A fresh wave of "batteries" arrived—successfully topping off power for Siria's teleportation hamster wheel—and all five members of the team exhaled in relief.

Staring at the clawing, thrashing Monsters beyond the wall, they even pulled out the dry rations from their packs, munching while appreciating a hundred different "teleportation poses."

The professors at the magic mirror were turning numb. This was not the competition they had envisioned!

Professor Chester finally snapped. "This has to violate the rules. Siria's team isn't even fighting. How can this count as killing Monsters?"

Professor Moses replied mildly, "This match was never about who kills the most Monsters. It judges whose territory remains most intact."

Chester choked. "How do you protect territory without killing Monsters? This is exploiting a loophole—practically cheating!"

"Mind your wording." A sharp light flashed in Moses's eyes. "Cheating? They drew those runes themselves and devised the tactic themselves. How does that become cheating?"

"Answer me: Are the Monsters attacking them dying in the end? Are they dying because of Siria's team? Have they kept their territory secure?"

Chester was speechless. Siria's team had, beyond dispute, held their territory.

Those Magic Beasts hadn't even neared the line before being sent away—loop after loop—until they collapsed into sludge.

Oh—correction: the earlier Sludge Monsters turned to black mud. The current wave had been Rock Monsters—Boulder Monsters—that, once drained of mana, shattered into a hillside of gravel.

"But—but—they can't just…" Chester sputtered, furious and flustered, with nothing firm to rebut.

Students from other academies were fighting tooth and nail. Several teams had already fainted under dark aura contamination; support instructors had gone in to rescue them.

Of the remaining teams, some had realized the Monsters were real, others had not.

Those still unaware, trying to conserve mana, hacked with swords. The way their blades kept slicing empty air made it obvious they were hallucinating; soon they'd be carried out.

Teams that had uncovered the truth—such as those from the Ten Academies—kept distance and attacked with long‑range spells, but that burned mana too quickly; they wouldn't last.

Across the entire field, only Siria's team and the Divine College had held their ground without a single backward step.

But the Divine College was hardly "slacking" like Siria. Their light magic dispersed dark aura and countered Monsters—but they still had to cast it.

Their tactic alternated force and spell: fight with swords to let mana recover, then switch to magic while stamina replenished.

From the first appearance of the Monsters they hadn't paused once—unlike Siria, strolling inside their wall, snacking contentedly.

If Siria ended up taking first place, the other professors would die with regrets!

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

In the junior division's viewing section, resentment simmered. Unable to best Professor Moses in argument, they turned pleading looks toward Prince Alfried seated higher up.

Surely His Highness would give them justice.

Under their collective gaze, Prince Alfried finally spoke. "Everyone, don't be hasty. Sit, and let us talk."

He leaned forward slightly, demeanor approachable, cadence unhurried—voice elegant and pleasing.

"The Magic Tournament has been held eighteen times. Over the years, its rules have become a complete system; all parties are operating within them."

"If any rules seem unreasonable, objections may be raised after the event, and we can discuss improvements together."

"But altering rules mid‑competition—I believe—that would be improper."

"Of course, that is only my suggestion. Decision power remains with all of you."

He added gently, "Please speak freely; don't worry about my opinion. The Divine College participates this time solely as a competing party, not in judging or rule‑making."

He said "don't worry," but who present dared ignore him?

Professor Chester forced an awkward smile and sat, gripping the armrest.

From His Highness's words the meaning was clear: proceed as is, judge by final result, not by method. Obvious favoritism toward Siria.

What else could he do? He could hardly challenge a Church Prince.

Still, Chester was baffled. Wasn't the Church supposed to be displeased with Siria?

Why did Prince Alfried's attitude suggest the opposite?

Lost in thought, he recalled that the order to suppress Siria had come from His Holiness the Pope. Now the Pope was well past seventy, still stalled below Grand Archmage—his remaining years few.

Could Prince Alfried be seeking to win over Headmaster Morrison—to help him ascend to the Papacy?

That had to be it. Across the Western Continent, only Siria Magic Academy's Asa Morrison could contest the Pope's stature.

If the Pope refused to abdicate even on his deathbed, to avoid a prolonged voting deadlock the Church Princes would certainly try to force him to name a successor personally.

Speaking of deadlocks—one had to consider the Papal election process.

Normally, when a Pope grows old and time is short, he selects a favored successor from among the Cardinals—or issues criteria for the next Pope—then promulgates a papal decree.

After the Pope abdicates or dies, the Cardinals form an electoral council. Guided by that decree, they vote among themselves for the new Pope.

Only when a candidate secures more than two‑thirds of the votes is the election successful.

In that case the process can proceed very slowly: taking one or two months is common; sometimes it drags on two or three years.

During the election the Cardinals are sequestered, cut off from all outside contact until a new Pope is chosen.

Few could endure an isolation dragging on for years.

Realizing all this, Chester's mood grew heavy.

The Pope waned; the Princes' influence waxed. Matters had reached the point where they had to choose sides.

Should he safely back the Pope—or gamble on a Church Prince?

After long consideration, his heart leaned toward the Pope.

At his age he had already enjoyed wealth and honor; his greater concern now was the family's continuity.

Supporting the Pope was the stable road. If he switched to a Prince and that Prince lost the succession, the Chester family would incur the new Pope's hostility—too great a risk.

Most of all, he felt disappointed by what he viewed as Prince Alfried's favoritism toward Siria's team.

The Ten Academies had always been unfailingly loyal to the Church. Until today, their senior faculty also favored Prince Alfried.

Yet he would slight their dignity just to court Siria? Disheartening.

Chester shook his head and lifted his eyes quietly toward Prince Alfried.

He meant to register a hint of dissatisfaction—only to meet a gaze laden with layered significance.

The feeling was as if his private thoughts had already been laid bare; he instinctively clenched, sitting straighter.

Prince Alfried glanced at him for only that heartbeat, then returned his attention to Siria's mirror.

Flustered, Chester also looked—and blinked in surprise.

He had been distracted so long he hadn't noticed a new cluster of Monsters had appeared.

These differed from the Sludge Monsters and Boulder Monsters: powerful wings beat at their sides. They were low‑tier creatures of the Sky Demon Race—blood‑sucking Bat Fiends.

Sudden clarity struck. Prince Alfried hadn't intervened earlier because he knew a flying wave would arrive—Siria's team wouldn't stay smug for long!

Understanding His Highness's deeper foresight, Chester flushed with shame.

Prince Alfried was the very model of benevolence—how could he forget their contributions?

It was his fault—using the petty mind of a small man to measure the Prince's broad, noble heart. Shame on him!

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