"I am Esmeralda, your headmistress. Do you know how many students died
last year?"
Her chilling tone resonated in the ears of every new student in the
auditorium. The Kimberly witch glared down from the stage, sinking her
talons into their very hearts with another statement:
"Sixteen. Comparatively few. Though many more came close."
A chorus of gulps. To the fledging mages who'd only just passed
through the front gates, that was a very specific number. Enough to rattle
even those aware of the dangers here.
"…Oh-ho, so she hits 'em with that every year?"
"Guy, shhh!"
The witch's voice, devoid of any warmth, along with the gasps and
restless motions of her terrified audience—that was all the information that
reached the one group waiting down below. But it was enough for them to
know that this fresh crop of students looked just like they themselves had a
year before.
"I know not if this year's number will be higher or lower," the
headmistress continued. "But I can say this—I don't even want it to end
without incident. Quite the opposite. I care not how much blood is spilled.
No matter how many corpses pile up, if the results outweigh the sacrifices
—so be it."
Thus, the group came to know the true nature of this institution. Their
anticipation was torn out by the roots, replaced with a rising urge to get out
while they still could. This was the first dose of harsh medicine all firstyears received—and the first step Kimberly students took to surviving in
the demonic campus.
"In that sense, several of last year's losses were not in vain. They had
results. And thus, they were students of value."
"..."
Oliver grimaced, well aware of the two students she meant. That was not
something he could accept—he could never call their final moments results.
"What will become of you all? Will you perish with results or die a
dog's death? Or live a life of frivolity, disappointing me beyond measure?"
the headmistress asked the crowd. "The choice is yours. This institution
offers freedom. Your results are your responsibility. Those who polish their
skills will find them tried. Those who neglect their studies will find
themselves judged. Thus—if you deem yourself the latter, I invite you to
leave. The door is over there."
Perhaps the witch's merciless speech was her way of expressing
kindness. Leaving was an option. And if your life mattered to you, that
option was undoubtedly the best one. No one questioned that.
But this year, once more—nobody turned heel. The fresh crop stood
their ground, suppressing their shivers. Their strength of will triumphed
over their fears—or, perhaps, they were already prisoners of sorcerous fate.
"You remain? Then for now, we welcome you."
With that, the headmistress drew her white wand and uttered a short
incantation. Instantly, the floor of the entire auditorium vanished into thin
air—leaving nothing below the new students' feet.
""""""""""""Aughhhh?!""""""""""""
The jaws of hell yawned open, and the students plunged headfirst into
the depths. However—a moment later, chairs gently caught them. Blinking,
they found themselves surrounded by tables, laden with food; among these
stood upperclassmen, welcoming them with smiles.
"Welcome to Kimberly. Forget everything you just heard," Oliver said.
He moved to the nearest table and started pouring drinks.
At the next table, Katie called out, "Don't let her threats get you down!
Your seniors are here for you!"
"Some of us are pretty nasty, though! But hey, get your grub on." Guy
was filling plates with food and handing them out.
At yet another table, a girl with ringlets was using her most reassuring
tones. "We all know the terrors this place holds. But you are not alone. You
will find friends among the older students and within your own year."
"…She's right," Pete muttered, topping up the new kids' glasses.
Above his head, broomriding students flew by, leaving trails of gold in
their wake. The crowd stared upward, eyes wide.
"Find yourself some worthy comrades!" one Azian rider's voice
boomed, carrying across the auditorium. "That alone shall make your time
here enjoyable beyond measure!"
By now the mood had shifted completely. The fear had melted from the
new crop's faces, their complexions much improved.
"You may talk among yourselves," the headmistress decreed. "Eat,
drink, and make merry as you see fit."
The noise levels rose quickly. No longer feeling like they had knives at
their throats, the newbies grew eager to talk.
"Aughhhhh, that was terrifying!"
"Don't cry! N-nothin' to be scared of here! That was just a ch-ch-cheap
threat! I didn't let it get to me at all!"
Where one boy was quivering, his friend was stubbornly denying
everything the headmistress had said. He had his arms tightly crossed—
keeping them still—but this did not hide how wet his eyes were.
A girl with curly hair spotted this and quickly brought them drinks.
"There, there. It was scary, but it's all safe now. Have some white grape
juice."
"Like I said, I wasn't scared!"
"Sniffle. Urgh… Wow, that's good…"
Katie's gentle voice and the clurichauns' sweet nectar dried the two
boys' tears. Similar scenes were happening at tables all around the Great
Auditorium.
"Yo, you from a magic farm, too?" Guy asked one first-year. "Only a
fellow farmhand's got a build like that."
"Uh, yeah… Whereabouts is yours?"
"Inland, to the east. You're in the industry—the name Greenwood ring a
bell?"
"…Second-place tomato three years back?"
"Damn, you remember that? It's my old lady's hobby. She makes me
help tend 'em—a real pain, lemme tell ya. If they taste good, who cares
what they look like?!"
Even shy kids opened up once Guy found something in common with
them. Oliver glanced at his friends, impressed, then turned his eyes
elsewhere.
"I—I don't know if I can make it here… I'm from a nonmagical
family…"
"Don't worry—so am I," said Pete. "It certainly can be brutal, but
there's people out there you can trust. If you get scared, just come to me.
My friends'll help, too."
"What's not to be scared of here…?"
Pete had never been the most outgoing, but he was doing his best to look
after the new faces. Oliver couldn't help but grin. Pete knew better than
anyone how scary this place was for students from ordinary origins. He
could take care of them.
"Restrooms are this way. Come! We shall be your guides!"
"You can't enjoy a party if you're holding it in! The call of nature is
nothing to be ashamed of!"
Oliver turned to find Nanao and Chela assisting in a broader sense,
escorting a number of first-years out of the auditorium. Chela was pretty
much always in this mode, but Nanao was clearly getting a kick out of her
newfound seniority. A year ago, she had just arrived in these lands and been
baffled by all manner of things.
"Pipe down, you nobodies," a familiar voice growled behind Oliver. He
flinched, spinning toward it, and found a large, arrogant boy leading a
number of new kids.
"Mr. Albright… And who are these with you?"
"Lost their friends when the floor dropped out. Figured if we group the
lost nobodies together, they'll be easier to find."
"…How nice of you."
"Take your eyes off a nobody for one second and they fall to pieces. Had
to be done."
He put on a show of annoyance, but it was clear this came naturally to
him. With that brief exchange, Albright left the auditorium with his group
in tow. Oliver was astounded—he hadn't expected Albright to look after
anyone.
But as he turned away, a new kid at the edge of his vision bumped into a
soup tureen.
"?! Look out!"
Oliver was already moving. He slipped between the rocking tureen and
the kid, using his robe to shield the freshman from the scalding splash. He
drew his white wand, but before he could chant a spell, the tureen
stabilized.
"Thank you," came a soft voice from in his arms. He looked down…and
barely stopped himself from yelping aloud.
"You're—!"
"You saved me. The headmistress was so, so scary…! Please don't leave
me!"
The girl wrapped her arms around him, her voice trembling. She was
small even for her age. He'd never seen her in uniform before, but that
didn't prove much of a disguise.
(…What are you doing, Ms. Carste?)
Not hiding his discomfort, he spoke via the mana frequency cypher. The
girl in his arms was one of his vassals—a skilled covert operative named
Teresa Carste. She responded in kind.
(I felt a need for us to establish a cover relationship, my lord. I will be
following you around like a puppy, so please play along.)
(You couldn't come up with anything less strange?)
(No one thinks it's strange. Not even your friends.)
She glanced to one side, and Oliver followed her gaze—and found Katie
and Guy sharing a table nearby.
"Oh? Got yourself a li'l puppy there, Oliver? Hey, how 'bout you folks
join us?"
"Let's get the whole gang together! There's much we need to teach these
new kids!"
They were both beckoning, and Teresa managed to communicate a
smirk via mana frequency alone.
(Two very clueless—ahem, nice friends.)
(Not a fan of that sarcasm. Don't let me hear it again.)
(I beg your pardon. But…these friends are just part of your cover, yes?)
As they headed toward said friends, Oliver let this accusation settle in.
After a long pause, he managed a response.
(…I've never been able to compartmentalize these things.)
No use trying to hide it. Teresa responded with a loaded silence. Things
remained tense as they reached the others, but nobody seemed to notice—
Katie was already chattering away.
"Come on over! Better late than never—I'm Katie Aalto, a second-year.
What are your names?"
There was an awkward hush as everyone wondered who would speak up
first. One of the boys stepped forward, dispelling the awkwardness.
"…Dean Travers! Nice to meetcha."
"Oh, um…Peter Cornish. Dean and I grew up together."
"Rita Appleton. Um, and you are…?"
Dean had made it easier for the others. Peter seemed mild-mannered;
Rita, as shy as she was tall. She was looking across the table at Teresa with
evident curiosity. She failed to finish her question but got an answer
anyway.
"My name is Teresa Carste. Nice to meet you. It's a relief to see such
friendly faces on my first day."
"Sheesh, you're a real pip-squeak! Don't they feed you at home?"
"Guy! Don't be rude!"
Katie slapped him upside the head. Oliver glanced down and found a
big, friendly smile on Teresa's face. Or rather—a mask she wore.
"I don't mind. You're very tall," Teresa said back to Guy. "And…so are
you, Ms. Appleton. I assumed you were a second-year."
"Erk…I—I get that a lot. I don't know why I shot up like this…"
The conversational ricochet seemed to hit Rita where it hurt, and she
visibly sulked.
Guy just looked puzzled. "How could big be bad? It never is with
veggies."
"But if vegetables get too big, they get discarded before they even go to
market…"
"Big is good! The bigger the troll, the higher the survival rate!"
"Whoa, Katie!" Oliver cut in. "I know you meant that in a nice way, but
still!"
Across the table, the two boys Katie had brought along—Dean and Peter
—were struggling to find an opening in the conversation.
"They're both girls… What do we even say to them?"
"Don't chicken out! Just act natural! Like me!"
Dean's idea of acting natural seemed to involve stuffing his face. But
Katie had something to say about that.
"You've got pie on your cheek. Stay still; I'll get it off."
"Erk—!"
Dean turned bright red but made no attempt to resist a few dabs from
Katie's handkerchief, which made Oliver chuckle. Dean was trying to play
it cool but clearly didn't have it in him to brush off a kind gesture. That
made him a lot more approachable than Pete had been this time last year.
"......…"
Oliver looked around. The first-years were all settled in at one table or
another, and the welcoming party was in full swing. But the good cheer felt
like a baleful mirror held up against the scene replaying in his mind's eye.
"Carlos…!"
"Sniff…"
"…No…!"
The lights in the hall were dim, as if not wishing to rouse the dead from
their slumber. Students filed through the darkened space, mourners choking
back sobs and whispering the names of the departed.
While many students normally altered and adjusted their school
uniforms, today nearly everyone had them worn to spec, perhaps in lieu of
funeral garb. It was a custom no one mentioned aloud yet all followed
instinctively. This was how mages handled death—something that walked
hand in hand with each of them.
"…Senior Whitrow was well loved," said Chela. "Just look at all the
people here for them…"
"…Yeah."
Oliver could offer only a single word and a quiet nod. The six friends
were clustered toward the back, observing their first Kimberly funeral
procession. Unlike nonmagical ceremonies, mage funerals had no scriptures
or homilies. Their lives were too tinged with darkness to wish for anything
as grand as a peaceful rest or a soul's salvation.
As the funeral drew to a close, the last of the student procession filed out
of the hall. Those who lingered were friends and loved ones, all grappling
with grief beyond words. Oliver and his group decided to join them in
paying their respects.
"…You came," someone said.
The group straightened up, turning toward the speaker. They'd met this
young man before, but his cheeks looked hollow—he had been closer to the
departed than anyone.
"President Godfrey."
"No need for such formalities. The joint funeral is an annual ritual.
Presumably it wouldn't be held if everyone survived the year—but in the
five years I've been here, that's never happened. I elected not to investigate,
but I imagine it's been that way since the founding."
Godfrey's gaze turned toward the altar. Sixteen coffins in a row, but
fewer than half had any remains within. Where nobody was left, or could be
recovered, the departed's belongings were used instead. This included the
two whose final moments Oliver and his friends had witnessed together.
"And every year I've known someone up there," Godfrey continued.
"Still…this year shook me to my core."
"…I can imagine," Oliver said, speaking for everyone. He felt ashamed
that he could muster nothing more than this trite platitude.
"Thank you," Godfrey replied, his smile wan. "But there is a saving
grace. I'm glad Carlos got there in time to be with her. And that you all
survived."
He clapped Oliver on the shoulder, then made his way to another
mourner. As they watched him go, a new voice spoke from behind:
"Goodness, this is always so gloomy. I can barely breathe."
"…Ms. Miligan."
They turned to find the Snake-Eyed Witch standing there. She'd been
gravely injured in the fight with Ophelia, but her treatment had gone
swimmingly, and she was in full health once more. The students who'd
been captured with Pete—Albright and Fay included—had all been rescued
successfully. Ultimately, not a single student captured by the chimera had
perished—the sole silver lining in this tragedy.
Seeing the six pairs of eyes on her, Miligan continued, sounding
impressed. "What a conscientious bunch. Even Pete came. I would have
loved nothing more than to make excuses not to be here…but this time I
had to make amends."
"Amends…to who?"
"To Ophelia. I said some pretty awful things."
Her gaze was on the altar. The row of coffins was bedecked with
colorful flowers, but in front of Ophelia's—was a pumpkin pie. Godfrey
had asked for this in lieu of flowers. The sight made Oliver's chest ache.
He'd never spoken to her much, but he did remember her mentioning her
love of pie.
"'I wouldn't debase myself like that.' How dare I? I've debased myself
more than anyone there, excusing it all as necessary for my survival."
Miligan's rancor was directed entirely inward. She'd made all those
crass remarks in the throes of battle, intentionally trying to infuriate Ophelia
and trip her up. It had worked—and that made her remarks all the more
cruel.
Sharing that guilt, Chela slowly shook her head.
"…Then we are no better," she said. "For it was your words that saved
our lives."
That brought a smile to Miligan's face. She patted Chela on the head,
then took her leave.
"…So it's like this every year?" Katie said. "All these coffins lined
up…"
She looked at the mourners by the altar, choking back tears. Her fists
trembled. These emotions had been raging within since the funeral began,
and now they came spilling out.
"...Why?" she asked.
"Katie…"
Knowing how she felt, Oliver put a hand on her shoulder, trying to
comfort her. But she wasn't stopping. She was the only one unable to bottle
this up.
"Why—why is it normal that people here have to die? Because we're
mages? Who decided that? Who decreed that we can't be happy? That
we're never allowed to smile?"
She objected. To the common lot of sorcery, to the conception of life and
death that defined the lives of all mages. Oliver could not stop her. He knew
this was her greatest strength—and the thorn that kept blood flowing from
her soul.
"I just can't…accept this. Not ever."
"…Oliver? What's wrong, Oliver?"
A voice dragged him out of his reverie—the same voice he'd just been
thinking about. He looked up to find everyone staring at him. His sudden
silence had stood out in the merrymaking. He quickly tried to recover.
"Oh, sorry. Drifted off for a moment… Can't have that. This year, we're
the upperclassmen."
With that, he slapped his cheeks and faced the four new kids.
"We've all been saved by older students. And we'd like to pay that
forward. If you need anything, feel free to ask. As long as it's within our
power—we can help."