"No renewal. The loan period for this book has ended."
The librarian in worn glasses pushed the thick hardcover away with a firm voice.
Aron smacked his lips in disappointment and handed over the book.
For the past week, he had cut even his food expenses to the bone and devoted every spare moment he could find to the academy library. Even when he made a meal of a single piece of dry, rationed bread, his eyes remained fixed on a book.
The books he usually borrowed were not swordsmanship manuals.
They were introductory books on magic theory and manuals on handling magic power.
The librarian sometimes gave him a strange look at the sight of a swordsmanship-track student ranked 298th, still known as the perennial last-place student, studying magic so intently. Aron paid no attention.
Rubbing the ache at the back of his neck, Aron left the reading room.
His mind was tangled with the structures of magic circles and theories of spell formula deployment that he had been reading lately. He had no intention whatsoever of casting magic himself. With his supply of magic power scraping the bottom, it was impossible.
He had only one reason for clinging to magic theory.
'The flaw didn't mean the spell failed to activate altogether.'
The text he had seen several days ago while observing Celia Noren, ranked 271st, at the magic training ground.
[Spell formula wavers during third magic power compression]
At the time, he had not understood what it meant or had any idea when to extend his sword. Even with the answer key in hand, anyone who failed to understand the question would choose the wrong answer.
But now that he had searched through thick manuals and absorbed the basic structure of spell formulas, things were different.
Just as a swordsman leaves an opening when he loses his balance while swinging a weapon, a mage comes under strain when compressing magic power too forcefully.
That wavering did not result from a lack of magic power. It was a tiny opening created when the mage tried to increase the explosive force and failed to control its power.
In other words, the brief moment when an opponent forced their spell's power higher was the only time to move in and strike.
'Knowing lets me see it.'
Aron tapped the worn pocket notebook at his waist.
He needed knowledge to make use of the information before his eyes in real combat. Without understanding the structure of his opponent's magic, the ability was nothing but useless scribbling.
Conversely, he needed to see what his ability could accomplish when combined with theoretical knowledge.
All that remained was to prove it in practice.
***
Several days later, at the Third Training Ground.
The training ground grew noisy when the first-year students' free sparring period began.
Free sparring was a class in which students could choose opponents regardless of class and hone their practical combat skills.
Aron rolled his ankles lightly and surveyed the area.
"Aron. Who are you getting beaten by this time, putting on airs like that?"
"He beat Derek once, and now he probably thinks he's untouchable."
Several students from the swordsmanship class passed by, snickering.
Aron turned away without even answering their taunts. He was not idle enough to bristle at someone else's shallow judgment.
His eyes settled on the group of students from the mage track.
As Aron slowly approached, the students chatting in a cluster gave him puzzled looks.
"You're Peln from the magic section, right?"
A male student with short red hair turned his head. Peln, a fire mage ranked 286th.
"Yeah, that's me. Why?"
"Have a match with me."
The group fell silent at Aron's matter-of-fact proposal.
A match between a mage and a swordsman. Since they usually began at a distance, it was an overwhelmingly unfavorable matchup for a swordsman whose specialty was close combat. For the last-place student, whose magic power was pitifully low, to challenge a mage first seemed insane.
Peln's mouth twisted.
"You beat Derek once, and now you think you're somebody, don't you?"
"Are you going to do it or not?"
Aron cut off the pointless contest of wills with the question, and Peln's face flushed red.
"Fine. I'll turn you into a lump of black charcoal."
The two stood facing each other at a distance in the center of the training ground.
Roughly 20 meters separated them. It was an ideal range for a mage and an intimidating distance for a swordsman to cover.
Peln shook out both hands and set his face. He showed no sign of taking Aron lightly. Even if his opponent was the last-place student, this was a real sparring match, and Peln clearly intended to crush him decisively.
The instructor waiting at the edge of the training ground raised a hand.
"Begin!"
No sooner had the signal been given than fierce heat rose around Peln.
Red magic power gathered like flames at the tips of both his hands.
Aron narrowed his eyes and watched the process intently. A chill brushed his eyes, and transparent writing appeared over his vision.
[Left-hand fingers lock just before fireball launch]
[Spell formula deployment slows sharply at close range]
Specific, unmistakable information.
Aron immediately lowered his center of gravity and gripped the hilt of his old wooden sword tightly.
'His left hand stiffens just before he fires. If I wait to see it before dodging, it'll be too late. The instant it stiffens is the firing signal.'
Just as he finished calculating, Peln stretched his arm forward.
WHOOOSH—!
With a harsh sound of air being torn apart, a fireball the size of an adult's head shot straight toward him.
"Damn."
Aron twisted his upper body on reflex.
It was much faster and hotter than he had expected. The fierce heat was nothing like the theory he had read on paper in the library.
CRASH—!
The ground where Aron had stood a moment before exploded, sending a cloud of crimson dust into the air.
He had escaped by a hair, but the flames licked the edge of his right sleeve as they passed.
His skin was lightly burned, and a stinging pain spread through it.
'Knowing his weakness doesn't mean I can just charge straight in.'
Deflecting every fireball coming at him with that speed and force while trying to close the distance would be suicide. One direct hit would end the match.
Aron abandoned the reckless charge and immediately rolled aside.
BOOM—!
The second fireball barely grazed past the tips of his feet and scorched the ground.
He quickly hid behind a thick stone pillar at the edge of the training ground.
When Aron vanished from sight, Peln clicked his tongue.
"Are you just going to hide like a rXt?"
The magic power gathering at Peln's fingertips burned an even brighter red. He kept both hands raised and remained alert, ready to fire the moment his enemy emerged.
With his back against the pillar, Aron steadied his ragged breathing and surveyed the terrain.
Safety barriers and old pillars stood irregularly throughout the training ground.
'Running straight at him would just make me a living target.'
Aron picked up a small stone from the ground and threw it beyond a barrier on the opposite side.
TAP.
Peln's gaze flicked toward the faint sound for an instant.
Aron seized that brief opening and leaped toward the next pillar.
"There you are!"
Peln fired a fireball a moment too late. The flames struck the empty pillar Aron had already left and shattered.
Aron moved stealthily through the barriers' blind spots again.
Keeping close behind a safety barrier as he ran, he whittled down the distance between himself and Peln.
Twenty meters, fifteen meters, ten meters.
Peln's face tightened at the sense of an unseen enemy drawing steadily closer.
"Where are you going to come out?"
His once-calm gaze began to waver. Holding his magic power taut while waiting for an opponent concealed in a blind spot demanded tremendous mental effort.
The moment the distance fell to less than half of what it had been, Aron burst out from the end of a barrier.
"Got you!"
With veins standing out, Peln hurried to prepare a fourth fireball.
His magic power surged, and flames far larger than before rose from both hands. He intended to finish it in one blow.
Even as he ran across the dirt, Aron kept his eyes fixed on Peln's left hand.
At the instant the magic power swelled to its fullest, the fingers of Peln's left hand stiffened slightly and locked.
[Left-hand fingers lock just before fireball launch]
'Now.'
Before the flames could fire, Aron drove his foot hard into the ground and swerved sideways at full speed.
CRASH—!
The enormous fireball swept through the place he had occupied and exploded in empty air.
He had read the firing moment perfectly and moved away first.
"Wh-what?"
Peln's eyes widened as if they might pop out.
By the time he saw his all-out attack miss, Aron was already right under his chin.
Only two steps separated them.
They were now at close range, where the swordsman had every advantage.
Peln stumbled back in alarm and tried to wring out more magic power.
But Aron remembered the second piece of information that had appeared in his vision.
[Spell formula deployment slows sharply at close range]
The flames gathering at Peln's fingertips lost their shape, trembled, and then dispersed like smoke.
The psychological pressure of an enemy's blade reaching his face had completely wrecked his control of magic power.
"B-barrier!"
Peln shouted in haste, but it was too late.
SWISH.
A cool breeze brushed the back of Peln's neck.
Aron's old wooden sword had stopped precisely before Peln's throat. Feeling the heavy pressure of its tip, Peln swallowed hard and froze.
"……."
A heavy silence fell over the training ground.
The magic power drained from Peln's arms, and they dropped weakly to his sides.
"It's over."
Aron's indifferent voice broke the silence.
"That's enough."
Professor Kairon, who had been watching, walked slowly into the center of the training ground.
His sharp gaze passed over the remnants of Peln's scattered magic power, then the pillars Aron had moved between.
Whispers spread among the students watching from outside the training ground.
"He got in against a mage without taking a single direct hit?"
"Isn't it cowardly to throw a rock and hide while you approach?"
"Are you stupid? What lunatic runs straight at a mage firing spells in a real fight?"
Amid the murmurs, Professor Kairon spoke.
"Peln. When the distance closed, you panicked and could not deploy a defensive spell formula. You are wholly unprepared for close combat."
"Ngh……."
Peln lowered his flushed face and bit his lip.
Kairon's gaze turned to Aron.
"Aron. Facing an unfavorable matchup, you used the terrain as a shield and worked your way through the blind spots. Reading the timing of your opponent's magic power and changing course was a sound decision."
The students' eyes widened at the praise from Kairon, whose usual remarks were mercilessly cutting.
"However, you moved too much to avoid the first attack. Your clothes are burned. That means you failed to predict the fire's path and speed properly."
"You're right. It was much faster and hotter than I expected."
Aron nodded calmly without offering excuses.
His burned forearm still stung. But even that pain was valuable data that would sharpen his instincts for real combat.
"You may go."
Kairon gave a brief wave of his hand.
Aron lowered his wooden sword and left the training ground.
The gathered students parted before him like the Red Sea. None of them could laugh at him as the perennial last-place student anymore.
Aron walked to a faucet in a corner of the training ground and turned on the cold water.
RUSH—
As he poured cold water over his burned forearm, the searing heat gradually subsided.
He brushed his sweat-soaked bangs back with a wet hand.
His breathing was still quick, but his mind was colder and clearer than ever.
The magic theory he had studied in the library, the careful use of terrain to close the distance, and the fatal flaws his ability had identified in his opponent.
The moment all these pieces fit together, he had proved to himself what a reliable weapon they could become in real combat.
He could not merely strike whatever opening he saw.
As his knowledge grew, that information window would become his sharpest compass toward victory.
"I still have a lot more to read."
Aron turned off the faucet, murmured to himself, and rested the wooden sword on his shoulder.
Without lingering, he headed for the academy library again.