SMMA 100

Chapter 100

Anti-Magic Weapons.
Weapons designed to absorb or disrupt magical energy.

They were typically used by knights who fought mages, or by the Empire’s anti-magic fanatics—certainly not by first-year students at a magic academy.

But this one was given to me by the Headmaster himself.

Ihan quickly justified it to himself, then swung the blade again.

Grrk! Why would my master allow a student like you into the academy?! Insolent brat, you should be expelled on sight!

Ihan nearly snapped back, “Your master trained me to fight this way.”
It was a narrow escape — this damned creature had a knack for pulling emotion into its rhythm.

As expected of its master’s summon, it was remarkably skilled at manipulating an opponent’s reactions.

Crunch!

The undead familiar, struck twice by Ihan’s black-violet blade Dawnstar, lost a significant portion of its energy.

Even a strong undead wasn’t immortal. Once its mana drained, re-summoning was inevitable.

Realizing its opponent fought far too well for a freshman, the undead shifted tactics.
Sand coiled up around its form like armor.

No more underestimating you, human. By the honor of my name, Jorban the Second, I shall destroy you!

So it’s a named summon?

A name signified care and investment from its summoner.
Perhaps Ihan had gone too hard on it too early.

Show yourself, magician! Refuse, and I’ll force you out myself!

Ihan ignored it, retreating to gain space. Jorban stomped its forelegs; spiked sand cones spiraled into existence, launching like volleys.

You were warned!

“!”

Jorban’s strategy was simple: a barrage to block any approach.

Each projectile could shatter bone, and he no longer intended to hold back against a student.

As the cones shredded through brush and branches, Ihan had no choice but to keep retreating.

I need to hit it harder before it regenerates.

Prolonging this only benefited his opponent.

Steel orbs and water bullets lacked punch; lightning burned through mana but was useless against sandy armor.

Spin infusion like last time? Impossible. He won’t give me time for that.

He needed a surprise — something that would unsettle the creature, force it to break concentration and expose itself.

Wait… there is one thing.

Professors and spirits alike had warned him never to use it, but this situation was beyond their imagination.

“Burn!”

What is he—

The undead turned its head incredulously as a first-circle flame spark ignited.
What could he possibly do with that candle-light?

…Then the world exploded in fire.

“Cough—!”

Angrago and Dukema hacked up sand as they crawled onto the beach.

They had just been dragged through some underground dungeon, buried in sand up to their necks, and suddenly spat back out onto the surface.
Their mouths felt gritty.

“What happened… Wardanaz?”

Ihan staggered toward them from the distance.

It was a sight they’d never seen before—disheveled, arm splinted, and visibly battered.
Even his usually cool expression looked sharper, colder in contrast.

Angrago froze. Not even the skeletal Headmaster at night had been this terrifying.

What kind of monster could do that to Wardanaz!?

“How… how badly are you hurt?!”

“Don’t come closer.”

He grimaced. Letting rivals approach while you were weakened was never wise.

But, as always, the White Tiger students misunderstood.

“We’re fine now!”
“We won’t sink again! Let us help!”

“……”

Watching them rush over, Ihan considered attacking first—

No. I still don’t know what else might be on this island. I’ll need every shield I can get.

“What exactly happened…?”

He briefly explained: the undead summoned beast hidden beneath the sands—Jorban the Second, spawned by the skeletal Headmaster himself.

Though he remained perfectly aware, his hand subtly tightened on his staff, ready to strike at the first sign of treachery.

But these two, in their usual foolishness, didn’t even consider revenge.

Idiots.

“Wardanaz, move your hand. I’m trained in this.”

Dukema crouched beside him seriously. As a student from a knightly bloodline, he had natural medical training—first aid, bone-setting, battlefield triage.

He had even entered the academy to study healing magic professionally.

“I’ve handled it already.”

“Wardanaz, among the White Tiger Tower there’s no one bett— oh. You did.”

Dukema trailed off, realizing the splint was near-perfect.
Better than he’d expected even from a trained knight.

But he’s not even a knight-born—how the hell…?

“Hm. Still, maybe I should just double-check—”

“No need, Dukema. He put that splint perfectly. Unwrap it and he’ll just suffer more,” Angrago interrupted.

Dukema, reluctantly, backed down.

“Urgh…”

Ihan glared icily and withdrew his arm. White Tiger brats—never to be trusted.

“Wardanaz… that undead… you took it down?”

“Yes.”

“!”

They had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made them gape.

A first-year defeating a Headmaster-summoned guardian alone?
Unthinkable.

So that’s how his arm broke…
It must’ve been a brutal fight…

In their heads, they painted a glorious image:
On one side, the sinister prodigy of the Wardanaz family, master of forbidden arts.
On the other, the monstrous turtle Jorban, servant of the Skeleton Headmaster.
A deadly storm of black magic blazing between them.

The battlefield around them seemed to confirm it—trees charred, brush reduced to ash.

Angrago stared at one of the burn marks with awe.
The scorch trails reached from the ground to the trees. That was no ordinary explosion.

“You mean… you did this?”

Ihan nodded.

Angrago struggled not to show shock. What kind of spell had such scope?
The injury must have been from attacking through the explosion… yet still finishing the fight.

Among knightly nobles, even warriors would have fled.
He had to admit—whatever their rivalry, this wasn’t something he could dismiss.

Extraordinary…!

However, the reality had been… less majestic.

What kind of idiot—!

Jorban the Second nearly panicked.
The “tiny flame” erupted into a massive inferno.

If it had reacted calmly, it could have shielded itself.
The fire was large, yes, but crude and unstable—not something impossible to resist.
It only needed to reinforce its sand armor and wait it out.

But panic made it clumsy.

Instead, it dispelled its protective shell to divert sand toward suppressing the flames—leaving itself wide open.

And Ihan didn’t hesitate.

With Alarlong’s taught sword form Wallbreaker Slash, his blade came down like a falling boulder.
This time he didn’t just sever a limb—
he struck Jorban’s core, draining its remaining mana in a single blow, collapsing it into re-summon.

You’ll regret this, freshman… I’ll remember your name! What is it?!

“…I’m Giselle of the House of Moradi.”

Moradi, you say?! Very well! Next time we meet, you’ll find no mercy, novice!

“……”

Ihan watched the dissipating creature without breaking focus—so much so that he missed the crashing sound behind him as a half-burnt tree fell.

He turned too late; the trunk slammed against his arm.

Clenching his teeth against the throbbing pain, Ihan cursed the undead silently.
Damn it. Should’ve stayed dead quietly.

“Wardanaz,” Angrago asked, “You could’ve surrendered. Why fight so recklessly?”

Because I didn’t want to get stuck underground with you two, he thought.

But provoking armed knights with that answer wasn’t smart—not with one good arm left.

“…To give up would’ve been… dishonorable.”

Lately, he’d found that “honor” was a very convenient word.

— Wardanaz, I can’t find that passage anywhere. Give up?
— That wouldn’t be honorable.

— Wardanaz, you always cook for us; I’ll handle it this time somehow.
— That wouldn’t be honorable.

— Ihan, I can’t solve this problem. Should I copy someone?
— If you want to avoid a beating, shut up and think.
— Why only me…!

Whenever words failed him, “honor” made for the perfect answer.

The White Tiger boys swallowed it instantly.

“…I see…”
“The honor of the Wardanaz family…”

They nodded solemnly.

The Wardanaz name was infamous for ruthlessness, but so too for pride and iron-clad dignity.
For him to risk himself like this—naturally, it was an act of noble pride.

He may be our enemy, but I must respect that.
Even to us knights, that’s true courage.

“Wardanaz, until that arm heals, we’ll be your strength!”
“Give me your backpack—I’ll carry it for you!”

“Touch it, and I’ll break your fingers.”

“……”
“……”

“…Joking.”

It took him saying that before either dared to breathe again.

Who jokes with that expression?!

“R-right! A joke! Hahaha.”
“Haha… ha.”

“What face are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Let’s go, Wardanaz!”

Dukema hurriedly walked ahead.

Ihan blinked. “Does he even know where he’s going?”

“…Dukema! Wrong way! Come back!”

Footnotes:

• Anti-Magic Weapon: A weapon or artifact that disperses or absorbs magical energy. Mages hate them; knights love them. 

Jorban the Second: Named undead familiar of the Skeleton Headmaster, resembling a bipedal armored turtle.