Chapter 16 - Salvadori, the Succubus Progeny

"…Hey, look."

"Yeah, that's her. I've heard the rumors…"

The gazes of the other students on her were always a mix of emotions—

fear and jealousy, curiosity and disgust—ever since Ophelia had joined

Kimberly.

"It's like her smell is sucking me in…"

"Whoa, don't get too close! She'll kidnap you."

"Is it true that she'll make babies with anyone?"

"Only 'cause it's better than having sex with a monster."

Back then, some were still foolish enough to talk about her within

earshot. It was annoying, but she ignored it like background noise. Her

disdain for her peers grew as well; she supposed that the lower one's

bloodline and intellect, the more likely one was to gossip in little huddles.

"U-um, Ms. Salvadori…"

"What?"

Sometimes people called out to her, and she responded in the manner her

disdain commanded. As a result, most ran away after she shot them an icy

glare. For half of her first year at Kimberly, Ophelia didn't talk to anyone

except Carlos.

"Still no friends, Lia?"

"…Shut up."

Carlos, who'd entered the academy a year earlier, spent as much time

with her as they could. On this day in particular, the two of them took lunch

in an empty classroom. Ophelia hated the cafeteria and its droves of

students most of all, and so she chose to eat in places away from the eyes of

others.

"I can understand that the Salvadori name might keep people away, but

you're still distancing yourself too much. Why don't you try being a bit a

more friendly? That ought to strike someone's fancy."

"I don't need friends. I can attract as many men as I want. That's good

enough."

She munched on a cheese muffin. The faint hope Carlos had for her

before she started school had completely dissipated in the past six months,

and she'd withdrawn from nearly all contact with others.

Carlos shook their head, troubled. "You say it's fine, but I don't. I want

to see you laughing in the middle of a group of friends. That's been my

dream ever since the day we met."

"Keep your creepy dreams to yourself… Anyway, I don't care. I'm not

making any friends."

She tossed her half-eaten muffin into the basket and turned away from

them, pouting. Carlos studied her profile and sank into thought.

"…All right. But what about my friends? I can at least introduce you,

right?"

"Do what you want. I'll just ignore them," she stated coldly, still not

looking Carlos's way.

But Carlos smiled. They had her word now. They promptly turned and

left the classroom, then came back with another student in tow before

Ophelia had a chance to process anything.

"Here we go. Al, this is Ophelia. Introduce yourself."

"Right."

At Carlos's urging, the boy stepped in front of Ophelia. He was tall, with

broad, muscular shoulders; his black hair was so stiff that it seemed to resist

any curling; and his dark eyes stared uncomfortably straight into hers.

Intimidated by his silent pressure, Ophelia found herself shifting backward

in her seat.

"I am Alvin Godfrey, a second-year. It is nice to meet you, Ophelia. I

hope you'll forgive my forwardness—I was told you dislike being called by

your last name."

Godfrey introduced himself quite formally, then gave a surprisingly soft

smile. He immediately stuck out his right hand for a handshake; Ophelia

stared at him like a rare creature.

"..."

"Carlos has told me a lot about you. I realize I'm only a year older, but

that still makes you my junior, so please don't hesitate to reach out if you're

having any trouble adjusting to— Hmm?"

His fluid speech came to a halt. A few seconds of silence passed; then

the boy calmly did an about-face and drew his wand.

"Dolor!"

His back to Ophelia, he cast a pain curse on his crotch. His tall frame

collapsed dramatically to its knees.

"…Guh… Haaa…!"

"…Huh? …What?! W-wait, what're you doing?!"

Ophelia jumped from her chair in a slight panic, not understanding what

had just happened. Godfrey was on the ground, gritting his teeth and

supporting himself with shaky arms. Sweat poured down his brow as he

struggled to get up.

"…I'm terribly sorry. A despicable sensation arose within me, but I

managed to quell it with the pain of a kick in the groin, so please forgive

me."

She gaped at him. Was he an idiot? No one had asked him to go to such

extremes.

Godfrey wobbled to his feet and took deep breaths to recover from his

self-inflicted punishment.

As Ophelia stared at him in awe, Carlos whispered in her ear, "…See?

Unique, isn't he?"

"..."

That much was true, she was willing to admit. Everything else aside,

there was no doubting that point. It was unlikely you'd find a single other

person in the magical world stupid enough to punish themselves with a pain

curse unbidden. Godfrey let out a big breath, then turned back to Ophelia, a

calm expression on his face. He extended his hand again as if nothing had

happened.

"Your Perfume was more intense than I anticipated… But a bit of mental

fortitude renders it powerless. It's nice to meet you, Ophelia."

He snorted and puffed out his chest, as if to say, Bring it on.

Ophelia was so caught off guard she burst into laughter for the first time

in her life.

Her first impression of him was that he was an unprecedented idiot. But it

turned out she was wrong—she would come to find that Alvin Godfrey was

an astronomical idiot.

"Good morning, Ophelia. Would you care for breakf— Dolor!"

"Good evening, Ophelia. Have you figured out how to use the libr—

Dolor!"

"Ophelia, look! A fairy nest, here of all— Dolor!"

Ever since becoming acquainted, Godfrey would repeat this routine

without fail whenever they ran into each other on campus. It didn't bother

him that others might be watching. And of course, he always finished the

routine by falling to his knees. Ophelia realized that this was his way of

suppressing the lust her Perfume inspired, but his methods and persistence

were clearly abnormal. He knew seeing her would cause him to writhe in

pain, yet he always did exactly that once every two days. He was so

stubborn, in fact, that she started to suspect it was a fetish of his.

Each instance would inspire an uproar in the nearby students, focusing

unneeded attention on her, so of course Ophelia found his antics a huge

nuisance. Yet, she never stopped him. Perhaps she was curious to see how

far this idiot would go—to see what heights his foolishness would reach.

"Good day, Ophelia. Eating lunch?"

"Uh, yes…"

About two months had passed since they were first introduced. Ophelia

was sitting on a bench in a corner of the school courtyard. This was their

thirtieth meeting, and she once again prepared herself for what she was sure

was to come.

"…Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh…"

"…?"

But it didn't come. Godfrey sat next to her and began chuckling creepily.

She eyed him suspiciously as he balled his hands into fists.

"…I've won. I've finally conquered my instincts through pain!" he

crowed with accomplishment. Ophelia stared at him wide-eyed. She

couldn't believe it—the idiot had finally done it.

What specifically he'd done was imprint a conditioned reflex. Every

time they met and sexual excitement arose within him, he'd extinguish the

lust with a pain curse. Repeating this process over a long period of time

caused his body to remember that experiencing sexual feelings for her

would result in extreme pain.

"Now we can get to know each other better, and I'll be able to give you

advice. Talk to me about anything, Ophelia. The man who would pass out

from pain while gripping his crotch upon seeing you is long gone. Before

you now is a new Alvin Godfrey!"

"U-um…"

He grabbed her hand and vigorously shook it; Ophelia's brain seemed to

stop working. Realizing what he was doing, Godfrey quickly let go.

"Sorry. I allowed my elation to get the better of me. Let's start again:

May I eat lunch with you? Feel free to say no if you'd rather be alone."

And with his usual candor, he asked to join her. He was the epitome of

seriousness. Ophelia swallowed—eventually, she managed to gasp out a

question.

"…Why…?"

"Hmm?"

"…Why did you try so hard? There must have been a hundred easier

ways."

She asked quite frankly. What she'd considered most idiotic of all was

that his efforts held no meaning. There were much simpler, more logical

ways to achieve the same results—potions or spells that would increase his

resistance, for instance. In fact, even if he became aroused, he could simply

keep a cool face, and no one would be able to tell the difference. And if

lusting for her was the problem, then he could just stay away from her to

begin with. No matter what angle you considered it from, he'd chosen the

most painful, pointless path of his own volition. That was all she could

think.

Godfrey crossed his arms and hmm'd to himself. "…Indeed, I see what

you're saying. I don't think I chose the best method, either. I mean, every

time I thought of going to see you these past two months, my body would

shiver. If I saw a friend doing the same thing, I'd certainly stop them."

She was surprised to hear that he was self-aware. Godfrey's expression

turned solemn.

"But the pain I experienced these past two months—it's nothing

compared to what you've endured your entire life."

"…!"

It was like a shot to the heart. So many people had avoided her because

they disliked the effects of her Perfume. Meanwhile, Godfrey was the first

person other than Carlos to consider the pain she'd experienced, having

been born this way.

"So I don't mind," he said. "The pain doesn't bother me if it allows me

to sit proudly next to you."

He flashed a friendly grin. After a long silence, Ophelia spoke again.

"…Then what do you want, sitting next to such a difficult girl?"

It was a mean-spirited question. Godfrey's expression turned to surprise.

"Difficult? You? …Ha-ha-ha! That's hilarious!"

He burst into laughter and slapped his knee. Ophelia eyed him

suspiciously, so he stifled his laughter and faced her again.

"Listen, Ophelia: a truly difficult person would never even think such a

thing. They would simply laugh and go for the kill. I had three such

experiences in the latter half of last year. Two of those times, I nearly died!

My blood boils just remembering it."

Suddenly, unbridled anger appeared on his face. She wanted to ask what

happened, but Godfrey calmed himself and returned his gaze to her.

"So that's why you were distant, then? Well, I suppose you did see me at

my worst multiple times. But it was all of my own volition. You have no

reason to feel guilty. So for the third time: Shall we have lunch?"

She hesitated for a second, then nodded. Godfrey smiled; he picked up

the basket he'd placed on the bench and put it on his lap.

"Then let's chat. How are your classes? The magical biology instructor

is a beast, isn't she?"

He began making idle chatter.

The boy sitting next to her was supposed to be an idiot who never

learned. Yet, for some reason, lunch period that day seemed unbearably

short for Ophelia.

Pete contemplated ways of breaking out of the dark cell, but it was soon

apparent that this task would be impossible on his own. He was completely

unarmed, with neither a wand nor any sort of tool, so there was no logical

way of escaping this older student's prison. With that in mind, he decided

on his next course of action.

"…Hey. Hey, wake up…!"

He set about trying to shake his fellow prisoners awake. Having an ally

might create an opportunity—it was a slim chance, but he had to bet on it.

Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain. They refused to wake up, even if

he pinched their butts or slapped their faces. After ten tries, he was done.

He nearly despaired but convinced himself the eleventh time might be the

charm and put all his might into pinching their cheek—and finally,

something changed.

"…Mm…?"

"Oh… You're awake?! Yes! Don't go back to sleep! Don't go back to

sleep!" Pete called with desperate hope at the first student to show any sort

of reaction. It seemed to work, as their eyes began focusing before

eventually settling on Pete's face.

"You're…one of the nobodies…in Oliver's group. Where…?"

Pete gasped upon hearing those words. He hadn't realized because of the

dark and his desperation, but this was Joseph Albright, the boy Oliver had

fought in the first-years' battle royale. The memory of the swarm of bees

was still fresh in his mind. Pete was suddenly not so relieved. Albright

lifted himself up and looked about, his expression growing grim.

"…Salvadori's workshop, huh? Damn, of all the rotten luck!" Realizing

the situation, he searched his whole body. "She took our athames and

wands, of course. Anything else— Ugh!"

"A-are you okay?!"

Albright suddenly paused and held his head.

Pete jumped closer, but Albright stopped him with a hand.

"Don't squawk. I'm perfectly fine," Albright said. "Deep breaths cause

me to inhale air dripping with her Perfume. Even my extraordinary

resistance to poison and charms isn't enough…," he explained, steadying

his breathing.

He eyed Pete suspiciously. "…Hey, shrimp. How are you able to move?"

"Huh…?"

"You don't realize it, do you? …Look at the other sleeping fools. That's

the typical reaction down here. No man can resist her Perfume. Even I

wouldn't have awoken if not for you disturbing me. Yet, here you are,

moving about unhindered in this miasma. I find that hard to reconcile."

Pete was unsure how to respond. He could smell the peculiar scent in the

air, but it didn't make him sleepy. If the other students were exhibiting the

Perfume's natural effects, then why was he the only one unaffected?

Suddenly, he gasped.

"…Oh…"

Unconsciously, he searched his body. Finding his assumption to be true,

he stiffened. Albright, who watched this whole act unfold, narrowed his

eyes in understanding.

"Ah, I see. You're not a man, are you?"

A great panic came over Pete. But after a moment, he realized this was

no time to be keeping secrets. He hesitated, then revealed what was going

on with his body.

Albright snorted. "Hmph, a reversi. Not something you'd expect from a

nobody. But now I understand—Salvadori's chimera mistook you for a

male and captured you. Then, after you were brought here and put to sleep,

you changed into a female. Since the charm effect is weaker on the same

sex, you broke free and awakened. That about sums it up."

"I-if you get what's happening, then help me escape! There has to be a

way— Mgh?!"

Pete started to shout in excitement, but Albright covered his mouth with

a hand.

"Shut up. You don't understand the mess you're in. If you're found,

you'll be killed."

"…!"

"Your presence is an unexpected problem for Salvadori. Our value to her

is as males. That's why she brought us here." Albright calmly spelled it out,

still covering Pete's mouth.

Pete listened in silence, feeling like someone had just dumped ice water

on his head.

"Given her unsophisticated methods, Salvadori's likely lost her sanity.

We can't expect the rarity of a reversi to incite her curiosity, nor her to show

any compassion for her juniors. The proof is over there."

Albright finally removed his hand from Pete's mouth and shot a look

outside the flesh cage. Pete turned his head in the same direction and saw

what had caused him to shiver earlier—a bunch of students were nailed to

the wall, their clothes shredded and flesh "pipes" connected to various

points on their bodies. Among them was one of the students his friends had

battled recently.

"…Mr. Willock…"

"Unlike you, the vitality of a half-werewolf makes him a perfect target.

We're all here to end up like him, then disposed of when we're no longer of

any use."

When Albright stated the naked truth, Pete swallowed and went silent.

"You understand, then? Good. If we take the initiative, we can turn the

tables. No one could've predicted you would be able to move around freely

in this miasma. You're our trump card."

Now that they were both on the same page, Albright began discussing

how they could escape. Pete looked at him hopefully; then Albright calmly

stabbed his fingers into his side and winced.

"Wh-what the—?!" Pete exclaimed.

"Shut up and watch!"

Albright fished around inside his own guts, eventually producing several

small spheres. Something seemed to be sealed inside the glass balls—four

different colors. The bloody balls sat in Albright's palm.

"For when my wand's been taken from me. Two of these are explosive

—infuse them with mana and they'll cause a small but destructive

explosion. We'll use these to escape this cell. The other two are a smoke

screen, which reduces visibility and will provide us an opportunity to get

away, as well as a rescue signal—it emits a loud sound as well as mana to

try and call an ally for help."

Pete listened in awe. Albright stuck his hand out in front of the

bespectacled boy's nose.

"I'm giving them all to you. They're worthless to me to have them in

this state."

"…Oh…"

Pete reflexively held out his hands and accepted the eight glass spheres.

He could feel the lingering warmth from Albright's guts on them. Pete

stood, feeling like he'd just been entrusted with a massive responsibility.

"Wait for your chance," Albright continued sternly. "Until Salvadori

leaves the workshop, hopefully when she gets as far away as possible. I'm

certain that a search party of upperclassmen has been dispatched to this

layer of the labyrinth. If we can just alert them to our position, the tables

should turn."

That was their single greatest hope. Now that Pete knew the plan,

Albright suddenly remembered something. "I suppose I should ask your

name, shrimp, seeing as I'm entrusting my life to you. What is it?"

"…Pete Reston," the bespectacled boy answered stiffly. Albright

snorted.

"Pete, then. If we make it out of this alive, I'll remember that."

The giant chimera shook the ground with its weight as it proceeded through

the forest, knocking down trees as it went. A slight distance away, in the

shadow of a tree, two students watched with bated breath.

"…It's finally gone. Woo, that was scary!"

One was taller than the other and appeared to be an older female student.

The girl next to her got up off the ground and set out with purpose,

practically stomping through the forest. The tall girl quickly chased after

her.

"Hey! Be a little more careful! We'll be in major trouble if we're

spotted."

"There's no time! I have to save Fay!"

The panicked girl was another of the participants in the battle royale,

one who gave Chela a run for her money: Stacy Cornwallis. Just as Oliver

and the others had lost Pete to the chimera, she had lost her half-werewolf

partner, Fay Willock. After catching up to her, the tall girl sighed

dramatically.

"I know already, okay? …Ugh, it was a mistake bringing you along. I

should've known something was up when someone as disrespectful as you

actually came to me begging for help."

The complaints were coming from a girl named Lynette Cornwallis,

Stacy's sister and three years her elder. Lynette pursed her lips, miffed by

her younger sister's insistence on charging into danger.

"…You sure are attached to your little pet. Is he seriously that precious

to you? He's just a stray puppy you happened to find one day. You could

easily repla—"

Stacy snapped around and glared daggers at her sister. Lynette raised her

hands in surrender.

"…Guess not. Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry."

Stacy silently turned back and proceeded forward once more. It was the

perfect opportunity to stop talking, but Lynette didn't seem to learn.

"What I don't get is that no matter how much you care for him, you're

never gonna bear his children. You could get any man you wanted, being a

Cornwallis. Father may dislike you, but you're still our family's beacon of

hope."

"..."

"Or are you thinking of abandoning the family altogether? Forsake us to

become a McFarlane? That's why you're trying to cuddle up to Uncle

Theodore, isn't it? …Well, I wish you luck. No matter how precocious you

might be, you'll never bring down Ms. Michela and replace her—"

She was clearly taunting Stacy, trying to provoke her, but her sister

refused to respond. Lynette clicked her tongue.

"Could you quit ignoring me for, like, one second? …Sigh. What are

you, mute? I always tried to talk to you at home, but you basically never

responded."

She hazily recalled a time long ago, when Michela McFarlane came to

visit: her little sister gifting a flower crown she'd made to this girl from the

main family, who was considered a prodigy.

Michela had seemed genuinely delighted; Stacy had been blushing

furiously. They were a greater picture of sisterly love than Lynette could

ever paint with Stacy.

"…You could've made me one, too."

"…?"

Stacy picked up on her older sister's mutterings and turned around

questioningly. Lynette shrugged, averting her eyes in an attempt to avoid

Stacy's gaze.

"It's nothing. Let's get moving. You're in a hurry, right?"

Meanwhile, Oliver's group had reached the second layer's end.

"All right, time to wrap up this layer," Miligan said, leading the way.

They'd already made it through the forest, and the shrubbery was growing

smaller by the minute. Chela, upon noticing that there was bare dirt beneath

her feet, raised her eyebrows in suspicion.

"…The vegetation has practically disappeared. I don't sense any living

things, either."

"Yeah, but there's still soil. Odd… Ms. Miligan, what's going on?"

Oliver asked, also sensing that something was off.

Miligan stopped. "I could explain, but you know what they say: Seeing

is believing."

The next moment, the ground beneath their feet began to shake slightly.

Puzzled, Oliver looked down to see arms of white bone breaking through

the soil.

"Wha—?!"

He jumped back in shock, but that was only the beginning. Pale bones

were bursting out of the ground as far as the eye could see. From the

shifting earth appeared skeleton warriors clad in battered armor and

wielding swords and spears. There were easily thousands of them. Chela

stared in awe at the scores of undead suddenly appearing without warning.

"Spartoi…?! And so many of them!" she exclaimed.

"Quite the sight, isn't it? Relax. They're on our side."

Miligan was surprisingly calm. Oliver and the girls didn't immediately

grasp what she was saying; the witch cast a spell at the ground, creating a

medium-size platform, then hopped on top and surveyed the far side of the

undead army.

"Our opponents are getting into position as well. Study each side's battle

formations carefully, now."

Confused, they decided to copy Miligan and hopped up on the magically

created platform for a better view. Far in the distance, beyond the army of

skeletons, they could see another group of bony warriors rising from the

earth. Each side's armor bore different designs, and they faced each other in

orderly formation.

"They're forming battle lines with weapons in hand—this is a battle."

"Correct answer, Nanao. This is the final trial for the second layer—the

Battle of Hell's Armies," Miligan revealed excitedly, then turned slowly

back to the other three. "Let me sum up the rules for you: There are two

armies of spartoi before you, and you will be fighting alongside one of

those armies. Your goal is to lead your forces to victory. More specifically,

the moment you destroy the enemy general is the moment you win. If your

general falls, you lose."

Oliver swallowed. They were expected to jump into battle among this

ocean of skeletons? Miligan ignored his apprehension and continued

explaining: "It's hidden behind the enemy army, but if you win, the door to

the third layer will open. But be careful: Riding broomsticks is against the

rules. Doing so is an instant loss, so remember that. If you lose, the next

battle won't start for another three hours. Also, if you leave your army to its

own devices, it's guaranteed to lose. The point of this game is to overturn

that result with your own strength. Think hard and fight hard!"

And with that, she swept past her stunned juniors. They watched her go,

and when she'd gone twenty yards she turned and settled back to observe.

"Sorry, but I can't help. I've already cleared this trial this year. Do it

once, and you're free to pass through for a whole year. But in exchange,

you can't participate in the game anymore."

A hint of worry rose to Oliver's face. In other words, the three of them

had to surpass this trial on their own merits.

"If things look dire, I'll step in and save you. At that point, you should

ignore the rules and run. Before you're killed by enemy troops, of course,"

she added nonchalantly, just as the deep sound of a horn bellowed across

the battlefield.

"That's the horn. You have five minutes to strategize."

And with that last piece of advice, she shut her mouth for good. The

three first-years immediately jumped into a huddle, not wanting to waste a

second.

"If this game is a mock battle, then it's essentially just like chess," said

Chela. "We should start by checking each side's pieces!"

"Agreed," Oliver replied. "Don't forget to note each side's formations

and the surrounding terrain!"

They nodded and split up. After scoping out the battlefield, the trio

regrouped.

"'Tis a flat field. No geographical formations of note. Both sides seem

about equal in strength, but I counted more mounted soldiers on their

flanks."

"In exchange, we have some other type of unit in our front line…"

"Judging from their size and skeletal structure, I'd say they're

swordrhinos, a type of magical beast," said Oliver. "We can use them to

mow down the enemy's vanguard and, once their formation is broken,

follow up with our infantry… That's my analysis as a layman, at least."

Oliver was hardly confident in himself, but he offered his opinion. A

mage duel was nothing compared to a battle of this scale, so he was

completely out of his element. He didn't even know if his analysis was

correct.

Chela seemed to be equally unsure. "We do appear to be lacking in

horses; I have no knowledge of nonmagical battles, so I can't say for sure if

that's a definite disadvantage. Ms. Miligan said we're guaranteed to lose if

we do nothing. Nanao, do you have any idea why that would be?"

"Mm…"

The only one they could rely on was Nanao, who had experience in

similar battles. Her friends gulped and watched as she crossed her arms and

thought for a full ten seconds.

"…Mm, I haven't the slightest idea! I have never been a general, after

all!" she finally piped up, her expression bright. Oliver's shoulders drooped

in disappointment, but Chela quickly recovered.

"There's no need for us to pretend to be generals," she explained. "Our

goal is simple: slay the enemy general. That's all we have to think about."

This gave Oliver hope. She was right—he couldn't let himself get

distracted by the decorum. They were still mages, after all.

"…From what I saw, the soldiers surrounding the general are tough,"

said Oliver. "Most likely they're imperial guards. Their equipment is

different from the other soldiers', and they've got an insane amount of

mana. If we attack recklessly, we'll certainly be beaten back."

"Our only chance is to attack once both sides clash and the battle

becomes a brawl. If we can get within spellcasting range, I'll finish this in

one shot," Chela announced with confidence. The other two nodded, and

the horn blew again.

"We're out of time… Let's go with Chela's plan. Be careful not to get

caught up in the frontline clash. Maintain your distance and wait for the

perfect chance to strike down the enemy general. Got it, Nanao?"

The Azian girl nodded. At the same time, the skeletal swordrhinos on

their vanguard began charging forward.

"It's started…!"

The skeletal beasts thundered forward and kicked up dust in their wake.

Their charge was clearly an attempt to get in the first strike, just as Oliver

had predicted. But the next moment, his expectations were shattered.

As they watched, the enemy lines that should have been crushed under

the swordrhinos' attack instead moved quickly, opening up a path for them.

The swordrhinos charged in, as if the enemy lines were a giant throat—and

ended up flying out the opposite side of the enemy army, without inflicting

any damage.

"…My word! They passed right through!"

"Indeed, they were prepared for the charge. Such tactics are indicative of

a talented general."

Chela was shocked, but Nanao appeared oddly impressed. Oliver,

however, was feeling quite similarly to Chela. At the same time, there was a

nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something was off.

"…?"

As he grappled with the uncertainty, this time the mounted units from

both sides clashed. Even Oliver knew that their side was at a disadvantage,

numbers-wise, but reality was even more terrible. Their units were pushed

back in the initial clash, and this seemed to demoralize them as they turned

tail and ran.

"Our mounted units have been pushed back as well…! Can we be any

worse off?!"

"We clearly can't keep watching from the sidelines!" Chela shouted.

"I'll support our troops—Fragor!"

With the swordrhinos' charge nullified and their cavalry defeated, all

they could rely on now was their main force of footmen. Both sides clashed

with spears and shields in hand; meanwhile, spells arced overhead as Chela

and Oliver offered support. The explosion spells landed in the middle of the

enemy's lines and detonated, blowing up a bunch of skeletal soldiers.

Unfortunately, the resulting hole was immediately filled by the rear

soldiers, and there was no effect on the army's momentum.

"…No use! A battle of this size can't be affected by tiny spell strikes!"

said Oliver.

"Then shall I join at the front—?"

"Stop, Nanao! If the situation gets that bad, then we should just run!"

Chela yelled back.

The Azian girl attempted to join the battle as if it was second nature, but

her friends grabbed her by the shoulders and stopped her. But as they

fumbled for their next move, the state of the battle changed before their

eyes. Their front line completely mowed down, the rear line moved up to

take their place—halting the enemy's advance.

"Wait," said Oliver. "Something's wrong."

"The front line crumbled, yet the back line isn't giving ground," Nanao

explained. "Our best soldiers must have been placed there beforehand."

And just as she described, the new lines of soldiers were fighting hard.

Their round shields locked tightly together, they pushed back at the enemy,

not letting them take a single step forward.

"They're pushing them back!" Chela shouted excitedly. "This isn't over

yet!"

"..."

Oliver, however, was still nursing that lingering feeling from earlier. It

was growing stronger, from a nameless niggling into a single, coherent

answer.

"…The Battle of Diama," he muttered. The girls turned to him.

"…What did you just say, Oliver?"

"The Battle of Diama—it was an ancient battle between two great

nations, in year 300 of the Old Calendar, and became the deciding battle in

the long war between Rumoa and Kurtoga. I remember Pete telling me

about this."

Oliver searched his memories as he spoke. He could only recall the

battle in bits and pieces; it came up randomly in conversation, so it was

hard to remember what exactly Pete had said about it.

"I know those two names," Chela replied. "They both fell before the

Union was formed."

"Yeah. Not many mages are well versed in military history, but among

nonmagicals, it's apparently pretty popular."

Oliver nodded as he recalled this particular detail. In ancient times,

when there were far fewer mages, wars between nations were often decided

depending on one's use of nonmagical soldiers. The Battle of Diama in

particular was a clash between two famous generals deeply connected by

fate.

"The flow of that battle matches up perfectly with what we just saw. If

it's not a coincidence—then this is a reproduction."

Oliver closed his eyes and focused on searching his memories. Pete's

uncharacteristically talkative voice resurfaced vividly in his ears.

"Rumoa's general, after experiencing heavy losses in earlier battles due

to flanking maneuvers from Kurtoga's cavalry, attempted to lure them into a

trap. Knowing this, the Kurtoga general instead placed his swordrhinos at

the front—but thanks to excellent maneuvering on Rumoa's part, the

swordrhinos' charge was nullified by simply creating a space for them to

run through. See, it's almost impossible for swordrhinos to change direction

once they've accelerated to ramming speed. And with their lack of training,

most of the swordrhinos couldn't even return to the fight."

Oliver relayed everything he could remember to Nanao and Chela, who

listened quietly.

"However, Kurtoga's general wasn't content to take this lying down. In

order to avoid a head-on clash while his cavalry were outnumbered, he

chose to withdraw his cavalry first. This was to lure the enemy's greatest

threat—its cavalry—to the sides."

"Ah, so it was a strategy." Nanao nodded, convinced. Their

disappointingly quick retreat was a ruse to draw the enemy's cavalry away

from its main force.

Oliver continued, sharing in her opinion: "As a result, the battle came

down to a clash between the remaining footmen. Kurtoga was on the back

foot, but thanks to the efforts of their skillful soldiers, they managed to

change the tide of battle. Thus, the battle formation drew out into one long

line—which is where we are now."

He paused to catch his breath. Chela, understanding what this signified,

picked up where he left off. "So our forces are Kurtoga, and the enemy is

Rumoa. But—what happens next?"

This was the most important part. Oliver searched his memory some

more.

"…Our forces drove Rumoa to within an inch of defeat," he continued.

"However, while this was happening, Kurtoga's cavalry were defeated.

Rumoa's cavalry returned to the battle, piercing their ranks from behind.

Within a matter of seconds, their formation was destroyed—and the battle

decided."

The history lesson stopped there. With all the information now available

to them, he attempted to connect it to their current situation.

"In other words—if we don't stop the enemy cavalry from returning,

history will repeat itself, and we'll lose."

The conclusion he reached was quite simple. The three of them turned

around, their eyes fixated on the cavalry positioned away from the main

battlefield. Although outnumbered, their forces were faithfully fulfilling

their orders to draw out the enemy's cavalry. It wouldn't be long before they

were decimated, however.

"How do we overturn this?"

"Nothing comes to mind immediately. Nanao, any ideas?!"

"Hmm. With only three of us, the only way to stop the enemy's charge

would be…with magic, I daresay," Nanao answered honestly, drawing from

her experience on the battlefield. The situation was bleak enough to make

even the greatest strategist throw in the towel, yet Oliver clenched his fist.

He wouldn't accept this.

"Yeah. But we're mages—there must be a way," he said firmly. The girls

quickly shared in his resolution.

"…The horn you employed during the entrance ceremony—what of

that?" Nanao asked.

"It wouldn't be powerful enough with only three of us. And even if it

was, it's a technique for playing on a living creature's instincts. I doubt it'd

work on the undead."

"My double-incantation spell wouldn't be able to wipe out the entire

enemy force, either," Chela added. "Direct intervention doesn't seem

fruitful for us. If we just need to slow the cavalry down, then what about

changing the terrain?"

"I see what you're saying, but walls created with barrier magic would be

too weak. We don't have enough time to build one long enough, either."

If the wall wasn't strong enough, the enemy would burst through; if it

wasn't long enough, they'd just swing around it. It would be tough timewise to accomplish even one of those goals, but the trio needed to

accomplish both. There wasn't much time left to think. The surviving allied

cavalry was dwindling by the second.

"'It is a fool's game to do battle on an open field; cavalry must be fought

in the forest.' I don't know if it's helpful in this situation, but my father used

to say that quite a lot," Nanao muttered. The instant Oliver heard this, a

single idea jumped into his mind.

"The forest—that's right! Trees!"

He simultaneously reached into his bag and grabbed the pouch full of

toolplant seeds, then flashed Chela a look. She instantly understood and

opened her bag for a similar pouch.

"Chela, you know what to do, right?"

"Yes! Let's use delayed casts!"

"Exactly one hundred seconds! Nanao, wait here!" Oliver shouted; then

he and Chela shot off in opposite directions. They scattered the seeds from

their pouches onto the ground, then drew their athames and cast a spell.

""Brogoroccio!""

They set off again, scattering more seeds, and cast the spell once more.

Oliver and Chela continued this pattern over and over, running for fifty

yards in opposite directions. Oliver glanced up to see their own cavalry

defeated and the enemy returning in vertical lines. Based on their distance,

they had about ten seconds left.

"Please work! Brogoroccio!"

Oliver cast his final spell just as Chela finished her work. Suddenly,

trees began to sprout all along the straight line they'd run. The stalks arced

as they grew, shooting back into the ground; eventually they connected,

forming a hundred-yard-long temporary fence.

The enemy cavalry couldn't react to the sudden obstacle that appeared in

their path. With no time to slow the charge of their horses, the lead troops

crashed into the toolplant fence, falling to pieces and scattering countless

bones everywhere. These tripped up the following cavalry, leading them to

the same fate. Chela whooped for joy as she witnessed the results.

"We just barely made it…! It was a success, Oliver!"

Oliver, unable to contain his excitement as well, pumped his fist in the

air. This was all thanks to Guy. His toolplants were excellent for both their

ease of use and their low mana requirement. A mage needed only to imbue

them with a little mana to kick-start the seeds into absorbing nutrients from

the soil. This required the soil to be rich, of course, but as long as it was, the

user could create a much sturdier wall than with barrier magic.

The landscape had appeared ravaged at first glance, but this was due to

the skeletal warriors suddenly bursting out of the ground. That didn't mean

the soil itself was devoid of nutrients. And with how verdant the second

layer was, it was a good guess that there was plenty of latent fertility in this

area, too. Plus, Guy's toolplants had proven reliable in their earlier battle

with the chimera. With all that in mind, it wasn't a reckless gamble at all.

"Nice! Let's go, Nanao! Target the enemy general before the cavalry

returns—"

The impending disaster averted for now, Oliver spun around to launch a

counterattack. But Nanao was nowhere to be seen.

History was changed for the skeletal battle the moment the Rumoan cavalry

failed to charge through the Kurtogan army's back. Kurtoga, which always

held the advantage in pure skill of their footmen, was winning. As a result,

Rumoa's imperial guards were forced to join the battle in order to push back

their enemy's offense.

"—?"

The undead general stopped and surveyed its surroundings, sensing

something. The skirmish had devolved into a brawl, devoid of tactics. Their

battle lines were frayed in places, and it was only a matter of time before

the enemy's troops spilled over to where the general was. So, with zero

hesitation, the general focused on the sword in its grip.

"I have come for thy head," someone called in a dignified voice.

Severed at the torso, the general's guards toppled over, and a swordwielding girl leaped through the resulting gap. The general's skull fell to the

ground and rolled to the girl's feet. Its eyeless sockets stared at her back.

Suddenly, a voice spoke to her:

"Well done. If only we could have met when I yet had flesh, little hero."

The moment Nanao accepted this praise, the skeletal warriors across the

entire battlefield crumbled. With hollow, clattering sounds, they collapsed

into a giant pile of white bones. The undead were dead once again, and

Chela lowered her athame in a daze.

"…I-is it…over?" she asked.

Oliver stood there, astounded as well.

Nanao sheathed her sword, then jogged over to them. "My apologies,

Oliver. I saw a gap in the enemy's defenses and took my chances."

"..."

She apologized before he could say a thing. He stared at her face for a

moment, then silently pinched her cheeks.

"Hyeek!"

"…I have every faith in your instincts. Still—it wouldn't have hurt to

wait until we'd all grouped up."

Nanao listened to his halting speech without trying to resist his pinching.

Eventually, he let go, grabbing her shoulders tightly instead. His concern

was palpable.

"Please, Nanao, don't leap into danger on your own. Your safety is a

thousand—a million times more important than winning."

"Oliver…"

She stared back into his eyes, absorbing his every word. Chela ran over,

and Miligan began applauding them.

"Congrats on clearing the second layer. It's a rare feat for three firstyears to accomplish, especially on their first try. You kids really are

amazing."

Oliver let go of Nanao, and they turned to face Miligan.

Chela looked at the pile of bones. "…What were those spartoi?"

"Who knows? Necromancy isn't my expertise, so I can't say. I have zero

clue why they keep re-creating that ancient battle over and over. Mr.

Rivermoore might know something, though."

Miligan seemed unconcerned. A second later, an eerie smile crept onto

her face.

"But if I leave it to my imagination—you never know. It could be the

real generals."

A chill ran down Oliver's spine. Even after their flesh had rotted and

they were only bones, the two ancient generals still sought to settle the

score with their rival and continued leading armies of the dead for all

eternity. If Miligan was right—then there would be no end.

"You must be tired," said Miligan. "There's a relatively safe camping

ground up ahead. We've been marching hard, so we can take a long break

up there."

As Miligan walked off, exhaustion set in all over Oliver's body. The

echoes of victory lingering in their minds, they followed the witch in search

of rest.

They found a cave positioned between the second and third layers, and here

they had their first significant break since entering the labyrinth. They set

up a fire in the middle of camp, boiled water, and made tea. Miligan also

put out the fruit she'd gathered while wandering the second layer. Everyone

was too tired to talk much.

"Those two passed out quickly. They look so cute when they're asleep,"

Miligan mumbled, gazing at Nanao and Chela asleep side by side. Across

the fire from her, sleep failed to grip Oliver. He watched the flames silently.

"You should rest, too, Oliver," Miligan said gently. "We took the

straightest route through the second layer, but we'll have to search the entire

third layer for Ophelia's workshop. You won't last long if you don't sleep

now."

"…Right. Maybe after I watch the fire a little longer."

He continued to stare into the flames. Oliver knew he should sleep as

soon as possible, but his eyes wouldn't close. After narrowly escaping

death, his body wouldn't accept rest.

"Too nervous, huh? I understand. Here, have another cup of herbal tea."

"…Thank you."

Oliver didn't look up, feeling guilty about causing her concern. Miligan

selected some herbs for their calming qualities, blended them together, and

poured hot water over the leaves.

"By the way," she began, "can I ask a question?"

"…What is it? You don't need permission to ask."

"This might sound rude, but you all met upon starting at Kimberly. And

you've known Pete the least amount of time, right?"

Oliver nodded.

Miligan watched the leaves unfurl inside the pot and continued softly.

"So maybe I should've asked before we came down here, but…why go this

far? I'm not saying you have to completely give up on him, but you

could've left it all to President Godfrey and the others. If they couldn't save

him, no one would have blamed you."

"..."

"Reversi are rare, to be sure, but that's no reason to risk your life, in my

opinion. So why are you all so desperate to save Pete?"

An awkward smile rose on Oliver's lips. Rossi had asked him the same

thing not too long ago.

"…You remember the incident at the entrance ceremony, right? Of

course you do."

"Right. I'd never forget about that troll going rampant after I messed

with its brain."

"That was where it all began for us—when the five of us worked

together to save Katie from being smooshed by that troll."

"Hmm."

"Out of our group, Pete was the only one born to nonmagicals. He had a

magic textbook for beginners tucked under his arm, and he did his best to

keep from collapsing under the pressure of his new environment. He

must've been more nervous than all of us combined. He'd only just realized

he was a mage and was about to attend Kimberly of all places."

As he spoke, Oliver reflected thoroughly on his memories of that time.

He'd never expected Pete to lend a hand. He didn't have a reason to. To

Pete, they were just a bunch of noisy strangers standing next to him in line.

"But Pete didn't run. He should've been the most afraid when Marco

attacked. No one would have blamed him for running away like the other

new students, but he stood his ground and fought with us."

It was surely an act of the purest intentions, with no ulterior motives—

driven by the inability to abandon someone in danger. In most mages, this

was the first emotion that burned out.

"It made me so happy—and I'll bet the same goes for the other four—

that we made such a wonderful friend on our first day at a place as awful as

Kimberly."

Oliver continued staring at the fire as he revealed his honest feelings.

Miligan crossed her arms.

"So you all won't run away, either, huh? …Well, isn't that beautiful."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Not at all. It's just quite rare. Honestly, it's 'outside' logic. Basically a

fairy tale here at Kimberly. But I don't mind it. Kind of gives me the warm

fuzzies." Grinning, Miligan reached for the pot on the campfire. The tea

leaves had completely unfurled during their chat. "Speaking of odd ducks…

I'm most surprised by you."

"…?" Oliver was confused by the change of direction in their

conversation.

"With a bit of effort," Miligan continued, "I can understand Chela and

Nanao. Everything about them, from their innate talents to the

environments they were raised in, is extraordinary. A half-elf McFarlane

and a samurai from an island to the Far East. This might sound

contradictory, but the way they exceed expectations is an expectation in and

of itself. But what about you? I don't know anything about your

background, although"—the witch looked up at Oliver as she poured the

steaming red liquid into a cup—"at the very least, I can say you're

intrinsically ordinary compared to those two. Your mana levels and spell

power are all average among first-years, and it doesn't seem to me that you

excel in any particular field. If you asked ten people, I'm sure they'd all

describe you the same way: a jack-of-all-trades, master of none destined for

average success at best."

"..."

"But here you are, fighting side by side with those two. And from what

I've seen, you can hold your own. That, plus the fact that you're still a firstyear—it's truly mysterious, you know?"

She handed him the cup of tea, which he accepted without a word. His

silence didn't seem to bother her.

"Chela and Nanao were trained body and mind in the perfect

environments for their respective exceptional talents. It's unheard of for

those not similarly blessed to stand in the same arena at the same age—

impossible, really. Do you understand what I'm saying? The fact that you're

here, now, can only be called magic."

Oliver sipped his tea in lieu of responding. The witch understood that

there was nothing to say.

"You could answer, 'I worked my ass off to make up for a lack of

talent'—but it would mean nothing. It's not enough. Even if you found the

most amazing teacher and dedicated your entire life so far to training, it

wouldn't be nearly enough to get you this far. At least, not by any methods

I'm aware of."

She studied him again with her human eye, as well as the basilisk eye

peeking out from behind her bangs.

"There must be something about your past that makes even this eye of

mine downright sweet by comparison."

Oliver returned her stare, fighting back against the pressure of her gaze.

Miligan laughed and clapped her hands, letting it slide off her like water.

"I don't mean to pry. It's only natural for mages to have checkered pasts. As

your senior, though, I can't help but be concerned. There's an element of

danger about you. Katie and Nanao have it, too, but not like this."

The sudden mentor-like concern in her voice took Oliver off guard, and

he looked away. He still found it difficult to tell how much of what she did

was driven by kindness versus out of ulterior motives. She seemed very

tolerant and caring, which made her even more difficult to deal with. He

refused to rely on her too much or potentially let down his guard.

"Sorry, am I running my mouth? Have I bored you into sleep yet?"

"…I think sleep will come if I lie down," he said, trying to convince

himself of this. If he didn't get to sleep soon, he would definitely perform

worse tomorrow. So he chugged the last of his tea.

Miligan had a thought. "Hmm… If you're still wide awake, then maybe

I can help you relax."

She stood up from the rock she'd been using as a seat, walked over to

Oliver, and got behind him. As she slipped her arms around his shoulders,

she whispered in his ear.

"…Or are you not into naughty things?"

"—!"

Oliver instantly pushed her arms away and stood up. He slapped his

empty teacup onto the stone he'd been sitting on, then walked briskly to the

other side of the fire and silently lay down, his back to the witch. He

couldn't have done more to say "no" even if he tried. Miligan grinned in

self-derision, her hand still stinging from his rejection.

"Not a fan of those jokes, huh? Forgive me. It's in a mage's instincts to

try and seduce those who pique their curiosity. Good night, Oliver. Sweet

dreams."

Her voice was as soft as ever. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut tightly in an

effort to drive her existence out of his mind, forcing himself to sleep.

After their first interaction in earnest, things between them began to change

gradually.

"…Um…"

"Oh, Ophelia! Excellent, you're here. Sit!"

It had been a long time since she'd entered the Fellowship during the

evening. The surrounding students stared unpleasantly at her, but unlike

before, she now had a table welcoming her. Encouraged by Godfrey's

booming voice, she sat down.

"Let me introduce you to my friends. They might seem thorny at first,

but once you get past that, you'll see they're all good folks."

There were two other students at the table besides Godfrey and Carlos.

One was a small, dainty first-year boy, and the other was a second-year girl

with locks and a sharp air about her. The boy appeared to be from the

Union, but the girl's dark skin and facial features suggested she likely had

roots in another continent. It was rare to see people with foreign ancestry at

Kimberly.

"…I'll concede that we've formed a bond, however unintentional. But

we are definitely not friends."

"I certainly don't remember befriending you."

The boy and girl quickly contradicted him, then glared furiously at each

other.

Ophelia stiffened at the unexpectedly standoffish reception; Godfrey

noticed this and intervened.

"Hey now, you're scaring her. Save the fighting for later. Introduce

yourselves, and don't interrupt."

They reluctantly ceased their staring contest and turned to the new girl

to introduce themselves.

"I'm Lesedi Ingwe, a second-year. Call on me whenever you want."

"Tim Linton, first-year. Feel free not to remember it."

Their introductions were quite blunt. Ophelia cautiously introduced

herself as well and was surprised to see them barely react to the name

Salvadori.

Godfrey nodded in satisfaction. "The four of us are sort of like the

academy's neighborhood watch. Of course, we're only second-years and

still finding our footing, but this place is just too dangerous. Our goal is to

spread effective methods of self-defense while helping as many students as

we can who get caught up in unwanted trouble or are possibly about to be."

"Help…people?"

Ophelia ruminated on the unfamiliar words. Godfrey seemed

accustomed to this reaction and shrugged dryly. "I won't deny that most

people think we're strange. But it's a wide world, with varied interests. You

can always count on us for help, of course—and if you'd be so kind as to

join us, why, nothing would make me happier." He looked her straight in

the eye as he cut to the chase.

"…That said," Carlos added, "we've basically completely failed to lure

in any younger students. Anyone with any interest quits before long."

"No, no! I'm still here, Carlos!" Tim's hand shot into the air.

Carlos winced a little. "I appreciate it. But unfortunately, it seems you're

sixty percent of the reason most new recruits quit."

"I demand perfection, is all! We don't need any halfhearted comrades."

"Love the enthusiasm. But what's the truth?"

"Mr. Godfrey's attention should be on me and me alone! Everyone else

can just die!"

His honesty was refreshing, although Lesedi held her head with a

grimace.

Ophelia looked at them all in turn, swallowed nervously, then cautiously

opened her mouth.

"…Can I really be of help?" she asked.

Tim and Lesedi appeared surprised, as if they hadn't expected her to

react that way after seeing the previous interaction.

Lesedi straightened up a bit and looked at Ophelia. "Let me ask this

instead: What do you bring to the table?"

"Huh?"

Ophelia was at a loss for words. It was her first time joining a group, and

thus also the first time someone was asking something of her. As her mind

went blank, Carlos swooped in to assist.

"Don't worry—she brings a lot. Lia's a hard worker."

Her childhood friend flashed her a grin, and Ophelia felt a little calmer.

She reviewed the things she'd just heard and came up with a list they might

require.

"…Um, if it's healing magic or simple potions, maybe…"

The moment she heard this, Lesedi slammed her hands on the table and

leaned forward. "Can you heal burns?"

"Huh? Y-yes…"

"What about acid burns? Poisoning?"

"…? I-it would depend on the severity, but for most cases…"

The oddly specific examples made Ophelia hesitate as she answered

based on her skills. Lesedi jumped out of her chair and grabbed her by the

shoulders.

"I'm not letting you get away, newbie."

"Hwuh…?"

"Lemme tell ya… One of the people at this table has a cannon for a

wand and is more likely to hit friendlies than enemies. Another is obsessed

with poisoning but doesn't know how to make antidotes for his own

concoctions," Lesedi said irritably and shot the others a piercing look.

Godfrey and Tim jumped to defend themselves.

"Hold on, now! I haven't been that bad lately!"

"Neither have I! I've been avoiding any aerosolized poisons, haven't I?

And you know how much I love their potential for mass murder!"

"Shut up, you idiots! How many times do you think I've nearly died

thanks to you two?"

Ophelia watched them argue in a daze; it all made sense now: The

specific questions of burns, acid, and poison came from personal experience

with them. She'd sensed that what they did was dangerous, but she hadn't

expected anything like this.

"U-um…"

"Please, you have to help me! I'm no good at healing, and Carlos can't

keep up with them alone!"

Lesedi grabbed her hand, practically begging now. This was Ophelia's

first time experiencing such strong desire for her skills—so of course, she

didn't know how to refuse.

After joining the neighborhood watch, Ophelia learned a lot about her new

friends. As she'd expected, they all had a quirk or two—but what left the

deepest impression was Alvin Godfrey's extreme clumsiness.

"Flamma!"

They'd secured an empty classroom for training purposes, and for some

reason, Godfrey took off his robe and rolled up his sleeves in order to

demonstrate his magic for her. A blindingly powerful fireball exploded

from the tip of his wand—and set his wand hand on fire.

"Guh…!"

"Oh no!"

Ophelia immediately extinguished it with a spell. The smell of burning

flesh filled the room, and Godfrey sighed.

"I'm fine… And thanks for the help."

Ophelia stared in awe at his arm, terribly burned from elbow to tip. At

the same time, she realized why he'd taken off his robe and rolled up his

sleeve: He'd known this would happen.

"Ever since I first learned this spell, it always turns out like this. I'm

unable to control it, so not only is the output unstable, but it also shoots

back into my own arm. According to Instructor Gilchrist, I'm not able to

properly control my innate mana supply. I've gotten a little better over time,

though," he explained with a bitter expression, as if the pain of his burns

was nothing compared to his inability to control his magic.

"I've been relying on Carlos to heal me, but it seems I'll be relying on

you, too, from now on… Pathetic, isn't it? If only I could use healing magic

myself and not waste so much of everyone's effort…"

"…D-don't worry about it."

Ophelia carefully chose her words, then pointed her wand at Godfrey's

arm. This wasn't something that could be fixed in a day, and the fine mana

control of healing magic would be beyond him. In that case…

"Whenever you're burned…I'll be there. I'll heal you…right up."

She'd accept that role, she decided, and began treating his burn.

"…That was three years ago, huh? How time flies," Carlos muttered,

reflecting on old memories as they trudged through the dusky marsh.

Godfrey quickly knew what exactly they were referring to.

"When Ophelia was still with us, eh? …I was all spirit, no substance. I

jumped into everything feetfirst without thinking… Just remembering those

days is embarrassing."

"That spirit is what attracted people to you. Those are fond memories."

Carlos smiled at him—but bitter regret clouded Godfrey's face.

"…Unfortunately, I messed up. That's why she left. Why this is

happening."

"That wasn't your fault."

Carlos shook their head and tried to deny it, but Godfrey wouldn't

accept it. He wasn't so conceited as to think he might have been able to do

something. He was aware of his own clumsiness, especially back then. But

even so, he couldn't help himself.

"Still, I should have done something… I was her mentor."

Meanwhile, up on the surface beneath the noon sun, Katie and Guy waited

for their friends to return.

"…Oh, you want to help me? Thank you, Milihand."

The two of them were holed up in a corner of the lounge, making copies

of their morning class notes for their friends. They also had a very helpful

assistant who would turn the page just as they were done copying the text:

Miligan's hand, severed by Nanao, then given artificial life and repurposed

as a familiar by Miligan. Better known as Milihand.

Katie stroked its back—its knuckles, actually—and praised it, which

elicited shocked spit takes from the students passing by.

"…I can't believe you," Guy said exasperatedly. "That's Miligan's

severed hand, y'know."

"I'm aware, but…it's quite charming. It really seems to like me."

And indeed, Milihand was all over Katie's arm like a cat. The process of

turning it into a familiar meant a lot of its behavior was artificial, but still,

Milihand seemed quite expressive. It could manipulate the muscles on its

palm around the eye, creating all sorts of "expressions." Guy watched

apprehensively as Milihand strolled happily over the table.

He sighed deeply. "…You think Oliver's gonna be okay?"

"I have faith… They promised they'd all come back alive," Katie said

firmly, continuing to copy her notes. The tall boy shook his head.

"I know what they said…but he's a guy. The only one."

She looked at him, confused for a moment. "What about it?"

"Sigh… What, did you forget they're up against Ophelia Salvadori? I

haven't seen its effects myself, but she's got that powerful Perfume of hers

going twenty-four seven, right? Spend enough time in it, and…well, it'll be

easy to get a rise out of him," Guy answered awkwardly, looking away.

After a few moments of silence, Katie jumped up, her face flushed.

"Wh-what the heck? What are you suggesting?!"

"I'm just saying…it's, uh…hard not to be concerned…"

"O-Oliver would never!"

"Easy for you to say. It ain't so easy for us when there's that much

pressure," Guy grumbled, placing his hands on his cheeks.

Katie, who had apparently not considered this angle at all, suddenly

panicked.

"Then again, Chela seems like she'd be wise in that regard…," Guy

added. "Plus, they have Miligan, so maybe there's no point in me

worrying."

"W-wise?! What's that supposed to mean? What's Ms. Miligan going to

do?! Tell meee!!"

Katie rushed up to him, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him. Just then,

a student pushing a large wagon full of items for sale passed by.

"Extra, extra! Today's headline: 'Revelation! Kimberly's Sex Life'!"

"Gimme one!"

"One, please!"

The two of them instantly placed an order. They'd never once read the

gossip column before, but today they pored over it with intense scrutiny.

As they entered the third layer, the labyrinth once again changed

completely. The verdant, earthy smell from the previous layer was almost

gone, replaced by muddy soil that gave off an unpleasant dampness. One

wrong step would see you sink in to your ankles; in places, it was even a

bottomless swamp. The artificial sun on the second layer kept things

eternally bright, but here the only light source was the luminous moss

covering the ceiling. As a result, the entire layer was dim. Many magical

creatures suitable to a swamp also resided here, requiring extreme caution

from all who would venture into its depths.

"Huff! Huff…!"

"Wheeze…!"

The chimera collapsed into the mud with a loud thud. Oliver's group

looked at the recently slain giant and breathed a sigh of relief—far worse

than their environment was the fact that they were now encountering many

more chimeras than previously. They'd analyzed their opponent, discovered

its weakness, and efficiently brought it down, all while struggling against

their terrible footing. After only three hours in the third layer, they'd

repeated this process four times already. If you included the instances when

they'd avoided a fight thanks to early scouting, then their chimera

encounter numbers skyrocketed.

"Hmm, so this is the fourth one? We should have expected many more

chimera on the third layer. Let's keep moving."

Miligan urged them on, and Oliver resumed trudging through the sludge.

The Azian girl came jogging up behind him.

"That was excellent coordination, Oliver!"

"…Yeah."

Nanao enthusiastically slung an arm around his shoulder, not

particularly bothered by the tricky terrain. The break they'd taken before

exiting the second layer must have done wonders for her, because she was

even more energetic than before. Which was a good thing. A very good

thing—but Oliver had a different problem. After struggling with it for a bit,

he quietly asked, "…Nanao, could you try to be less handsy?"

"Huh?"

She froze on the spot, then took a few shaky steps backward in the mud

and turned to Chela with tears in her eyes.

"…Oliver hates meee…"

"No!" he hurried to say.

Chela, seeing the truth, intervened. "That's right. He doesn't hate you,

Nanao. The Perfume has just gotten too hard to bear. Right, Oliver?"

She'd noticed it not too long ago.

The boy averted his eyes in shame, then nodded bitterly. "I hate to admit

it, but yes… Ever since we entered the third layer, it's been getting thicker

with each step. Of course, I'd never let it take over my mind—but in our

situation, I'd rather not lose focus," Oliver said with a sigh. It was true—

ever since he set foot in this layer, the girls' skin had looked dangerously

enticing; their every movement drew in his eyes. Without a doubt, it was

because the air was thick with Perfume.

Normally, he could handle it by honing his self-control. But when a girl

came into close contact with him like earlier, things got stickier. There was

no telling when he might slip, distracted by their touch, and do something

he'd regret. This was especially true with Nanao, who had a tendency to

ignore personal space. But the girl seemed mystified, and she cocked her

head at him.

"? How is it hard, Oliver?"

"Nanao, please, that's not…"

"He's pitching a tent," Miligan said, getting straight to the point. "It's to

be expected, though. The Perfume has that effect."

Oliver frowned, but Nanao crossed her arms in confusion. "…Pitching a

tent? What does that mean…?"

"Don't dwell on it, Nanao. I'm good now. You don't need to intervene,

Ms. Miligan."

He focused on his breathing, ironing out his Perfume-addled thoughts.

Miligan eyed him. "Hmm… You do seem to be resisting it fine, but if it

gets to be too much, don't hesitate to speak up. We've got a long way to go.

You won't be able to force yourself forever."

"I can handle this on my own. Like I said, your assistance isn't needed,"

he stated flatly and set off once more, practically emanating his rejection of

Miligan's offer.

The witch grinned wryly. "He's stubborn. Guess I touched a nerve

again."

"…What did you do while we were asleep?" Chela asked.

"Just gave him a little sexual invitation."

"He's a first-year! What were you thinking?!"

Chela rounded on her, unable to overlook this despite being outranked.

Meanwhile, Nanao cautiously approached Oliver as he continued forward.

"…Is this far enough, Oliver?"

"Yeah, that's good. Sorry about the inconvenience."

Unlike before, Nanao was now about an arm's length away from him.

However, this seemed to perturb her as she raised and lowered her hand

restlessly. It bothered her to be unable to engage like they did previously.

"…This is frustrating."

"No, this is normal. You're the one who's way too touchy-feely."

"So you do hate it?"

"I never said that," Oliver firmly replied, and Nanao continued to walk

alongside him at that strange middling distance. Miligan, tuning out Chela's

lecture, watched the awkward scene play out. She covered one eye with her

hand.

"…How to describe it? They're so bright, it's like my eye's going to be

destroyed."

"If you really think that, then please keep your bizarre flirtations to

yourself and just watch from the sidelines," Chela insisted sternly, and

Miligan glanced at her.

"Sure, I'm more than happy to. But are you?"

"…What is that supposed to mean?"

Chela scowled, but it wasn't long before her eyes turned to the two

ahead. There was a jealousy, an admiration in her gaze, as if she was

observing a line she could never cross.

"Aw, geez. You guys really make me want to get you all home safely."

Miligan shrugged, then clapped her hands to get everyone's attention.

"Now, we should have a discussion. At the moment, we're simply walking

in the direction where the Perfume's strongest, but that won't be enough to

locate Ophelia's workshop. We'll need to find some kind of clue."

Chela crossed her arms and thought. "We could tail a chimera… No, that

would be useless."

"Indeed, she wouldn't leave such an obvious trail. Most of the chimeras

released from her workshop are subsequently abandoned. It's also likely she

won't be bringing back any more of her chimeras designed for capturing,

either."

Oliver groaned. As he'd expected, finding a single workshop in the vast

third layer wouldn't be an easy task. He forced himself to switch gears.

"Let's narrow the search from a different angle," he said. "If you were

going to put a workshop down here, where would you start?"

He looked at Miligan, the most experienced of them all in the labyrinth.

She put a hand to her chin and pondered.

"First, location's important. Naturally, the highest priority is not being

found by other students or magical beasts. This layer has plenty of water, so

we can exclude that from our criteria. To make gathering materials easier,

I'd want to be closer to the second layer…" At this point, Miligan stopped

and reconsidered. "…No, that's just my opinion. There are plenty of good

spots in the fourth layer and beyond. They're too dangerous for me, but I

wouldn't doubt that Ophelia could make them her main sources for

materials and the like. With that in mind, it's actually a high possibility that

her workshop is near the fourth layer."

Oliver recalled Miligan saying that Ophelia Salvadori outclassed her. If

she had the respect of Vera Miligan, then the third layer might be no

different from strolling through a garden for Ophelia.

"That will be a problem, though. We'll have to cross this in order to get

to the fourth layer."

Miligan resumed walking, and they followed. Five minutes later, the

mud had become much more watery, eventually turning into a massive

wetland. The whole landscape stretched beyond what they could see, so it

was impossible to judge just how massive the marsh was. The opposite

shore probably lay somewhere beyond the mist. Chela looked down at the

cloudy water's surface.

"…It's a swamp, isn't it? A very, very big one."

"This is the Miasma Marsh, the most perilous section of the whole

layer," Miligan explained. The air stung at their throats when they inhaled,

helping to explain the moniker. Poisonous gas seemed to be bubbling up

from the swamp, permeating the entire area.

"At most, there are two methods for crossing the swamp: Hop on a

broom and fly over or get in a boat and float. But since I have you three

with me, we'll be sticking to a boat this time."

"Oh? Why is that?" Nanao asked, confused. A broom seemed like the

fastest method, so it was a natural question. Miligan looked up at the oddly

thick mist dozens of yards above them.

"First, because the closer you get to the ceiling, the thicker the miasma

gets. Fly too high, and you'll get a full-body dose of it. That won't be a

pretty sight."

"How…bad are we talking?" Chela asked.

"Your skin will melt, you'll go blind, your lungs will shut down, and

your mind will turn to mush. Naturally, the miasma also negatively affects

brooms, since they feed on the mana in the air. Ultimately, you'll fall into

the swamp and become fish food."

Chela furrowed her brow at the grisly thought. Miligan continued: "You

can mitigate the effects somewhat with enough prep, but you still have to be

careful not to fly too high. You'll also have to deal with those things on

your tail."

She looked down, and the others followed her gaze. They spotted a

bunch of shadows flitting above the water's surface with long, cylindrical

bodies and lacy wings. Hundreds of them dotted the marshland in large

groups.

"Skyfish…"

"Yup. Low-flying magical fish that inhabit wetlands. A single one's not

a big deal, but their schools are massive. Most often, you get tangled up in

them and fall into the swamp. Happened to me once, too," Miligan said.

The revelation of her past failure, more than any of her explanations, was

most effective at grabbing their attention. As the trio considered this in

silence, Miligan shared the other method they could choose.

"It might take longer, but in a boat, we can burn some incense that will

keep the skyfish away. Of course, we'll still have to be wary of the beasts

within the swamp. Lots of different varieties make their home in the

labyrinth, so it's basically a roulette as to what we'll encounter."

The three of them lowered their gazes from the skyfish to the water's

surface. It made sense that the water held its own threats—this was the

labyrinth, after all. There were no completely safe paths. In the end, they

had to assess the risks and choose for themselves.

"That said," Miligan continued, "between the four of us, we should be

able to beat back just about anything. Thus, the boat. It'll be easier to help

one another than on broomsticks, and if worse comes to worst, we can

abandon the boat and fly the rest of the way."

And so Miligan made the decision for them to go by boat.

Oliver nodded; nothing of what he heard led him to argue otherwise.

"…I agree. Speed is important, but what's most important is that we all

cross safely."

"I agree, too," Chela said. "What about you, Nanao?"

"I am fine with either choice. Whichever you all prefer."

With no one opposed, Oliver quickly moved on to the next step.

"Good," he said. "So first, we have to make a boat. There's not much left,

but we can use the rest of our toolplants to build one."

"That would speed things up," Miligan replied. "I ought to get on my

knees and thank Guy when we get back."

"…I hope that's all you're doing on your knees."

"Ha-ha-ha! Don't worry. I'm not that desperate."

Miligan laughed off Chela's warning, and they got to building the boat.

Suddenly, Oliver sensed a mana frequency coming his way.

(…I have bad news, my lord.) Teresa Carste, his secret scout, was

contacting him.

(What is it?) he asked, and she immediately responded.

(If you mean to cross by boat, then I will not be able to maintain the

same distance I have so far. I have my own boat, but the swamp is too still. I

must stay far away, or Snake Eye will notice me. I'm ashamed to say it, but

our best option is to regroup on the other side.)

Oliver cursed his lack of foresight. She was so good at scouting in

secrecy that he hadn't spared a single thought for how the swamp might

affect her. That said, there was no other choice. Oliver thought for a few

seconds, then agreed.

(All right, that's fine. I'll leave a trail when we hit the other side. Follow

it back to me.)

(Understood. This layer is dangerous. Please be careful, my lord.)

And with that, her presence quickly faded. Oliver had kept working the

whole while, so the others didn't seem to suspect a thing. He refocused on

building the boat—after ten minutes of weaving strands of toolplant

together, it was done.

"Looks good to me," Miligan said, staring down at it and crossing her

arms in satisfaction. It was halfway between a boat and a raft but wide

enough to let all four of them walk around on it. There was a mast in the

center, to which they affixed a square sail of magically reinforced cloth. For

a slapdash construction, it wasn't half-bad.

"Let's set sail, then—actually, one thing first." They'd pushed the boat

to the water and were ready to board when Miligan stopped them. "Since

we're here, how about a lesson?"

"A lesson…?" Chela repeated. "What could we possibly do here?"

"Oh, this is the perfect spot for the Lanoff-style technique Lake Walk.

Oliver, Chela, you've heard of it, yes?"

The two first-years eyed Miligan as she hopped off the boat toward the

swamp. Oliver grimaced, but her feet silently landed on the water. Nanao

gaped incredulously.

"…Ohhh! She's standing on the water!"

"Love that reaction. Walking on water is an important technique for

mages and is said to test every facet of spatial magic basics."

As Miligan explained, she strolled across the water's surface. Gentle

ripples reverberated outward from her feet, but her footing seemed rocksolid.

Oliver and Chela goggled. It was basically a perfect example of Lake

Walk.

"This requires a certain amount of mana output, so normally you'd start

practicing it in your second year. But from what I've seen, you three are

more than capable. So why not try it out now? Go on."

She beckoned with her hand, and the three of them looked at the water.

"…Um, if we fail, we'll fall into the water," said Chela.

"Should sharpen your focus, right? Don't want to fall into the swamp

teeming with monsters." Miligan grinned. She wanted them to turn the risk

into motivation.

"Hrm. Then I shall start."

While Oliver and Chela took a few seconds to prepare themselves,

Nanao immediately strode forth onto the water. Before they could react, her

foot hit the surface—and she plunged straight into the marsh.

"Mmgh…!"

"Ha-ha-ha! You really sank like a stone. You okay?"

Miligan extended a hand and dragged her back onto land. Nanao shook

her head, soaked. "What a conundrum. I haven't the faintest idea how to do

it."

"It shouldn't be that difficult once you grasp the essentials. Oliver, your

turn."

The boy looked at the water, then breathed out. Calm down. You can do

this. You've practiced earth stance so many times. This is just the same.

"…!"

Steeling himself, he took a step. The tip of his toe touched the water and

seemed to sink, but it was pushed back by the water before it could. He

followed up with his left foot. He expelled mana into the water's surface,

just like he did with Grave Step, all the while careful not to focus his weight

on one foot more than the other. Shakily, he stood on two feet on the

rippling water.

"Whoa!"

"Yes, yes! I knew you could do it, since you mastered earth stance so

well. Okay, now try walking."

Oliver didn't hesitate this time. He replicated the sensation again while it

was fresh in his mind and walked across the water with few ripples. Of

course, this was far more tiring than simply walking on land. Ten minutes

of this would have him on the brink of exhaustion. Chela studied his

movements in wonder. He wasn't as effortless as Miligan, but he was

indeed walking on water.

"Fantastic," Miligan said. "By distributing your weight as you walk and

economizing your mana output, you can make the water support your body.

It's very impressive that you can do this on your first try."

"..."

"This is a necessary step in learning the more advanced technique, Sky

Walk. As a mage, and as a sword arts practitioner, you've taken a huge step

forward, Oliver."

The witch praised him with surprising enthusiasm. It surfaced a memory

buried deep within the confines of Oliver's mind.

"Neat, huh? Don't worry—I'm sure you'll be able to do it, too, Noll.

You're my son, after all."

As a young boy, the idea of standing in midair was the greatest thing

ever. And, unaware of how lofty a goal it was, he swore to himself to one

day reach those same heights—still totally ignorant of what the word talent

meant. He closed his eyes and thought, I'm making progress on that goal.

"…Nanao. You come, too."

Before he realized it, he'd reached out his hand toward his friend. There

was no deep thought behind the gesture. He simply believed without a

doubt that she could stand in the same place, by his side.

"…Right!"

And Nanao jumped at the offer. Her eyes on his extended hand, she once

again launched herself onto the water—and shakily landed without sinking

or splashing.

"Oh? Ohhh? …I did it!"

Her feet firm on the water, Nanao grabbed Oliver's hand tightly and

shouted. Miligan's eyes went wide.

"Goodness, so you did. Did Oliver's example show you the key? Or…

was it purely your desire to stand next to him?" she teased, then glanced

over at Chela, standing alone on the bank while her friends celebrated.

"..."

Of course, Chela wasn't one to wallow. She closed her eyes, shook off

the nerves and pressure, then opened her eyes again and stepped onto the

water. The three of them watched as her right foot touched the surface—and

her left foot immediately followed after.

"…Whew. I'm here, too!"

"Ohhh, Chela! You made it!"

"Never doubted you for a second."

The three of them, united on the water, clasped hands and rejoiced.

Miligan smiled and nodded.

"Thankfully, you all managed just fine. If anyone falls out of the boat,

you'll be able to survive. Now, let's set sail!"

Once everyone was in the boat, the witch cast a spell on the sail. A

sudden gust began blowing, and the vessel slipped out onto the water.

As they sailed, Miligan explained to the three of them how she was

managing it.

"A yacht isn't as versatile as a broomstick, but it's still a useful ride for a

mage. Nonmagicals need to adjust the sail while studying the wind, but for

us—"

She pointed her athame at the sail, indicating the magical circle and text

upon it. This was the reason they were moving without oars or paddles.

Oliver had heard of seafaring mages who employed these techniques, but

he'd never seen them in person.

"—we can summon wind elementals and place them around the sail. It's

a little tricky, but once you've got it, you can keep moving without lifting a

finger. You'd do well to remember this."

"I see… That's very educational."

Chela listened with rapt attention. Oliver looked over and saw Nanao

stooped on the side of the boat. Black shadows raced beneath the water's

murky surface.

"…Those are some big fish."

"Be careful, Nanao," Oliver warned. "They could attack at any

moment."

"Mm… Still, they might be tasty grilled with a bit of salt."

"You're hungry now?!"

Nanao never changed, even this deep into the labyrinth. It was at once

aggravating and reassuring. Suddenly, Oliver noticed a shift in the

atmosphere and closed his mouth. He looked around to see the others

listening intently as well.

"…They've all disappeared," Chela remarked.

"Yeah. That's a bit odd," Miligan replied, nodding. Not only were the

fish under the water gone, but the skyfish weren't even hovering near the

edges of the incense. They were supposed to look out for attacks from

below on this route, yet there was no sign of any danger.

"It's actually quite unnatural to get this far unscathed. Plus, it's too quiet.

Maybe there's something odd happening deep below—"

Miligan scanned wide about them, and out of the corner of her eye, she

spotted the flash of a white figure.

"? Was there something out there…?"

"..."

The witch was silent, and Chela, who'd apparently seen the same thing,

furrowed her brow. A terrible feeling came over Oliver, and he reached for

the athame at his waist. Suddenly, the boat began listing.

"Whoa…?!"

His body pitched forward, so he grabbed on to the mast to stabilize

himself. The boat had accelerated without warning, shooting across the

water.

"What are you doing?!" Chela shouted at their captain, Miligan. "Why

are we going so fast?"

"That thing's bad news! Everyone, athames at the ready!" Miligan

barked, and the three of them drew. Instantly, the water behind the boat rose

and burst. From the spray appeared a sea serpent at least twenty yards in

length—or its skeleton, at least. It was completely devoid of flesh, like a

museum display. It shouldn't have been capable of moving, yet it slithered

after them with incredible vivacity.

"Wha—?!"

"Mmgh, more bones?"

"A sea serpent…! Salvadori's other familiar! You three, hold on tight!"

Heeding her warning, they dropped low. Miligan blasted the sail with a

spell, exciting the wind elementals. The boat instantly reached over double

its original speed, beginning an aquatic game of chase with the serpent.

"That thing's far more dangerous than any chimera, so it's time to make

a run for it! It shouldn't be able to catch us on land!"

"I agree, but can we go fast enough with this boat?!" Chela yelled.

"If we get caught, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it! Get your

brooms ready!" Miligan shouted; Oliver and Chela nodded at each other,

then turned toward the skeletal serpent chasing them and unleashed a volley

of spells. This seemed to be quite effective, as the creature began to slow

down, and the distance between them widened.

"Good thing we put some effort into this craft! Looks like we'll escape

by the skin of our teeth!"

The witch laughed triumphantly—but a few seconds later, her smile

stiffened like stone.

"…Uh, this might be bad."

"Huh?"

Oliver swung around to look ahead of them. Numerous bones were

floating in the boat's path, like the remains of some great creature's meal—

at least, that's what it appeared to be at first glance.

"Congreganta."

That one incantation revealed its true identity. Before their very eyes, the

bones began re-forming—first, a spinal column the size of a great tree, to

which a skull connected; simultaneously, ribs and fins materialized. A giant,

coiled sea serpent, much like the one chasing them, now blocked their path.

"Wha—?"

"Guh—!"

Realizing they were going to crash, Miligan pulled hard to port. The

boat nearly screeched at the sudden force, and they sailed in an arc just

before hitting the serpent, kicking up white froth. They'd avoided

immediate disaster, but the maneuver had also lost them a lot of speed.

"Yeesh…! Thanks for the surprise greeting, Rivermoore!"

Miligan glared ahead as she kneeled on the deck, and the others turned

to see what she was looking at. On the other side of the serpent, through the

gaps in its ribs, they could see him.

"Oh, but I'm the one who's surprised here."

The mage was standing on a giant turtle shell like a boat, with the

austerity of a wicked priest as he studied the four of them with dark eyes.

Not only did he give off the characteristically overwhelming force of

someone far stronger than them, but an aura of death also clung to his entire

body.

"What exactly are you doing, bringing three pieces of young meat with

you to the land of death, Snake Eye?"

Oliver and Chela shivered in fright—they'd encountered this man in the

labyrinth once before. Cyrus Rivermoore—a necromancer who used special

techniques to control the dead, and equally as dangerous as Ophelia

Salvadori.

"Ophelia kidnapped their friend. We're going to rescue him," Miligan

answered, unbothered.

He chuckled in his throat. "Sounds like a complicated way to kill

yourself."

"I don't blame you for seeing it that way, but we're actually hoping to

get home alive." The witch shrugged.

Rivermoore snorted in derision. "You intend to survive a fight with

Salvadori in her current state? I thought you were smarter than that."

"Touché." Miligan grinned bitterly, unable to argue with him. But it was

at this moment, when there was a lull in the conversation, that someone

decided to interject.

"Forgive my intrusion, Mr. Rivermoore, but are you perhaps also

searching for Ophelia Salvadori's workshop?"

"Chela?!"

Oliver stared at her in disbelief.

Rivermoore turned his dusky gaze toward the unexpected questioner.

"…Why do you ask me that, McFarlane girl?"

"Because I thought it was a possibility. You must be after something if

you're down on the third layer at a time like this. And there aren't that

many reasons a Kimberly student would voluntarily get near another who's

been consumed by the spell."

"..."

"The first reason would be that someone important has been taken, like

in our case. Many students are assisting in this endeavor, but I doubt you're

one of them. The second reason would be if one were interested in the

consumed student's magic."

She boldly made her claim in the face of a man much more powerful

than she was. Oliver could tell that this wasn't just a reckless, ignorant

gamble on Chela's part—from his position next to her, he could see her

hands quivering. She knew all too well that the man before them was at

least Ophelia Salvadori's equal and could wipe them all out if he felt like it.

But he also could hold a clue to saving Pete.

"The latter seems to fit you perfectly," Chela continued. "More

specifically, I believe you want to seize Ophelia Salvadori's magical

research before anyone else can get the chance. That's why you're here,

isn't it?"

Oliver swallowed. She had a point—if this was the case, then their goals

didn't clash. All they wanted was to rescue Pete, so if they were able to do

that, then they'd leave Ophelia's research alone.

"If I'm right, then why don't we work together? Three of us may be

first-years, but we have the numbers. If we share our information and

search together, we'll have much better odds of finding the workshop. Even

you could see some value in that."

Finally, she made her proposal. Even if they did manage to safely reach

the bank, there was still no guarantee they'd find Ophelia's workshop—all

the more reason why Chela was attempting to negotiate with this sorcerer.

By emphasizing they weren't enemies, she might be able to draw out a little

information from him.

Everyone held their breaths in silence. Rivermoore studied Chela for a

while, then shook his head.

"I wish I could say it was an excellent suggestion…but unfortunately,

you missed the mark."

"…What?"

"I have no fixation on Salvadori's research. Our goals as mages are far

too different. Even if I did get my hands on her work, it would serve me no

purpose…though I won't reject it if it falls into my lap. But that's not a

good enough reason for me to risk my own neck."

Chela wasn't deterred by his unexpected response. He had to have a

good reason for being down here.

"…Then why are you here? Is there another reason to place yourself in

danger unrelated to her research?" she asked.

Rivermoore's lips curled in a dry smile. "A reason, eh? …Yes, that is a

good question."

He wasn't belittling Chela, but himself. At the same time, they now had

definitive proof that he wasn't here for personal gain.

"…Don't tell me you're her Final Visitor?" Miligan asked softly.

Rivermoore snorted at the notion. "Don't be a fool. I wouldn't be invited

here for something like that. Although…I suppose you could entrust me to

express my condolences to the family. A funeral with only the deceased and

a single mourner is a sad affair indeed."

He spoke with a touch of humility, yet seemed entirely uninterested in

helping them understand. With a bit of resignation, Rivermoore turned back

to Chela.

"We've tried to kill each other more times than I have fingers to count.

It's the least I can do for my junior… Is that enough of an answer,

McFarlane?"

"..."

Chela had prepared for the worst but found herself unable to press

further. Similar goals, mutually beneficial—even attempting a discussion

with such ordinary measures seemed likely to only expose her ignorance.

"Are you done stalling for time? Then let us continue."

At his command, the two sea serpents raised their heads. Chela, seeing

her negotiation had failed, readied her athame reluctantly.

"…So it must come to this after all?"

"No. You did well, Chela," Miligan said with a triumphant smile.

Oliver looked at her quizzically. Then he noticed—she'd been on her

knees the whole time they were talking to Rivermoore.

"I can understand the duty one feels to one's juniors. But for a simple

condolence call, the venue you chose is a bit much. Don't you agree,

Rivermoore?"

Oliver gasped as he realized. Miligan was kneeling on the boat's deck,

creating a blind spot around her feet with her robe—where she'd squeezed

her athame through a gap in the construction. The tip of her blade was in

contact with the water, injecting something into the swamp.

A wave surged from one side of the boat, causing it to shake. The water

had been totally calm during their voyage, so Oliver knew that there

couldn't be waves without something creating them.

"…Tch."

Rivermoore realized the witch's plan a second too late. The sound had

hardly left his mouth before dozens of tentacles burst out of the water

around him.

The sea serpents quickly moved to get between the threat and their

master, and the tentacles wrapped around their bony bodies before two

giant, slimy masses emerged from the water. The creature was the size of a

small island, with a bizarre mix of squid and octopus characteristics. The

first-years stared at the monster in horror.

"An aquatic chimera…!"

"I knew it! I knew Salvadori, the author of A Study of Rapid

Development from Interbreeding Krakens and Scyllas, would leave a pawn

here!" Miligan shouted, exhilarated that her plan had gone off without a

hitch. Indeed—during their entire conversation with Rivermoore, she'd

been sending out mana frequencies into the water to lure the chimera.

Handling the serpents on their own would be difficult, but by bringing in an

equally dangerous creature, she could neutralize them. And once the

chimera realized there were intruders in its territory, it was most likely to

attack the ones giving off the most mana. Oliver was amazed at how far

she'd planned ahead.

"We're in a hurry, so I'll leave this to you! Thanks, Rivermoore!"

"Charlatan…!" Rivermoore snapped, a hint of a smile playing on his

lips. But even he couldn't ignore the chimera and go after them. Their boat

sped up again and shot across the water, leaving the deadly battle between

titans in the distance.

"Barely managed to escape that one! Someone pinch me—I must be

dreaming!" Miligan exhaled a huge breath once they were out of danger.

Nanao, who had been watching behind them, then turned to her. "…Ms.

Miligan, what is a Final Visitor?" she asked.

The witch had used that phrase during her conversation with

Rivermoore. Miligan looked at Nanao with slight surprise. Oliver knew

how she felt. Few people asked such a question at Kimberly—it was a

concept nearly every student was familiar with.

"Ah, you still don't know… Well, it's something of a mage custom."

Miligan's tone was abnormally solemn. There was likely not a mage

alive who wouldn't sit up a little straighter when they had to imagine the

fate that would eventually befall them or their close friends.

"When a mage is consumed by the spell, another goes to care for them

in their final hours—sometimes at the risk of their own life. We call that

role the Final Visitor."