The Academy’s Weapon Replicator

Chapter 109 (2) - The Academys Weapon Replicator

I drew Neil Jack's short sword and took a stance. The blade Pascal was holding shone. It was aura. Realizing that made my head spin.

I barely managed to deflect his aura made with bare hands last time, but how long could I last this time? Moreover, there's not even a hint of playfulness this time.

Weaving, Obsidian

Grade - Unique

Neil Jack's Short Sword

The Obsidian I had thrown as a dagger was sucked back into my hand. I grasped Neil Jack's short sword with both hands. It was the only thing I had that could withstand Pascal's attacks for a long time.

Swoosh!

Roar!

"Ugh...!"

I barely blocked Pascal's descending sword. I tried to dodge, but there was no time. The grinding noise pierced my ears, and I clenched my teeth, enduring with my trembling arms.

The ongoing struggle. The angle of Pascal's and my blade shifted slightly, but they remained in contact.

'If we keep clashing like this.'

??The strike just now was too fast to respond to.

But if we keep this up, I have a way.

'Falling Edge.'

"…!"

I used Falling Edge to send Pascal's sword flying into the air. This time it was a success. I didn't lose my sword, and I felt no pain in my body.

The moment I thought it was over.

Thump!

"Ugh!"

I was kicked in the abdomen and pushed back. Meanwhile, Pascal caught his sword that had flown into the air.

That natural movement, that response. Pascal knows about Falling Edge. No, has he experienced it before?

Dash!

Pascal charged at me again. Another slash from above to below.

As I blocked it, I felt an odd sense of incongruity.

The reason I struggled to block Pascal's attacks during class was due to the dazzling difficulty of responding to Pascal's attacks.

Because of that, even though Pascal might have been playing, it was deadly for me. Eventually, an opening appeared, and I had no choice but to use Weaving.

But the Pascal now was different. It was just a simple attack. And a power struggle ensued from there. It was completely unlike him.

What the heck. Is this the effect of the ‘business card’? Is he only able to do simple attacks because he’s unconscious?

That was when it happened.

In the midst of the sounds of our blades grating against each other and the struggle for power.

Pascal’s mouth opened. He didn’t make a sound, but his lips moved.

And from his mouth,

—‘Lip Reading’, can you use it? Frondier.

He said.

“……!”

At that moment, I unfurled my weaving.

The weaving now, after leveling up, had expanded its target to ‘skills’.

The only problem was that ‘skills’ couldn’t be put into the offense and defense.

In other words, in order to Weaving a ‘skill’, you have to copy it in real time as someone uses it.

Just like right now.

Weaving

Target, ‘Pascal Schilitz’

Skill, ‘Lip Reading’

And I, opened my mouth.

[Weren’t you being manipulated?]

When I opened my mouth, Pascal’s eyes shook slightly.

[I wasn’t affected. I pretended to be because I had to catch that octopus bastard.]

[You didn’t receive the business card? If I were Gregory, I would’ve made sure of it.]

Pascal knocked away my sword, and swung it two or three more times, clashing it against mine. All of its trajectories were within my range of response.

[I received it.]

[Then how?]

If he received the business card, he would’ve been put under manipulation. Even if he had strong mental fortitude, it was impossible to not be affected at all.

Pascal answered my question.

[I received it, but I forgot who it was from.]

[…….]

What a shameless answer.

[That’s perfect timing, Frondier. Let’s not waste this time.]

[What do you mean?]

When he heard my question, Pascal stepped back. He had his back turned to the Kraken. In other words, the Kraken couldn’t see his mouth.

[Frondier.]

With eyes that sparkled strangely, Pascal opened his mouth.

[Let’s learn Aura. Right here, right now.]

……At this very moment.

I thought Pascal was crazier than the Kraken.

* * *

Inside the classroom, Quinie had her head covered.

Quinie was one of the few who hadn’t received a business card.

Even if she hadn't been involved with Frondier, she was still the protagonist of the rumors that had been surfacing lately, so the calling card had not reached her.

However, the content was not something that could be discussed as joyfully as the stories about Frondier.

[Quinie de Viet has an extreme phobia of corpses.]

That sentence was written on a magical bulletin.

"…I've been found out."

She has an extreme fear of corpses. A vulnerability she absolutely shouldn't have as a student of Constel.

Of course, no one likes corpses, but the fear Quinie harbored was of a completely different level.

Many people must have already seen that bulletin. Quinie's head was already throbbing.

"Whoever it is, they're quite the informant."

Quinie bit her lip.

Outside was in the midst of chaos. It seemed that something unusual had happened to the students. Something about having to kill Frondier.

Despite the overwhelming number, a few students who were exceptionally strong were somehow managing to maintain a balance.

However, Quinie couldn't easily go to help Frondier. She had more than enough desire to help Frondier. After all, she wanted to maintain a good relationship with Frondier.

But, the moment Quinie saw the faces of the unconscious students, she froze.

Their faces looked exactly like corpses.

"…Pathetic."

They weren't even real corpses, just 'corpse-like faces', and yet she was rendered unable to move. Quinie felt pathetic.

However, maybe.

This could be an opportunity to treat her trauma.

The students weren't actual corpses. In fact, they were far from it; they were just unconscious.

If she could face their faces, perhaps a day would come when she could look at an actual corpse and feel nothing.

"…Alright."

Quinie stood up. Right now, all eyes were on Frondier. As long as she didn't interfere, she would be safe.

Quinie made up her mind and walked forward. She boldly opened the classroom door.

"…Huh?"

And there, in front of her eyes, was another female student.

Quinie's friend, Anne.

Anne was standing there with a corpse-like face.