Realizing he’d accidentally offended a teammate, Jack jolted.

He stammered, “N-no, I wasn’t talking about you. I was just giving an example…”

Crunch—

Hol bit into the black bread, chewing loudly. “What’re you scared of? I didn’t say you were wrong. Imagine their faces are this black bread—bite a chunk off. Pretty cathartic.”

Jack let out a tiny breath of relief.

Maybe the Master Poisoner wasn’t that scary after all, he thought.

Classmates always said the oddball from Professor Temple’s class—Hol—constantly tinkered with poisonous gas to terrorize people, so unruly even the professor couldn’t rein him in. But after this time together, Jack found Hol didn’t deliberately brew poison. Maybe his sense of smell was faulty—he just couldn’t tell fragrant from foul.

And Hol was poorer than he was. Jack wouldn’t eat black bread with grit in it; Hol devoured it like a delicacy. Who knew how much hardship he’d suffered.

A poor guy who can barely eat—how could he spend all day scheming to gas people?

Poor Hol—so much slander, so much misunderstanding!

When the competition ended, Jack would absolutely go back and tell everyone Hol was a pure, good classmate.

Good thing the Death Penalty Squad couldn’t hear those thoughts—or they’d die laughing.

Hol with a defective nose?

If he didn’t loiter at Star Luo Residence every day cadging meals, they might almost believe it.

“Where to next?” Axina asked, smoothing a lock of hair as she looked at Luo Wei.

Luo Wei lifted her gaze to the stars. The Big Dipper gleamed; dawn was still far off.

“Rest fifteen minutes. Then we head south.”

South of the valley stretched a broad mixed conifer–broadleaf forest. Terrain and climate there were kinder to wildlife than the north; a cluster of undiscovered magic beasts still lurked inside.

Fifteen minutes later, within dense growth, the Siria squad drove forward with high spirits and relentless pace.

Outside the arena, the Lower Division viewing area was in uproar.

The St. Teno students sprawled unconscious in the weeds still hadn’t woken. Professors could scarcely stay calm.

“What do we do? Are they in real danger?”

“Should we go in and check?”

“No. Entering now breaks regulations. St. Teno won’t agree.”

“If they’re actually hurt inside, the Church won’t agree either!”

“Siria started this mess. If something happens, Siria should shoulder it.”

“Eudora, your Siria students are really ‘wonderful,’ aren’t they!”

Accusations from all sides. Professor Eudora Moses sat on a cold wooden bench and drawled, “St. Teno staff haven’t even arrived. What are you all panicking for?”

“And,” she added, looking up, “whatever happened to them has nothing to do with Siria. My students threw healing potions out of kindness—so they wouldn’t get hurt.”

“Ridiculous sophistry!” Professor Chester barked. “What ‘healing potion’ reeks like that? Obviously poison!”

“Whether it’s poison or a healing potion isn’t decided by you,” Moses replied serenely. “Our academy’s healing potions only lack a bit in aroma. Efficacy is excellent. If you doubt it, sample one yourself.”

Who would taste that monstrosity?

Even magic beasts fainted from the stench—let alone people. How vicious—she clearly wanted him to be stunk half to death.

Chester fumed, but after a long, fruitless discussion with other professors, could only sit and glare impotently.

Fortunately, the spot where the St. Teno squad had collapsed stank so badly no magic beast would approach, so they at least wouldn’t be bitten while unconscious.

But this couldn’t go on forever.

Who knew when they’d wake? Sleep much longer and dawn would break; other teams would be back out earning points.

Before the competition even began, everyone tacitly understood first place would land in St. Teno’s hands.

The St. Teno squad represented the Church—they had to be granted respect and “consideration.”

To make gifting them points less blatant, organizers had artfully arranged magic beast species and each academy’s teleport entry points—all advantageous to St. Teno.

Instructors from the ten academies had also told their students: avoid St. Teno, don’t contest their points.

Everything was set perfectly—who imagined Siria would refuse to play by script and even provoke St. Teno?

Professors cursed Siria inwardly, while Professor Moses moved beside Professor Tobias, both calmly appreciating the Siria squad’s combat form in the Magic Mirror.

They truly hadn’t chosen wrong—these kids were born for battle.

The closer to dawn, the more exhilarated Gladys became, as if determined to burn all energy before first light; she spotted a magic beast eight hundred meters out, sprinted, and killed it in one strike.

Axina finally entered true competition mode—no more yesterday’s languor—actively hunting targets.

Hol and Jack needed no explanation: one slammed the pot, one set the fire; one dissected, one handed over knives—close as brothers.

Luo Wei barely moved. From yesterday till now she’d expended too much magic; her reserves felt hollow.

In three hours they killed three mid-sized magic beasts and over a dozen small ones. Near dawn, Axina even found traces of a large beast.

Across the entire Lower Division field, the Siria squad’s score sat solidly in first.

A total of 1,200 magic beasts had been released. Inter-beast clashes consumed over a hundred; a little over a thousand remained—worth about 13,000 points.

Evenly divided among the twenty-some teams, each would get a bit over six hundred.

The two professors calculated: the Siria Lower Division squad had already passed 1,200 points—two hundred more than second-place St. Teno.

With over six hours still left, most squads would slow as fatigue set in. Barring surprises, Siria Magic Academy had first place locked.

At 5:30 a.m., dawn light washed the Bard Mountains; the sky paled fish-belly white.

The Siria squad had just brought down a large magic beast. Exhausted, the five collapsed on a mist-hazed rough grass slope, gulping air while watching the sky blush with early red.

After a whole night of exhilaration, Gladys was spent—like a listless little pup. She curled on the grass, eyes drifting shut.

Worried she’d blacked out, Luo Wei leaned over to check her breath—only to hear a soft snore.

… Just asleep from fatigue.

Hol set his iron pot under his head as a pillow, clutching a burlap sack that had been growing since yesterday, and sighed with satisfaction. “Now we can finally rest properly, right?”

Eyes closed, Luo Wei answered, “Don’t let your guard down. Rest a bit—then we go find more.”

“More?” Axina frowned. “Our points should be enough, right?”

“Our goal is first place,” Luo Wei said firmly. “Only first place matches a full day and night of effort.”

“Alright then—I’m sleeping first. Hol, wake us in two hours.”

She and Gladys had only slept three hours last night. In battle she hadn’t felt it; now that tension eased, her eyelids drooped heavily.

Luo Wei rolled over and slipped into sleep almost at once.

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