Chapter 414

‘What…’

What was that?

Mecklenburg doubted his own eyes. Standing there with Ulrike Kleist’s face, the figure was moving exactly like the real Albert Mecklenburg. He knew perfectly well he was sitting safely in the circular spectator stands, yet for a moment it felt as though another version of himself had stepped onto the Mimesis field and was fighting in his place. Before he realized it, his fingers had tightened around his own forearm.

“…That…?”

The vice captain, who had just returned to the seat beside him, spoke in disbelief. Most of the 98th Unit members, who had spent years training alongside him, had already noticed it. The way ‘Ulrike Kleist’ moved was unmistakably like Mecklenburg.

“Is that Nepomucena? Don’t tell me… he’s copying you, Captain…”

“No.”

The one wearing Albert Mecklenburg’s face now was Nepomucena Wettin. He was charging recklessly, then falling back again and again, all while wearing a cocky grin the real Mecklenburg would never have shown. Smiling in the middle of a duel was unthinkable. If he had the strength to smile, he’d rather gather his mana for one more attack. Looking between the two Mimesis screens, Mecklenburg answered quietly, “Lord Wettin’s reputation may not be the best, but once he’s facing an opponent, his entire focus is on that fight. He wouldn’t waste his energy mocking me.”

“Then…?”

There was only one possibility. The one wearing Ulrike Kleist’s appearance while moving like Albert Mecklenburg… was Lukas Askanien.

Instead of the gloomy expression Kleist had worn since his friend’s brush with death, ‘Ulrike Kleist’ now carried a faint, almost irritating smile—cold, proud, like sunlight breaking through the morning mist. That icy glint had never belonged in those green eyes. Even through the illusion cast by Mimesis, the sight left not only Mecklenburg but everyone from the 101st Unit’s A-Class members staring in stunned disbelief. Their mouths dropped open.

The way the muscles in that borrowed face moved reminded Mecklenburg of two people at once: the troublesome junior he knew far too well… and, strangely enough, a friend whose expression had rarely ever resembled a sneer.

“Then… is that Lord Lukas Askanien?”

Mecklenburg didn’t answer. Have you taught that junior before? How is this even possible? The vice captain bombarded him with excited questions, looking at him as though expecting an immediate explanation.

“…….”

A flash of instinctive alarm ran through him. If even the people who had worked alongside Lukas Askanien were seeing this unbelievable sight for the first time, then they might end up becoming a liability when Adrian Askanien eventually tried to verify the ‘truth.’ Naturally they would. Once Adrian appeared, the lie Lukas Askanien had constructed would inevitably be exposed.

But the tension faded almost as quickly. This wasn’t a problem. A mock battle was one thing, but for the sake of the Command’s internal hierarchy, cross-unit sparring had never been publicly conducted before. The only operation they had entered together was Corbiniano, and real combat was nothing like a duel.

So the fact that these people had only just learned today—that is, had only just witnessed the lie—that Lukas Askanien’s fighting style resembled Albert Mecklenburg’s closely enough to look like the same person… wasn’t actually dangerous. No. The real problem was something else.

Clang!

Their blades met with a sharp metallic ring before separating again. Swords from the very start. Nepomucena Wettin was pressing Lukas Askanien hard, refusing to give him any opening to cast special magic with a wand or staff. Nepomucena had always fought aggressively. Even now—though wearing Mecklenburg’s face made the sight utterly unsettling—he hadn’t changed. But this time, his approach was different.

Boom!

The ground shook violently beneath Nepomucena’s feet as he landed, enough mana packed into the impact to rattle the entire arena. Kleist’s eyes—or rather, Askanien’s—instinctively dropped to the floor. The training ground transmitted through Askanien’s field of vision was thoroughly saturated by the mana explosively unleashed through Nepomucena’s footwork. Applying pressure across the opponent’s entire body—that was Nepomucena’s specialty. The moment Askanien grasped the situation, his gaze snapped down for only an instant before returning to Nepomucena’s silhouette.

At that same heartbeat, the shrill whistle of a sharpened blade tore through the artifact displaying Askanien’s field of vision, echoing loudly even here.

Boom!

Askanien twisted the sword in both hands, transforming it into a staff before slamming it into the ground. Mecklenburg’s black coat flashed into view. At the same time came a heavy, hollow impact, like someone sprinting across shattered glass. Askanien’s field of vision spun one hundred eighty degrees. Using the barrier beneath his feet as a springboard, he vaulted cleanly over ‘Mecklenburg’ and landed behind him.

‘This…’

Without realizing it, Mecklenburg furrowed his brow.

It was impossible. Every clash of swords, every retreat, every movement between the two seemed to slow to a crawl, as if time itself had been pressed flat. That was how thoroughly confusion had overtaken his thoughts.

Six hours. No amount of practice in six hours could perfectly imitate everything—from the angle at which someone turned their head, to the spacing of their feet when they landed, the way they shifted their center of gravity… even which of the senses—hearing, sight, or touch—they instinctively relied on first.

As Fundamentals of Combat Magic, Chapter 15, Section 1 put it: A combat mage’s foremost priority is not sight or hearing, both easily disrupted by light and noise in battle, but accurately distinguishing every trace of mana that touches the body according to its purpose.

Lukas Askanien had always fought exactly as Leonard Wittelsbach did—placing his trust primarily in touch.

Mecklenburg was different. Thanks to his water Special Ability, he prioritized none of the three. Sight, hearing, touch—they were all secondary. Instead, he sensed the mana within distant living beings, following the movement of the water inside them. He knew full well how unusual that was. It was like possessing a sixth sense—using one’s perception of mana as another pair of eyes. It was simply the way he’d learned to fight through his ability. No matter how he explained it, few people ever truly understood. But now…

The one wearing Ulrike Kleist’s face wasn’t desperately chasing the mana in the opponent’s attacks, nor the incoming blade. His gaze didn’t dart toward the slightest ripple of mana or sound in the air. Neither did he instinctively retreat from it. On the Mimesis screen showing Nepomucena Wettin’s perspective, Lukas Askanien’s eyes never left the mass that was ‘Albert Mecklenburg.’

Clang— Clang—!

Askanien knocked aside Nepomucena’s sword and leapt backward. He shifted his greatsword into one hand and gathered mana with the other. Naturally, Nepomucena’s eyes followed the movement. The moment the blade came down, Askanien poured every bit of that gathered mana directly into his sword. The stance was unstable. Even so—

BOOOOM!

Though he hadn’t switched to a staff, the sword erupted with the same explosive force as if it had been swung with magically accelerated momentum. A heartbeat later came the sound of his opponent kicking off the ground and flipping cleanly through the air.

“…Heh…”

Nepomucena Wettin let out his trademark raspy chuckle. Though he’d been singed by the sheer ferocity of Askanien’s mana, he didn’t press the advantage despite having the perfect opening. Instead, he took a moment to steady his breathing before charging in again. Watching the exchange, Mecklenburg rubbed his chin.

‘Good. He fights like Askanien… yet not quite like Askanien.’

That relentless aggression was unmistakably Askanien’s. Leonard Wittelsbach had drilled him into a style that was almost textbook in its precision, yet Askanien fought far more aggressively than his teacher ever did.

‘It couldn’t have turned out any other way.’

Askanien’s mana dwarfed Leonard Wittelsbach’s to such an extent that comparing the two almost felt insulting to Askanien. But talent alone wasn’t enough. To defeat opponents who far surpassed him in skills, he’d had no choice but to fight even more aggressively than his mentor.

Still, switching grips twice in the span of a few seconds and willingly taking such risks wasn’t like Askanien at all. That was Mecklenburg’s style. He wasn’t particularly fond of admitting it, but compared to the others, he had never been one to follow the orthodox approach. His physical movements were clean, but he had a habit of slipping tricks into the perfect moment, stealing his opponent’s attention.

‘Which means… defeating Nepomucena while copying me won’t be easy.’

He had to imitate every movement of the hands, every step, every shift of his gaze, while weaving techniques that had never belonged to him into the fight. Even Nikolaus Ernst couldn’t guarantee victory without relying on his divine power. Even fighting in his own style, the best he could hope for was a draw. Mimicking someone else was no easy feat, after all.

Nepomucena had graduated third in the Department of Combat Magic at the Imperial First Academy. Twenty years of experience versus someone who had wielded magic for less than a year. Granted, Askanien being Nikolaus Ernst meant Mecklenburg couldn’t completely dismiss him, but by any reasonable measure, Askanien was expected to lose.

‘Is he planning to turn this into a fight where victory itself doesn’t matter?’

It made sense. If his conflict with Adrian Askanien had truly driven him to create an entirely new identity just to stay out of Adrian’s sight, then exposing every ounce of his ability would be far riskier than backing off at the razor-thin moment that separated a 0.1% chance from a 1% one.

‘Hmm…’

For that Askanien to be so obsessed with the line of succession… Part of it made perfect sense. Part of it, he simply couldn’t understand. Still, he’d already promised to help Lukas Askanien. For now, all he could do was watch.

Who knew how much time had passed while he let those thoughts swirl through his mind, watching the two mages trade blows. Then ‘Mecklenburg’ finally spoke.

[—Beware, the LORD is about to take firm hold of you.]

Crack—! Whoosh—

Before the incantation could even continue with ‘…and hurl you away, you mighty man,’ mana had already wrapped itself around ‘Kleist.’ Before he could sever the binding, Askanien was yanked straight in front of Nepomucena Wettin. Kleist slammed his foot into the ground to resist, compressed mana bursting beneath his boots.

It wasn’t enough. According to the physical examination records from earlier that month, the two differed in weight by nearly twenty kilograms. Lukas Askanien held the advantage in reaction speed, but against an opponent like Nepomucena Wettin—someone who knew exactly how to exploit a weight difference—that alone wasn’t enough.

Nepomucena tossed his sword into the air, caught it in a new grip, and raised his arm. The blade came down toward Askanien’s neck.

Normally, Lukas Askanien would bend at the waist and slip underneath it. But the real Mecklenburg didn’t possess Askanien’s lightning-fast reflexes, nor did he rely on evasive footwork in the first place. Without realizing it, Mecklenburg clenched his fist.

‘This much…’

There was no need to hide this from Adrian Askanien. Surely copying a movement or two wouldn’t matter.

Whoosh— BOOM!!

At that instant, Nepomucena’s sword shifted into a staff. Wearing Albert’s face, he lowered his body and smashed it into the ground.

‘He gave up the initiative?’

All he had to do was thrust into Askanien’s neck. So why retreat instead? Mecklenburg’s eyes widened. The answer came immediately. The shockwave blasted Askanien backward, and as he landed behind Nepomucena, the latter ducked. Only then did the battlefield come into view from Askanien’s Mimesis perspective. From directly behind Nepomucena, a green, blade-like spell came screaming in. It crashed against Nepomucena’s barrier with a shrill skriiik—BOOM!, then shattered into nothing.

“…….”

He had layered at least three formulas together. That meant he’d begun preparing the counter the moment Nepomucena’s binding mana latched onto him. Complex spell formulas drained both stamina and mental strength, making them difficult to cast repeatedly—or under pressure. Yet Lukas Askanien seemed far less burdened by that limitation.

But Mecklenburg knew. There was another problem.

[— You will be visited by the LORD of Hosts with thunder and earthquake and loud noise, with windstorm and tempest and consuming flame of fire.]

The words poured out like a rapid volley. As soon as Askanien dismissed his sword, switched it into a staff, and slammed it into the ground, green mana flooded the screen. It erupted like a sea of fire. And then—

[— Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless.]

The destructive force vanished almost instantly.

‘Mecklenburg’s’ voice. A spell that suppressed the opponent’s spell. Wearing Mecklenburg’s face, Nepomucena stomped the ground, scattering the lingering mana. Looking utterly bored, he lowered the hand he had thrust forward. His staff shifted back into a sword as he spoke again.

[…Then the hordes of all the nations that fight against Ariel, that attack her and her fortress and besiege her—]

With a sneer, he kicked off the ground. A blade, white as a streak of light, hurtled toward Askanien’s vision. Another blade met it head-on.

Craaash! Screeech—!

[—will be as it is with a dream, with a vision in the night… Isn’t that your specialty?]

Their blades locked in place. Nepomucena’s smug grin grated on Mecklenburg’s nerves. Maintaining clear vision was essential in battle, yet the fool hadn’t made the slightest effort to keep his appearance in order. His hair had long since fallen into his eyes—and across the Mimesis feed—and for some reason, even the way he spoke sounded unbearably crude. Mecklenburg stared coldly at that face.

It might have been better if Askanien had been the one wearing it. When it came to neutralizing an opponent’s mana, Nepomucena Wettin was second to none. If Mecklenburg had to summarize his fighting style in one sentence, it would be this: Tie them down, then beat them senseless. Whether he restrained his opponent with mana or nullified their spells, his goal was always the same—to strip away their options, then rush in like a hunting hound determined to tear out their throat.

He had already earned a terrible reputation back in the Third Academy for his attitude, and little had changed after entering the First Academy. Every joint exercise inevitably turned into a headache because of him.

‘…If Askanien can’t use any spells, then…’

He would have to take Nepomucena on in close combat alone. Askanien locked blades with him, stepped backward, and began another verse.

[—If you remain in me and my words remain in you–]

[Hm.]

He had reduced the incantation ‘Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless’ down to a single ‘Hm.’ No wonder he had earned his reputation. Nepomucena Wettin could shut down his opponent’s magic even without reciting scripture. The green mana lingering around his blade flared once before dying away. Askanien didn’t so much as blink. Wearing a faint smile, he continued.

[—In the morning it springs up new, but by evening it is dry and withered.]

Clang!

[—Love and faithfulness meet together–]

Krrk—Clang!

[— Righteousness and peace kiss each other.]

Every spell Askanien cast was extinguished before it could take shape. Nepomucena’s blade drove toward his face with frightening speed. Rather than parry it head-on, Askanien shifted his sword into a staff, used it as another pivot to widen the distance, then turned it back into a sword as he slipped neatly past Nepomucena’s close-range assault.

Askanien’s dazzling mana, layered with techniques Mecklenburg himself often employed, naturally drew every eye to his magic. The sky filling the Mimesis looked deep green, as though they were standing beneath some calamity from an old folktale. At times orange flashes sliced through the green air; at others, bluish-green mana washed across the ground. Askanien’s signature kaleidoscope of mana colors was on full display.

[—How long will you who are simple love your simple ways? How long will mockers delight in mockery and fools hate knowledge?]

Whoosh—

The shrill whistle of Nepomucena’s blue-tinged blade cut through the air, enough to send a chill down anyone’s spine. Mecklenburg narrowed his eyes.

Slash.

An attack Askanien failed to block because he was in the middle of a chant.

The blade carved across Askanien’s shoulder, leaving fresh blood clinging to its edge. The moment he insisted on using complex spells despite Nepomucena shutting them down one after another, this outcome had been inevitable.

Yet Nepomucena seemed far from satisfied. Still smiling, he pressed forward with relentless aggression. Boots pounded the ground without pause, steel rang against steel over and over.

Nepomucena Wettin was an opponent even Mecklenburg himself could never claim certain victory against. But could this really be Nepomucena at his best? No. This was merely the level Mecklenburg remembered from their days at the First Academy. Could Askanien possibly handle him now…?

Mecklenburg’s anxiety proved unnecessary. Wearing Ulrike Kleist’s face, Askanien kept that cold smile as he calmly resumed his chant.

[— How useless to spread a net where every bird can see it–]

“…….”

[—These men lie in wait for their own blood; they ambush only themselves.]

Mecklenburg caught the meaning of the verse at once, his brow furrowing. With perfect timing, blood trickled from Nepomucena’s nose. No—it wasn’t a matter of good timing. Askanien had clearly been tracking his opponent’s mana reserves all along, calculating how much mana his suppression magic consumed every time he used it. It was deliberate. He had forced his opponent into choosing between two extremes. Either let the spell go through or collapse from mana exhaustion.

‘…He’s calculating all of that at once.’

From layered magic formulas to the rate at which his opponent’s mana was being depleted—few people could keep track of so many variables in the middle of a fight. It was enough to call it a talent for combat magic. And as if to prove it—

That expression looked far too much like someone else’s.

“…….”

Enough of that. More importantly, blood had started coming from his own face instead. With that thought, Mecklenburg finally folded his arms and watched with a deep scowl. Sure enough, Nepomucena clicked his tongue, wiped the blood flowing down to his lips, and chuckled.

[Should you really be treating your esteemed senior like this?]

Clang—! Boom!

[The one from Team A.]

Driven back by the difference in weight, Askanien barely finished regaining his footing before Nepomucena closed the distance again. Askanien met every strike with practiced ease. After remaining silent for a while, he smiled.

[After all, I learned how to spar from him.]

“…….”

The mages of the 98th Unit seated around Mecklenburg—and by now, every A-Class member present—turned to look at him. Anyone with half a brain knew exactly who that ‘him’ referred to. Nepomucena narrowed his eyes, then grinned.

[Is that so? No wonder…]

Slash—! Clang!

Wearing Mecklenburg’s face, Nepomucena smiled until his eyes curved, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

“You’ve got exactly the same spineless little lapdog look.”

Not a single mage seated nearby dared meet Mecklenburg’s eyes anymore. Every last one of them stared rigidly ahead.

Mecklenburg swallowed as the veins in his jaw stood out and his neck went stiff. Nepomucena’s flippant tone pushed his irritation to its limit. But another problem—one that had been lurking somewhere between the forefront of his thoughts and the back of his mind—had just been spoken aloud by Lukas Askanien.

To anyone watching, it looked as though Albert Mecklenburg himself had been Lukas Askanien’s personal instructor, the one responsible for raising his combat ability to this level. Over the past several months, it would seem as though Mecklenburg had secretly helped Adrian Askanien’s younger brother turn himself around behind Adrian’s back. On the surface, there was nothing wrong with that. Except for one thing.

The fact that a certain 89th Unit’s member was currently observing this scene was definitely a problem.

How much time had passed?

“Lord Mecklenburg, Major Askanien is asking for you.”

A mage who had been standing by the entrance walked down to the seating area, switched off the artifact at his ear, and spoke politely. A chill ran down the back of Mecklenburg’s neck. Feeling a headache coming on, he closed his eyes.