SMMA 57

Episode 57

Thud!

A dull crack resounded as Ihan’s magically-launched steel bead struck square into the mud golem. Yet the aftermath was not at all what he expected.

“!”

His expression blanched.

The connection severed—the bead vanished, swallowed into its mass.

Careless of me.

The bead, linked by mana, had plunged too deep. The golem, a being held together entirely by mana, disrupted the bond utterly.

Clack—

His bone summon waved, as if volunteering.

“You think you can fetch it… then—go!”

Obedient, it scrambled up, scampering across the golem’s muddy hide, reaching desperately for the lodged bead.

“……”

“……”

But it was far too deep. The summoned arms scratched, scrabbled, completely unable to reach.

“Enough. Pull back.”

Dejected, the bone construct descended. At least, the golem did not retaliate.

So I needn’t waste invisibility magic yet.

Prepared to bolt, Ihan steadied himself instead—readying once more.

Steel had failed, but…

The water orb might succeed.

With grudging honesty, he admitted to himself that Professor Volady’s brutal training had its merit. Dodging endless metal bolts had hardened his command enough to wield a water sphere.

But its destructive power was suspect. He had tried steel first precisely because of its sheer force. Heavy, simple: float, focus, fire. That simplicity yielded reliability.

Water demanded more. Summon, compress, form, maintain, guide—layers upon layers.

“It was why Volady thrashed me bloody with it.”

“Spring forth!”

He conjured—water condensed into an orb. The rain made summoning easier, flowing naturally.

Crash!

But its detonation gouged less than steel. Too weak. The bone summon tilted its skull-hand in dismay.

Ihan grimaced. What mage prepares monsters with no method to defeat them? If this truly is a trial, it must have a solution.

He wracked his mind. Though he could not know this golem was no Thunderstep contrivance, he assumed so, applying logic.

Volady trained me. Thunderstep would consult him. The path must lie through what I learned under that mad dwarf’s torments.

Round, and round—

He looked up. The water orb was already, unconsciously, spinning in circles. His body remembered, carved by trauma.

Then his eyes flashed.

What if I spin it savagely, drill-like?

Not merely fired—but whirled into piercing velocity. Its cutting power would multiply.

He halted its orbit, then deliberately spun the sphere upon itself—fast, faster, roaring like a vortex.

Shiiiiing—

Meanwhile…

The Headmaster, sensing Professor Ingerdel’s mood still sour, sent telepathy to Thunderstep.

Do something to placate him.

A swordsman that valuable could not be lost. If Ingerdel resigned, the fallout would be disastrous. The Headmaster would write humiliating letters to the Emperor, begging nobles, crawling to knights’ guilds… unimaginable disgrace.

Thunderstep grumbled but obeyed, descending into his cellar. From dwarf-crafted casks he brought up mead, then meats and garden vegetables—some of which, he realized, were those Ihan had harvested.

Damn it, that was my share…

But the Headmaster’s psychic whisper struck true: Surely you wouldn’t hoard delicacies to yourself? Bring them out.

Cursing, he relented.

Thud!

“Please, Professor Ingerdel, taste these. Honey mead of my own brewing, smoked meats, garden vegetables.”

He poured.

“Oh… marvelous! No brew in the Empire could rival this!” cried Ingerdel sincerely.

The old elf was not deceitful. Truly impressed, he smiled. And Thunderstep, though irked to lose his food, smiled with pride.

Sensing lighter mood, the Headmaster chuckled warmly. “Do not fret over the students. When I was young, trials were far harsher.”

“……”

Both younger professors stayed silent. Hardship in the ancient era—what wasn’t harsher?

The Headmaster continued happily. “These new students, they are amusing. They’ll surpass trials with wit. Think only: that Wadanaz boy—clever enough to master even my tome.”

Both professors froze.

“……What did you say?”

“What?”

“You—said he learned from your tome?”

Shock filled both their eyes. Professors teaching personally was common enough—but the Headmaster was an exception. His arcane legacies were madness incarnate. Any who touched them risked minds shattering.

Realizing his slip, the Skull Headmaster did what ancient archmages did best—brute audacity.

I am the Headmaster! Am I not free to teach whom I please?!

“……”
“……”

But even he felt the tension crack. They would not yield easily.

So he shifted, dragging others down with him.

Not just I—Volady too teaches privately. Thunderstep does as well!

Ah, the slippery craft of dragging peers with him.

Thunderstep retorted instantly. “I only teach safe tasks! Basic labor, nothing mad!”

For truly, he had never once given Ihan cursed texts. While the Headmaster—would happily.

But the Skull doubled down. Volady too. He trains them beyond his year already—nearly third-circle drills.

Indeed, Volady’s training, when recounted, was borderline third-circle: conjuring, shaping, sustaining water spheres—almost fusion-level spellcraft.

It impressed them both, albeit grudgingly.

“Such feats from a freshman—rare indeed.”

“A remarkable affinity with water magic—and immense gifts beyond.”

Then Thunderstep frowned. “Still, isn’t such relentless repetition brutal? Mana, mind, strained unstoppably.”

“Truly ruthless,” one muttered.

“……”

But at least, they agreed, a wondrous talent was blooming.

Shiiiiiiing—

At last. Complete.

A whirling sphere of water, shrieking with spin, drilled in place before him.

Head aching from strain, Ihan tilted his chin up, eyes narrowing on the towering mud golem.