The Heavenly Hero Returns

Chapter 16: The Elite Class' Struggles

The Battlefield Without Magic

The moment the mana surge hit, the battlefield turned into a nightmare. The students, once confident in their superior magic, now found themselves struggling as even the simplest spells fizzled or backfired violently. Several lesser nobles had already been injured by mana recoil—painful whiplashes of magic violently rejecting their control, sending them sprawling and leaving them vulnerable. Others had abandoned trying to cast altogether, forced into using their swords and spears like common foot soldiers.

It didn't take long for panic to set in.

Lucien von Hohenfeld stood at the center of one group, his crimson eyes scanning the battlefield with cold calculation. He had been prepared to command the battlefield with his overwhelming fire magic—but now? Now, he was forced to rely on his sword. It wasn't a problem for him, personally—his training as a knight was top-tier—but for the others?

They were suffering.

Gareth Aldermann, the hulking son of a duke, was among the first to realize the gravity of their situation. His signature earth magic was sluggish, barely responding, and when he did manage to cast, the resulting tremors were pathetically weak. He cursed under his breath, gripping his massive greatsword tighter as he prepared to hold the line against an approaching wave of monstrous beasts.

"This is insane," snarled Reynard Falkenrath, a viscount's son whose wind magic had completely abandoned him. "How the hell are we supposed to fight like this?!"

"With our damn swords," Magnus Reinhardt snapped, driving his blade through the skull of a monstrous wolf with a single, brutal motion. Unlike the others, Magnus had barely hesitated to switch to close combat—his years of fighting as a commoner-born warrior had hardened him for moments like these.

But most of the nobles? They were floundering.

Trainees Falling Like Flies

The trainees—those barely above squires in skill—were suffering the worst. Deprived of magic and lacking the refined swordsmanship of their noble-born peers, they became easy prey. A group of three trainees had already been torn apart by a pack of beasts, their bodies lying in a broken heap.

A nearby trainee, a boy whose name no one had bothered to remember, screamed as a monstrous feline twice his size pounced on him, its claws raking across his torso. His desperate attempt at a defensive spell failed, the mana backlash striking his own body instead. He collapsed, gurgling on his own blood.

"Shit—shit—!" Another trainee, a girl wielding a spear, turned to flee, only for a monstrous boar to ram into her side, snapping bones like twigs.

The battlefield was devouring the weakest first. And there was no mercy.

The Junior Knights and Squires Fight Back

Unlike the trainees, the junior knights and squires managed to hold their own—barely. They had at least been trained to fight without magic, but without the overwhelming advantage elemental magic usually provided, they were reduced to desperate melee skirmishes.

Elias von Riefenstahl, a junior knight and one of the better swordsmen in the class, had taken command of a small group, barking orders as they tried to form a defensive formation. "Stick together! Stop panicking—aim for the vitals! Magic isn't going to save you now!"

His words helped stabilize his team, and together they fought back against the monsters, albeit with heavy injuries.

A squire, drenched in blood, slashed wildly at an approaching monster but overextended—before he could recover, a beast lunged and tore into his throat, dragging him down.

Elias gritted his teeth. Another one down.

They were losing people at an alarming rate.

The Top Students Begin to Shine

While the lesser nobles and commoners struggled, the true elite of the class began to prove why they were at the top.

Lucien von Hohenfeld moved like a dancer through the battlefield, his blade cutting through monsters with brutal efficiency. Even without magic, his physical prowess was terrifying. Every strike was deliberate, every movement honed to perfection. He fought without hesitation, his red eyes burning with an intensity that sent shivers down the spines of those who saw him.

Magnus Reinhardt, by contrast, fought like a berserker. His dual-elemental magic may have been out of commission, but his sheer battle experience put him leagues above the rest. He crushed skulls, shattered ribs, and tore through enemies with a relentless brutality that made it clear—he didn't just fight for sport. He fought to kill.

Seraphina von Aurelius, the princess herself, was no slouch either. While she had relied heavily on her magic in past fights, her training as a royal knight had not been neglected. Her rapier flashed as she danced through the battlefield, striking weak points with deadly precision.

Yet even she was struggling—without magic, she lacked the overwhelming force she usually commanded.

"We're pushing through," she called out to her allies, slicing through a beast's neck with a flourish. "Keep formation—we can't afford any more losses!"

But it wasn't enough. The monsters kept coming.

The Realization—Jessica Would Have Been Perfect for This

As the battle dragged on, exhaustion set in. Their numbers were dwindling. Some of the nobles had collapsed from sheer overexertion, their bodies unable to keep up with prolonged physical combat.

Gareth, panting and covered in blood, wiped his face and groaned, "This is a disaster."

"We're making progress," Seraphina insisted, though she, too, was struggling to hide her fatigue.

Reynard spat blood onto the ground and let out a bitter laugh. "You know who would've been perfect for this kind of fight?"

There was a pause.

Lucien's eyes flickered with something unreadable. Magnus clicked his tongue, but said nothing.

Reynard continued, "That useless gutter rat—Jessica. That freak barely uses magic, and we left her behind."

Silence fell over the group.

The realization was bitter. The one person who had no reliance on magic—the one person who fought like a possessed demon even under normal circumstances—had been abandoned in the middle of a monster-infested battlefield.

"…She's probably dead," Gareth muttered after a moment.

Reynard scoffed, but there was no humor in it. "Wouldn't surprise me. And wouldn't that just be perfect? She finally gets a situation she'd thrive in, and we're the ones stuck here struggling."

Magnus, standing nearby, exhaled sharply but kept his thoughts to himself. Unlike the others, he wasn't so sure she was dead.

If anyone could survive a fight like this alone—it was her.

The Aftermath

By the time the students finally cleared the battlefield, they were down to 24 students. Six dead. Most of them trainees. A few commoner-born squires. One lesser noble.

Their bodies were left behind, mangled and broken.

The class, battered and bloodied, was in no condition to continue fighting. The mana surge had begun to fade, and magic was starting to return—but it didn't matter.

The damage had already been done.

They had survived, barely.

But Jessica?

No one knew.

And as they stood among the bodies of their fallen classmates, a gnawing feeling settled deep in their chests.

Maybe we shouldn't have left her behind.