Chapter 13: Attacking Beast.

We march through the academy on our mounts.
Tarte insisted she didn’t need a saddle or reins, but I put reins on Illegal Pitch anyway—a sturdy bit to keep her beak shut.
Magical beasts require a firm bit, not a simple bridle, to prevent them from attacking.
Not people—the breeding club’s beasts don’t attack unprovoked or inedible creatures.

But they mercilessly raid the gardening club’s fields.

Fences are useless.
Armored dragons smash them, while hippogriffs and Koketris leap over, plundering the crops.
They uproot grass and dig up freshly sown seeds.
Trying to drive them off angers them, as they guard their feast, earning them the gardening club’s fear as literal “monsters.”

“It’s cruel to use a bit,” Tarte pouts.
“Without it, the gardening club won’t forgive us,” I reply.

Tarte’s miffed, but we rely on the gardening club for plant waste—immature, misshapen, or bug-eaten fruit is a delicacy for magical beasts.
We need to stay on their good side.

Avoiding the busy main gate, we exit through a side gate into Mou Viviana, heading west to the pasture.
It takes about an hour from the academy.
The area is forested, but this spot was cleared for timber, leaving a wide open field.
The soft soil sprouts new grass, and a small stream provides water—perfect for grazing.
Removing bits and bridles, the beasts split into three groups: magical beasts, dragons, and horses, each playing freely.
Hippogriffs and Koketris spread wings for a jumping contest, likely relieving winter’s cooped-up stress.
The two armored dragons lumber to the stream to drink, while horses graze or trot in a herd.

We unload tables from the cart for a picnic.
A senior digs a fire pit to brew tea on-site, complete with folding chairs, tablecloths, and teaware.

“It’s a shame your Silky couldn’t join, Aray-kun,” Zoldietta says, now in a tailored jacket, trousers, and boots, looking like a high-class officer.

I wish she’d warned me about the formal setup.

“Silhime’s busy with my room’s mushrooms,” Tarte says.
“Mushrooms…?” Zoldietta asks.
“Wait, they haven’t sprouted yet!” I protest.
“That… makes this no time for a picnic. My apologies,” Zoldietta says, her face twitching as if she’s seen something horrific.

Don’t look at me like that!
They’re not really growing—safe, I swear!

“Then Mochika will brew the tea,” Zoldietta says.

Mochika, short for Mochikaeil, her chaperone maid, rode an armored dragon here.
Maneuvering those beasts is tough, but she handled it like a pro, wearing a matching jacket but with a knee-length culotte skirt and boots.

While the women sip tea elegantly at the table, the guys sit on a waterproof tarp for lunch.
It’s perfect picnic weather—calm and sunny.
A clear xylophone sound rings out from an ornate box on the women’s table, looking like a music box but housing a tiny, four-armed female spirit playing for Senior Shusendu.

With five spirits present, including Tarte—music, thunder, sticky, honey, and Tarte’s prank spirit—the thunder spirit floats aimlessly, possibly smitten with the music spirit, who gets mad if her performance is disrupted.
The sticky spirit, a softball-sized fluff ball with big eyes, clings to Senior Kugenandes’s shoulder, swaying to the music.
It only sticks to things but is adored for its cuteness.
The honey spirit, summoned by Tarte, is handed a wooden bowl.

“Now, Nutonuto, show your power!” Tarte declares.

She’s just demanding honey.
We’ll owe the spirit for the generous pour.
Attracted by the honey’s scent, Hana-chan, a Hanaqui Drake, approaches.

Usually leaf-eaters, these wyverns love flower nectar, eating only the nectar-rich parts in bloom season.
Not strong like armored dragons or fast like horses, they’re mediocre mounts but loved by girls for their memory of sweet-givers and begging habits.
Tarte coats a scone with honey for Hana-chan, who squeals cutely, nuzzling for more.
A total spoiled wyvern, owned by Kugenandes, who clearly loves cute things.

“I came prepared with veggie sticks,” Senior Sanders, who led on a hippogriff, says, pulling out cut vegetables.

“I’ll feed her this rape blossom!” Tarte says.
“Carrots are tasty too, Hana-chan,” I add.
“Oh, cauliflower? Stolen from the gardening club again?” a woman teases.

The women join, feeding Hana-chan and diving into lunch.
The music spirit, immobile, is carried by the thunder and honey spirits, while Shusendu is engrossed with Hana-chan—poor spirit.

“Good job, Aray. Your spirit got the girls to join lunch naturally,” a senior whispers.

Apparently, Sanders planned to get close to Kugenandes, and Tarte’s summoning of Hana-chan gave him the veggie stick opening.
They’re feeding her together now.
Usually, guys and girls split up, but today, Hana-chan and the spirits spark lively chatter.
Sly seniors…

Tarte wants a nap, so the spirits rest.
She cuddles the honey and sticky spirits, falling asleep.
The thunder spirit lies on its cloud, and the music spirit plays a soft lullaby.
Leaving the seniors cozying up to the girls, I play ball with the Koketris.

The Koketris I brought, Professor Proserpina’s ([Poison King Dragger]), is a stunning black rooster, shimmering green or blue in the light, named [Jet-Black Wings Covering the Heavens] but called Kurosuke.
He courts Illegal Pitch, who ignores him.
If left alone, she’ll get annoyed and fight, so I distract him with an orange-painted wooden ball, tossing or kicking it for him to fetch.
Hippogriffs join, wanting to play.
We play smoothly until I sense a gaze from the forest.

…Not friendly. Are we being targeted?

Maybe it’s my Rolling tribe trait, but I’m sensitive to others’ presence—not a 14-year-old’s delusion but a sixth sense Sukumi Tanishi lacked.
I can’t ignite superhuman strength, but…
Pretending not to notice, I kick the ball toward the group, follow the chasing hippogriffs, and report the gaze to Sanders.

“With this ruckus, bears or boars would flee. A wild dog pack?” Sanders says.
“Gather the horses.”

Shusendu blows a whistle to call the armored dragons, controlled by scent or sound due to their sturdy bodies ignoring whips or bridles.
The music spirit’s shrill warning wakes the napping spirits.

“Not a peaceful sound,” Tarte says.

There’s a set danger signal.

“Prep apples to calm the horses,” Sanders orders, riding his hippogriff with the thunder spirit to herd the horses.

Like a cowboy, he uses the spirit to keep the herd tight.
The women cut apples to soothe the horses.
As the horses near, wild dogs—realizing they’ve lost their chance—burst from the forest.

Twenty? No, over thirty…

Not strays but fully feral, breeding in the mountains and attacking humans like wolves.
I didn’t expect such a large pack.

“Defensive circle! Armored dragons as shields, horses inside the magical beasts!” Sanders shouts.

Seniors move.
The academy’s knight course trains for magical combat against monsters.
Before the dogs reach us, knight-course seniors position armored dragons in front and hippogriffs on the flanks, encircling the horses.

“Knight course, prepare for defense! Don’t let them through! Others, control the horses!”

Hippogriffs and Koketris can handle a few dogs, but untrained horses can’t.
We center them around a massive, post-apocalyptic warlord-style horse—clumsy but imposing, calming the others.
Hana-chan, the combat-useless wyvern, joins them.
Zoldietta, still in general education, mounts her hippogriff to fight.
I need to direct the Koketris.
If left unchecked, they’ll fight freely, but a defensive line needs orders.
I pull my small, paddle-like artifact from my backpack and mount Kurosuke.
Illegal Pitch lines up beside me without prompting.

“Petopeto, stick with Nutonuto and this guy,” Tarte says, shoving the sticky and honey spirits onto Kugenandes on Hana-chan.

Tarte sits regally on the music spirit’s closed box, like a warlord on a camp stool.
Am I imagining her aura because I’m tense?

“Long-range artifact users, ready to fire! Don’t let them scatter—aim for the flanks!”

Artifacts, inscribed with magic circles, vary—weapons, armor, or accessories.
They cast preset spells with magic flow, no chanting needed.
I’ve never tried, but spells taking five seconds to chant are impractical unless ambushing.
No rule stops villains from attacking mid-chant in this world.

“Go!”

At Sanders’s signal, spells fly—ice spears, rock chunks, fireballs.
I fire too, but my artifact’s [Air Burst] shoots compressed air that explodes on impact, good only for stalling.
It’s a practice artifact for academy competitions, not lethal.

The first volley downs a few dogs.
Mochika, on an armored dragon, skewers three with ice spears—impressive.
Still, over twenty dogs charge, ignoring their fallen, rushing straight at us.