantha slowly made her way to the bathroom and noticed Iris hunched over the bathtub.
“Iris!” Diantha rushed to her side and found her lifeless body—hanging, her face covered in blood, and the bathtub filled with black filth. Just from looking at it, Diantha felt a headache coming.
...