"Damn it!!"
Enraged, Malcolm desperately channeled his Jet-Black, raising more doppelgängers. Though Simon had knocked the staff away, the magic circle remained intact, and the clones continued to spawn without issue.
'So the staff wasn't the catalyst for the spell,' Simon noted with a flicker of disappointment.
Malcolm, however, felt his fighting spirit surge. 'He only blocked one attack! Nothing has changed!'
His doppelgängers rushed toward Simon again, this time in a staggered assault rather than an all-out swarm. Simon calmly scanned his surroundings and moved his arm. The Subspace gates reopened, and four tentacle-blades emerged with a soft, metallic rustle.
They moved with a life of their own, each striking in a different direction and at a different speed, yet they worked in perfect concert. Any object moving in a straight line inevitably creates an opening, but the other blades wove together to cover those gaps, creating a seamless, organic flow of destruction. It was a level of control that transcended mere practicality and entered the realm of artistry. The four blades crossed and danced, flawlessly protecting their master as he began to advance.
He slid forward, his left foot remaining planted on the ground. The magic circle beneath it held firm, allowing him to freely command the Overlord's blades.
Malcolm, on the other hand, was trapped. He had to keep his feet on his own magic circle to channel Jet-Black and create his clones. His maximum range of movement was the very edge of his spell.
The blades swung, and doppelgängers exploded, scattering like ash. They were destroyed the moment they were created, over and over again. Malcolm bit his lip, forced to watch as the summons that were perfect copies of himself were systematically slaughtered.
"Woooww!"
"Go, Number One!!"
The stands were a cauldron of excitement. Malcolm's doppelgängers were impressive, certainly, but Simon was showcasing a fighting style so unique, so utterly unrivaled, that it was impossible to look away.
In the VIP section, the high-ranking officials murmured in constant admiration.
"Excellent. He is well-deserving of the top spot at Kizen."
"What kind of black magic is that?"
"It's not black magic," answered Princess Molly of the Dresden Kingdom, her voice cutting through the nobles' speculation. "It's a fighting style that involves summoning and retracting something from a Subspace. The creature inside must be his summon!"
The surrounding nobles nodded with knowing smiles. Everyone knew that the princess, who never missed a major Kizen event, was an expert on necromancy.
'Amazing!' The princess turned her attention back to the arena, lightly biting her thumb in her excitement. 'I thought a necromancer's summon would just be a mindless undead, but such precise control is possible!'
Jane's words had been no empty boast. She didn't want to miss a single moment of Simon's fight. She craned her neck, her body perched on the edge of her seat.
'He's worth remembering. Simon Polentia!'
Meanwhile, in a section of the stands a short distance from the VIPs, a tense silence reigned.
"Professor Bahil. You have to maintain your composure." Chehekle, the head TA of Cursology, snapped his fingers to get Bahil's attention.
Bahil had been in a foul mood for a month. Nothing was going his way. Simon hadn't joined the Curse Research Society, and now, in this highly public duel, he was fighting with Summoning.
Chehekle stared, surprised by Bahil's expression. It wasn't his usual demonic scowl. Instead, he wore a fond, almost paternal smile, as if watching a beloved grandchild perform.
"There's a limit to talent, and there's a limit to potential," Bahil mused, licking his lips. "But this boy has far surpassed that limit! Isn't it marvelous?"
Chehekle was taken aback. "Aren't you angry that he isn't fighting with curses?"
"Of course, I'm furious! It's frustrating! But!" Unable to hide his excitement, Bahil shifted in his seat. "When I imagine a genius like that coming to work under me... yes. I can gladly endure it!"
"Anyone can see that Professor Aaron of Summoning is leading the race for Simon."
"There's no need to be hasty. He's a talent that will fall into my hands eventually." Bahil smiled, propping his chin on his hands. "At least for this moment, while watching his match, I, too, want to be nothing more than a pure necromancer."
The tide of the battle was turning decisively in Simon's favor. The twenty doppelgängers Malcolm had painstakingly created were wiped out by a single sweep of the Overlord's blades.
'Damn it!'
Even when Malcolm personally controlled two or three clones in a feint, Simon didn't fall for it. He wasn't predicting their movements; he was simply watching them until the very end before maneuvering his blades. It was a calm precision afforded by his overwhelming speed, and from that speed came unwavering stability.
'My Jet-Black is running low,' Malcolm realized with a jolt of panic. 'And he keeps closing the distance.'
He took a step back.
He was already teetering on the edge of the doppelgänger magic circle. One more push and he would be unable to summon them at all.
'I have to make my move now!'
This was no time to be selective. Malcolm's hand shot behind his back, opening his Subspace and letting a fist-sized, blue potion bottle drop into his palm.
It was a custom creation from the infamous Randolph Gang: a liquid bomb that, when infused with Jet-Black, would trigger a massive explosion. The concoction was derived from the byproducts of a volatile monster known as a Longar, and the Randolph Gang had earned an astronomical fortune distributing them, bringing countless rival organizations to their knees.
Normally, it was a weapon of last resort, as the user was highly likely to be caught in the blast. But for Malcolm, a master of doppelgängers, it was a different story entirely.
He channeled his Jet-Black, creating ten doppelgängers in an instant.
The copies moved in a blur, shuffling their positions like a deck of cards. It seemed a simple tactic to create confusion, but Malcolm had already armed three of them with the bombs.
'This will be the finishing attack! Go!'
The ten doppelgängers, bombs in hand, surged toward Simon from every direction.
Simon held one blade back for defense while sending the other three to intercept the oncoming copies.
Like coiling serpents, the blades tore through the doppelgängers, shattering them on impact. Just then, as one of the copies was destroyed, a potion bottle clattered to the floor. A second doppelgänger darted forward and snatched it up, but Simon's eyes did not miss the exchange. 'An explosion potion...!'
'Even if you noticed, it's too late!' A triumphant smirk spread across Malcolm's face. The doppelgängers ignited the potions with Jet-Black and charged at Simon in unison as a dark light pulsed from the bottles.
'I've won!' Convinced of his victory, the corner of Malcolm's mouth twisted into a sneer.
'BOOM!'
An ashen explosion ripped through the center of the arena. Spectators screamed and ducked for cover. Though a massive barrier shielded the stands, everyone felt the raw power of the aftershock.
Hit head-on by the blast's shockwave, Malcolm erupted in a crazed laugh. It had been worth sneaking the bomb out behind his father's back. He would get an earful later, but the prestige of defeating Special Admission No. 1 and securing a spot in Noble was a far greater prize.
A thick cloud of smoke and dust settled over the arena, casting a heavy silence over the stands. Everyone held their breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
"There he is!" someone shouted.
"I see him!"
"Of course he's fine!"
"WHOOOOOOAAAAA!"
The sudden roar of cheers made Malcolm's head spin. 'Impossible. How could he have withstood that kind of firepower?'
But now, Malcolm could see it too.
The six blades of the Overlord were coiled around Simon's body like a serpent's nest, forming an impenetrable shield.
The blades slowly parted, and from the darkness between them, Simon's eyes blazed with a fierce light.
'Am I feeling... fear?'
It couldn't be. He had always been the one to be feared, the one who instilled terror in others. As Malcolm bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, one of the Overlord's blades shot toward him with a 'whoosh!'
It pierced straight through the doppelgänger standing in front of him. Cold sweat trickled down his neck, but thankfully, the blade extended no further. Having dispatched only the copy, it retracted smoothly.
"Huh!" Malcolm's mouth fell open. "Hahahaha! It's useless! I'm telling you, it's useless! I've already calculated your attack range!"
Another blade shot toward him.
"I told you it was use—!"
Just then, the segments of the tentacle-like blade slid apart, revealing a mithril skeleton within. Its length instantly increased almost doubled.
Simon smiled. 'This is fun.'
There was a special kind of thrill in trapping an opponent within their own patterns and assumptions, only to shatter them completely.
Malcolm's face crumpled beautifully.
The tentacle slammed squarely into his chest. His body flew several yards through the air before crashing into the wall.
Hearing the roar of the crowd, Simon let out a long breath.
'I'm about at my limit.'
The finger wearing the ring burned with intense heat. He recalled all the blades and began walking toward Malcolm.
So far, everything had gone according to plan. The explosion had been unexpected, but he had handled it. He had successfully pushed Malcolm out of the magic circle before the ring could overheat.
Malcolm had burned through his Jet-Black by creating doppelgängers, while Simon had relied primarily on the Overlord. His reserves were far greater. With both the Overlord and the doppelgängers now sealed, the advantage was overwhelmingly in Simon's favor.
"Heheheh...!" Malcolm staggered to his feet, glaring at Simon. "You think you've won?"
He clutched the artifact hanging around his neck.
"The real fight starts now."
The artifact pulsed with a brilliant flash of light. A stream of refined Jet-Black flowed out, enveloping Malcolm's body and taking the form of armor.
In the stands, Princess Molly shot to her feet.
'Wh-Why? How is that treasure in the hands of a gangster's son?'
This was entirely different from the 'Black Robe' of Matoi, which was formed from one's own internal Jet-Black. The dark energy solidified into a complete suit of armor, its helmet obscuring Malcolm's face.
It was the armor of the so-called 'Black Knight'—an artifact belonging to the elite knights of the Dresden Kingdom.
"Hahaha!" Malcolm let out a crazed laugh, tracing an 'R' in the air with his hand.
At the sight, Princess Molly's expression turned to ice.
'That foolish brother of mine...!'
"Simon Polentia," Malcolm sneered, advancing in his new armor. "This is a gift from someone who holds a grudge against you."
Simon scratched the side of his head in confusion. He couldn't think of a single thing he had done to earn someone's enmity.
"This is what you call karma. Your actions have come back to you like a boomerang."
"Interesting." Simon grinned and pulled an imaginary lever. Two skeletons materialized from his Subspace. "In that case, I shall put mine on, too."
"What?"
The two skeletons disassembled, the pieces flying through the air and snapping onto Simon's body. The necromancer nobles in the audience were utterly floored.
"It's Bone Armor!"
"A first-year is using Bone Armor?"
'Click-clack-clack.'
As the last of the bones locked into place, covering him from head to toe, Simon spoke.
"Wanna bet?"
"What?"
Simon ran a hand over his newly equipped Bone Armor, a satisfied smile on his face.
"Which suit is better."

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