SMMA 66

Episode 66

To march along beneath a mountain of goods while maintaining <Lesser Manipulation> spells on levitating crates—no ordinary mage would attempt such madness.

In such a situation, any other mage would have cast a higher-circle spell. After all, <Lesser Manipulation> wasn’t designed for this. It was meant to float quills, rubbers, at most a few marbles. But to carry dozens of crates? It wasn’t brilliance—it was grotesque.

Must one abuse a mere 1st-circle spell so far?

“No—wait. That isn’t just manipulation—it’s body enhancement magic as well! Where did you learn this??”

Professor Garcia squinted, stunned as she finally sensed the tightly arrayed currents of mana coiled around the boy’s flesh. Fine-tuned threads assisting movement, steadying and propelling him.

Only one conclusion: physical enhancement magic.

Powerful and prized, such spells were dangerous for students, their frail bodies ill-suited to binding mana directly into muscle. Veterans, mercenaries, yes—but first-year scholars? Absurd to even consider.

Had he truly taught himself?

The Skull Headmaster feigned ignorance, expressionless as only a lich could be.

“Perhaps he learned it in the library? I should have warned them in advance…”

“Don’t bind them with such limits, Garcia. Or magi will grow weak.”

Professor Garcia narrowed her eyes. It was you, wasn’t it? No proof—just instinct.

The spell forced on Ihan by the black book, Gonadalthes’ Nimble Step, was an oddity.

Simple enhancement magic usually reinforced a single trait: strength, or speed, or endurance. The lower the circle, the stricter the focus. Greed twisted them into unstable failures.

But Nimble Step?…

It bolstered four at once: strength, agility, stamina, reflexes.

A 1st-circle monstrosity.

No wonder it was brutally hard to master.

To cast, one needed an image. For strength, a hero’s fist; for agility, a bird’s flight. But all four? How to conjure such a vision?

Now I see why Gonadalthes named it after himself, Ihan cursed the book.

Magicians left their names upon spells as a mark of pride—a guidepost for others. But this felt more like a warning: a spell of torment, crafted mad.

So he tried, and failed; tried, and failed.

But Ihan’s rarest gift wasn’t mana—it was mental breadth. His flexible imagination.

His chosen image shocked even himself: a young Skull Headmaster.

He had never seen such a thing, but he envisioned it—mad eyes blazing, harsh spirit, wiry body honed for combat, robed in darkness, staff clenched. Every inch the archetypal villainous sorcerer.

Ugly as sin. But strong. Fast. Tireless. Deadly.

And—it worked.

At last the spell cohered, inscribing runes of mana into his body. He could feel it: strength, speed, lungs expanded, reflex sharpened.

The black book fluttered happily.

But then an uneasy thought struck him.

“…Wait a minute. Body enhancement always has backlash. If this spell handles all four traits at once—”

The book kicked him out of the dream before he could finish.

Back in the real world—he had no choice.

Fearful or not, he had too much cargo. He activated Nimble Step, cycling power also in the martial manner Ingerdel had shown—though rather than circulate, Ihan simply vented mana chaotically to shield his body.

Combined with repeated <Lesser Manipulation>, even an upperclassman would have collapsed. The mana drain was hideous.

Ordinarily, a novice should walk a few steps and faint.

But Ihan? Mana overflowed. He trudged on, tireless.

The Skeletal Headmaster grumbled to himself. Disappointing. That trap spell was meant to trick fools—overconfidence, easy burn-out, then collapse. Yet he shrugs it away. This boy…

But Ihan’s calm meant something else: he had survived the Headmaster’s final trick.

“Thank you for the privilege of this outing, Headmaster. I will never forget your grace.”

“Not necessary,” Garcia interjected, startled. It wasn’t kindness that granted it—just merit.

“Rare courtesy in this age,” mused the Skull, smug.

“After you enter again, drink strong restoratives. Sleep long hours,” Garcia urged. Her grave tone chilled Ihan.

Was magic itself the trap? Was survival the cost?

Still, he bowed. “Understood.”

His back vanished through the gate.

Only then the Skull chuckled. Wait. So how did he raise funding…?

“…!” Garcia’s eyes widened.

Ihan wasted no time. Before collapse, he handled every task he could—sorting goods, instructing friends, guzzling tonics.

But when he awoke from a heavy day’s sleep… he was fine.

Completely fine. That, in truth, was more unsettling.

Still, he stepped into the lounge—where Dragons clutched tearful smiles.

“Wadanaz! You’re awake!”
“We worried so!”

Some even misted with tears. Ihan blinked, confused.

They’re exaggerating… all that, just for supplies?

“True, I overdid it—but hardly lethal.”

“Eh? Gainando swore you’d die.”

“……”

Sinking into a chair, he saw the mountain of crates stacked neatly in the corner. Too much to even stash in his private room.

Looking on it with fresh eyes—yes. He looked deranged.

They had also tended his Academy horse. Yonellia said it had behaved docilely.

“Impossible. With me it was vicious.”

Yet under her care, it had calmed.

Anger flickered. Ungrateful beast…

Still, cocoa soothed his nerves.

He searched his pouch. “Where are my coins?”

“It’s free,” Yonellia said.

Staring in shock, Ihan’s eyes beamed with emotional gratitude. She only rolled her own.

But his sigh spoke all:

“A new week begins…”

The lounge fell solemn. None of last week’s arrogance remained. Already their hardened hearts waited for the next torment.

“What about assignments?” Ihan asked.

“Done. If garbage counts as done.”

All averted eyes.

“The only one left—Professor Thunderstep’s. Recover White Tiger Tower’s flag.”

Faces hardened.

The Headmaster’s “basic moral education.” No one knew why he called it that.

“Anyone tried?”

“Bribed one with candy. Failed.”

Others had tested infiltration, bribery, forgery. All failures.

Then Gainando strolled in: “Why not just exchange flags? Negotiate.”

Fury erupted. “Fool! Do you forget how brutally they attacked Wadanaz?”

“?” Ihan paused. It hadn’t felt that bad.

“Enough. I have a plan.”

Silence fell.

Gainando brightened. “Exchange, right? Of course—”

“No. We’ll strike at night. Take it.”

A roar of cheers swept the lounge.