047 The Golden Generation

"The Golden Generation."

If you’re a fan of fiction, you’ve likely heard that phrase before. It’s the kind of trope that gets the blood pumping—the idea that, for one specific era, a concentrated cluster of geniuses all happens to be born at the exact same time.

Last year, Eva Avery had been the undisputed "strongest," but people hadn't really used that label for her peers. She was just an outlier. Plus, in the original game's plot, Allen’s existence wasn't even known to the other schools at this point.

But that was what made this event so fascinating. It was as if every other school had coordinated their calendars just to show up with their own "Golden Generation" all at once.

The guy who had picked a fight with me earlier, Michael, led the Duran Swordsmanship and Magic School. They were supposedly ranked second only to Noblesse in terms of prestige. In the game, I’d watched them take the championship trophy home more times than I could count. They acted like total pricks, sure, but the entire team had the raw talent to back up their arrogance.

Michael, in particular, was one of the strongest characters in the entire series. He was a monster who could weave high-level sword techniques and magic together with terrifying skill. This was the first time I’d ever been personally insulted by him in this world, but it was a scene I’d watched play out on my screen a dozen times.

He’s the one acting all high and mighty, but my blood is the one boiling.

Still, I couldn't afford to focus only on him. In the various branching paths of Noblesse, there were plenty of scenarios where Duran didn't win. There was Oscar Magic Academy, William Magic School, Mason Royal Magic High School... the list went on. Every single team was a pack of wild cards, and every one of them was being hailed as a Golden Generation.

I looked up toward the stands. Talent scouts from various nations were peering down at us. Individually, they weren't combatants, but they had sharp eyes for potential. They were here to cherry-pick the future. Just because a student graduated from a specific Academy didn't mean they were beholden to that territory; they were free agents. Naturally, countries would throw absurdly lucrative contracts at the best prospects, and everyone wanted an "Eva Avery" of their own.

They wouldn't ask you to sign right there on the spot, of course. It was more of an unspoken gentleman's agreement between nations. That was why the atmosphere was so electric. Combine that with the fact that the betting system was fully legalized, and everyone—from the high-ranking nobles to the commoners in the cheap seats—was losing their minds with excitement.

Well, they probably aren't as worked up as I am.

I scanned the room. Teams from every nation were huddled together, whispering over maps and charts. Michael noticed me looking and made a slow, deliberate "cutthroat" gesture.

I just remembered something. I—the original Weiss—had actually met that guy when we were kids. I didn't recall the specifics, but I was pretty sure I’d humiliated him in some way. Well, it wasn't my fault his personality turned out so twisted. He should really learn to let things go. Enjoy your confidence while it lasts, buddy.

"By the way, where did Teacher Milk go?" I asked, looking around.

She had been here a second ago, and every team was supposed to have a faculty chaperone.

"She said, 'I'm going to watch from a distance. Have fun, Weiss,' and then she just... vanished," Cynthia replied.

"...Hmph."

Typical. That woman does whatever she wants. Well, we were the ones who had to do the heavy lifting anyway. We couldn't go crying to our teacher every time things got tense.

At that moment, a woman with a striking figure stepped into the arena. Her outfit was flashy and revealed more skin than was strictly necessary for sports officiating, but she was essentially a professional hype-woman hired to keep the crowd roaring. She held a small rod enchanted with sound magic.

After screaming a few opening remarks about the tournament's commencement, the first round finally began. And, as fate would have it, we were up first.

"First to the stage: Noblesse Magic Academy! A school of ancient tradition! We all remember the legend of Eva Avery from last year, but how will this year’s underclassmen hold up?! Their opponents: William Magic School, world-renowned for their unique ritual formulas! Their headmaster claims this is the 'Strongest Generation' in their history! As per tradition, the tournament opens with a clash between the leaders! From Nobless Academy: Weiss Fancent! From William Magic School: Riley Arlo!"

The referee knew exactly what she was doing. They always started with a "star" match to set the tone.

I knew Riley well. He used a rare style that blended elemental magic with complex sorcery. As he waved to the crowd with a refreshing, boyish smile, he actually reminded me a bit of Allen. The cheers for him were deafening. I recalled that he’d won a major magic tournament as the youngest contestant in history. His specialty was a "Barrier" that was supposedly impossible to breach.

"Riley! Show us what you've got!"

"Lord Arlo! You're so dreamy!"

"Kill 'em, Riley!"

The high-pitched squealing from the female students was intense. I could have just cruised through this, but this was a show. I figured I might as well give the audience their money's worth.

"Alright, I'm off—"

"Weiss," Cynthia’s voice stopped me. "Silence them."

I looked back. She looked stunning, her expression perfectly tailored to my tastes. God, I love that look.

Alright. No holding back. I’m going for the throat from the jump.

"Weiss, I'm looking forward to this," Allen said.

"It'll be over in a flash. Just stay warmed up," I replied. Even Allen's encouragement felt weirdly good for once.

The moment I stepped onto the sands of the arena, the cheering died. It was like someone had flipped a muffle switch. My name and my reputation had finally clicked in their heads. As soon as they saw my face, the whispers of contempt started bubbling up.

"Wait, is that Weiss...?"

"The infamous Weiss Fancent? That guy?"

Yeah, yeah, keep it coming. I wasn't expecting a standing ovation anyway—

"Lord Weiss! Get 'em!"

"Weiss-kun, do your best!"

I nearly tripped. Lilith was screaming at the top of her lungs, and right next to her, Carta was hollering like a madman. Since when did they have time to make folding fans with my name on them?!

"Weiss, show 'em what a Noblesse student can do!"

"Those guys don't know who they're messing with!"

"Our Weiss would never lose to a bunch of posers like you!"

I blinked. A group of my classmates—people I had literally never spoken to, or people I had beaten into the dirt during training—were cheering for me.

...Well, damn. Now I really can't afford to look pathetic.

The rules were simple: an all-out brawl in a massive arena. Weapons were allowed, though we were wearing specialized training gear. The floor was enchanted with a unique sorcery—any damage taken would result in realistic pain and a corresponding drain on the victim's mana. If your mana hit zero or you passed out, you lost. To keep things "exciting," the safety dampeners were set a bit lower than usual. You had to be prepared to walk away with a few broken bones.

Riley’s "pretty boy" smile vanished, replaced by a look of grim determination as he leveled his sword at me.

"I’ve heard the rumors about you. It’s a shame, but I’m not going to waste any time. We, the 'Strongest Generation,' are destined to be legendary adventurers. I’m just going to treat you as a stepping stone."

"Is that so? I'm honored," I said.

In the game, I’d lost to this guy a hundred times. I’d only managed to beat him after dozens of tries, learning his patterns by heart. My pulse is racing. I’ve waited a long time for this.

"AND NOW... BEGIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

For a second, it felt like time had simply stopped. The roar of the crowd vanished from my senses. All I saw was Riley Arlo, moving in slow motion.

I activated Dark Eye followed immediately by Time Lapse. On top of that, I triggered the Power Up Duke had taught me, feeling the mana circulate through my limbs with surgical efficiency.

I bolted straight for him.

Riley began chanting, his Barrier manifesting in a 360-degree dome around him. Simultaneously, he conjured offensive magic outside the shield. Fire and water—just like Teacher Milk, he was a dual-attribute user. Manifesting magic directly into the air without using your hands as a focus was a high-level master's technique. No student should have been able to do it, but for him, it was like breathing.

The fire and water spiraled toward me like living snakes, zigzagging to cut off my escape.

"Too slow," Riley muttered. He was smiling, clearly convinced he’d already won the exchange of skill. I couldn't hear him, but I could read his lips perfectly.

But I could see it all. I saw the magic, and more importantly, I saw the ritual formulas. It was like looking at raw code. I saw the glitches. I saw the seams where the spells were stitched together. I knew exactly where to put my blade to unpick the whole thing.

I just had to follow the lines.

"W-WHAT?! WEISS FANCENT JUST... HE CUT THE MAGIC?!!?!"

I shredded through the fire and water spells as if they were made of paper, closing the gap in a heartbeat. Riley froze. He was terrified, yet he still seemed to be banking on his "unbreakable" Barrier.

Idiot. Did you really think a mid-tier defense spell was going to save you?

"I win," I said.

"...Huh?"

With a single, precise strike, I shattered the Barrier’s ritual formula. The dome disintegrated, leaving Riley completely exposed. Before he could even think about a second chant, I carved him up.

Right arm. Left arm. Right leg. Left leg. Solar plexus. Vitals. And finally—the heart.

If this is the 'Strongest Generation,' they’ve been playing in the kiddy pool for too long.

Riley collapsed. His injuries were severe enough that he wouldn't be walking for at least two weeks. In a real fight, he’d be a corpse. But hey, he’s lucky I’m a nice guy.

"TH-THE WINNER IS... WEISS FANCENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The stadium went dead silent for a heartbeat, then exploded in a wall of noise.

"Holy crap, what did he do?!"

"I don't know! Did he seriously just slash through a spell?! Is that even legal?!"

"No way, did Riley go down in one hit? Wait, no, he got hit like ten times!"

"Who the hell is that guy?! Weiss?! That Weiss?!"

I walked back to our bench, where Cynthia greeted me with a satisfied nod. "As expected," she whispered.

Then, Allen stepped forward. He held out his hand for a high-five.

...Fine. I’m in a good mood. I’ll allow it once.

"Your turn," I said, slapping his hand.

"Obviously," he replied with a grin.

Ah. My effort wasn't for nothing. I felt my face start to soften into a genuine smile—

"Weiss! Weiss! Look at me!"

Duke was right there, practically wagging an invisible tail, holding his hand out for a high-five of his own.

...Ugh.

"Go do some Power Up reps, Vitamin. You need to be pumped for the next round."

"That's so mean! Wait... what's 'pumped'? Is it a type of cake? Is it tasty?"

Man, this guy is a riot.

"I’m kidding. Thanks, Duke," I said, patting his shoulder before taking my seat. I looked at the rest of my team. "Let’s show them. Let's show everyone here what a real 'Golden Generation' looks like."

God dammit. Fighting really is the best, isn't it, Weiss?