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Eleven students surrounded me. Surprisingly, none of them were puppets.
Or is it really a surprise?
For a puppet, the worst-case scenario would be sustaining visible injuries. Unless they were complete lunatics, few would bother checking if others were still breathing. But if their skin cracked and flaked away like shattered porcelain, suspicion would rise. Maybe they had built-in instincts, commands drilled deep—like avoiding harm at all costs.
The moment Talis collapsed, two students beside him lunged at me. I kicked the table from underneath. As the food soared into the air, I snatched up empty beer mugs with both hands and brought them down hard on their heads.
With a loud clatter, both hit the ground.
I went easy on them. If I'd aimed for their faces, the shards would have torn them to ribbons.
"You bastard!" An exceptionally burly student swung at me next. His speed was impressive for his size, but that was all he had. I caught his wrist midair and flung him toward a rickety table. His weight broke not one, but two tables. This was not my problem, though. They were the ones who started it. In the end, they were just small fries. Dealing with them was simple, if a little irritating.
Was it eight or nine? By the time I finished, a sword hissed through the air. One of the lurking students had drawn his sword.
"No weapons!" Glenn shouted, his voice sharp with alarm.
The attacker's eyes were...
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