[330] The Battle Mage's Philosophy (4)
"Rosy-cheeked. In short, your self-image memory corrects errors in the shortest possible time. That's an incredible ability. If we judge by talent alone, you wouldn't just be the best at Alpheas School of Magic—you'd be the best on the continent. The countless geniuses your house has produced already prove that."
Amy had no rebuttal.
Even the Karmis clan's scions—no, the elder brothers of the main household—had already made names for themselves across the continent at a young age.
"So what? I never thought of leaning on my family! Are you saying I'm here only because of talent? I've always tried to stand on my own."
"Right. That's exactly what I'm calling spoiled."
Amy's expression hardened.
"Then lean on your family. Use what you have, what your family has. Throw everything at it. You were born with things others can only dream of, and you'd discard them just because you want to do it all alone? That's spoiled."
"I… I never thought like that…"
"Remember the kids you met at the skating rink? Wasn't one called Jocre? Ains School of Magic isn't exactly prestigious. Their talent is probably far below yours. Still, they banded together and found a way to become mages. You think they just got unlucky and failed? No, Amy. You're competing among the kingdom's five great schools. There are plenty who have it worse than you. If you want to be a mage—if you want to be the best—you have to fight and win no matter what comes."
Amy bowed her head.
The anger had already faded.
No—everything felt like it had returned to square one.
Dante had been right.
She belonged to Alpheas School of Magic, where the kingdom's brightest gathered. She was in the graduating class at its peak.
There was no room for excuses.
On a battlefield of talent where only the best mattered, any complaining would sound like the empty boasts of someone full of themselves.
"So what should I… do?"
She couldn't leap the wall and found herself back at the starting line.
The second time would be faster.
But that was only in her head.
Now she had to beat herself. That was Amy's first real trial.
"Amy…"
Shirone looked at her with pity.
Dante's bluntness had to have shocked her. Shirone didn't interrupt.
It wasn't arrogance to think Dante's words would help Amy.
He was simply right.
Silence settled over the table.
The laughter of tourists all around them seemed to fade into the background.
Dante sipped his cold coffee and watched Amy.
He didn't have any special fondness for her. Still, Amy had been the most conspicuous in the graduation exam.
"Do you want me to tell you why you failed?"
Amy lifted her head.
Shirone, who had been lost in thought, also looked at Dante.
Given that Dante majored in information processing, his analysis would be worth hearing regardless of feelings.
"Of course, the only time we actually saw you use magic was during the graduation exam. It was less than five minutes. Still, even in that short time, there were things that didn't add up."
"Are you saying I misjudged things?"
"No. It's a problem closer to the essence. To get to the point: you have a fatal flaw. Especially if you aim to be a battle mage, something essential is missing."
She had never thought of herself as having a weakness. Amy swallowed and waited for him to continue.
Dante turned his head, coffee cup in hand. After choosing his words, he pursed his lips and said, "You… have no style."
"Style?"
The unexpected line made Amy ask back. Shirone nodded slightly.
No style.
It summed up the vague dissonance Shirone had felt while fighting alongside Amy.
That Dante could pinpoint Amy's flaw from only five minutes of combat was possible because of his eyes—considered the kingdom's best at defense.
Shirone added, "Put nicely, you're a jack-of-all-trades. I've felt it for a while: you're so good it's a problem."
Amy's face flushed at Shirone's remark. Embarrassment mixed with the shock of Dante's blunt words.
"Are you teasing me?"
Dante shook his head. "No. Shirone's point has merit. From what I saw, you have a tendency to try to control the situation completely. Because you can."
"And why is that a problem?"
"It's a big problem. Your specialty is sniper mode. Most mages steer the situation into an environment where their specialty can shine. That's where style emerges. Shirone likes a strategy of overwhelming force because of Immortal Function. I like counters because I enjoy analyzing opponents. But you're different. If sniper mode isn't feasible, you immediately find a second solution."
Amy felt as if a hammer had struck her skull; her mind went numb.
"Do you know what's really serious? In the end, you pull it off. You find that second solution. You're too clever by half. But how long can that keep working?"
Amy's lips trembled.
Stupid. Foolish.
Why had she never thought of it?
"Most students hit a wall and stop. But your talent carried you through to the graduating class. Then, at the most crucial moment, you finally ran into a wall."
Dante spread his palm and struck it with his fist. "The moment the tide turned, everyone targeted you. Faced with a difficulty that spiked far beyond the graduating-class lessons, you experienced a situation you couldn't handle with talent alone. Shirone and I faced similar obstacles earlier; for you, it came too late. Fermi must have known your fatal weakness. That's why they chose you as the sacrifice."
Dante recalled the graduation exam and gave examples. "When the situation shifted, you abandoned Sanuel and targeted Fermi. You probably judged that Skima could dominate in close combat. That's where things went wrong. The moment you sensed the discord, you should have opened distance. You needed to steer the battle into a situation where sniper mode could be specialized. But you didn't."
Shirone took over. "Because you were confident you could solve it somehow."
Dante nodded. "You can't control everything in a chaotic fight. You don't have a single second to waste on indecision during combat. When options split, delays inevitably occur. That's why style matters. You trust your style and stake everything on it."
Amy remembered the time in Kazra when she'd been trapped in Xenoger's web.
She had thought a lot even then.
But if she had focused only on what she could do—melt the web with Ignite and pull free—she could have escaped.
"Probably in the graduating class you analyzed everything. Every participant's combat power, judgment, habits, actions. You analyzed them all and judged yourself to be at an advantage, right?"
Amy admitted it without resistance. "Exactly. Right on."
"But you didn't think about style. It's as important as combat capability. If matchups don't fit, you have to avoid and wait. If I could go back in time and fight the Shirone of then, there's about a ninety percent chance I'd win."
Shirone nodded.
There are no ifs in history, but if Shirone of the past met Dante now, he would most likely lose.
"Combat isn't something you can judge by skill alone. To put it bluntly, you can destroy Shirone's Ataraxia before it completes and be done with it. So why didn't I succeed? Because Shirone constantly guided the situation to his advantage. Style colliding with style—that's a mage's battle."
Amy stayed motionless, head bowed.
Her thoughts were consumed by magic, and nothing else registered.
Dante said, "Well, I might be boasting, but if a similar situation happened to me, I might fail too. But I wouldn't be eliminated early without trying like you were. Anyway, that's the conclusion I drew from watching you in the graduation exam."
Amy finally lifted her head. Her expression was still sad, but the agitation had evaporated.
"Thank you. For being honest."
Despite everything, having a competitor next year analyze her strengths and weaknesses was something to be grateful for.
Dante, perhaps embarrassed by the somber mood, stood to wrap things up. "Feels like I brought up something awkward during a date. Anyway, I'll be going. Enjoy the rest of your trip. See you at school."
Shirone walked him to the door.
Outside, Dante peered through the window at Amy.
Seeing her sulky face, he scratched the back of his head and turned to Shirone. "Sorry. It seemed the mood was good, and I spoiled it by butting in."
Dante, who'd had his share of romances at the royal magic school, sensed the delicate current between Shirone and Amy.
That Amy had joined their solo trip suggested she had some feelings, at least to some degree.
Had the mood from the skating rink continued, their tomorrow might have been different.
But today's advice complicated Amy's thoughts.
As a fellow man, Dante felt a pang of sympathy.
Shirone didn't see it that way. He was actually grateful to Dante for not holding back his counsel.
"It's fine. If you hadn't been here, we wouldn't have found Amy's problem. You helped a lot—really. Of course, the solution has to be something Amy works out herself."
Dante gave a wry smile.
Shirone looked like someone untouched by worldly stain.
In a sense, Amy was of the same sort as Shirone, so it felt right that they'd met properly.
Dante had always had instant, casual romances. It suited him, so he had no complaints.
Still, part of him thought it might be fun to tune feelings slowly, like a glacial beetle.
"I didn't give advice just for Amy. Fermi and his group will be around next year, so it's good to have rivals. The more counterweights, the better. Anyway, see you. Enjoy your trip."
Dante waved and drifted away.
As lightly as when he'd arrived, he left, and Shirone felt the traveler's ease and freedom in his figure.
"May it be a good trip for you too."
Midwinter Night (1)
Because it was winter, the sun set early.
The old castle ruins' tourist area closed at six, so Dante called it a day and headed for his lodgings.
"Just going back is a bit dull. Maybe I'll have a beer."
At eighteen, he could buy alcohol.
He didn't like strong liquor much, but he enjoyed sipping beer while traveling.
The shopping district swarmed with people who'd left the tourist spots.
As he wandered looking for someplace comfortable to drink, a young woman was standing in front of the entrance to a third-floor pub, holding a small protest.
Her eye-catching outfit drew Dante's attention.
She wore roomy sleeves that reached below her wrists, cinched tightly at the waist with a white sash. Her ankle-length outer robe was sharply tailored, and her skirt was red.
Dante guessed she was connected to some kind of ritual or ceremonial service.
Her slim frame carried an oversized backpack that didn't match, which suggested she'd been traveling a long time or had come from far away.
Mid-twenties, perhaps?
Her skin was pure white as if it had never seen sunlight, and she had a delicate face. Her black hair was tied high at the crown, falling below her waist.