Surviving the Magic Academy With Just Intelligence Stats-Chapter 87: What To Do

As Marcus helped Fenris to his feet, a gesture of respect between warriors, they both turned to witness a scene that froze their blood. Hualing was charging across the platform with terrifying purpose, her movements a blur of deadly precision.

Thorne Blackpelt, the beastman team’s second close-combat specialist, spotted her approach and moved to intercept, positioning himself protectively before his remaining teammates.

"I won’t let—" His declaration of defiance died in his throat, replaced by a violent spray of crimson as Hualing’s fist connected squarely with his abdomen.

The impact came with such devastating force that Thorne’s expression contorted in agony, his internal organs shifting unnaturally beneath the blow. It felt as though invisible fingers were rearranging his insides, twisting and crushing with methodical cruelty.

Yet despite the excruciating pain, Thorne’s warrior spirit refused to yield. Gritting his teeth, blood seeping between his clenched fangs, he seized Hualing’s arm where it remained buried in his midsection. A pained smile stretched across his blood-flecked lips as he met her gaze, his massive hands tightening around her forearm in preparation for a counter-throw.

His smile faltered as he attempted to move her arm and discovered a horrifying truth—it wouldn’t budge. Not even an inch.

Confusion clouded his features as he glanced down at the limb he held. There was nothing extraordinary about it—just a human arm with well-defined muscles, significantly smaller than his own beastman limb that engulfed it. Yet despite his superior size and strength, he couldn’t move it at all.

When Thorne lifted his gaze to meet Hualing’s once more, the dynamics had shifted dramatically. Her lips curled into a predatory smile that sent primordial fear coursing through him. Before he could process this reversal, her free hand shot forward with blinding speed, connecting with the back of his skull in a precise strike that instantly plunged him into darkness.

The entire exchange happened so quickly that Marcus was still steadying Fenris when they both registered what had occurred. Their expressions mirrored each other’s shock, but Hualing hadn’t paused for even a moment.

In three heartbeats, she materialized before the team’s remaining members. Serra Swiftclaw, the diminutive healer, knelt beside Grim Ironhide, her small hands pressed against his arm where Lyra’s deflected arrow had grazed him. Healing energy flowed from her fingertips, sealing the minor wound with practiced efficiency.

Serra sensed a shadow fall across her and looked up, her eyes widening as they met Hualing’s crimson gaze. There was no time to react, no chance to defend herself. Hualing’s strike connected with devastating accuracy, launching the healer’s slight form several meters through the air before she crumpled unconscious against the platform’s edge. Healers weren’t known for physical resilience—not that it would have made any difference against Hualing’s overwhelming force.

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Grim Ironhide, fully transformed into his imposing werewolf form, stared at Hualing with dawning horror. Despite his monstrous appearance—shaggy fur, protruding fangs, and muscle-bound frame—a chilling realization struck him: in this confrontation, he wasn’t the predator. The slender human girl standing before him, who had decimated half his team in mere seconds, radiated a bloodlust that made his bestial instincts shriek in warning.

As the team’s designated tank, his sole purpose was to protect his more vulnerable teammates. Yet he had failed completely, forced to watch helplessly as they fell one by one. Now, as Hualing’s palm descended toward his skull with inexorable finality, he understood it was his turn. The last thing he registered was her palm connecting with his forehead before consciousness fled, his massive form collapsing like a felled tree.

Hualing turned slowly toward Lyra Whitefang, the archer who had dared target Ambrose. Her smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in that moment. Each deliberate step toward the archer vibrated with barely contained violence.

Lyra maintained her composure despite her mounting terror. Years of training had honed her concentration to razor sharpness—a necessity for any skilled archer. Drawing her bowstring back with steady hands, she loosed an arrow directly at Hualing’s approaching form.

What happened next defied comprehension. Thin crimson strands—unmistakably blood—materialized in the air before Hualing, intercepting the arrow. The projectile didn’t simply break; it disintegrated, reduced to dust by the impossibly sharp blood-threads that danced through the air.

Refusing to surrender, Lyra fired again and again, each shot more desperate than the last. With every attack, more blood-strings appeared around Hualing, slicing through the incoming projectiles with terrifying precision. The air filled with the fine particulate of destroyed arrows as Hualing advanced relentlessly.

Hualing’s eyes glowed with unnatural crimson light, her features beginning to shift subtly. Something primal and inhuman seemed to be emerging, straining against the confines of her human form. The transformation radiated such menace that even spectators far from the platform felt an instinctive chill.

As Hualing closed the final distance, Lyra made the only rational choice left to her. Dropping her bow with a clatter, she raised her hands in surrender.

"I give up!" she shouted, her voice cracking with fear.

The announcer immediately declared victory for Ambrose’s team, his magically amplified voice pronouncing: "Team Rothschild wins by surrender!"

But something was wrong. Despite the match’s conclusion, Hualing continued her advance, her blood-tinged gaze fixed on Lyra with predatory intent. The smile that twisted her features promised something far worse than mere defeat.

…

Inside their shared consciousness, Minghua stared nervously at Hualing, who stood before her covered in a sinister dark miasma. The shadowy substance writhed around Hualing’s form like a living entity, appearing to consume her bit by bit. Her eyes had transformed completely—the whites now pitch black, with pupils glowing an unnatural crimson.

"She’s dangerous," Hualing chanted, her voice distorted and hollow. "She wants to harm the master!"

The darkness pulsed with each word, expanding its hold on her consciousness.

"I must eliminate her," Hualing continued, her expression twisted with obsessive devotion. "I’m the master’s knight after all. I must eliminate all threats."

Minghua observed with growing concern, her brow furrowed as she assessed the deteriorating situation. "It seems to be getting worse," she noted, more to herself than to her alter ego. "The talent awakening has made the situation even worse."

Her gaze grew distant as she searched through fragments of memory, trying to piece together a solution. "But I don’t remember it being this bad," she murmured. "Does it have something to do with the oath-type talent?"

Minghua turned away momentarily, her eyes clouding with recollection. "Back then, ’THAT’ person helped me," she said softly, "but I don’t know what methods they used."

Turning back to face the darkness-shrouded Hualing, Minghua’s expression reflected her helplessness. "What do I do now?" she wondered, watching as the miasma continued to spread throughout their shared mental landscape.

In the physical world, Lyra Whitefang backed away from Hualing’s advancing form, cold terror evident in her wide eyes. The announcer’s magically amplified voice boomed across the arena: "The match is concluded! All participants must cease combat immediately!"

The warning fell on deaf ears as Hualing continued her predatory advance, her movements unnaturally fluid, like a puppet guided by invisible strings. Lyra’s fur stood on end as primal instincts screamed danger, cold sweat matting her fur as she realized something was terribly wrong with her opponent.

From across the platform, Ambrose observed the situation with mounting alarm. Hualing’s behavior had crossed beyond tactical aggression into something far more concerning. Her eyes, visible even at this distance, glowed with unnatural light, and the air around her seemed to distort slightly, as if reality itself recoiled from her presence.

This is getting out of hand, he realized. Without hesitation, Ambrose activated his [Blink] ability, disappearing from his position and instantaneously materializing behind Hualing.

In a move that surprised even himself, Ambrose threw his arms around Hualing’s waist, pressing himself against her back. The sudden contact halted her advance as effectively as if she’d struck a wall. Using [Thought Transmission], he projected a desperate message directly into Lyra’s mind: ~Run! Now!

The archer didn’t need to be told twice. With a startled expression that suggested she’d heard his silent command, she turned and fled from the platform, not daring to look back.

The moment of contact seemed to jolt Hualing from her trance-like state. The unnatural glow faded from her eyes as awareness returned to her features. She registered the arms around her waist, the warmth pressed against her back, and a furious blush bloomed across her cheeks.

"M-master?" she stammered, her voice returned to its normal timbre, albeit trembling with sudden embarrassment.

Ambrose studied her closely, noting the transformation. The bloodlust had vanished completely, replaced by girlish fluster. Whatever darkness had gripped her seemed entirely absent now, suggesting this wasn’t a deliberate action on her part. It didn’t appear to be the work of her ancestor either, at least he didn’t think it was. Does she have some other issues I’m not aware of? he wondered.

He suppressed a sigh as he realized the situation was far more complicated than he’d initially anticipated when he first made contact with what he believed to be an important character, but he was in too deep now to back down. Rather than voice these concerns, he deliberately adjusted his voice to sound slightly winded, speaking softly against her back.

"I’m tired," he said gently. "Let’s go back."

Hualing’s blush deepened to crimson as she felt his breath warm against her. She could only manage a silent nod in response, completely overwhelmed by the proximity.

Within their shared mental realm, Minghua watched with fascination as the dark miasma surrounding Hualing’s consciousness began to recede. The shadowy tendrils retreated gradually, slithering away like morning mist before sunlight until no trace remained of the earlier darkness.

Minghua observed the transformation with a mixture of relief and wry amusement. "I guess that’s one way to solve it," she remarked, making a mental note of this unexpectedly effective method for future reference.