Chapter 17 - The Final Hymn

When you're completely infatuated with something, you're often one of the

last to realize it.

"…Which do you like more, this or this? Tell me, Carlos!"

And that was precisely the predicament Ophelia found herself in. She'd

already asked Carlos the question six times, holding the same accessories

up in both hands. But it was even more impressive that Carlos managed to

give a unique answer each time, with nary a wrinkle of their brow.

"They're both cute, but if you asked Al, it'd be the left. He's not a fan of

gaudy things."

"I—I see… Then I'll go with this one."

She took their advice and chose the left hair accessory, then excitedly

put it on. Just as she finished, she realized what they'd said and rounded on

them.

"…?! Wh-what was that?! No one asked about Mr. Godfrey's

preferences!"

"Oh, really? Sorry, guess I jumped to conclusions."

"Isn't it obvious? Th-this is just a normal part of getting dressed…!"

Ophelia turned away haughtily, her face bright red.

Carlos smiled and shrugged as they studied her profile. "Don't get too

worked up about it. Al's a simple guy at heart. A long, honest relationship is

the key to getting close to him. You'd do well to remember that rushing

things will only backfire."

"Like I said—!"

She turned around again to try and make more excuses, but Carlos

hugged her head-on, catching her by surprise. The words died on her lips.

"Don't be so shy. You look really cute, Lia."

It was incredibly confusing. Why did her thoughts always drift to him?

Why did she feel so glum when she couldn't see him?

The six months she'd spent with the neighborhood watch were full of

endless confusion, following him around without a clue as to what was

going on. His every word held the potential to bring her the greatest joy or

sadness, and there wasn't anything more exciting in the world to her—

thinking back on it, she was a total child.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow! I-I'm stuck! Someone help!"

"How many times do I have to tell you? Don't stick your hand in

random places!"

And so, once again, she found herself on this day healing Tim's arm

after his encounter with a cracking crab. Early on, these events gave her a

huge fright, but now it was all in a day's work.

"Thanks…"

"Don't pinch your nose," Godfrey demanded. "You're being rude to

her."

"It's a show of my loyalty!" Tim crowed. "I swear, my loins shall never

yearn for anyone but you, Godf— Gyaaaaaaa! The painnnn!"

That said, she'd realized there was no need for mercy or compassion

with someone like this. It was hardly the first time someone made a crack

about her Perfume, but Tim was the only idiot to ever pinch his nose in

front of her. So as an expression of respect for his bravery, she made sure

once again to heal him in the most painful way possible. His high-pitched

screams echoed in the dark labyrinth.

"…Sorry about that, Ophelia," said Godfrey.

"Can you be any more shameless?" Lesedi snapped. "You both pollute

the air, but at least she's not so evil as to do it on purpose."

The two of them sighed as they lectured Tim, as per usual. In fact, it had

become so typical because Ophelia was now a part of the group. She was

among people who didn't shun her—it was such an incredibly refreshing

experience for Ophelia that she felt like a new person.

"You people again… Hmm? I see you've brought an interesting morsel

this time."

Of course, they ran into danger as well. Not only was it completely

normal for students to carry out secret battles within the labyrinth, but

Godfrey's neighborhood watch also made him a lot of enemies. Wherever

they went, there was sure to be fireworks.

"Fascinating. Let's see what she can do. Congreganta!"

"To arms! Flamma!"

Godfrey blasted the charging skeletal beast with a fireball. As the flames

licked up his arm after yet another failure to control the spell, he roared,

"Why can't you value life more?! Not just the lives of others! Yours as

well!"

On every corner of campus, in every dark cavern of the labyrinth, they

fought all manner of opponents: classmates, lowerclassmen, and sometimes

even monstrous upperclassmen. And through their battles, they formed a

tiny measure of order within the unholy temple and tried to create a safe

haven for the weak and injured. They might have been the first in

Kimberly's history to try and do so.

As for why they were attempting such madness, Ophelia had no idea.

Nor did she come even close to understanding Alvin Godfrey's constant

rage. He was simply beyond her comprehension.

Since enrolling at Kimberly, Ophelia had never felt that something was

wrong with the academy. The students dedicated their lives to the pursuit of

magic, consequently trampling on everything else and killing one another. It

was just like home—but most importantly, it was just like how her mother

had taught her the world worked.

"…I just want to make Kimberly a place where you can relax a bit,"

Godfrey would sometimes say with a sigh. Ophelia always gave a

noncommittal response, never really understanding. Was he talking about a

place like her garden? She tried to imagine it but quickly realized that was

wrong. Stomping on the flowers was all the garden was good for.

Confusingly, Godfrey apparently didn't want anyone to get trampled or

downtrodden. In fact, he rejected the common notion that trampling on

others was only natural. He wanted to place standardized rules on activities

within the labyrinth and reduce the number of student fights—when others

heard his goals, nearly all of them looked at him like he was crazy. And

honestly speaking, Ophelia had felt the same at first. But shockingly

enough, as he continued to spout his rhetoric in earnest, little by little,

people sympathetic to his cause started appearing out of the woodwork.

"Are you guys the Godfrey Gang? Hey, hey, let me join!"

"Seems kinda fun. How about letting me in? I can give ya a hand."

As they went up in years, the students learned to adapt to Kimberly.

Whether they enjoyed this, however, was another matter entirely. And those

who didn't enjoy adapting were drawn to Godfrey. Not for any grand reason

like sharing in his ideology—it was simply because the students who were

forced to live in such a bloodthirsty environment preferred Godfrey's

overall "vibe."

Some students would even confess, "I used to think I'd enrolled in the

wrong school… But with you guys, it's not so bad." And for Ophelia, who

couldn't understand most of her peers' feelings, this at least she could

heavily sympathize with. When she was by Alvin Godfrey's side, her heart

was at ease. When they interacted, she was able to forget for just a moment

that she was a mage.

But even as naive as she was, Ophelia knew the hard truth—that this

fantastical time could not last forever.

Every time Godfrey stuck his neck into trouble and came back in one piece,

public opinion of their group rose, and little by little, their numbers swelled.

They were like campers huddled around a fire. Kimberly was a place

devoid of warmth, especially the welcoming, undiscriminating kind. Any

kindling was immediately extinguished.

But this fire was unprecedentedly stubborn. As people began to realize

this, the stares slowly turned from bewilderment to respect. Even the

upperclassmen respected Godfrey; before long, his name was known far

and wide throughout the academy.

"..."

And the brighter he shone, the more the shadows near him stood out.

Try as she might to stay out of the limelight, Ophelia's Perfume wouldn't

allow it. Not everyone was able to overcome her aroma like Godfrey had—

so, predictably, the newer members came to resent her.

"Someone should do something about her. It's just indecent."

"Stop it. You know she's Godfrey's favorite."

"You really think so? I hate to say it, but maybe he's under her spell,

too."

The discord came from all directions, eating away at her heart bit by bit.

The influx in members also meant that Ophelia's role of healer was not so

unique anymore. This should have been a good thing; more supporters

meant that Godfrey's initiatives were making real progress.

"Our little family's gotten so big so fast… It's all thanks to you, Ophelia.

If you and Carlos weren't there to heal my wounds, I would've died in the

labyrinth long ago, no question."

Most of all, it made her incredibly happy to hear him say those words.

She wanted to hear them so much that she hated the idea of giving up her

role to anyone else. It was her only way to remain by his side.

"He'll never reach his full potential with you around. You do realize that,

right?"

The friction between her and the new members was endless. They came

in private, pleading with her in earnest; they came in groups, threatening

her. Each time, what they wanted was the same: Stay away from Godfrey.

"Your Perfume bewitches every man who comes close. That's enough to

hurt the group as a whole, but worst of all is how close you are to our

leader. Godfrey's greatest strength is how he will interact with anyone,

regardless of who they are. But as long as you're around, people will doubt

his motives."

"Everyone's thinking it. There's only one reason he'd keep such a

nuisance like you around: You must've seduced him."

"…Go to hell."

It was rare for her voice to tremble with anger. She was used to being

ridiculed for her Perfume, but she couldn't permit people to think that

Godfrey had been seduced by it. Everything he'd put himself through just to

be able to look her in the eye—the pain he'd undergone, the time he'd

dedicated, the sincerity he'd shown—they were all irreplaceable treasures

to Ophelia.

"Are you really going to insist that your Perfume has nothing to do with

why Godfrey keeps you around? All right, then let me ask: What makes you

so valuable that you deserve your spot?"

"—!"

"We know you were there in the beginning, when healers were limited.

No one's trying to take that away from you. But things are different now.

Plenty of us can heal just as well as you can. And unlike you, we don't cast

Perfume on everyone around us."

Their argument boiled down to this: Pass the torch to someone more

suitable. And they did have a point. Ophelia realized that her healing skills

alone weren't enough to outweigh the negative of her Perfume and protect

her current position.

She panicked, unable to find a way out of this argument. What should

she do? What could she show these people that would prove that her place

was by Godfrey's side? All she knew for sure was that she didn't have the

option of giving up.

"…You think you're stronger than me?"

So she switched gears and struck back. She would help the group not by

healing but by fighting. The students merely chuckled.

"Of course. Wanna test us right now, Salvadori Harlot?"

They were clearly mocking her. She'd never gotten the best grades in

sword arts or spellology. She was a great healer but below average when it

came to battling on the front lines. At least, that was what everyone else

believed.

"…Sure. Let's do it."

The air suddenly grew heavy; the tension was palpable. The students

backed away from her into spell distance, then drew their athames. Ophelia

eyed them with pity. They were gravely mistaken. It wasn't because she

lacked power that she avoided the battlefield—but because she didn't want

Godfrey to see what she was truly capable of.

"Partus."

And she wasn't wrong. What unfolded wasn't even a competition—it

was a massacre.

I'm stronger than any of you. In order to protect her spot by Godfrey's side,

she had to thoroughly convince others of that. The group's reaction made it

clear that her position would be stolen if she stayed a meek healer. So she

decided to do a complete one-eighty.

After that day, she made a point to accept every fight that came her way.

Anyone who complained, she silenced with her full power; once they were

weakened, she Charmed them and dominated their minds. This was what

happened when she got serious.

Opponents from her own year were no big deal, but she still couldn't let

down her guard against the battle-hardened second- and third-years. She

dared not make an enemy of fourth-years and up. She soon needed to keep a

powerful chimera in her belly at all times in order to be able to fight at a

moment's notice, something she had no qualms about doing.

"Lia, stop! You don't have to do this. Al won't abandon you—"

She brushed off even her childhood friend's attempts to stop her. With

her mindset changed, Ophelia danced through life like never before. She

now had two purposes: desperately protect her position at Godfrey's side

and weed out the members bringing their group down. Nothing held her

back anymore. She would be more cunning and greedier than anyone else—

just as a mage should be.

Ophelia's new stance naturally caused a chain reaction among the rest of

the group. Flaunting one's own strength while defeating others in order to

secure one's desired position—conflict became the new normal. The

group's rapid expansion, combined with Godfrey's inability to keep an eye

on every last member, became its downfall. The once peaceful vibe was lost

over time, and a definitive change came over the neighborhood watch.

"That's enough! What good can come of fighting among one another?!"

Godfrey noticed this and tried to stop it, but he was too inexperienced as

a leader. It would have been one thing if they had only five or six members

like in the beginning, but it was nearly impossible to rein in dozens of

people all at once. Day in and day out, his comrades grew more combative;

unable to find a solution, he watched the stress mount.

"It's okay, Godfrey… I haven't changed at all. I'll always be by your

side."

Meanwhile, Ophelia used this turmoil as an opening to cement her place

by Godfrey's side. It was much more convenient for her if things stayed

violent. When the group was still peaceful, someone who constantly

emitted Perfume would have immediately been eliminated as a threat. There

was no place for her in clear waters, but in muddied waters, a threat could

lurk unnoticed.

"…Stop riling everyone up, Ophelia. I can't turn a blind eye anymore."

However, as things grew worse, people caught on to her plan. The first

to speak up was another female student and founding member of the

neighborhood watch: Lesedi Ingwe. She pulled Ophelia aside and gave her

a warning, not an accusation.

"…What are you talking about? I haven't done anything."

"Don't play dumb. You've Charmed some of our members into being

your servants. I would've overlooked it if you were just finishing fights

others started, but this is clearly against the rules. If Godfrey knew, he'd

never allow it."

Lesedi pierced her with a stern gaze. The emotion vanished from

Ophelia's face in an instant.

"…So you agree? That a girl like me doesn't belong by Godfrey's side?"

"…? What're you babbling about? I'm talking about the group's rules

—"

"You think you're a better fit for him? Is that what it is?"

Ophelia cut her off, ignoring what she had to say. Lesedi immediately

grabbed her cheek in an iron grip.

"Enough crazy talk, little girl. Can you not even tell anymore when

someone's on your side?"

"..."

"Listen to me. I'm warning you so that you can stay with Godfrey,"

Lesedi growled. "What you think you're doing, and what you're actually

accomplishing, couldn't be more different. Right now, you're on a crash

course for a nasty split. You need to hurry up and realize that before it's too

late!"

She shoved Ophelia back, then spun on her heel. Ophelia watched her

go until she was left all alone.

"…What other way is there?" she muttered.

Ophelia didn't know how to interact with other people, how to make

friends, or even how to fall in love. So in all things, she acted as a mage

would. Her goal was to stay by Godfrey's side, and she achieved that by

any means necessary. This was the surest way to get what she wanted, after

all.

"…You smell awful."

Naturally, this method meant there was a lot of collateral damage as well

—including the friendships she'd taken so long to foster.

"Disgusting! I could deal with it before, but not anymore. You

absolutely reek," Tim spat as they patrolled the labyrinth alone. His tone

was cold, completely unlike his usual friendly ribbing. He glared at her with

unbridled disdain. "Your Perfume is polluting the air at full blast… You're

not even trying to control it. I bet your goal is to seduce every last male

around you."

Ophelia intentionally didn't deny it. Instead, her eyes flicked to Tim's

crotch. Her lips twisted in a bewitching smile.

"…You're hard, aren't you?"

"Fuck off. I don't get hard for anyone but Mr. Godfrey. I would never let

you affect me."

Tim swore in disgust. Ophelia's unfettered Perfume was violating; it

forced others into a state of arousal. Her oppressive Charm could even

overwrite an individual's sexual orientation on occasion. So in order to

resist this onslaught, Tim had to keep his mind sharp at all times.

"But you're trampling all over my feelings, crushing them into the mud.

All you want is to rob me of my will and turn me into a drooling male, just

like the rest of your harem…isn't that right?"

"..."

Her silence was his answer. Tim's fists shook.

"And in the end, are you going to seduce Mr. Godfrey, too? We've spent

so much time together, broken bread together, risked death over and over—

but that's what you really wanted all along?"

Tim's eyes wavered with rage and sadness in equal measure. Ophelia's

chest twinged for a brief moment, which she immediately chalked up to a

coincidence. She had no friends. She never got close enough to anyone to

make her heart hurt like this in the first place. So it was all in her

imagination.

"At least deny it… Tell me I'm wrong, Opheliaaaa!"

With a scream, Tim drew his athame. Ophelia's face froze into a sneer as

she intercepted the attack.

The next thing she knew, the boy was lying before her like a rag.

Godfrey came running over. She would never forget the anger, regret, and

self-condemnation on his face.

"Godfrey, I…"

She tried to say something to the person in front of her, then realized it

was just a memory from long ago. Back in reality, Ophelia was welcomed

by the familiar sight of her workshop and the fledgling chimeras crawling

about. Her hands shook as she looked at her wristwatch: Five hours had

passed. Apparently, she had been simply sitting there daydreaming.

"…Heh-heh-heh… I can't tell the difference between a dream and

reality anymore, huh? …It's finally time."

Her body was rapidly approaching its human limits. She could be

consumed by the spell at any moment. With this in mind, she stood shakily

from her chair.

"…I don't want it to start here… No—outside…"

She hobbled over to the door, opened it, and stepped out of the

workshop. That was the beginning of her final wandering voyage as a

human.

"…Her presence is fading."

Albright, who'd been listening carefully from his cell nearby, picked up

on the witch's departure.

Pete swallowed, realizing what this meant.

"Now's our chance. Our first and last, probably. Are you ready?"

"…Y-yeah."

The bespectacled boy nodded without letting himself tremble. He'd

made his mind up long ago—if he wanted to survive, there was no time to

be afraid. Albright liked the look of determination on Pete's face.

"Let's get started. I'll lure the chimeras to me."

That was the signal—Pete took action, pouring mana into the explosive

spheres they'd buried in two spots within the flesh prison. Then he quickly

backed up, dropped to the floor, and covered his ears. A few seconds later,

an explosive boom rattled his eardrums straight through the hands covering

them. He turned around to see a hole had been ripped open in the bars.

"…!"

He tossed another sphere—which started billowing smoke—and leaped

out of the prison. He had only a few precious moments until the chimeras

realized what was happening and it was all over. Just as he'd practiced

again and again in his mind, Pete ran toward the next room, using the

smoke as cover.

"Come, wretches! I'll take on every last one of you!"

Meanwhile, Albright caught the incoming chimeras' attention.

Unfortunately, he'd given his precious magical tools to Pete and was

completely unarmed. If he moved too quickly, he'd inhale more of the

Perfume, so he couldn't even leave the prison and run around. Pete needed

to find Albright's wand quickly, or the chimeras would torture him to death.

"Wands, wands… Where are they?!"

He scanned the room and ripped open every bit of storage he could find.

Ophelia could have already disposed of their things, so if he didn't find

anything right away, he'd have to abandon the idea. The twenty-second

time limit he'd given himself was quickly approaching.

"…There!"

Luck was on his side. Ophelia had tossed her prisoners' wands and

athames into a box in the corner, apparently not even worried about the

potential threat if they got back into the students' hands. First he grabbed

his own, then searched for Albright's based on his descriptions.

"Here's yours! Take it!"

Pete dashed back to the prison room and tossed the athame through the

bars toward Albright, who was stubbornly kicking back the fledgling

chimeras. He caught it, and with a weapon now in his possession, he

smiled.

"Great work! Frigus!"

Albright immediately cast a spell, striking back at the incoming

chimeras. Pete sighed in relief, but Albright barked, "What are you doing?

Get outside and call for help!"

"But you—"

"Now! Salvadori will be back once she notices something's wrong!" he

shouted as he fended off the chimeras.

Pete shook off his doubts and sprinted through the door; the witch hadn't

bothered to lock it. He burst out of the workshop into an unfamiliar swamp.

"Huff! Huff…!"

Escaping wasn't much of a relief. Would Ophelia come back first, or

would help arrive in time? It was all up to fate now. Pete poured mana into

the rescue orb, sending a shrill sound and waves of mana reverberating

through the third layer.

"Please, someone help…!"

One boy in particular immediately picked up on the desperate cry.

"An SOS! He's close!" Oliver shouted as soon as he heard the orb's

signal. He and the girls had already crossed the swamp, landed the boat, and

begun searching the area. His eyes turned toward the source of the sound,

and the other three followed suit. The chimeras could hear it, too, of course

—if there was indeed a person in need of rescue there, then it was a race

against time to save them.

"Not the time to be suspicious of traps. Let's move!" Miligan urged.

Oliver and the girls took off without delay. They tore through the mud,

not a shred of doubt in their minds that their friend was nearby.

The third layer was so vast that the signal didn't even cover a tenth of it.

However, Oliver's group weren't the only mages within its range.

"An SOS signal!"

Picking up the faint sound in the air, Carlos stopped immediately and

shouted to their comrade. Godfrey cupped his hand to his ear to try and

catch it but shook his head after a few seconds.

"…I can't hear it. Must be pretty far."

"I'll lead the way. Let's hurry, Al!"

Carlos began running, and Godfrey was hot on their heels. When it came

to sensitivity to sounds, Carlos couldn't be beat. The two of them rushed

ahead, relying on Carlos's ears to guide them.

"It's this way… Noll's friend might be there. Let's hurry, Shannon."

At the same time, Oliver's relatives-slash-vassals Gwyn and Shannon

Sherwood hurried off as well. The signal was just barely audible, although

Gwyn's hearing was nowhere near Carlos's. However, Oliver's cousins had

no idea that he was on this layer as well.

"Lia…!" Shannon said mournfully.

Ophelia was the source of all this strife, but she wasn't just another

enemy to Shannon, nor to Gwyn, either. Still, the elder Sherwood remained

calm.

"Don't assume that you'll be able to reason with her. If we meet—we'll

have no choice but to fight."

"…!" Shannon bit her lip at her brother's callous remark.

No matter her feelings, that fact wouldn't change. This was part of

facing someone who'd been consumed by the spell.

"Mm?"

Suddenly, Gwyn stopped, as did Shannon. The clock was ticking, but

they were confident in their decision.

"Impetus!"

Gwyn drew his athame and shot a wind spell toward the ground a few

dozen yards away. The mud around the target flew into the air—revealing

white bones.

"…Oh? The Sherwood siblings?"

The skeletal sphere showed itself, and within it was a man. Gwyn,

who'd sensed the ambush, glared at the familiar face. "…Rivermoore?"

"It's been a while, Gwyn. I'm sure you heard the alarm, but I suggest

you quit while you're ahead. If you follow it, you'll most certainly run into

Salvadori. And you are not welcome near her."

The bony capsule around Rivermoore unfurled like a hand, and he

stepped down onto the ground. The Sherwoods clutched their athames.

"There are too many intruders today," Rivermoore said with a shrug.

"I'm only here to repel anyone other than Purgatory and Hymn, but now I

have you two plus Snake Eye and her three first-year companions to deal

with… Although I suppose I'm an intruder as well," he muttered with an air

of self-derision. The Sherwoods couldn't believe their ears.

"Hold on. What did you just say?" Gwyn quickly asked. Rivermoore

chuckled.

"Exactly what it sounded like. Snake Eye brought three first-years with

her to this layer. Something about wanting to help a friend of theirs who

was kidnapped."

"Who were those first-years?"

Gwyn was careful not to let his panic show.

Rivermoore put a hand to his chin and thought. "The McFarlane girl, a

foolhardy samurai—and who was the other one again? …Ah, yes. Oliver

Horn. We ran into each other on the first layer soon after the entrance

ceremony, so I remembered his face."

The moment Oliver's name came up, Gwyn and Shannon dashed

forward. They tried to catch Rivermoore by surprise and slip past him—but

two skeletal serpents burst out of the mud behind him and blocked the way,

as if he'd expected this.

"No, I can't let you go. Didn't you hear me? We're not welcome."

"Move, Rivermoore!" Gwyn growled, athame in hand.

Rivermoore cocked his head curiously at his reaction. "Hmm? Oddly

passionate about this, aren't you? Is this Oliver of such importance?" His

sneer deepened. Of course, his demeanor never changed for a moment.

"Still—I must apologize. If you insist on passing, you will have to do so by

force. That's the rule here, isn't it?"

Neither side was budging, so there was no sense in denying it. In perfect

harmony, the Sherwood siblings jumped into battle—to carve open a path to

Oliver.

"Huff! Huff! Huff…!"

Monsters crawled out of the swamp, attracted by the alarm, so Pete

couldn't afford to stand still. His athame in his right hand and the rescue orb

gripped tightly in his left, he ran through the marshland. His lungs burned,

and his pants were muddy up to his knees.

"Where the heck am I?! Damn it, my legs…!"

With every step he took, his legs sank deeper into the mud, and he

pitched forward. For Pete, who was still inexperienced in his footwork,

even traversing this swamp was a herculean task. Nonetheless, he pushed

forward through the mud and sludge.

"…Ugh…?!"

Suddenly, he stopped. His legs were covered to the knees and too heavy

to lift. He struggled, trying to pull free, but only managed to get himself

even more stuck. His face instantly blanched.

"A bottomless swamp…?! Y-you're kidding me!"

He desperately tried to calm his panicking mind; he became intensely

aware of the athame in his right hand. What was the spell that would free

him from this? There should have been multiple, but he couldn't think of

them. Fear and frustration welled up in him. What had he spent the last six

months studying for?!

"Gah…! S-someone! Someone help!"

As his mind raced, he continued sinking until his right hand was in the

mud as well. He could no longer cast a spell. The chill of the mud steadily

seeping into his clothes made him think of death.

"Huff… Huff… Huff…!"

He wanted to cry and thrash but barely managed to contain the urge.

Moving would only accelerate the sinking. There was nothing he could do

now, so his best option was to not move and keep breathing for a few more

minutes and seconds.

"…Blergh…!"

The time he bought ran out in seemingly an instant, and the mud finally

started pushing into his mouth. With his last moments, he took a huge

breath, then was pulled mercilessly beneath the surface.

So this is where I die, he thought. Oddly enough, as despair gripped his

heart, what surfaced in his mind wasn't the faces of his parents or sights

from his hometown—but the face of a meddling roommate.

Oliver…!

The moment he voicelessly shouted that name, something grabbed

firmly onto his wrist and pulled him, body and spirit, back to life.

"Are you okay, Pete?!"

Hearing the voice, he cautiously opened his tightly shut eyes. The last

face he'd pictured was right there before him.

"…Huh…?"

He stared in a daze as Oliver pulled him to his feet and squeezed the

mud-covered boy in a close embrace. The chill of the swamp melted away

against Oliver's warmth, as if it had never existed at all.

"…You did great, Pete. You did so, so great…!"

Oliver sobbed his friend's name as he held him in his arms. Suddenly, all

manner of emotions burst forth within Pete.

"Ungh… Ah—AAAAAH…!"

Oliver tossed most of his belongings onto solid ground, then lifted his

crying friend onto his back and got to his feet. Nanao, Chela, and Miligan

followed close behind; they nodded to each other and the group, then

picked up speed. This wasn't the time or place for joyful reunions.

"Let's hurry! If we can escape, we'll be in the clear!" Oliver shouted.

The four of them held their breath as they ran through the swamp. As

hurried as they were, broomriding was out of the question. Flying on this

layer would invariably draw attention from the creatures on the ground, and

with Pete in tow, someone would have to ride double. If they were pursued

on broomstick, this would make them easily catchable.

"Once we're past the swamp, we're home free…! Just hang in there a

little longer, Pete!" Chela said to her friend as they ran.

Get in the boat and cross the swamp—this was just one way for them to

escape the enemy's pursuit. It was hard to believe that Ophelia herself

would come to the other side of the swamp to retrieve Pete's body. If

everything went well, they could go back the way they came while avoiding

being spotted by chimeras.

"Oliver…! Oliverrr…!"

Pete clung to Oliver's shoulders painfully. If they had the time, Oliver

would have loved to hug him back for as long as possible. How terrifying it

must have been getting abducted by that witch, and how much courage he

must have needed to escape. He'd truly survived by a hairbreadth; when

Oliver found him, Pete was seconds away from drowning.

"…Ah…"

They were rushing through the wetlands as quickly as possible when

Miligan stopped ahead.

Oliver stopped as well, frowning. Why here? Wasn't time of the

essence? He was about to ask—

"…Couldn't be that easy, I guess."

—but the moment before he could, he realized why the Snake-Eyed

Witch had stopped. It was hard not to—many pairs of eyes glowed in the

darkness of the marsh, completely blocking their path. He immediately

knew these creatures weren't native to this area; they had the extreme

bloodthirst of the chimeras they'd fought earlier.

"…Lots of surprising faces here. Is this a dream? Or reality…?"

A lone witch proceeded toward them, flanked by about ten familiars.

One might call her a lotus in the mud, but her looks were far too bewitching

for such a comparison. Oliver's entire body shivered in fear. Here she was,

the source of this hell—Ophelia Salvadori.

"…Oh, so that's it. I was wondering how you escaped… You aren't

male, are you?" the witch said in a hushed tone toward Pete on Oliver's

back, as if a riddle had just been solved. "You switched sexes since I

captured you… A reversi? What a rare specimen my net caught…"

She sounded almost not of this world. Ophelia looked at the others—at

Nanao, Chela, then Oliver—and sighed tiredly.

"Oh, Mr. Horn. How many times must you ignore my warnings? You

should have abandoned your friend. Yet, here you are, with two more

friends in tow…"

It was hardly something she had any right to say to her victims, but no

one objected. Firmly aware of Pete's trembling, Oliver desperately sought a

way to escape despite knowing how dire the situation was. Ophelia,

unaware of any of this, looked at the last remaining person—the one other

student in her year.

"I'm impressed you all made it down here… Snake Eye, what is your

game?"

"They begged me to save their friend. And I can't deny requests from

my adorable juniors."

Perhaps as a fellow fourth-year, Miligan was able to converse with

Ophelia as if nothing was wrong. But her answer made Ophelia frown.

"I've always hated that about you. Who cares about these relationships?

Peel off the outer layer, and you're just like me."

"Ha-ha-ha! You're not wrong." Miligan shrugged with a self-derisive

grin, then changed the subject. "That aside, I have something to ask—can

you let us go? Our only business down here is to rescue Pete. I'd hate to

disturb you at such a pivotal moment of your life, so why don't you let us

go and forget we were ever here?"

"..."

"Losing Pete isn't going to affect your efforts, right? We have no reason

to interfere, and you have more important things to do than squabble with

us. It's a total win-win, don't you think?"

Miligan's tone was upbeat, but Oliver listened with bated breath. Their

only remaining hope was for Ophelia to let them go. Now that they were

face-to-face, their fates were almost entirely in her hands. The one thing

they needed to avoid was getting involved in a fight.

"Let's part ways amiably, okay? Oh, but you deserve something to make

up for Pete's loss. I can give you a rare magic potion. What do you say?"

Miligan was clearly trying to steer things in this direction as well. Oliver

had no idea her chances of success. All he knew was that he didn't feel the

slightest twinge of optimism.

"…How absurd, Snake Eye. You think you're still talking to a human?"

Ophelia grinned pityingly, as if to prove Oliver's hunch right. Now he

and Chela knew for sure—this conversation had been pointless all along.

"Don't misunderstand me. I didn't come here to specifically bring back

an escapee," Ophelia explained. "I could sense people, so I was just idly

strolling toward them. I was in search of a place to begin; that place just

happened to be here…"

No one could stop her, just as humankind cannot prevent the sun from

sinking below the horizon.

Bestia alas petito, avis manus invidus, piscis pedes cupiditas, planta

carnem desiderat.

The beast desires wings, the bird envies hands, the fish seeks legs, the

tree idolizes flesh.

And so it began. Like a cup overflowing with wine, the words spilled

from her mouth.

"Stop that chant!" Miligan yelled, all composure now vanished from her

face. Nanao and Chela immediately drew their athames, and Oliver did as

well once he set Pete down. The chimeras behind Ophelia moved in front to

protect their master.

Quamquam decem milia fient semina, quae sata sunt sed tamen nemo,

nostrum vitium non habet.

The scattered seeds reach far, yet we all have a piece.

At this point, there was no time to analyze each chimera for a weakness

to exploit. Chela shifted to her elven form and fired off a double incantation

at the wall of monsters, trying to pierce a hole. She burned the head of one,

but the resulting gap was filled by another in mere seconds. Nanao and

Oliver, who had charged toward the gap, were forced to skid to a halt.

Congregans fragmenta et continuans de incubus haec volebam scire, ubi

solutio vitae est?

Gather the pieces, patch them together. Wherein lies the answer to life?

Miligan followed up with a spell of her own. Spears of fire and ice made

a beeline straight for Ophelia. The chimeras' tentacles extended and

blocked the attack, rebuffing Nanao and Oliver, who were rushing in on

broomsticks. The creatures' antiair abilities were rock-solid and prevented

any half-baked aerial strikes.

Quaestio infinita quamvis per multos annos haec investigatio de anima

facta esset non dum exitum in veniat.

Even if the question is answered and eternity is overcome, life's

searchings will never abate.

Mana coursed through Miligan's entire body. Unleashing the reserve

mana in her womb and amplifying her output, she cast another spell. Not a

double-incantation but a triple-incantation fire spell—she bet victory on the

raw power of a spell that was impossible for anyone but a seasoned mage.

Oliver and his friends watched as three chimeras were swallowed by waves

of flames in an instant.

Si tacito bene est. Respondebo igitur a deam qua excitam per hunc

rituum infinitum.

But no matter. Find the solution within the endless formula.

They knew this was their last chance, and they took off. Hiding among

the flames, they slipped through the wall of chimeras. The moment the

three of them were through, a new chimera dropped from the ceiling to

block the way. Its body was covered in bedrock and was unlike anything

they'd seen before.

Liquamini miscenimi que inter sese animi hic vobis licet temptare et

errare in perpetuum.

Intermingling lives, I permit you infinite experimentation here and now.

The four of them stopped. If there was even the tiniest opening

available, they were all prepared to take it no matter the cost. Unfortunately,

there was nothing. They couldn't imagine a single way to break through.

The only thing Oliver could do was retreat toward Miligan with Nanao and

Chela so as to avoid being trapped by the chimeras.

Delectemini luxuriate ad sempiternum quoniam hic ritus spiritus

generat.

Bask in the unending debauchery if therein lies life's formula.

Ophelia's chant continued unabated, echoing loud and clear. Oliver

racked his brain for a way out; without a plan, he could only make guesses.

The same was true for Nanao, Chela, and even Miligan.

Ludite in mea placenta amabili fetus quotiens moriemini totiens ego ipsa

concipiam.

Beloved children dancing in my womb, if we must die, then we must give

birth many times over.

A terrible ringing assaulted their ears. All sights and sounds warped; the

laws that held this world together crumbled until there was nothing left.

Pete, afraid of witnessing this with his own eyes, grabbed his head and

cowered on the ground. He doubted his sanity would survive otherwise.

Utinam tu clamoribus nativitates iugiter impleariso—Palatium

animalum!

Fill the air with endless screams of birth—Palatium animalum!

This was the basis upon which the chant was constructed. Everything

vanished and was replaced.

All of a sudden, the four of them were looking at a sky covered in

pulsating flesh. Numerous veins of varying sizes ran along the ground,

which contracted and dilated with the flow of blood. They could feel the

unmistakable warmth of a living being.

"…!"

The sight was at once vomit-inducing and strangely familiar. They

seemed to instinctually know where they were. Perhaps their minds didn't

remember it, but their bodies did—it was the place where life began.

They were in utero, encased within a massive womb constructed of

mana.

"…Oliver, what is all this?" asked Nanao.

"It's…an aria." Oliver struggled to answer. The heavy scent of Perfume

flowed through his nostrils and into his brain. He felt like he was going to

lose his mind by just breathing. He quickly bit his cheek, using the pain to

keep himself grounded while Chela picked up where he left off.

"…A Grand Aria. The final destination for a mage who has mastered

their craft," she began. "Unlike spells that simply activate magical

phenomena within the real world, the mana unleashed from a Grand Aria

completely rewrites reality. Like painting something new atop an old

painting…"

Chela's voice was filled with fear, awe, and a kernel of respect. Being

consumed by the spell wasn't all that uncommon, but reaching that state

through a Grand Aria was exceedingly rare. Only the most special

individuals—perhaps the descendants of the oldest families or individuals

who overcame reason in seclusion—were granted such a privilege. No one

would object to calling this a mage's ultimate form.

"That's right. At the tender age of eighteen, she's finally accomplished

the Salvadori line's magical pursuits. She is, without a doubt, a genius."

Miligan quickly extinguished the envy that had seeped into her voice and

sharply eyed their surroundings. At first glance, there appeared to be no exit

from the world that had engulfed the four of them. If this was truly a womb

made of magic, then it stood to reason that a birth canal connecting them to

the outside world should exist. But placing hope on this wasn't just

optimistic—it was delusional.

"We've been ripped from the real world and placed in another—and the

one who created it sets the rules. We can't get out on our own, and no one

will come from the outside to save us. Either the caster undoes the spell or

we die here," Miligan continued, as if to impress on them that this really

was their one and only "hope."

"That's…"

Several protuberances grew from the fleshy ground as Oliver and the

girls tried to comprehend what had happened. They swelled like giant

tumors before splitting open, as otherworldly creatures crawled from them,

screeching like newborns. Each baby chimera was unique in its

composition.

"'…Find the solution within the endless formula…'"

Oliver muttered the phrase still ringing in his ears. Now he was starting

to vaguely understand what it meant.

A chimera was an experiment in creating the "perfect specimen." Every

living being on this planet has some kind of deficiency; however, some

believed that among the finite combinations of all living beings there lay a

"correct answer." Those individuals sought a combination that didn't exist

in nature.

The Salvadori progenitors—pure-blooded succubi—were said to be one

such group, seeking the correct answer through male seed. Unfortunately,

they had been wiped out before they were able to achieve their goal.

Because they'd focused so heavily on a single correct answer, they ended

up going extinct when they couldn't find it.

"…!"

Oliver forced the gears in his mind to turn in order to resist the effects of

the encroaching Perfume and maintain his ability to reason.

Didn't the Salvadoris object to the very idea of a perfect life-form as a

result of their failures? They considered change and evolution and the

process of eternal trial and error to be the essence of life. That's what led

them to decide that the unlimited diversity produced from these methods

was the key to longevity…

"Wh-what the heck?! Oh my God, this can't be happening…!"

A panicked voice interrupted his train of thought, and Oliver

instinctively turned toward the source. Twenty yards away from their group

were two female students—one looking about frantically and another

younger one in tow. The moment she spotted them, Chela looked as if

someone had punched her.

"Stacy?! What are you doing here?"

"…Collateral damage, huh? Bad luck," said Miligan.

Oliver figured she must be right. These two had probably heard the

emergency signal and come running, staying far enough away to not get

involved with Ophelia, yet were taken by surprise by her Grand Aria.

Unfortunately for them, it was literally nothing more than a stroke of rotten

luck.

"I hate to say this, but we don't have many options… You three know

what we need to do?" Miligan asked Oliver and the girls, and they silently

drew their athames. They'd promised their friends back on campus that

they'd all come back safely. So…

"…Good answer. Mages aren't allowed the privilege of despair!"

The Snake-Eyed Witch's lips curled into a sneer—the very picture of her

indomitable will. That roused Nanao for battle, too, dyeing her hair a

brilliantly pure white with mana. So began their final resistance.

"Fortis flamma!"

A surge of intense flames signaled the start of the battle. Miligan

initiated with massive firepower, keeping at bay the chimeras that had been

born prior to Ophelia's Grand Aria. Against these numbers, it was

imperative that they scatter the enemy's forces. With utter calm, she started

from there.

"Lynette, put up a barrier! Someone needs to be in charge of defense!

You've always been decent at spatial magic, haven't you?!"

"Here?! It would barely last a few moments!"

Suddenly called to assist, Stacy's sister, Lynette Cornwallis, fell to the

ground and began drawing a magic circle, practically beside herself. Oliver,

frankly, was nothing but grateful. A barrier maintained by a fourth-year

should be able to withstand the chimeras for at least a little bit. It would

give their group temporary refuge and allow them to survive a few minutes

longer than anywhere else.

"O-Oliver…!"

"Wait here, Pete! I swear we'll figure this out!"

Once Pete had evacuated to the still-forming magic circle, Oliver turned

his attention to the incoming chimeras. Which one should he fight first?

How should he fight them? No matter how much he strategized, he still

came up lacking. Just one required life-risking tactics to take down, and

now his entire vision was filled with them.

"Where's Fay?! Give me back Fayyyy!"

"Calm down, Stacy! Let's do this together!"

Chela stood next to her childhood friend, who was about to break from

their ranks at any moment, and began chanting a spell in her elf form.

Repelling the chimeras hinged on her and Miligan, their strongest casters.

Oliver's and Nanao's jobs were to keep the chimeras away from them at all

costs.

"Haaaaaah!"

"Ohhhhhh!"

And so they began their seemingly endless battle, fighting back the

infinite oncoming waves.

Tentacles lashed out tirelessly; scythes swung; poisonous fluids belched.

Nanao sidestepped, parried, and dodged every last attack, her blade often

finding purchase in enemy flesh. Meanwhile, Oliver's spells razed their

enemies, blinding them with light, shooting scorching flames, and

summoning decoys to distract with noise.

The techniques they'd learned from Miligan were on full display here. If

they didn't use them, they wouldn't have lasted more than a second. A

single mistake—a single decision delayed by a second—would lead to

instant death. If one of them fell, the whole group would crumble. They had

to fight with literally everything they had or there would be no surviving

this place.

"…How wonderful… I didn't know you could…fight so well…," came

a voice.

From within the mass of endlessly spawning chimeras rose a beautiful

yet repulsive woman. From below the waist, she was no longer human; it

was more accurate to say she was a torso grown from the fleshy floor. It

was Ophelia Salvadori, master of this world—or perhaps the world itself.

"I'm surprised your personality's still intact! So how's it feel to be

consumed by the spell, Salvadori?" Miligan shouted as soon as she noticed

her.

Ophelia looked down at her completely morphed form, opening and

closing her hands repeatedly as if to test it out. She smiled.

"…It's…the worst… Just as I thought. But…I think I can last a little

longer…until I see you all dead…!"

"Ha-ha! Thanks for the hospitality!" Miligan replied, then roasted one of

Nanao's chimeric foes with a double incantation. It really wasn't the time to

be joking around, yet Miligan focused her gaze on the transformed witch

and teased, "Don't you know when to lie down and die?! I'm guessing

you've got some big regrets!"

She unleashed the pointed comment like a flung dagger. Ophelia's

shoulders momentarily twitched.

"…What…did you say?"

"I'm right, aren't I? Otherwise you'd never dig your heels in so deep. Is

there some hole in you left unfulfilled after four years at the academy? Haha-ha—I can hardly blame you! Your first love was quite a tragedy, after

all!" Miligan cackled dramatically.

Ophelia's fists shook at the obvious bait. "Shut…up…"

"Oh, was I right? Sorry about that. Still—youth is no excuse for

ignorance. President Godfrey was always out of your league. It's like a

swamp snake falling in love with a unicorn: It could never work out. Even a

child could tell you that."

It was at this moment that Oliver realized what Miligan was doing—she

was fanning the disturbance in Ophelia's mind. If she still had her human

personality, it could be their ticket to cracking her armor. That is, if this

fearsome overlord of their new reality still had a heart capable of wavering.

"The best you could've hoped for was to seduce him with your Perfume

and steal his seed. Ignore people's feelings and prioritize results—isn't that

how your family does things? That's what happens when you're descended

from succubi. I'm impressed—I could never pull that off. As a fellow mage,

I wouldn't debase myself like that!"

"SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUPPP!"

Her probing had finally hit the mark. The chimeras changed tactics from

targeting everyone equally to converging on Miligan with every intent to

kill her. It was as if they shared in their mother's raw fury.

""Magnus fragor!""

But this was Miligan's goal. The moment all the chimeras' sensory

organs were focused on her, Miligan and Chela cast a spell at maximum

capacity—completely covering the area in light and explosive noise.

"Ugh…?!"

To Ophelia and the chimeras, this was akin to getting dirt thrown

directly in their eyes. For a moment, they were unable to sense a thing from

the ensuing blinding flash. It lasted only a few seconds—but that was

enough for the Snake-Eyed Witch to act.

Miligan jumped onto her broom mid-cast, using the scant reprieve from

tentacle attacks to fly over Ophelia's head and immediately hop off her

broom.

"…!"

Ophelia recovered her vision just before Miligan landed and instantly

lashed out at the enemy figure rushing toward her. Tentacles extended from

her lower half, quickly restraining Miligan's hands and feet.

"Guh!"

She was barely a step away from piercing Ophelia with her blade. They

were close enough to see into each other's eyes. From behind Miligan's

frazzled bangs flashed the light of her basilisk eye—and in its dark gaze,

Ophelia was completely immobilized.

"That really got to you, huh? Even now, you're as human as they come,

Salvadori!"

Still glaring at her opponent, Miligan quickly shed her robe and freed

herself from the tentacles. Her legs were caught, but with wand and mouth

still available, she could cast a spell. There could be no missing at this

distance. She prepared to utter the spell that would end it all when—

"Gah—!"

—a new tentacle thrust out from her chest. It had pierced her from the

back and skewered her lungs.

"…Fool. I overcame the basilisk's curse long ago," Ophelia spat.

"Ms. Miligan!" Oliver shouted, realizing their plan had failed. Ophelia

didn't even spare him a glance, continuing to study the prey caught in her

tentacles.

"Say those words again. What about me?"

The tentacle around Miligan's arm tightened until it broke bone, and she

dropped her sword to the ground. With a punctured lung, there was no hope

of fighting back—but she refused to keep her mouth shut. She refused to

stop laughing at her opponent.

"…Didn't…hear me the first…time?" Miligan asked. "I said you still

can't let go. Even when you've reached the peak of magehood, you still

cling to the regrets of a sweet young girl. This, from a Salvadori! A family

known for reveling in lewdness and carnal desire! …Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I

can't think of anything more hilarious—!"

Two more tentacles drilled into Miligan's abdomen. Ophelia made no

attempt to cover her opponent's mouth—it would only stifle the screams

she wished to hear. She gazed upon her prey writhing in pain.

"…So you wish to die the worst possible death?" she said coldly. "I'll

give you the gift of choice: What would you like impaled next?"

"Kah—ahhhh!"

Miligan flailed as her innards were violated with agonizing pain.

Ophelia watched her victim up close, yet her gaze was hardly filled with

sadism. Her expression was twisted as she gnashed her teeth. "I don't…I

don't—I don't have any regrets!!"

In escaping the light, her feet naturally brought her to the deep dark of the

labyrinth. The second layer was still too bright for her tastes. The third

layer, however, was wonderful. Everything was dank and grimy as far as

the eye could see, and best of all, hardly anyone came this way. Everyone

either avoided this section or tried to move through it as quickly as possible.

It was the perfect place to start her lair.

"…Lia."

Yet, there was one oddball who pursued her anyway. At their young age,

it was incredibly dangerous to go this deep into the labyrinth alone—but

they came just the same. Of course, they knew she didn't want to see

anyone—no matter who it was.

"…Go away, Carlos. This is my territory."

Her back still turned to her childhood friend, she rejected them coldly.

There was no other way. She didn't want them to risk the danger, nor did

she want to be seen in her current state. Carlos Whitrow, however, had other

ideas.

"Let's go back to the academy. I'll smooth things over with everyone."

"Don't be stupid."

She could never agree to that. How was she supposed to face everyone

now? Not only had she spread her Perfume throughout the group and

thrown it into chaos, but she'd also nearly killed one of its members and

fled. She'd destroyed any sense of trust and friendship they'd developed for

her.

"Don't despair. If we talk it out, Al will forgive you. You should know

that—"

She knew they'd say that…and they were most likely correct. Alvin

Godfrey would never abandon someone as long as they were sincere with

him. No matter how many times it took—he would forgive over and over.

"..."

Which was why she couldn't face him. Her heart hurt every time he

forgave her—broke, even. No matter how much she pined for his light,

there was no changing the succubus blood flowing through her veins.

The more she grew to care for him, the more time they spent together,

the more she longed to steal him away entirely. She'd often catch herself

having the sweetest nightmare in the corner of her mind, of unleashing her

Perfume in its entirety and putting him under her spell. And every time, it

made her despair.

So in order to escape that suffering—in order to reject his kindness—she

gave herself no other out so that she would never return. She would never

even think of poking her head into the sun again.

"…?!"

When Ophelia turned around, everything fell into place for Carlos. Her

belly was swollen—and inside it was a non-chimera life.

"Lia. You…"

"…An older student asked, and I let him impregnate me. Nothing big.

This is my role in life, isn't it?" Ophelia said dryly as her childhood friend

struggled to find words.

This was another of the duties of those born to the Salvadori name: share

the family blood among long-standing clans who showed interest. It was

hardly a rare occurrence in the magical world, and Ophelia had no real

reason to shirk her duty. Her body was accustomed to giving birth; she'd

done it dozens of times before. One more wouldn't even make her flinch—

or so the older student must have thought when he planted his seed within

her.

"..."

No, she wouldn't flinch. The only thing that cried out was her heart.

Lately, however, she'd started growing numb to it. She'd long accepted that

she was a convenient vessel and that her heart was no more than an

accessory to its function.

Yet, why was her childhood friend so visibly distraught? She'd told

them nothing could hurt her anymore. Why did they suffer in her stead?

"…I told you to wait at least three years—"

"I know what you said. And I don't have any reason to listen to you,"

she replied icily. This was her duty as a mage. A mere guardian had no right

to complain about the business of the house of Salvadori.

"I'll say this one last time: begone, Carlos. Or are you going to try and

kill me, here and now?" Ophelia asked, placing a hand on her athame. If

Carlos truly insisted on having their way and staying true to their path,

they'd have to fight her like any other mage. Their only choice was to crush

the girl before them and all the Salvadori history that came with her.

"...!"

Of course, she knew they couldn't choose that.

"…I'll be back. And I'll keep coming back until you listen," Carlos

vowed, then reluctantly turned on their heel. They'd probably come again

many times. And every time, she'd chase them away. She'd freeze her heart

and reject any and all kindness extended to her.

"Hmph. Fallen this far, have you, succubus? How laughably predictable."

The depths of the labyrinth were filled with a surprising number of

similar stories. One particular mage who gathered the bones of the dead to

use as his familiars belittled her with unique turns of phrase, smiled with

pity, and welcomed her to her new home:

"Rejoice, for the waters here are perfect for you. It is a most suitable

location—far more palatable than the surface."

Ophelia couldn't agree more. It was such a relief to be surrounded by

those like her. Now, she was free to return their loathing.

"Partus."

She responded with a spell.

Cyrus Rivermoore's mocking smile deepened. "Ha! That's the first thing

you have to say to me? Seems you've built up quite a bit of resentment.

Very well—this, too, is my duty as your predecessor. Let's play, shall we?"

The man chanted a spell of his own, encouraged by her hostility. Deadly

duels were good for relieving stress, and she would never be without a

partner again.

"…I realize I might be meddling, but I think you should stop."

Every now and again, she ran into Kevin Walker, too. He was one of the

few older students on good terms with Godfrey's group, having personally

saved them countless times.

"People may plumb the labyrinth's depths, but it's no place to make a

home. Take it from me, someone who comes down here regularly: I make

sure to never forget that line. Then again, this is Kimberly—as lawless a

place as you'll find. But at the end of the day, it's a place for humans. There

are good folks and bad, nice parts and awful parts… Kimberly's all of that.

It's a place where we can laugh and cry in equal measure."

Ophelia couldn't decide how to deal with him. He was clearly different

from the others who made their domains down here, yet he'd also

"survived" in the labyrinth the longest of anyone. If she tried to grab him,

he'd easily slip through her fingers—truly an all-around annoying person.

"Carlos is still trying their best to create a place for you. They're

forming a group of students with sex-based idiosyncrasies so that you won't

stand out. Are you really okay with letting things go on this way?"

He never poked his nose in for too long, typically making a few

comments before leaving. But those few comments always managed to

sting. Truly, he was maddening.

"…It hurts…doesn't it?"

But the most troubling person was this girl. They'd interacted a few

times while Ophelia was still on the surface, but ever since she'd started

living in the labyrinth, the girl would try to talk to her whenever they met.

"…How about…some tea?" she asked haltingly. "I…um, have some

nice leaves… I'm good at it… Making tea, I mean."

And then she had the gall to extend such an invitation with a smile.

Ophelia had no idea what to do with this puppy that had imprinted on her. If

it was just a cursory bit of pity, she'd have no problem shooing her away—

but she realized that this girl, at least, felt nothing of the sort.

"…Tea? Here? Don't make me laugh."

It pained Ophelia to coldly scoff at her every time they met. Usually, the

girl was accompanied by her older brother. He was also a friend of Carlos's,

which made him doubly annoying.

"If you don't like it down here, then let's go up," the boy said. "Not to

the surface, no. But the second layer would be better, wouldn't it?"

"Why don't you try grabbing me by the collar and dragging me,

Sherwood?"

When Ophelia rejected them, the girl always looked so sad. Ophelia

hated seeing that—so this was the one person she turned her back on first.

"If that's all, then you can leave. I'll pass on licking each other's

wounds."

This was the truth, really. Spending her time with someone who bore the

same pain was no better than staring at a broken mirror.

"…You're going to give back my comrades, Ophelia."

It was inevitable that this incident came to pass after she'd chosen the

life of a labyrinth witch. She abducted people when her research required it,

sapped them of their vitality, and tinkered with their minds and bodies with

utter impunity. So naturally, she ended up clashing with him.

"Did you come all this way just to see me, Godfrey? How perfect. These

ones just ran out of juice."

Because she knew this meeting was inevitable, she'd done all she could

to prepare for it. It was no coincidence that she'd abducted Godfrey's

comrades. She made him watch as her chimeras carried the students'

lifeless bodies and dumped them unceremoniously onto the muddy ground.

"…Ah… A-ah…"

"You're okay now! I'm right here! Stay with me…!" Godfrey cradled

each student in turn, calling out to them. Their vacant pupils barely

managed to focus on him.

"Ah—gyah—gaaaaaaaaaah!!"

"…?!"

Suddenly, screams burst from their lips. Three of the students arched

their backs in excruciating pain. Godfrey watched in horror as alien arms

burst from their abdomens, tearing through skin and muscle.

"Wha—?!"

Three chimeras crawled out of their stomachs, wriggling in the pools of

blood spilled from the hosts they'd devoured.

Godfrey was still as a stone; Ophelia gave him a radiant smile.

"Such healthy babies, aren't they? I think boys should experience the

miracle of birth as well. Anyway, you're free to take them home now. These

three went quite mad from the process, unfortunately. But wouldn't it be

lovely if they could regain their sanity?"

She delivered each word of her prepared speech with careful accuracy.

Godfrey's allies, who had been standing behind him, jumped out upon

witnessing the horror. They burned the chimeras crawling at their feet with

magic, then proceeded to try and save their screeching friends.

"…Your heart has been stained by the labyrinth's darkness, too."

The scene cleared Godfrey's mind of all remaining doubt. He could

forgive a mistake any number of times. But there was no forgiveness in his

heart for those who hurt and belittled his allies with clear malicious intent.

Godfrey drew the athame from his waist and pointed its tip at Ophelia.

With unwavering spirit, he prepared to battle the enemy before him.

"No more words. This ends now. Draw, Salvadori!"

For the first time since they'd met, he called her by her family name.

"Of course."

The word was like a blade in her heart, and she raised her athame. An

odd sense of peace spread throughout Ophelia's body.

She didn't need to suffer anymore. She didn't have to struggle

pathetically in the light. This was her true form. She had finally become an

enemy of humanity.

"...No…regrets..."

Ophelia's voice was shaky and weak. Her body defied human reason,

yet her human memories still tortured her. And as a result of this internal

discord, the chimeras were very clearly slowing down. Their relentless

pressure was letting up.

Oliver hopped back and called out to his friends.

"The chimeras are losing their edge—their mother's confused! This is

our last chance. Can everyone move?"

"Yes!"

"Indeed, I can."

Chela and Nanao immediately agreed. They must have been at the very

limits of their stamina and mana, but they refused to show weakness.

"I can fight, too…!"

"It's all I can manage to keep this barrier up! Anything else is up to the

rest of you, got it?!"

"…!"

The Cornwallis sisters indicated that they were ready as well. Pete,

meanwhile, did his best to keep his hands from trembling as he gripped his

athame. Oliver couldn't be more grateful. None of them had despaired,

against all odds.

Upon returning his gaze to the front, he could see Miligan was still in

the grasp of Ophelia's tentacles. He couldn't tell if she was conscious, but it

was clear as day that she'd risked her life to create an opening for them.

"We'll act as decoys. It's up to you, Nanao," Oliver said, broom in hand,

and Chela quickly picked up what he was implying. Normally, he would

never choose such a method. It was a huge gamble, but at this point, there

was no other choice but to ignore the risks. "We'll draw the chimeras'

attacks," he continued. "While we're doing that, you fly in as fast as you

can toward Ophelia Salvadori and chop off her head. That'll end it."

Oliver was frustrated with himself. This was hardly anything as grand as

a "strategy"—it was simply a four-person suicide mission. He wasn't even

shouldering most of the burden. It all depended on Nanao's broomriding

abilities.

"I see—understood."

But Nanao didn't balk. If Oliver proposed the plan, then she'd believe in

it as if it were foolproof. And that honest bravery was reason enough for

Oliver to bet it all on her.

"Then that's it. Let's move!"

As the one who had suggested the plan, Oliver made sure he was the

first decoy in the air. Chela and Stacy quickly mounted their brooms and

flew after him. The chimeras were disorganized due to Ophelia's confusion,

and they reacted instinctively to the movement. The ones with antiair

capabilities focused their efforts skyward.

"We've got their attention! Now, Nanao!"

"Haaaaah!"

While the tentacles on the ground reached up for the three of them,

Nanao hopped on her broom last and took off. She gained altitude in an arc,

then rocketed down straight toward Ophelia.

"Uwah!"

"Stacy!"

Infinite tentacles assailed the three decoys. After a few seconds, one

made contact with Stacy's broom. She lost her balance in midair, and Chela

watched as she helplessly plummeted to the ground.

"Not yet! Not yet…!" Oliver muttered as he weaved between incoming

tentacles. He couldn't fall yet. Not until Nanao delivered the final blow!

"Guh?!"

The ferocity of the attack took him off guard. The moment he thought

he'd evaded the three tentacles, a sticky thread flew in from behind and

latched onto the broom's handle. As he struggled to maintain his balance,

he noticed out of the corner of his eye a spider-based chimera spitting

thread. It was faster and harder to see than the tentacles, so it would be

difficult to avoid no matter how much focus he gave it.

"Gah…!"

He fell a few seconds after Stacy, separating from his broom, and

tumbled across the fleshy ground. Fortunately, he managed to soften his

fall. The moment he recovered, he witnessed the last decoy, Chela, get

tangled in the spider's thread and knocked out of the sky.

His eyes flitted to their last hope.

"Haaaaah!"

A deluge of tentacles that Oliver's group had failed to keep busy now

raced toward Nanao as she made a beeline for Ophelia. With incredible

maneuvering, she managed to avoid them, but the second attack wasn't so

kind: A web of spider's thread stretched in front of her path, creating an

impassable, unbending wall.

"Flamma!"

But the next moment, Nanao's fire spell pierced a hole in that wall.

She'd trained hard under Oliver's tutelage so that she would have more than

her sword skills available in a battle—and here, in the most critical of

moments, her training bore fruit.

"Have at thee!"

Once she was through the web, there was nothing standing between

Ophelia and her. Oliver watched, forgetting to breathe, as Nanao rode the

momentum of her broom, her blade closing in on her enemy's neck.

That was when she made a fatal mistake: She locked eyes with the witch

who was bawling like a little girl.

"—!"

Her sword came to a screeching halt mid-swing. The blow that should

have signaled the end to the battle slipped past the witch's neck by a

fraction, cutting nothing but air.

"Nanao!"

The Azian girl crashed into the ground, completely unprepared for her

landing. Oliver happened to have fallen near the crash site, and he ran over,

his face pale. He found Nanao lying there.

"…Forgive me, Oliver…"

Unable to get up, she still managed to offer a firm apology. Oliver

approached her, hardly thinking. He didn't need to be a doctor to see that

she was injured all over. Her arms, legs, and ribs were broken, along with

numerous other bones. It was a miracle she was even conscious.

"…!"

He knelt next to her and cast a healing spell. He could sense the

chimeras closing in around them but chased it out of his mind. He had

neither the mana nor the strength to mount any sort of resistance. More

importantly, he had to tend to the girl in front of him.

"…Why…didn't you kill her…? That was our last chance…," Oliver

said as he healed Nanao. That should have been the end. Nanao's strike

would have perfectly severed Ophelia's head. If she hadn't hesitated,

everything would be over now.

"…That was…a child," came Nanao's faltering reply, recalling the

moment. She'd been prepared to face a fearsome enemy, to instantly slay a

demon that held no regard for human hearts and minds. That was how her

battle with Ophelia Salvadori was supposed to play out. She had never

expected something so childishly frail and fleeting, so infantile—the tearstained face of a defenseless little girl.

"…I cannot kill a crying child. I just cannot."

"…!"

Oliver clenched his jaw tightly. He understood everything. With no reply

to offer her, he silently leaned in to her. It was an incredibly Nanao-like

reason to spare the enemy.

The end was coming. Chela was still capable of some movement and

dragged her aching body over to Stacy, who'd crashed first. Picking up the

immobile girl in her arms, she somehow managed to get her into the barrier

where Pete and Lynette stood. This would be where she made her last stand

—she resolutely drew her athame.

"…I'm sorry, Pete," she said.

"Huh…?"

"I wish I could've protected you to the very end."

The moment he heard her apology, something inside Pete burst.

"Wha—? Wait, what're you—?" Lynette stammered.

He ignored Lynette's attempts to stop him, then strode up to a shocked

Chela and drew his athame.

"Don't…"

He knew it hardly made a difference. But he had to do it anyway.

"Don't apologize. You all came to save me, didn't you…?!"

The witch's heart was pure chaos inside.

Her thoughts and emotions in disarray, she could only writhe in pain and

loneliness. Why she was so sad, she didn't know. There shouldn't have been

any reason to be.

She'd gotten this far by doing what she was meant to. As the product of

a thousand years of history—as the end to a thousand-year search—she'd

completed the Salvadoris' magical pursuit in the greatest form possible.

What could she possibly be unhappy about after such an amazing

achievement?

"Ah… Ahhh…"

In the center of the encroaching circle of chimeras was that boy, risking

his life by holding a girl who was injured from head to toe in an effort to

protect her. As she watched the scene play out, Ophelia wondered when

was the last time she'd been held.

"Watch this. I'll teach you how to handle males."

Her mother was teaching her secrets, body intertwined with a man she'd

Charmed into mindless servitude.

"Hee-hee-hee… See? Easy, isn't it? Bait him with the pleasures of the

flesh, and he'll end up just like this."

As she moved her hips, only meaningless moans escaped the man's lips.

In exchange for the one-sided pleasure, his vitality was forcefully taken

from him. Ophelia recalled feeling, even at a young age, that it seemed

terribly pathetic.

"This isn't sex, and it certainly isn't lovemaking. This is feeding. We are

predators, and these are our prey. The intercourse might get a little

involved, but it's never anything more than a means of procuring their

exceptional stock."

She'd accepted her mother's claims without any doubts. But in

hindsight, they were only half-true.

"…Mother…where's Father?"

Once, when she was about fourteen years old, she wandered the house

on wobbly legs two days after a difficult chimera birth that had taken a

whole three days, only to realize she couldn't find her father anywhere.

When she asked her mother, who was practically drowning herself in

alcohol in the living room, the answer was immediate:

"I threw him out. He expelled his seed, so I had no more use for him."

Ophelia felt neither shock nor sadness, only quiet acceptance. Ah, I

figured as much. She'd long since picked up on her father's desire to leave

them. She'd always expected this day to come.

"He looked so incredibly relieved to get out of here," Ophelia's mother

continued. "He had some promise, but in the end, he was just a male. He

could never keep up with the Salvadori pursuits."

Except for their seed, males were entirely unnecessary to the Salvadoris'

sorcery. That much was a given, considering the uterus was the key to their

craft. However, Ophelia wondered, why had he stayed so long, then? Why

had her mother kept her father around?

"…Why do you look so upset? Don't tell me you miss him."

Noticing her daughter's dubious gaze, the mother glared at her. She was

playing dumb; Ophelia might as well have been talking to a mirror.

"Don't worry. I may be rid of him, but I have plenty of other males. Oh!

With that nasty business out of the way, I should go on a hunt. It's been far

too long."

And so she ran from reality. She ignored the feelings that lay dormant in

her heart in order to avert her eyes from the truth—in order to maintain her

family's pride as plunderers who disposed of men once they were through

with them.

"Yes, let's do that. Ophelia, you're coming with me. You can have a

laugh at the pitiful males as they fail to resist their own lust! That'll

brighten your mood! Yes, I'm sure of it!"

The hint of madness in her mother's tone told Ophelia the truth: Oh—we

were the ones thrown away.

"…Ah…ah..."

She'd known all along. Male, female—it made no difference so long as

there was kindling for the fires that drove sorcerous pursuits. There had

never been a single human in that house.

Why, then, did they continue to play out this crude performance? Why

did her mother marry like a human, run a household like a human, give

birth to a child like a human? Why did she give her daughter a human name

like Ophelia?

"…Ahh…ahhhhhh…!"

She should never have had a name. Even a mind capable of thought was

too much. If she was born to be nothing more than a womb, then there was

no reason for her body to burn with such pain. She would never have had to

experience the fear of love or taste the bitterness of heartbreak. The end

would have come before she was forced to come to terms with any of it. Or

with the fact that she was all alone.

Where is that lonesome girl?

"…?"

Her heart was about to burst screaming in an endless hell and clawing at

her chest, and yet she clung to it—and then suddenly, she heard a familiar

song.

Where is that little crybaby?

At first, she thought it was welling up from deep within her memories.

But no—it wasn't coming from her head. It was ringing in her ears.

Don't hide. Come to me. Your tears won't dry on their own.

The gentle voice melted everything away, loosening the tight bonds this

world was made of.

"Huh…?"

Oliver was the first to notice the change. A pure light shone through a

space near him before slowly expanding. A bridge between their closed

world and the outside was forming.

"Made it…"

Across the bridge came two figures: One, tall and muscular, was Alvin

Godfrey. The other was also familiar to Oliver and his friends—a slender,

androgynous youth.

"Carlos…?!"

Ophelia recognized her childhood friend and called their name in a daze.

Carlos looked straight back at her and smiled softly.

"Sorry I'm late," they said. "I've come for you, Lia."

"…! Stay away!"

Carlos walked toward her, and the chimeras pulled back like waves in

his wake. Tentacles shot out from beneath Ophelia and headed straight for

Carlos, slicing their skin and breaking their bones, piercing their side and

burrowing into flesh. The impact caused the youth's thin body to stumble

forward.

"Carlos…!"

Unable to watch any more, Oliver got to his feet, sword in hand, but

Godfrey's tall frame blocked the way. He shook his head quietly at the

confused boy.

"It's okay," Godfrey told him. "Let Carlos handle it."

His voice was full of faith and conviction. Oliver could say nothing to

that, even as Carlos was still being attacked by the tentacles. They didn't

even try to draw their athame and fight back. It was as if this was their duty.

"You're so hasty, Lia. Don't worry—I'll give you everything."

Carlos's tone was unfathomably kind. They pointed a finger at their

throat, and suddenly, the tattoo around their neck unfurled like a ribbon and

disappeared. Oliver's gut told him a seal had just been undone. He

swallowed hard, and the singing grew louder.

See? There you are, silly. Crying all by your lonesome.

Too much crying and you'll drown in a sea of tears.

It was an oddly familiar lullaby, sung in simple Yelglish. With every

verse Carlos sang, their surroundings wavered. Like gently untying a knot,

this strange reality continued to unravel little by little.

But it's okay now. I'm here for you.

You're not alone anymore. I'll end your loneliness with magic.

"…This is…"

It wasn't a spell. This voice itself was filled with power; Oliver realized

it had been enchanted somehow. But that alone didn't explain it fully.

Carlos's voice was clearly working to nullify this world Ophelia had

created. Their voice rang out clear and true, like a perfect counteragent to

the Salvadori witchcraft.

"Wait…"

He felt a twinge of divinity. Suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle fell

into place.

Oliver recalled the party he and Pete had been invited to; Carlos had

called it a gathering of "students with sex-based magical traits." Thus, it

was only natural that their leader—Carlos—also possessed something that

fit that description.

What if this singing voice was that something—this alto voice, frozen in

time before puberty could take effect? Everyone could sing in this range as

children, but most lost that pure, innocent quality once they matured.

However, via certain methods, it was possible to maintain that range—and,

with many hours of training, develop a magical element to it.

A castrato. Only by eliminating the masculine features while a child was

young could this enchanted voice be produced. Its tone was sacred,

innocent—the ideal counteragent to the various sorcery that utilized one's

biological sex.

"Good day. Nice weather we're having."

Carlos recalled the day they first met her, in the garden of that dark, cold

mansion.

"…Who are you?"

The moment they laid eyes on her, they felt as if they'd been stabbed in

the heart.

This young girl was heavily pregnant—a child born into this world as a

descendant of succubi, fated to perfect her family's witchcraft via her

womb, unwillingly emitting this Perfume that drew men to ravage her—no

wonder she felt unable to love or be loved in return.

"I could be a friend, if you like."

Carlos Whitrow had been dispatched to serve as Ophelia's safety valve.

As a castrato, Carlos could keep her in check whenever her magic went

berserk. And when she inevitably was consumed by the spell in pursuit of

her magecraft, they would be able to kill her without fail. This was Carlos's

duty as a mage, entrusted to them through their family's pact with the

Salvadoris.

"Am I going to bear your child this time?"

That shocking question spoke volumes about the environment in which

she'd been raised. To her, a male's sole purpose was to plant their seed

within her womb. She could hardly consider any other possible interaction.

"Oh, no, honey. That's not possible for me."

"…? What the heck?"

So they explained it in no uncertain terms. Of course, she was confused

at first. That's fine, Carlos thought. Little by little, they'd teach her that she

wasn't some broodmare—that there were other ways of interacting with

people. Because they would always be by her side.

Ah, but…

"But enough of that. So did you want someone to chat with or not,

Princess Grumpy?"

If possible, they wanted to see her smile. They wanted this girl—

designated as no more than a vessel for bringing life into this world—to

obtain a happiness that made her glad to be born human. They couldn't help

but hope it was possible.

In that moment, their personal hope formed, defying their family's

orders. Carlos Whitrow's life—and fate—was now sealed.

"I'm sorry, Ophelia… I was by your side, yet I couldn't help you at all,"

said Godfrey, his voice echoing within the crumbling womb. His expression

was filled with guilt and regret—but the next moment, he forced it into a

smile. Not one of gloomy remorse but of sheer gratitude as he watched his

friend's final moments.

"Good-bye, Carlos…my best friend."

Oliver could tell Godfrey was fighting hard to keep his voice from

breaking. But it was no use. His throat quivered uncontrollably. Tears

flowed from his eyes unabated.

Carlos knew better than anyone that Godfrey was not one to conceal his

emotions. They flashed one last smile as bright as the sun.

"Yeah. Good-bye, Al."

After saying farewell to their dear friend, Carlos turned back to Ophelia

and resumed their march. They'd resolved to be by her side to the end, and

they proceeded without hesitation.

Open the door and come to me. I am your home.

Let's doze by the fireplace for a bit, until those puffy eyes subside.

Carlos's throat screamed in protest. Their ribs were cracked and broken,

and white-hot pain spread from their lungs through their entire body. The

more they sang, the more their body broke down from the inside. The seal

on their voice had been broken, and they were singing at full power,

transcending the limits of any normal vocalist. If they continued like this,

their body would not survive the effort.

But they didn't care one bit. Their song, their flesh, their thoughts—

everything they had existed for the sake of the girl shivering before them.

"Stay away… Stay awaaaayyy!" she screamed.

Her tentacles ripped through Carlos's flesh, broke their bones, and

ravaged their thin body over and over. And yet—Carlos never stopped

advancing. The tentacles weakened, as if uncertain about killing the person

in their grasp. Was it because of the voice? Or was it because the voice

belonged to Carlos Whitrow?

My heart shall envelop you, so cease your tears.

The final verse tied everything together. And the moment it passed

Carlos's lips, their arms wrapped around Ophelia.

"…I'm sorry. I promised to make you smile, and I failed," they

whispered in her ear. The tentacles around Carlos fell to the ground

lifelessly; in their arms, they could feel her sobbing.

"…Are you…stupid? No one asked you to…"

Her voice shook as she berated her friend.

Carlos gently patted her on the head. "I love you, my Lia. I always have,

and I always will. Forever and ever."

They revealed to her the feelings that had never wavered since the day

the two of them met. Even now, in their final moments, Carlos remained

steadfast. It was the greatest, most personal gift they could offer her.

"…I hate you…"

Ophelia refused to accept it happily. However, she didn't reject it, either.

Like a rebellious child receiving a present from a parent, she reluctantly

took it in her hands, eyed it suspiciously, then finally nestled it in her

bosom.

"…Don't let me go," she begged, finally accepting Carlos's loving

embrace.

The youth quietly nodded, gripping her as hard as they could—and

began their sonorous hymn once again.

Undone by the voice, the closed-off world fell apart. The chimeras

disintegrated into sand without a fight. It was a gentle death; the girl's long

days of suffering, and the loneliness that had begun the moment she was

born, were now over.

* * *

In a matter of seconds, Oliver and the others found themselves sitting in a

daze back in the real world, in the middle of the swamp.

"Are you okay, Noll?!"

"Noll…!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his cousins running over. Still, he

remained silent.

"..."

He gazed, unfocused, at a pile of beautifully white sand on the ground.

Mere moments ago, Ophelia and Carlos had stood there in an embrace.

They'd lived in this world, formed a bond—and this was the final evidence

of that bond.