Chapter 28: One Hand Is Enough

As chaos and fighting spread through the university, Soldan watched the scene calmly from behind a crystalline orb.

To him… it was a beautiful sight.

The collapse of people’s dreams stirred in him a peculiar delight.

And that girl… she was easy to exploit; her anger made her an exceedingly useful tool.

What was her name?

He smiled faintly.

It doesn’t matter.

Her fate had already been written.

—

In the central courtyard, Auren kept directing the teams and issuing orders without pause.

Suddenly, he felt an unfamiliar magical wave coming from the direction of the library.

He grabbed the blue communication stone and said:

“Sylvia, give me a report.”

The voice on the other end came quick and strained:

“The situation is bad… we need support. I also lost contact with Alexander — it seems there’s fighting inside the library.”

He raised another stone and asked about the cat, Lauma:

“Lauma, what’s your status now?”

Her voice came in broken, weighted by effort:

“Don’t bother me… I’m moving the wounded to Sylvia.”

Auren closed the connection, then said with deep calm:

“It seems the first plan will cost us more than we expected.”

—

Suddenly, outside the university walls, several teleportation gates opened at once.

From each gate surged an army of the undead, in countless shapes and forms—

so many that even the ground felt crowded beneath their weight.

The students froze,

and dread flowed through their chests…

then despair began to creep in slowly.

Auren turned — his voice now heavier and sterner:

“Now… this is truly serious.”

—

Then, as if they had appeared from the air itself,

a group of laboratorians took positions at scattered points directly ahead of the Undead horde.

Auren raised the communication stone and said clearly:

“I intended to speak with you later… but I’m glad you chose to stand with us.”

One of them replied in a sharp tone, without pleasantries:

“Don’t get the wrong idea. If the university falls, the exam falls. It’s simple. We’ll hold the line as long as we can.”

Auren nodded:

“That is enough and then some. To everyone in the university: playtime is over. Every second wasted costs lives. The objective is one: victory. I’m heading to the office now.”

A quick reply came from the other side:

“No need. I’m already on my way.”

Auren allowed himself a short smile:

“Then… it’s in your hands.”

——————

At the rear side of the academy courtyard, another battle was blazing—

a clash of three against three.

Klee, Angela, and Leonard stood shoulder to shoulder,

facing Marcus, Adrian, and a mage wrapped in a black cloak from which droplets of living water coiled and rose.

—

Angela took a single step forward.

A pure golden radiance bloomed in her palms,

streams of light sliding along her arms

until they crystallized into transparent blades of pure light.

Then—she vanished.

It was not teleportation.

It was a flash—

swift enough to unsettle the air itself.

Marcus shouted as he summoned dozens of spectral knights to form a barrier before her—

but the blades of light tore through them like smoke.

Angela was dancing—

each step a note,

each turn a spark appearing… then fading.

Marcus froze, eyes widening:

“Are you kidding me?! A month ago she couldn’t even control her magic!”

He raised his staff and charged forward—

and at that same moment Adrian lunged, his fist armored in dense magic.

But Leonard stepped forward, closing the distance with a single stride:

“I won’t allow it.”

Klee extended her hand before him,

calm… assured.

“Don’t worry.”

Angela stood still, her gaze lost somewhere far away—

as though she were fighting a memory, not an opponent.

Before the attack reached her—

she vanished again,

only to reappear quietly beside Klee.

Adrian stepped back, his voice carrying a genuine confusion:

“How… did you change this much?”

Angela lowered her head slightly, her voice soft and fragile:

“I’m still… very weak.”

Leonard opened his mouth to object:

“That’s not—”

But Klee interrupted, without raising her voice:

“It is. We’re still both weak.”

—

Angela’s grip tightened on the blades of light.

She whispered:

“We owe Y an apology.”

Leonard looked at her in silence.

But she continued:

“I thought he held back for our sake… when he made us fight him together while he stood alone. But now… I understand.”

Klee raised her head, a cold steadiness in her eyes:

“Compared to Y… what we’re doing now doesn’t even count as fighting.”

Marcus’s voice sharpened, anger breaking through:

“What did you just say?”

A heavy silence fell.

Then Leonard spoke—low, but absolute:

“This is just a month of training.

Imagine what would happen if Y had shown up earlier.”

—

Marcus let out a dry laugh:

“You underestimate us far too much… now you’ll see.”

He and Adrian pulled two black stones from their pockets.

A strange glimmer flickered in their eyes—

then they swallowed them in one motion.

Adrian vanished—

only to appear directly in front of Leonard.

His magic-coated fist shot toward Leonard’s head.

Leonard raised his arm, reinforcing it—

but the blow was devastating.

His body was hurled through the wall

into the next room.

Adrian spoke coldly, as though crushing an insect:

“Annoying…”

He stepped forward through the settling dust:

“Leave him. He’s mine.”

Marcus turned toward the two girls:

“Now… just you two.”

Klee stepped back:

“I don’t know what happened, but they’ve become much stronger. Be careful, Angela.”

“Understood.”

Marcus began laughing—

a strained, twisted laugh,

his eyes glowing with a faint red light:

“You really think you have a chance? I’ll show you… true despair.”

The ground shook.

A massive magic circle formed in the air.

From it emerged a decayed dragon—its tail severed, its face disfigured.

It released a roaring beam—

and a violent explosion shook the courtyard.

A cloud of dust surged upward.

Marcus took a step back, saying:

“That was entertaining… and now we fin—”

But a blue flash tore through the smoke.

A perfect barrier of water surrounded Klee and Angela—

thick, clear, unbroken.

The courtyard fell silent.

Then, through the drifting smoke, a faint scent of rain spread—

the scent of dry earth touched by water after a long drought.

The air began to cool.

Shadows recoiled.

Flames flickered, as if afraid to draw near.

Through the haze…

a woman emerged with quiet steps.

She was not rushing.

She walked as though the world around her moved in slow motion.

Her black cloak flowed behind her like waves in the night,

and water followed her footsteps—

tiny droplets floating around her, never falling.

Klee raised her hand to her mouth in a small gasp:

“Molana…!?”

Angela whispered:

“You know her?”

Klee answered, her voice trembling between astonishment and relief:

“Yes… she’s a friend of my mother’s.”

The woman laughed—

a warm laugh that did not belong in a place of ruin:

“I’m glad you still remember me… little Klee.”

Marcus whirled, shouting:

“Molana, you fool! Why are you helping them?!”

She lifted her hand,

and with a slow, deliberate motion, pulled back her hood.

Her hair fell like the sea at dawn—

blue touched with silver,

shimmering in the firelight.

She looked at Marcus with half a smile:

“What a troublesome boy…

If you had learned to respect women first,

you might have lived longer than necessary.”

Klee’s eyes sparkled with joy:

“Aunt Molana! What are you doing here?”

“I got bored… so I joined the cult as a spy.

By the way—where is your mother? I thought she’d be here.”

“She’s still traveling between the kingdoms.”

“Hm… still as neglectful as ever, I see.”

Klee laughed softly:

“She sends me letters from time to time.”

“Well… good to know she’s still alive, at least.”

Then Molana turned to Angela.

She looked at her for a long moment.

Too long.

As though recognizing something older than memory.

“You’re Angela… yes?

You resemble your mother, Lorette, very much.”

Angela’s eyes widened:

“You… knew my mother?”

Molana wrapped her in a brief, warm embrace:

“You’ve done well, little Angela.

Yes. You’re alike… in your light… and your resolve.”

Marcus shouted again:

“You’ll pay for your betrayal!”

She answered without turning,

as though his voice was beneath notice:

“Oh… I forgot you were still here.

And to hear the word ‘betrayal’ from someone like you… is truly hilarious.”

Klee stepped closer, voice low:

“Aunt Molana… there’s something important I want to tell you.”

Molana smiled:

“Then go ahead.”

Then she glanced at Angela:

“Little Angela—take care of the dragon while we talk.”

Angela leapt into the sky without hesitation.

Molana placed a hand on her forehead:

“I was joking—!”

Angela’s voice echoed from above, steady and clear:

“Don’t worry… this dragon is nothing compared to Y.”

Molana’s eyebrow lifted, genuine curiosity stirring:

“Y…?

And who exactly is that?”

“Well then… come on, little Klee. Tell me.”

———————-

In the adjacent room, dust was still drifting down from the ceiling.

Leonard sat on the ground, his left arm twisted at an angle no body should bend.

The pain was there… unmistakable…

yet he did not move.

His expression remained steady—

calm,

like a silent lake resting atop a fire that refused to die.

Adrian approached with heavy steps,

each one sending a faint tremor through the floor.

His voice came low and strained, though something uneasy hid beneath it:

“Tell me… why did you betray us? You and Marcus.”

Leonard lifted his eyes toward him.

No anger.

No surprise.

Only understanding.

Adrian spoke again, as if uncovering something that had already been decided long ago:

“We were never one of you to begin with.”

A small smile touched his lips—devoid of joy:

“A simple plan.

I move in the shadows…

and Marcus waits for the right moment.”

A faint, brittle laugh escaped him—

real in a way that was almost unsettling:

“I don’t know what Marcus wants.

As for me… I enjoy watching people fall apart.

Chaos… is the only thing that makes me feel alive.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Leonard murmured softly, his voice sharp as a blade:

“I didn’t expect… that a barrier could be used that way.”

⸻

Adrian approached him in slow steps.

Each step was heavy, as if his weight had doubled with the magic he had consumed.

His voice was cold, stripped of all emotion:

“Do you really think defense alone can protect you in this world?”

He stopped in front of him.

His gaze fell to Leonard’s broken arm,

and he smiled—short, narrow, and cruel:

“And it seems you can’t heal fractures either.”

⸻

Leonard raised his head.

The same calm.

The same steadiness.

But something beneath the surface had shifted.

Something that had not been sleeping… but waiting.

He stood up slowly.

His shoulders were level.

His breathing steady.

And his voice came out clear, decisive:

“Don’t worry… the fight is even now.”

He raised his good arm,

stirring it lightly,

as though testing the quality of the air—not his muscles.

Then he spoke, without arrogance…

but stating a fact:

“One hand is enough… to defeat you.”

⸻

He removed the scarf wrapped around his neck.

Carefully, he tied it tightly around his broken arm,

fastening it with a single knot—

a knot he had tied many times before.

The motion was simple…

yet done with the quiet focus of someone who no longer allows anything unnecessary to occupy him.

A sharp, narrow smile traced his lips—

like the edge of a drawn blade:

“Shall we begin?”

————————-

Outside, the conversation between Molana and Klee moved with a calmness like turning a page from an old memory.

Molana looked at Klee with probing eyes and said:

“Do you mean to tell me you can only use half your magic?”

Klee answered plainly, without embellishment:

“Yes.”

Molana raised an eyebrow slightly, curiosity coloring her voice:

“And how did you realize that?”

Klee was silent for a moment, then summoned the memory clearly:

“I didn’t know… but someone named Y discovered it.”

Molana’s features shifted with a flicker of surprise and interest:

“That name again… I have never heard of a teacher by that name before.”

Klee shook her head gently:

“He is not a teacher. Nor a hunter.”

Molana leaned in a little, as if trying to catch a tiny detail:

“So… not a mage? And how did he know?”

Klee replied as if replaying the meeting before her:

“The moment Angela and I first saw him, he said I had a powerful, restrained aura… and that Angela could not control her magic well. He said it as if his eyes saw what we could not.”

Molana smiled, her expression showing a delicate admiration:

“That… is remarkable. And he was right. Your mother was the cause of that.”

Klee lowered her face for a beat, then whispered:

“I understand it now.”

Molana smiled gently, as though granting quiet approval:

“You are calmer than I expected.”

Klee breathed deeply; her voice came low:

“I was angry at my weakness… but during the time I spent with Y, he made me fight for long hours without rest.”

Molana laughed softly, her tone warm with affectionate irony:

“So instead of teaching you to unleash all your magic… he taught you to endure fighting with half of it?”

Klee nodded, then raised her head, her eyes steady and resolute:

“Yes. But now… I want to use my full magic. I want to help Angela defeat this dragon.”

Molana’s expression softened, her gaze fixed on Klee with a depth that carried years behind it.

“Magic,” she began quietly, “is not simply a tool for a mage. It is their life. When it is consumed… that life fades with it.”

Klee listened without a word.

Molana continued, her voice gentler now—like she was speaking to a memory rather than the girl before her:

“Your mother understood this better than anyone. She was terrifyingly gifted. She could command vast magic with ease… and she used it generously. Too generously.”

Her eyes lowered, shadowed by an old ache.

“And when her enemies realized that… they didn’t try to overpower her. They made her use it. Little by little. Until her magic ran thin. And when it was nearly gone…”

Silence.

“…someone dear to her paid the price. She lost her sight so your mother could live.”

The air stilled—heavy, unmoving.

Klee’s fingers curled slightly at her side.

Her mother’s voice echoed—soft, warm, distant:

“Take care of yourself, my little one… until we meet again.”

A warm kiss on her forehead.

Then departure.

Then silence.

Molana looked at her again—this time with pride:

“That is why you only use half of your magic. It wasn’t a restriction. It was protection.”

Klee exhaled slowly—steady, clear:

“I understand now.”

Molana inclined her head.

“And Y… instead of telling you all this, he simply taught you to endure with half your strength. To survive. To fight longer. To stay alive.”

A soft, nearly invisible smile.

“That lesson is worth more than any spell.”

⸻

The air heated.

Fire rose—not summoned…

but answering.

Klee opened her eyes.

Molana smiled—warm, sure, proud:

“Good.

You’ve reached it.”

She called upward:

“Angela—switch!”

Angela withdrew instantly, landing beside Klee.

Molana spoke simply:

“It’s your turn now.”

Klee lifted her staff—and in an instant, sharp shards of flame shot forth like arrows, streaking toward the decayed dragon’s body.

Angela spoke steadily:

“I’ll support you.”

Molana did not look at her, only gave a faint, amused wink:

“No need for me to ask… who taught you to fight like that?”

Angela replied without hesitation:

“Actually… I’m just imitating Y’s style. As for controlling my magic… I only mastered that recently.”

Molana stopped.

She looked at her for a long moment.

“Wait…

You mean you weren’t controlling it before?

Where is Leonard? Wasn’t he the one teaching you?”

Angela’s eyes lowered.

Her voice came quiet—but honest:

“Actually…”

———————

The adjacent room was like a darkness lit only by the dense glow of magic in the air.

The floor was cracked, the walls bore scars of earlier strikes, and the air was heavy…

as if the room itself was holding its breath.

Adrian stood with false confidence;

a layer of blue barrier magic coated his body like a crystalline armor.

Leonard, however, was completely calm.

No anger, no hesitation…

only eyes that observed, measured, and understood.

⸻

Adrian, with disdain:

“You still insist on fighting with a broken arm?

How pitiful… Leonard.”

Leonard did not respond.

Adrian lunged.

His magic-reinforced fist flew toward Leonard’s face.

Leonard sidestepped with only half a step—

and the strike cut through empty air.

Adrian attacked again—

faster, harsher, the barriers swirling around his fists like war helms.

But Leonard saw.

Watched.

Deconstructed.

Until he spoke, voice cool as winter steel:

“Your barrier is heavy… you are slow.”

Adrian froze for a moment.

Something inside him cracked.

“It doesn’t matter… I’ll end this now.”

He raised both hands.

And in an instant—

a complete chamber of hardened barrier magic formed around them,

the walls beginning to close in…

Slowly…

then faster…

Until the ground itself began to fracture under the pressure.

Adrian smiled:

“You’re not escaping this time. It’s over.”

⸻

Leonard did not try to escape.

He did not brace.

He simply raised his right hand—

and placed one fingertip on a single point of the barrier.

Tap.

A thin crack formed.

But it was deep.

Adrian’s face drained of color.

“No… impossible—”

BOOOM—

The entire barrier collapsed,

not as chaotic shattering,

but like a perfect chain of falling dominoes—

as if the crack had been an instruction to break.

Dust rained from the ceiling.

The ground trembled.

Sound itself disappeared.

Only the two of them remained.

⸻

Adrian stepped back.

He tried to summon another barrier…

But his hands were trembling.

“Damn… damn it… don’t come any closer!!”

Leonard did not move quickly.

He did not rush.

He simply lifted his right hand—

and energy gathered in his palm.

Not flame, not light.

Raw power.

So calm it was terrifying.

Adrian tried to form a shield—

only a single layer appeared.

Thin.

Unstable.

Weak.

“Wait—”

Leonard did not wait.

A single line of energy—

straight,

soundless,

merciless.

It passed through the barrier like smoke

and struck Adrian’s chest with concentrated force.

BOOOOM—

His body lifted off the ground,

slammed into the wall,

then crumpled to the floor without resistance.

His eyes were half open.

His breath ragged.

His body powerless.

No scream.

No words.

Nothing.

⸻

Leonard stood for a moment.

No triumph.

Not even satisfaction.

Only a voice—quiet, cold, decisive:

“Betrayal… is not forgiven.”

Then he turned

and walked out of the room.

The silence that followed him

was heavier than any scream.

End of the battle.

———————-

Molana’s eyes widened suddenly, and her voice rose with an uncharacteristic sharpness:

“Excuse me what!? Leonard did this?

We trusted him with you… and in the end, you learned from some stranger!?”

Angela lifted her head slightly and spoke with a quiet tone that cut through Molana’s anger without force:

“There’s no need for that.”

But Molana did not calm down.

She turned her face aside, her tone cold and final:

“I’ll deal with him later.

For now… I’ll teach you how your mother used to fight.”

⸻

Inside the great cavern—

Ash and Diona were moving along a long rocky corridor, illuminated only by a faint flicker reflecting off the stone walls.

Ash spoke in a low voice:

“Can you use your magic now, Diona?”

Diona shook her head immediately:

“No… I can’t.”

“I see…”

But the words were not mere acceptance.

They were calculation.

(So… it’s just as I suspected.

Diona’s definition of ‘danger’ is different from ours.

Normally, entering a battle counts as danger—but to Diona, danger is only when someone is about to die.

Just like what happened in the Fairy Forest.

This… is bad.

A serious problem.)

Suddenly—

A magic circle appeared beneath Diona’s feet, glowing with faint lines.

But Ash moved before the light could form.

She shoved Diona away with all her strength:

“Go to Y!

Now!!”

And Ash vanished.

⸻

In a vast cavernous hall, Ash appeared.

Dark ground.

Tilted stone pillars.

The echo of a massive creature breathing.

And at the far end—

A colossal beast sat upon a throne of bones, its stagnant eyes glowing like dying embers.

Ash spoke with unwavering steadiness:

“A teleport trap…

And you’re the one responsible, aren’t you?”

The monster raised its hand—

and an immense force gathered in the air,

drawing in shadows and light alike until the very horizon seemed to collapse.

Ash stared without blinking:

“Whatever you’re calling forth…

I will not lose.”

Then—

The shadow emerged.

A familiar shadow.

A shadow she knew more deeply than any monster.

More deeply than any enemy.

Her heartbeat stuttered—

for the first time in a long time.

Her voice trembled, faint and broken:

“…No.

This…

is impossible.”

—————————

At the rear side of the Magic Academy,

Klee soared through the air;

fire coiled around her like a living cloak,

moving lightly between the decayed dragon’s claws.

Its severed tail lashed forward like a dark spear—

but a line of pure light split the sky

and severed the tail in an instant.

Klee turned—

and saw Angela beside her in the air.

She was clad in armor of light,

with translucent wings behind her that flickered like lightning with every beat.

Klee gave a brief smile:

“So we’re cooperating now?”

Angela answered with quiet confidence:

“Exactly.”

⸻

On the ground, Molana watched the scene with the eyes of someone who had seen much.

(That one… Y.)

(In only one month… he discovered both of their weaknesses.)

(And not only that—he trained each one in the method that suited her perfectly.)

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind her:

“Looks like they don’t need me.”

Molana turned and said without hesitation:

“Come here, little Leonard.”

He approached, raising an eyebrow with mild annoyance:

“Please… just call me by my name.”

Molana flicked him on the head.

“That’s your punishment.”

Leonard bowed slightly, sincerely—without theatrics:

“I deserve that.

I apologize… I should have trained her better.”

Molana studied him for a long moment—

then a faint, satisfied smile appeared on her lips:

“It seems you’ve changed too… for the better.”

Her expression shifted to a gentle seriousness:

“Tell me… who is this person they call Y?”

Leonard drew a slow breath:

“All we know… is that he’s someone who can keep up with the Headmaster himself.”

A short silence followed.

Not the silence of shock—

but of weighing meaning.

Molana’s eyes widened, slowly:

“Do you understand what you’re saying, Leonard?”

He replied without hesitation:

“This isn’t my statement.

This… is what the Headmaster said himself.”

Only then—

Molana smiled.

A slow smile of someone who understands exactly what the arrival of such a person means.

A smile carrying something between pride… curiosity… and anticipation.

“That means… we have someone truly extraordinary.”

——————

At the front lines of the battlefield,

Dansleif stood like a statue carved from flint.

His eyes traced every thread of magic rising from the warlock’s body…

Soldan’s pupil.

There was no fear.

No surprise.

No haste.

Dansleif spoke in a calm voice, as though commenting on the weather:

“I didn’t expect you to endure this long.”

The warlock smiled—tilted, like an arrow pointing toward mockery:

“And I didn’t expect it to take you this long to realize it.”

Dansleif slowly raised his hand—

not as a threat, but as an unraveling motion.

He watched the flow of magic around his opponent the way a scholar reads an ancient manuscript:

“You’ve tied your magic to a large number of spirits…

This technique isn’t new to me.”

He pointed toward the dagger wrapped in writhing strands of living shadow:

“And that tool which absorbs magical influence…

it’s only a matter of time before I decipher it.”

⸻

Behind the warlock—

the horde of undead moved like silent waves,

bodies advancing…

yet their eyes were empty.

Dansleif spoke again, his tone unchanged:

“As for the undead army you’ve summoned…

it won’t last long.”

He extended his hand slightly, and gentle magic circles began to rotate around him like slow-moving stars:

“An empty vessel cannot withstand spiritual pressure.

And in the end—

it collapses.”

⸻

The warlock did not step back.

He did not show anger.

He simply smiled—

a smile that held no regret.

“I know.”

He lifted his head slightly, as though the ceiling were not there at all:

“But I…

do not need them to last long.”

He fell silent for a brief moment,

and then his voice descended like a funeral bell:

“All I need—is time.”

⸻

And in that moment—

As if the world itself was not prepared for what was arriving.

It was not the tremor of heat, nor pressure…

but of existence itself.

As though something was crawling from behind the world,

about to knock—

—or break the door down.