Chapter 66: A Bitter Struggle

Mischus took a few steps back, giving Rollin space for the fight. His eyes were fixed intently on the battle, his heart full of anticipation. He wanted to see what surprises this youngster—who had, perhaps more easily than any in ten thousand years, passed the first trial—might bring him in the second. Perhaps he could succeed in passing all three trials in succession, in which case Mischus himself would be freed at last.

Rollin saw the puppet’s domineering fist swinging toward him with brutal force, and his heart raced wildly. Never before, without the aid of magic, had he found himself in such a predicament. He pushed off with his legs, trying to dodge to the side, but lacking the assistance of lightning speed and with his legs so weak, even his swiftest movement couldn’t prevent the wild punch from glancing off his shoulder.

Bang! Even though the blow hadn’t landed cleanly, Rollin, being a mage, could hardly withstand it. He staggered, nearly collapsing to the ground.

Mischus frowned. He hadn’t expected Rollin’s physical strength to be so poor. Not even a casual blow from the puppet could be evaded. But then he reconsidered—perhaps this was a tactic on Rollin’s part. After all, he found it hard to believe that the same Rollin, who had so effortlessly drawn a flawless alchemical array and subsequently crafted three different alchemical potions in quick succession, could be so easily bested. He focused his gaze and watched more closely.

Rollin’s shoulder burned with pain where the puppet’s fist had struck. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright. In that moment, the puppet flashed before him once more like a bolt of lightning, its fist aimed straight at his abdomen.

Barely having regained his footing, Rollin was in no condition to dodge. This time, he took the full brunt of the puppet’s powerful punch. With a dull thud, his body doubled over and was hurled backward, crashing hard against the unyielding wall. He clutched his stomach in agony, curling up like a shrimp.

Because Rollin had been flung so far, leaving the fighting area, the puppet simply stood its ground, making no move to pursue.

Seeing Rollin in such a sorry state, Mischus shook his head, his anticipation fading rapidly. So Rollin’s constitution really was alarmingly weak.

What Mischus did not know was that Rollin had always been frail. Two years earlier, during the martial apprentice test, he hadn’t lasted ten seconds before being eliminated in front of the examiners. Since becoming a mage, absorbing elemental energy had improved his constitution somewhat, but his poor foundation remained, and the effect was limited.

Ordinarily, with the aid of magic, he could, if careful and resourceful, hold his own against a martial apprentice. But now, bereft of the magic he relied upon, and facing a puppet far more formidable than a third-rank warrior, he was truly in dire straits.

When the pain in his abdomen eased a little, Rollin gritted his teeth, braced himself against the wall, and slowly stood. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, gathered his spirits, and walked toward the puppet. Only by defeating it could he obtain the formula to cure his brother’s crippled leg. No matter how dangerous, he had to persevere.

With a low shout, just four or five steps from the puppet, Rollin leapt into the air and kicked out at his opponent. He had to seize the initiative, break the cycle of passivity. Channeling all his strength, his kick sliced through the air with a whistle, swift and fierce.

The puppet’s body was a mass of bulging muscles, brimming with explosive power. Yet, faced with Rollin’s full-strength kick, it didn’t budge. The instant Rollin’s foot made contact, the puppet’s arm shot out with blinding speed, its grip like iron, seizing Rollin’s calf. He could not advance an inch further.

With one hand gripping Rollin’s leg, the puppet’s other hand transformed instantly from a fist to an open palm, chopping viciously at his leg. If that blow landed, Rollin’s leg would likely be finished. In that perilous moment, every hair on Rollin’s body stood on end. On instinct, he let his supporting leg collapse, sending himself crashing to the ground and dragging the captured leg downward.

Crack! The puppet’s chopping hand landed hard on Rollin’s calf. It felt as if an iron rod had smashed into him; a scream tore from his throat as he nearly fainted. Fortunately, his leg had dropped just enough to spare him the worst.

Taking advantage of the puppet’s downward force at that instant, Rollin mustered all his strength in his leg and managed, with great difficulty, to wrench it free. Seeing the puppet coming at him again, he rolled frantically across the floor, narrowly evading another devastating blow.

By now, Mischus had lost any hope for Rollin. He was simply waiting for Rollin to admit defeat. From the few exchanges so far, it was clear Rollin stood no chance—the disparity in strength was too great. Of the ninety-nine who had tried in ten thousand years, Rollin couldn’t be called the worst, but he was certainly among the weakest.

Too slow, too weak! Even if he managed to land a blow, it would likely do no harm. What could he do? Escaping the fight once more, Rollin gritted his teeth against the stabbing pain in his leg, his mind racing for a solution.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up as he remembered the battles between Little Black and the other magical beasts in the Maya Mountains.

The donkey’s main weapons were its four sturdy hooves—and, of course, its broom-like tail. When fighting the queen bee, it had even used its large ears to deadly effect, swatting the queen dead with a single blow. The other magical beasts also had their own means: sharp fangs, razor claws, whip-like tails...

All these attacks used the hardest, most resilient parts of the body, often in unexpected ways, allowing them to win with a single, decisive strike.

So, what parts of my body can I use? Fists, legs, feet—but surely there must be more. He remembered that as a child in Borsan Town, brawling with other kids, he had used everything: knees, head, teeth—whatever he could. Yet, after two years as a mage, he had somehow forgotten all that.

Yes! Besides hands and feet, there’s so much more: elbows, powerful shoulders, knees, head, teeth—even my butt. I wonder if sitting on the puppet would be enough to crush it? Hmm, probably not. But with these extra means of attack, surely I won’t be so utterly helpless!

With this thought, Rollin braced himself. For the sake of the potion formula that could heal little Hawk’s crippled leg, he clenched his fists and once again charged at the towering third-rank puppet!