There were no velvety carpets, imposing portraits or decorative columns here. Only a slightly burned wooden floor that was varnished to a glassy sheen, and the many shafts of light which streamed down to coat it. The hall may have lacked the rich trappings which had accompanied Mirielle on the way here, but it was still curtained by the same relentlessly grand windows which seemed like they were stolen from a cathedral. They were stained in greys, blues and whites. The colour of the St. Florin's Academy uniform.

It was Mireille's first time entering the academy proper, excluding her peek into the vast auditorium at the onset of the school day. High above, the ceiling was patterned in a chaos of chiselled geometry, lacking any sense of homogeneity in anything but the need to be artistically confounding. They looked like fancy shapes for the sake of being fancy shapes.

While Mireille possessed an inkling of what the interior architecture would look like from the glimpses of the academy's towers during her rare outings from her home district, nothing could have prepared her for the lavishness which greeted her.

Well, nothing but studiously increasing on her sparse knowledge the very moment she was accepted for enrolment. But nobody could blame her for her lack of preparation. She had other things to consider.

My name is Mireille Kloeter. I'm pleased to meet you. You can rely on me for the year ahead.

Her uniform may have been skimmed from an encounter with a phantasm and its dusty lair, and her hair might be suffering from an extended bout with a particularly leafy shrubbery, and her skin may possibly be greased in a coat of dried sweat, but nothing would stop her from making a good first impression.

And so Mireille frantically whispered the words she'd been chanting like a prayer in her head. Her original objective had not changed.

Mireille scrunched up her fists and motivated herself.

Yes, even if a few of the students near her were edging away, her optimism would never waver.

“This is one of the training halls,” said Yuela, looking particularly sparkly beneath a shaft of sunlight. “There are several throughout the grounds. This one is unspecialised and unreserved, and is used as a practise area for light combat instruction. There are no fences or barriers here. Please be mindful of your fellow students.”

It was a wide, rectangular area supported by two rows of pillars. Aside from the shelves and racks which adorned parts of the wall, it was empty of any furnishings. A functional, practical space. Mireille was surprised at how modestly populated this training hall was for it being the first lunch period of the term.

It certainly seemed that Yuela wasn't the only student at St. Florin's Academy who abhorred time wasting. Footsteps echoed as students freely danced and skipped, many with excessive life or death vigour in their movements. A plethora of brilliant weaponry was on display, each more pricier than the next, and all more glamorous than the plain and unembellished swords by Mireille's sides.

She wondered if she should ask for additional modifications the next time she took her weapons for maintenance.

Or perhaps she could simply plaster an AKELA sticker on the hilt.

That would elevate her weapons above everyone else's. At least in her mind.

“Sooo . . . is this where people beat each other up?” asked Tabitha, eyeing the hall's inhabitants with glee. “This is it, isn't it? The place where lifelong rivals relieve their pent-up stress?”

Yuela sighed into the ground. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

“This training hall is not for duelling. As I said, it is a practise area for light combat instruction only. Dedicated sparring facilities are available elsewhere. Far elsewhere. On the other side of the grounds elsewhere.”

“Then—”

“Which we do not have any need to visit at this moment.”

“Okay, okay, but just say that I might wanna—”

“Tabitha Holtsen, is it possible that you can withhold your brutish desire for violence so soon into the academy year? This is exactly why I've brought you here. For the sake of the world's continuing safety, we need to conduct some common training as a matter of urgency.”

Tabitha pouted, then looked to Mireille for comfort.

“Uwah . . . Mireille, I'm being scolded for a lack of common sense by the sheltered rich girl . . . I feel kinda defeated here . . .”

“Ehehe . . . well, if you think about it, we're the odd ones out in this academy . . .”

Mireille glanced at their surroundings. She'd noticed this earlier at the courtyard, but the ratio of students belonging to the city's nobility compared to the common citizenry appeared markedly skewed. Everyone's uniforms may have been identical, but it was easy enough to tell. The number of weapons similar to Yuela's extravagant bow were more than the number weapons like Mireille's uncomplicated swords.

Still, that ratio was lenient when compared against the population of magic users.

As far as she could see, Tabitha and Coco were the only witches here. At least in this hall.

“If you behave, I may show you the duelling halls,” said Yuela, looking perfectly resigned to this never occurring. “But before we continue with anything, you must first suffer by providing a basic introduction to your skill set. I do not want another situation wherein combating a large phantasm is our own recourse to becoming acquainted.”

Tabitha saluted. Apparently, the lure of being able to enter such a heavenly place as a 'duelling hall' was enough to appease her natural instinct for making life difficult for Yuela.

“Yes, ma'am! But how does that count as common sense training?”

“Because I will undoubtedly have to correct you. Now, I'm waiting.”

“Got it! My name is Tabitha Holtsen and I kill things with fire!”

“No!” Yuela showered Tabitha with one exasperated grimace after the other. “You don't kill things with fire! What witch introduces themselves with such a barbaric and anachronistic portrayal of their abilities?”

Tabitha blinked, then pointed uncertainly at herself.

“No, that wasn't a question!” said Yuela, appearing as though she was physically in pain. “Do you now understand why I've brought you here? If you must, at least describe yourself as a pyrokinetic specialist. From this point onwards, never divulge to anyone that you kill things with fire. Telling people that will only make them think you're an escaped criminal.”

“Understood!” said Tabitha, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I will never tell anyone I kill things with fire!”

Yuela gave up on her as a lost cause, then turned to Coco.

“. . . Coco, you've already given a brief description of what your offensive magic strengthening entails, but for the record, could you also provide a simple introduction as if you're meeting someone for the first time?”

“Coco's name is Coco.”

“And?”

“Coco punches things until they die.”

Yuela took a deep breath. However, she still looked far more patient with Coco than with Tabitha.

“. . . No, Coco, your strengthening magic doesn't make you invincible. I believe that's what you told us. As such, please do not describe yourself in a way which could have you mistaken as a vanguard combatant. You are a witch who provides close quarters melee support.”

“Understood. Coco provides close quarters melee support until things die.”

Yuela closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were aimed at Tabitha's staff. It looked as though she was wondering how she was going to utilise it as part of this impromptu training session.

Mireille had flashbacks to their time back on the train. It appeared that whenever Yuela got to her so far as questioning was concerned, she was already too tired to commit to any more words than was strictly necessary.

Which in this case, was approximately zero.

“Um . . . Yuela, would you like me to talk about myself . . . ?”

Yuela looked at her, then shook her head.

“No, that's not necessary. You already provided me with an introduction of your combat techniques earlier in the day after Tabitha eloquently refused. It was quite apt.”

Mireille nodded. Of course it was. Her sister had told her what to say during the entrance examination interview.

To the word.

“Teacher!” cried Tabitha, her hand shooting up. “Isn't that favouritism?! I think you should repent by telling us about the duelling halls, and how to go about asking people if they want to fight!”

“That really is the only thing on your mind, isn't it?” replied Yuela, whose face always found a willing home in her hands. “You cannot approach random students to inquire if they wish to brawl. There is an established process.”

“What kinda process?”

“Are you sure you wish to know? It's neither straightforward, nor simple.”

“Ooh, sounds like a pain . . . I can't wait to hear it!”

Yuela bit her lips, clearing wondering if an explanation was easier than simply ignoring Tabitha for the rest of time.

“Very well,” she said, crossing her arms. “If you wish to issue a challenge, it must be with someone with whom you are personally acquainted. Otherwise, you must request that a third party who is acquainted deliver a writ of challenge on your behalf. If accepted, a date must be set, a time, and a suitable location that is familiar to both combatants. Traditionally, this has always been a fortnight after the receivership of the challenge, during the hour corresponding with the last light of day, and on a level playing field—although it is reasonable to assume that any duel between students would occur within one of the duelling halls where suitable surfaces are maintained. The duel must be publicly announced on the academy noticeboards for a period of at least seventy-two hours and the bout made available for open viewing. All duels must be sanctioned by the academy's student board, and are supervised and judged by an impartial adjudicator. Additionally, only a single weapon is permitted by each combatant, with their state of repair being signed off beforehand by a member of the faculty who will also act as a reserve adjudicator. Rules of victory are dictated between duellists, but is commonly agreed to be first blood by way of a shallow strike to the torso. Obviously, this shall be amended for a witch.”

“Got it!”

Tabitha eagerly nodded. Yuela peered suspiciously at her.

“You understood?”

“Yup!”

With a nod and a smile, Tabitha turned to the rest of the training hall. She cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Anyone in the mood for a bust-up?!” she yelled, her voice booming past the din of innocent students at work.

An unnatural silence greeted Tabitha's public challenge.

However, after several seconds, it was merely followed by the resumption of everyday activity, albeit with a scattering of murmurings in-between the sounds of dancing footsteps and swinging weapons.

Ignored.

She'd been utterly ignored.

Next to Tabitha, all the colour had drained from Yuela's face. The only life which remained were in her eyes. They were crying invisible tears.

“You accursed woman!” she whispered, her voice hoarse as her hands curled into fists. “You harbinger of grief! You spawn of hellfire in human clothing! You told me you understood!”

“I do!” replied Tabitha, hugging her staff as she naturally recoiled from Yuela's deathly visage. “I understand it's a totally bureaucratic way of asking for a fight! If I want to drown in paperwork, I'll look for a job as a civil servant!”

“This is exactly why I've brought you here! This right here! You can't just ignore etiquette, tradition and protocol and expect anyone to do more than scowl and tutter at you!”

Tabitha scratched her head.

“Eh? But I totally don't get it? I'm glamorous and a mysterious witch to boot. Why wouldn't everyone jump at the opportunity to get to know me?”

“The students here do not share your world views on using violence as a means of personal introduction!”

“Then, do I need to offer something? Like, whoever wins can cop a feel on me?”

Yuela's fists unravelled by her sides. It seemed that if she was going to use her hands, it would be for the purpose of strangling. A third bump on Tabitha's head was unlikely to have any lasting effect

“I beg your pardon?!” she croaked. “Who would want to do that?! There is not a soul on the continent either desperate or uncivilised enough to lower themselves to your level in exchange for such a paltry and demeaning reward!”

“—I shall duel you.”

A calming, feminine voice answered Yuela's spate of anguish.

Both she and Tabitha swivelled around to look at the desperate and uncivilised soul.

“I shall duel you, although I needn't insist on your offer of intimacy.”

Speaking to them was a girl standing beside the opposite pillar. A truly beautiful girl with sleek, dark hair and vibrant, almost burning eyes.

She looked more like a lady than Yuela. In fact, were it not for the St. Florin's Academy uniform, Mireille would have mistaken her as the daughter of some dignitary lost on the way to a high-end jewellery store. She wore rose petals in her hair, carried a luxurious red handbag beneath one arm, and wielded a handsome umbrella in the other. There were no weapons on her person.

A curiosity for someone in a training hall.

The girl smiled and broke into a curtsey.

“Salutations,” she said, her tone warm and polite. “My name is Katrina Mainz—”

Despite the modest distance which separated them, her relaxed voice had little difficulty carrying across to them.

Nor to everyone else, too.

The dark murmurings increased, but they were no longer directed at Tabitha's rash behaviour. They were aimed squarely at the beautiful, dark-haired girl and her smiling, pleasant demeanour.

“—And I am The Princess of Poverty.”