Turmoil at the Dueling Club

Thanks to the esteemed reader "Crying Cat Head☆" for the grand certification!!! 10 extra chapters! (8/10)

The Dueling Club's training sessions were scheduled for Wednesday evenings, held in the Great Hall.

Every Wednesday afternoon, the long tables in the Great Hall were moved to the sides, leaving a large open space in the middle. Students from the four Houses took turns going up in groups by year.

As an assistant instructor, Artoria was usually responsible for correcting the students' stances and spellcasting details, while Zhang Wen handled demonstrations and explanations.

That afternoon, Zhang Wen had just organized his lecture notes and was about to leave when he saw Mordred standing outside his dormitory door with her arms crossed.

"I'm going to tonight's dueling class."

"No." Zhang Wen refused without a second thought.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm still cleaning up the mess you caused in the fourth-years' class last time."

Zhang Wen rubbed his temples.

"Professor McGonagall specifically asked me yesterday whether your theory of 'cutting down the caster with one sword strike' was official teaching material."

"Obviously, it's official teaching material."

Mordred looked utterly matter-of-fact.

"Mother approved it."

"..."

Mordred stepped closer.

"Father, I promise I won't talk nonsense this time. I'll just watch from the side."

Zhang Wen stared at her for several seconds.

"Really?"

"Really."

Mordred immediately raised her right hand.

"I swear in the name of Pendragon."

The oath sounded weighty enough. Zhang Wen hesitated before finally relenting.

"Fine. You can attend as an assistant instructor."

Mordred's eyes lit up.

"Assistant instructor? Does that mean I can guide the students?"

Zhang Wen jolted.

"You can only watch from the side."

"Oh."

Mordred pouted.

Seven in the evening, Great Hall.

The students gradually filed in. When they saw an extra red-haired girl on the stage, they all froze for a moment.

"Isn't that the older girl from before who said 'cut them down with one sword strike'?"

"Why is she here too?"

"What is she wearing?"

Mordred wore a black training outfit that allowed easy movement today, with the wooden sword she always carried tucked at her waist.

She stood beside Artoria with her arms crossed and her chin slightly raised, radiating an air of, "I'm here to be an assistant instructor."

The Slytherin students entered one after another.

Draco Malfoy walked at the front, with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him.

When he saw the three people on the stage, his steps noticeably slowed.

His attitude toward Artoria had changed from initial disdain to respect, even awe.

This assistant instructor had an icy temperament and a mysterious background. Even his father, Lucius Malfoy, had been unable to uncover her origins.

That made even the ever-arrogant Malfoy afraid to say one extra word in front of her.

But this red-haired girl in front of him...

Malfoy swept his gaze over her, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

Some red-haired girl who had appeared out of nowhere, dressed like a fighter, with a wooden sword hanging from her waist.

That was it?

Clearly, Lucius had not told Malfoy exactly what his family had sealed away before.

As Malfoy passed in front of the stage, he deliberately spoke to Crabbe loudly enough for Mordred to hear.

"Professor Zhang Wen's cousin? She looks rather... energetic."

Mordred's gaze snapped toward him.

Zhang Wen's temples throbbed twice.

This little peacock was in trouble.

The Dueling Club's training officially began.

After saying a few opening words, Zhang Wen had the students split into groups for basic spellcasting practice.

Spells, flashes of light, and students' cries rose and fell throughout the Great Hall.

Artoria moved through the crowd, occasionally stopping to correct a student's posture or wand grip.

Mordred stood on the stage, narrowing her eyes as she observed every student below.

Her gaze lingered noticeably longer on Malfoy.

Midway through the training, Zhang Wen gathered the students together, preparing to demonstrate a few slightly more advanced defensive maneuvers.

Just then, Mordred suddenly spoke.

"Father, let me demonstrate."

Zhang Wen: "..."

"Didn't we agree you'd only watch from the side?"

"I'll just demonstrate once. Just once."

Mordred turned to look at the students below.

"There happens to be a student I'd like to invite up to assist."

Her gaze locked precisely onto Malfoy.

Malfoy's entire body stiffened.

"You."

Mordred pointed at him.

"The blond one. Come over."

The entire hall fell silent.

Malfoy swallowed and instinctively looked toward Artoria, a faint plea for help in his eyes.

Artoria said nothing.

She merely looked calmly at Mordred, then glanced at Zhang Wen.

Zhang Wen shot Artoria a glare that said, Control your daughter.

Artoria's gaze replied, She's your daughter too, in a sense.

Zhang Wen cleared his throat and decided to handle it himself.

"Mordred, the Dueling Club has its own rules. You can't just appoint a student to come up..."

"This counts as a demonstration spar."

Mordred interrupted him.

"Father, I promise I won't use the real thing. Just this wooden sword. He uses a wand, I use a wooden sword. We both have weapons. It's perfectly fair."

"Fair?"

Malfoy instinctively objected.

"I use a wand, and you use a stick?"

Mordred turned back to him, narrowing her eyes.

"What, you think it isn't fair?"

"..."

Malfoy felt like he had been shoved onto a rack and could not get down.

Several Slytherin students had already started shouting.

"Malfoy, go!"

"Show her the spells of a pure-blood family!"

"Yeah, let her see what a wizard is!"

The Gryffindors were joining in too.

Lee Jordan squeezed out from somewhere, shouting through the crowd alongside Fred and George.

"Go, Sister Mordred!"

"Cut him down with one sword strike!"

Fred raised both hands.

"Let him learn what a simple and direct method is!"

George shouted along with him.

Hermione squeezed out of the crowd, frowning as she stood beside Harry and Ron Weasley.

"What... what kind of demonstration is this?"

"No idea."

Ron Weasley rubbed his hands together excitedly. What could be more thrilling than a wizard duel?

"But it'll definitely be fun to watch."

Harry said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on Mordred.

This "cousin" of Professor Zhang Wen's had struck Harry as strange from the moment she first appeared.

Her presence was too unusual, like... the feeling only someone who had held a blade for years would possess.

She spoke very directly, never beating around the bush, saying whatever came to her mind. Yet from time to time, she revealed an oddly awkward expression, especially whenever the words "father" and "mother" came up.

Harry could not explain that feeling. He only instinctively felt that this red-haired girl was not as simple as she seemed.

In the end, Zhang Wen could not outargue Mordred, nor could he withstand the increasingly loud jeers from the Slytherins. He sighed.

"One round."

He raised one finger.

"Only one round. Mordred, no hurting anyone."

"Got it." Mordred picked up her wooden sword and jumped down from the stage.

Under the pushing and shoving of Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy also walked to the center of the open area.

The two stood several steps apart.

Mordred casually rested the wooden sword on her shoulder and looked at Malfoy with an infuriating expression.

"Come on. Use every spell you know. Don't worry, I'll only use one-third of my strength."

Malfoy's expression immediately turned ugly.

"One-third?"

He gritted his teeth.

"Aren't you overestimating yourself?"

"I'm giving you credit." Mordred answered with complete seriousness. "If I use my full strength, I'll hurt you."

Those words were more infuriating than any mockery.

Artoria stood on the stage, watching the scene without expression.

She knew Mordred's strength all too well. Even using only one-third of her current strength—equivalent to one-ninth of Mordred at her peak—Malfoy could not possibly be her opponent.

After all, this little girl had once been capable of confronting her, the king, head-on at the Battle of Camlann and perishing with her.

Zhang Wen gave the signal to begin.

Frowning, he tapped his wand.

"Begin."

Malfoy reacted extremely quickly, swinging his wand almost the instant the word left Zhang Wen's mouth.

"Expelliarmus!"

A red beam shot straight toward Mordred's wooden sword.

Mordred did not move at all. She merely tilted her wooden sword to the side, and the red beam skimmed past the blade before striking the wall behind her.

A wave of sharp intakes of breath rose from the spectators.

Malfoy froze for a moment, then immediately swung his wand several times in succession.

"Stupefy!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Locomotor Mortis!"

Three spells shot out in rapid succession. They were not slow, and for a second-year student, they already demonstrated an exceptionally high level.

Mordred responded by taking a step left, lowering her body slightly, then shifting diagonally right at a speed almost too fast to see.

All three spells missed.

Malfoy's eyes widened.

The spells he had learned from childhood through adulthood were all among his specialties. He had once scared the peacocks in his family garden into flying everywhere.

How could he miss every single one?

"Keep going." Mordred cocked her head. "That's only three spells. Is that all your 'magic' amounts to?"

Malfoy's face flushed red.

Gritting his teeth, he fired off another four or five spells in rapid succession.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Incarcerous!"

"Rictusempra!"

"Aguamenti!"

Mordred dodged them one by one. The angle of her body and the rhythm of her steps were all precise enough to be almost half a beat out of sync with Malfoy's wand movements.

One blast of Aguamenti even brushed past her ear, soaking several strands of her red hair.

Mordred's eyes turned cold.

"You sprayed water on my head," she said.

Malfoy's heart skipped a beat.

Mordred moved.

In an instant, she appeared before Malfoy. Her wooden sword swept diagonally upward from below, striking precisely against the wrist of his wand hand.

Smack!

His wand flew away.

"Argh!" Malfoy cried out in pain.

Mordred did not stop. With a twist of her wrist, the wooden sword swept horizontally.

Thud!

The flat of the sword smacked Malfoy across the left cheek.

"Argh!"

Malfoy fell onto the floor, clutching his face.

Mordred drew back her wooden sword, stepped on the wand rolling across the floor, and looked down at him. "That's it?"

The Great Hall fell silent for a full three seconds.

Then it erupted.

"Woooo!!!"

Fred and George whistled together.

"Nice!!"

Lee Jordan's voice rose above everyone else's.

"Big Sister Mordred is awesome!"

"Hit him again!"

Over at the Slytherin side, chaos broke out.

"She hit Malfoy!"

"How could she hit Malfoy?!"

"That's against the rules!"

"Professor Zhang Wen! Control your cousin!"

Crabbe and Goyle helped Malfoy to his feet. His left cheek had already begun to swell, and his right eye had turned purple after being caught by the backwash from the wooden sword. His nose was not bleeding, though, because Mordred had deliberately avoided the bridge of it.

Hermione squeezed to the front of the crowd. At some point, she had already taken out a quill and parchment and was rapidly writing something down.

Ron Weasley leaned over to look. "What are you writing?"

"I'm recording Miss Mordred's footwork and attack rhythm."

Hermione did not even look up.

"Her movement is unlike any dueling technique described in the books, but it's incredibly efficient..."

"Hermione, are you mad? This is a fight, not scholarship."

"This is scholarship."

Harry stood beside them, his eyes never leaving Mordred in the center of the hall.

That attack had been so fast that he had barely seen it clearly.

There was no way an ordinary fifteen- or sixteen-year-old girl could possess that kind of skill.

He suddenly realized something. Professor Zhang Wen's "cousin" was probably no simpler than Professor Zhang Wen himself.

Zhang Wen finally came down from the podium.

He rubbed his temples and stared expressionlessly at the center of the hall.

"Mordred."

"I didn't kill him," Mordred declared before he could say anything.

"..."

"I didn't break any of his bones either."

"..."

"I even avoided his nose because I was afraid too much blood would scare the other students."

"..."

Zhang Wen took a deep breath and decided not to discuss this with her.

He turned to Artoria. "Artoria, give your assessment."

He had originally thought Artoria would give Mordred a proper scolding.

Instead, Artoria descended from the podium at an unhurried pace and walked into the center of the hall.

She first looked at Malfoy, who was still clutching his face, then spoke. "Mr. Malfoy."

"...Yes." Malfoy's voice was muffled.

"Your first mistake was your choice of spell." Artoria's tone was calm, as though she were delivering a proper lesson. "'Expelliarmus' is a reactive spell, making it the wrong choice for an opening move. Against an opponent wielding a close-range weapon, you should first choose a wide-area or restraining spell. Creating distance should be your first priority."

Malfoy froze. He had not expected the teaching assistant to be giving him a serious tactical analysis.

"Your second mistake,"

Artoria continued,

"was that there was a fixed rhythm between your spells. The interval between each cast was roughly even. To an experienced close-range fighter, that was the same as telling her when she could close in."

Malfoy's face turned red again.

"Your third mistake was that while casting continuously, your feet barely moved. That is the most fatal mistake in a duel."

Artoria turned to Mordred.

"Mordred."

"I'm here." Mordred's tone immediately became proper.

"Your first mistake was ending the spar too early before your opponent had fully displayed his ability. That does not help your opponent grow."

"...Yes."

"Your second mistake was that while the force of that final strike did not cause a fracture, it landed too close to the cheekbone and carried an unnecessary risk of injury."

"...Yes."

"Your third mistake..." Artoria's voice paused slightly. "The angle at which your sword tip hung was half an inch lower than usual during training. That was because you were angry. In battle, you cannot allow your emotions to affect your movements."

Mordred opened her mouth, then finally answered honestly, "...Yes."

The Great Hall fell utterly silent.

Every student stared at Artoria in shock.

The Slytherin students had originally wanted to continue protesting, but each of them swallowed their words.

Because the teaching assistant's assessment had been objective and professional. She had criticized both sides, and even dissected Malfoy, the most skilled member of their camp, so thoroughly that there was no room for rebuttal.

Hermione took notes so quickly that her hand cramped.

Fred whispered to George, "Teaching Assistant Pendragon really knows her stuff."

"And she scolds both sides." George nodded. "Now that's true fairness."

Standing off to the side, Zhang Wen rubbed his temples and let out a long sigh.

He looked at the two people in the center of the hall.

One was his nominal "cousin," but in truth a hot-tempered, awkward red-haired heir to the throne of knights, who had just beaten a twelve-year-old pure-blood heir black and blue.

The other was his nominal "assistant," but in truth Britain's calm and rigorous king, who was seriously giving the two of them a tactical review.

And he himself, as the supposed "person in charge," had been completely sidelined while standing nearby.

He sighed a second time.

Over there, Crabbe and Goyle supported Malfoy. While hissing in pain, he silently memorized the three mistakes Artoria had just pointed out.

Harry stood among the crowd, watching all this, and that strange feeling in his heart became even clearer.

Professor Zhang Wen's two "family members"—one a red-haired "cousin," the other a blond "assistant"—were neither of them ordinary people.

And their attitudes toward Professor Zhang Wen did not resemble those of an ordinary "cousin" and "assistant," either.