[362] The Magic Association (8)
All the mages in the bunker walked toward the elevator.
Shirone couldn't make sense of the situation. Why had he been rejected? Even if he had stopped the Photon Cannon, that was Gaold's brilliance, not his own failing.
'Isn't that power enough?'
Wait — had Gaold been expecting a certain standard from the start?
"Chairman."
Everyone waiting for the elevator turned to look at Shirone.
"Please, give me one more chance."
Plu snorted in disbelief. To dare ask a first-tier archmage for a second chance—beyond bold, it was just plain disrespect to the Association.
But this time she didn't have to step in. Gaold was already striding toward Shirone with a cold, hard glare.
His thought matched Plu's. A toy that's lost its value as entertainment was nothing but trash.
"Are you mistaken? This place isn't for you. You came to be vetted as a tool for me. And you didn't even pass that."
Shirone admitted his judgment had been off.
"I won't ask you to treat me like before. If you'll give me a chance, I'll accept a real combat test. Please—let me demonstrate again."
Emotion left Gaold's face. Only a chilling killing intent remained.
He wasn't sentimental. But he wasn't kind enough to indulge a brash novice either.
"You want to attack? You mean to fight me?"
"I'm not trying to fight—"
"Shut up."
Killing intent poured from Gaold and cut off Shirone's vision. A curtain of fire wrapped around them; a sea of flames spread out.
Even knowing it was an illusion, the heat felt like his flesh was burning. Pain, screams, and lamentation filled his head until he could think of nothing else.
Plu's face went pale as she took in Shirone's condition.
'This is bad. He actually intends to kill him.'
Anyone trapped in Gaold's extreme technique, the Great Scorching Hell, would have their mind crushed by overwhelming terror. Given enough time, it was a terrifying power capable of suffocating a person to death with emotion alone.
But Shirone did not succumb to fear. He didn't cry or shake on his knees. He simply watched the Great Scorching Hell with calm composure.
"Uh, how…?"
Plu couldn't accept Shirone's composure. Could this not be the Great Scorching Hell? Yet Gaold's grotesque face was the same as when it had terrified her.
'So this is what happened to Plu. No wonder she was scared.'
Shirone even turned his head and took a moment to look around. Then, deciding his hellish tour had been long enough, he faced forward again.
His gaze sliced through the space. Though he couldn't see him, Gaold stood somewhere in the real world before him.
'Michea Gaold...'
When Plu had told him about the man, Shirone had thought Gaold was simply an exceptionally powerful mage. But seeing the hell spread out before him, he began to guess what kind of life Gaold had lived—or how far he had fallen.
Shirone closed his eyes and focused his thoughts into a single point. Whether it was hell or any other manifestation, an avatar defined by perfect Law would not waver.
His eyes snapped open. The sea of fire split with a crack and, in an instant, the hell vanished. Gaold's face—white-eyed and grinning monstrously—came into view.
"Kukuku, kukukuku."
Gaold chuckled, scratching his neck and shrugging. Then, his eyes burning, he said to Shirone.
"Psychic Transcendence."
Now Shirone understood why Kangnan, who had been pessimistic, had brought him along. Even if his current skill was uncertain, his talent was unquestionably first-rate material.
"Psychic Transcendence? He's only eighteen?"
Gando muttered in shock.
Plu was equally stunned. She knew the name Psychic Transcendence, but the deeper she thought about it, the more it remained a vague, unnamed concept rather than a clear enlightenment.
"Hmm."
Gaold rubbed his chin and fell into thought.
He hadn't brought Shirone into the project simply because he was strong. There were plenty stronger than Shirone in the world. It was his ideas that were undeniably genius.
Among Unlockers, Shirone possessed an unusual omnipotence for granting mass. From that flowed numerous practical combat magics.
Shirone would add genius to any team Gaold assembled. His knack for finding a way through any situation was the core code that could create variables out of disadvantage.
Viewed that way, even turning the first-tier archmage's attitude was talent.
"You want it to be real combat? You know what that implies, right?"
"Yes. I know you won't hold back. I'm prepared to die."
Gando worried about Shirone's reckless bravado. Mages could talk lightly about death, but no mage spoke like that when actually facing certain death.
"Fine. But first I'll ask one thing."
Gaold's eyes glittered as he spoke.
"Why do you want to die?"
Shirone shut his mouth.
He might be the only one here who still saw even the faintest sliver of possibility for life. The thought made him tremble like the chill of a winter night.
Gaold rephrased the question.
"I mean—what are you imagining? What's the conclusion you've reached? Do you even know why I called you? Do you, knowing nothing, think there's something behind me worth risking your life for?"
"I know nothing. But I have a suspicion."
"Oh? For example?"
Shirone pictured the face of the archangel Ikael. Warm and kind—but once the archangel strong enough to obliterate the Kergor ruins.
Why had she... entrusted her future to him?
"There is someone I must meet at least once."
The thought first came after the事件 in the Kazra Kingdom—more precisely, since Gefin's security system failed.
Behemoth, who knew the answer, had vanished along with Psychic Transcendence, but the question burned in Shirone's mind. That was why he needed to meet Ikael.
Shirone's answer wasn't one of the choices Gaold had anticipated. He found the boy interesting, but he wasn't about to coddle him. He disliked people who only talked big.
"You, a brat, intend to use the Association for personal matters?"
Shirone didn't answer. Gaold's question was emotional and missed the point. Questions that don't need answers don't require words.
Satisfied, Gaold turned away.
"Alright. I'll give you one last chance. One hour of rest."
Using Ataraxia must have drained him considerably.
Shirone shook his head. If his opponent was offering a concession, there was something more useful than resting.
"I'm fine. But I have a condition."
Shirone drew Armand from his waist.
"Allow me to use the Adamantine Armament. I think I deserve at least that."
Gaold looked at the sword in Shirone's hand. The object called was something Gaold already knew about even before it came into Shirone's hands.
"Thought you were a fool, but you know your place."
Trying his best even when he knew he couldn't win meant he was putting everything on the line. It would save time, too, so it wasn't a bad proposal.
"But one object won't change much. Let's set the rules."
Gaold compressed the air in his palm. As its density rose, a transparent sphere shimmered.
"As you can see, what I practice is common Air magic. Specifically, the Press discipline. I'm no genius at complicated spells; I'm just a bit stronger than most, and that's how I got here."
A bitter smile tugged at Shirone's lips. If a mage who could parry Ataraxia with one hand was only "a bit stronger," then all the world's mages were doomed.
When Gaold clenched his fist, the air bubble popped with a sharp sound.
"Anyway, the rules are this. I'll use Vacuum Press to take Ataraxia again. The difference is I will cast one attacking spell at you—just once."
Gaold pressed his index and middle fingers together and aimed. A tiny air bubble formed at his fingertips.
"The spell I'll attack with is, as you've seen, Air Gun. The principle's simple—compress air, then release it. Would that be ten thousand Press? Hard to say."
Gaold's arm snapped upward. The compressed air exploded with force, producing a deafening roar that seemed like it would burst eardrums.
The Air Gun that passed by Shirone crashed into the far end of the bunker. Shirone hadn't even noticed something had passed; his ears were ringing. Then he felt the vibration and slowly turned.
Centered where the Air Gun struck, a massive circle had collapsed and cracks radiated outward.
The diameter of the rupture was roughly twenty meters. And though it hadn't been measured, the Air Gun itself couldn't have been more than two centimeters across at most.
Shirone stood motionless, unable even to blink, staring ahead. Gaold laughed, waggling the hand that had fired the Air Gun.
"Well, it's child's-play magic, but if it hits it'll sting a bit."
"Sting?" Even Adamantine Armament at full defense would mean instant death on contact. But coming from a first-tier archmage, the remark didn't sound like a mere joke.
"Do your best."
Shirone's lips trembled into a smile.
Gaold was terrifyingly strong, but that only made Shirone want to challenge him.
With the fourfold combination—Armand's mana amplification, Immortal Function, Psychic Transcendence, and Ataraxia—if he fired a Photon Cannon, how far could its power soar?
"Adamantine Armament."
Armand, held vertically, engulfed Shirone and transformed in an instant. Its artificial brain whirled like a gale and locked onto Shirone's shoulder.
"I'll begin."
Gaold remained composed even at Shirone's altered appearance. He kept the Air Gun's form and twitched his fingers. As if drawn, Shirone charged.
A halo had already been traced where he had stood. Thanks to his temporal-splitting, Ataraxia began to accumulate faster than before.
'Split computation. And it's pretty fast. This could finish in about fifty seconds.'
Shirone formed blades of bone-like material from his gauntlet and swung. But Gaold, eyes fixed on Ataraxia, twisted only his upper body and evaded every strike.
'As expected, you can't beat him with raw strength. His battlefield experience is on another level.'
Shirone pressed forward desperately. The bunker was vast enough that grappling with tentacles would be a disadvantage. So he maximized Armand's physical augmentation.
'What are they doing?'
Plu tilted her head.
Both were mages, yet neither was casting offensive magic. Gaold could only try the Air Gun once, so that was understandable, but Shirone's insistence on close combat was puzzling.
"Why aren't they using their specialties? With time-splitting, he still has one slot left, right? If he fired a barrage of attack spells he might have a chance. The chairman can't even use defensive magic."
Gando spoke without taking his eyes off the battlefield.
"Because both of them are sincere."
"Huh?"
Tension gripped Gando, leaving no space to elaborate.
Whatever movements they were making meant nothing in the grand scheme. The duel would end in an instant.
'Perhaps... something completely unexpected might happen.'