I Swear I'm Not a Demon Masquerading as a Human

Ferrat had been absolutely certain of his own victory at the start of this test. Even without the use of enchanted cards or most of his spells, he believed he could easily handle the Rank 3 Hyperion.

Now, however... The pain racking his entire body, combined with the rage that had been festering since he was muted, made it impossible for him to focus on dealing with her. In fact, the would-be duchess no longer mattered. He knew only one thing. Regardless of the exam's outcome, if he didn't kill Lance, he wouldn't get a good night's sleep for the rest of the month!

Realizing that he had provoked Ferrat to an incandescent rage, Lance immediately shot off. At the same time, he didn't forget to keep hitting Ferrat with flawed healing cards that weren't on cooldown, keeping the torment going.

Even though Ferrat couldn't say a single world, anyone could read his true thoughts right then and there. His emotions were intense and appeared fully on his face: “If I don't kill you today, I'm not fit to lick your shoes!”

After a momentary pause, Ferrat accelerated without hesitation. He shot forward like a comet and kicked up a gale as he hurtled toward Lance.

"Don't even think about getting near him!" Hyperion moved with the grace of a stalking predator, all but vanishing into the grasslands. Her cold eyes, glinting with venomous hatred, remained fixed on Ferrat.

Lance’s instructions to her were simple: Stall Ferrat for as long as possible without getting instantly taken out herself.

Given the current state of the battle, Ferrat was so triggered by Lance that he no longer posed a massive threat to Hyperion. The longer she delayed, the more their examiner would fall into a chaotic, disarrayed state of mind.

Her scorpion tail dagger gleamed with a chilling, desolate light beneath the dark clouds, looking for all the world like the grim reaper in the dead of night.

A dramatic chase now unfolded between Ferrat and Hyperion across the vast Ilaiven Plains.

***

Seeing that Lance had already used his cards, a teacher couldn't help but question, "But how is he supposed to win?"

Although the situation was currently a stalemate, it clearly wouldn't last much longer. Hyperion was doing her best to hinder Ferrat, preventing him from getting close to Lance. Meanwhile, Lance was casting spells while on the run, using his long-range spells to continue tormenting the examiner as much as possible.

Yet, while Ferrat could afford to make countless mistakes, Hyperion and Lance could only afford a single slip-up. Even without any errors, the distance between them and their opponent, who had previously cast a sustained effect wind spell, was inevitably closing.

There was absolutely no way they could stall for the full thirty minutes. Once Lance was taken out by Ferrat, the Mute effect and agonizing pain would vanish, and Hyperion would instantly crumble.

"After casting so many healing spells, Lance has revealed that he isn't running a damage reflection build. Ferrat can now attack him without holding back."

Teachers familiar with Ferrat understood why he hadn't prioritized attacking Lance at the start of the match, as his card composition was initially unknown. A Rank 2 individual could only bind cards up to a total tier of twenty, and Lance had already used healing spells that totaled to sixteen. That was far more than any of the teachers had anticipated.

Of the four remaining, one had been occupied by the Tier 2 card, Friendly Exchange. The remaining two slots simply weren't enough to form a powerful damage reflection system.

Hyperion had repeatedly managed to narrowly block Ferrat from speeding off, but he relentlessly pressed forward. All of the teachers in the room knew that this entrance exam was nearing its end after a prolonged struggle.

One professor concluded, "They can't win. There's no way they can stop Ferrat from closing in."

Another interjected, "Unless Lance has a trump card hidden in his remaining slots."

The first one shook his head. "That seems unlikely. If he had something that could turn the tide, he would have used it by now."

No one knew what cards Lance might still have up his sleeve. However, every instructor present knew that no matter how high the power output or how strict the activation conditions, a Tier 1 or 2 card couldn’t possibly defeat a Rank 5 opponent like Ferrat in a single blow.

The sound of clashing metal drew the attention of the discussing teachers once more. They all fixed their eyes on the battlefield, where the confrontation was nearing its climax.

Hyperion was pursuing Ferrat tenaciously. She hurled a throwing knife at his head, only for it to be violently deflected by his magical barrier. A flicker of astonishment crossed her eyes, but her expression quickly returned to cold indifference. She moved across the grass like a cunning, venomous creature, shifting unpredictably.

Just a few more attacks, and she would shatter that barrier. Meanwhile, the minor spells Ferrat could currently use were on cooldown. He would soon be forced to face her head-on once again.

Just as she was retrieving her weapon, Ferrat suddenly came to a halt. He didn’t turn around, but Hyperion felt a magical sense locking onto her, a chill rising from the depths of her heart in response.

Ferrat had realized during their earlier skirmish that Hyperion had exposed a slight opening the moment she retrieved her weapon. However, he wasn't acting on rational thought. Instead, fueled by rage, he was seizing the perfect opportunity to counterattack Hyperion through sheer combat instinct.

Before she could even react, wind magic surged from him like a razor-sharp blade, sweeping her up and sending her flying. It was merely a minor Tier 1 wind spell, yet in Ferrat’s state of furious rage, it unleashed a force that Hyperion was powerless to resist. The very next instant, the examiner once again dashed madly toward Lance.

Having been violently thrown to the ground, Hyperion struggled to her feet and gritted her teeth as she gave chase. "Damn it!"

During their earlier skirmish, Ferrat had already managed to close the distance to Lance significantly. Under these circumstances, even a desperate attempt to catch up would likely prove futile.

A Rank 2 white mage would be obliterated in no more than two hits from a Rank 5 combat mage. Although Hyperion had bet everything on Lance and followed his tactical plan to the letter, she still found it hard to accept the impending defeat.

Dark clouds loomed overhead, the air pressure grew heavy, and low rumbles of thunder echoed across the grasslands like the wrath of a god. Lance watched as Ferrat, an unstoppable force, closed in on him. He estimated that he was about to enter the range of the examiner’s minor spells.

Lance slowed to a halt and stopped running. On one hand, he knew that escape was impossible. On the other hand, all the groundwork had been laid. This was the final card for today’s test.

Lance calmly looked down at the enchanted card materializing in his palm. He had crafted it in collaboration with Talia utilizing the family heirloom, an ancient relic known as the Hymn of Compassion.

Talia had personally handled almost every step of the card making process, with Lance acting merely as her assistant. The only part he had taken the lead on was illustrating the form of the summoned entity. The finished card not only exceeded Lance’s own expectations, but also astonished Talia herself.

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