When Kimberly students become upperclassmen, several roadblocks lie in
their way—and one of the biggest is entering the labyrinth's fourth layer.
"I've heard of precious few s-second-years making it down here. Even with
help…they just g-get in the way. I didn't set foot down here until, I think…the
end of my fourth year. And I got m-my arm melted off, so…it was mmemorable."
The third layer—the Miasma Marsh. Leaving tracks in the sticky mud, the
gaunt young man beside Oliver spoke with a mild stutter. A sixth-year student
by the name of Robert Dufourcq. One of the comrades who knew Oliver's
hidden face, he always wore a gloomy smile.
"Yeah, I remember that! You went into the assignment insisting you only
needed backup from the rear. If I hadn't stepped in, you'd have lost half your
body, maybe even ended up with your name in the joint funeral two years ago."
The girl teasing him was another comrade, a seventh-year named Karlie
Buckle who had short red hair and pierced ears. Her plain-spoken manner came
across as friendly, but there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes that made her
slightly unapproachable.
"C-can't argue th-there. But…y-you didn't get off any easier. You're scary
enough without acid b-burning half your face off—"
"You wanna talk shit about my face, there'll be consequences."
Her hand had the back of Robert's head in a vise grip. Bones creaked. Oliver's
cousin Gwyn coughed pointedly.
Karlie let go and flashed Oliver a smile.
"Sorry, Your Majesty. I'm a real loudmouth. Always have been! Can't stand
being quiet. Go ahead and chide me for it; I don't mind. Hey, maybe I should be
stressing this a bit more."
"…No need."
Oliver shook his head, unable to think of any worthy reproach. He might be
only in his second year, but with this mask on, he was their lord. If his vassals
were distracted, upperclassmen or not, he was prepared to snap at them. But
here?
"It's a comfort. I'm not yet capable of joking on this layer."
Karlie's trash talk might include a knock against him, but she wasn't letting
her guard down. This was how she always acted—proof she knew how to
handle the situation at hand.
"Hmph, least you admit it," she replied with a snort. "But is that a virtue for a
man in your position?"
"Karlie!" Gwyn snapped. She was a year older than him, but he was Oliver's
right hand. "Get off Noll's back. And Robert, don't just stand there! Stop her."
Karlie shrugged this off, and Robert bobbed his head, glancing sideways at
Oliver.
"S-sorry, Gwyn. B-but…I'd also like to talk to him. While I have the chance."
They all had good reason for wanting to know Oliver better. And he was
perfectly aware of this, hence why he hadn't pushed them away.
"It's fine," Oliver said, waving his brother down. "Don't worry about me,
Gwyn."
But just as things seemed settled, a girl caught up from behind, moving into
the space between his comrades. Oliver blinked at his sister—Shannon
Sherwood's usual gentle smile was conspicuously absent.
"Heh-heh-heh, looks like someone disagrees," Karlie jeered, not even trying to
hide the look in her eyes: Ain't it nice to have your cousin protecting you, little
lord?
Oliver held his tongue, racking his brain over how best to handle her.
"…Don't…be mean…to Noll!"
"I'm just messin' with him. Did it seem mean?"
"…It did. Like…no answer he gives will please you."
"Ah-ha-ha! Guess it was kinda obvious."
Karlie doubled over laughing, not a trace of guilt. Palpable tension crackled
between the two girls—but then strong vibrations rose up from the mud at
their feet. Oliver was about to bark a warning when Karlie grabbed his collar
and pulled him to one side.
" !"
And the moment he vacated the space, the ground burst. Spraying mud
everywhere, a wyrm emerged, easily over ten yards long. One of the third
layer's biggest threats, they detected the vibrations of mages walking overhead
and attacked from below. Sawlike teeth lined its ring-shaped maw, and it
wheeled in the air, aimed for Oliver's head, intent on capturing the prey it had
just been denied.
""""Tonitrus!""""
Four spells cast in unison shot directly into that gaping maw. The creature's
long, thick body shook and went still—then flopped to the mud, blowing
bubbles. Before Oliver could get his wits about him, Shannon was at his side.
None of his comrades paid the least bit of attention to the downed foe.
"We're almost out of the third layer," Karlie said. "It's about to get dicey. You
ready for it, Your Majesty?"
"…Yeah." Oliver nodded, not letting himself shudder. To the upperclassmen,
that attack hadn't even qualified as dicey, a point they'd made all too clear.
It was another twenty minutes before they reached the end of the marsh.
Now in territory beyond where the Ophelia incident had taken him, Oliver came
to a halt, a knot in his stomach. The shift in his surroundings was all too clear.
The ground, walls, and ceiling were all made of shiny stone. He and his
comrades were in an ellipsoid clearing the size of the campus arena, at the back
of which lay double doors.
"…So this is…"
"The way to the fourth layer. Commonly called Library Plaza."
Even as Karlie spoke, changes were unfolding before Oliver's eyes. The space
before the doors warped, and a black thing emerged. Like a bundle of pitchblack rags, it quickly took form, stabilizing as a gaunt figure over seven feet tall,
its head hidden beneath that black cloth. It spoke not a word, but the mana
radiating from it—nay, the aura of death—left Oliver's hand scrabbling for his
athame.
"…!"
"Relax! You won't be fighting that. Not that the real foe is much of an
improvement…"
Karlie patted his shoulders and then glanced back at the rest of their
comrades.
"As planned, we'll be handling tasks in threes. Me and Robert will keep the
king safe. We still good with that, Sherwoods?"
"…N—"
"We are."
Shannon started to object, but Gwyn cut her off, nodding in agreement.
Oliver said nothing, but Gwyn's interjection was greatly appreciated. He valued
his sister's concern, but he wouldn't be much of a lord if he allowed only his
family to protect him.
"I'll be fine. You two look after Teresa."
"…Noll…"
"Got it."
Shannon still looked nervous, but Gwyn nodded grimly. Teresa simply
watched everything, her eyes betraying no emotion. Oliver turned his back on
them and joined the two older comrades, advancing to the center of the plaza.
"Looks like you got your wits about ya," Karlie said. "But all kidding aside—do
not step out in front of us."
"Or rather, we won't l-let you. If anyone's d-dying here, it'll be us f-first."
Robert's halting speech was accompanied by a gloomy smile. Oliver didn't
doubt him for a moment, but chose to respond as a lord should.
"Then I have but one thing to say: I have not granted either of you permission
to die here."
Those words came like a slap on their backs, and both his comrades grinned.
"Ha-ha! You got it."
"F-fair warning. Let's m-make this look easy."
Karlie and Robert raised their athames. A moment later, a book appeared in
the black-robed figure's hands.
Spotting the cover, Karlie yelled, "Luck's on our side! I've seen it before. Our
assigned reading is Baltro's Memoirs!"
Several dozen pages flew up from the book, cocooning the trio in a swirl of
paper that instantly revamped their surroundings. Oliver could no longer see his
cousins or Teresa.
"Ch-chapter eight, verse two! The G-Glynntoad Calamity!"
By the time Robert finished, they were elsewhere. Surrounded by rustic
farmland. Ordinaries tilling the fields with hoes in hand, or milking cows—which
Oliver found inherently unnerving. It was all far too dated, from the people's
clothes to the way they worked. This had to be over two hundred years ago—
before the magical industrial revolution.
"S-surprised? J-just as it l-looks. P-part of the t-tome's contents h-have been
recreated."
"Escape ain't impossible, so it's better than an aria in that respect. Except—
this library's pretty well stocked."
Oliver was catching up. The view before him wasn't real—it was sourced from
the book. He knew not where or when this was, but—it was the stage of the
calamity Robert had mentioned. And proof of that lay in how nobody around
was aware of their presence.
"Baltro's Memoirs, chapter eight, verse two—an account of a migration
witnessed in the year 984. And the casualties it brought about."
Even as she spoke, Karlie's eyes were on the sky above. It wasn't quite noon
yet, and the weather was overcast—but at the center of those clouds was a
dark, swirling vortex. The ordinaries around them spotted it, too, pointing and
yelling.
"Here it comes. Watch close—this is the calamity the tír bring to our world."
And a moment later, hundreds of things poured out of the vortex, falling
toward the ground. They appeared to be short cylinders, seven feet in diameter
—rusty gears or wheels. But as they slammed into the earth, they began
spinning like ball golems—and causing devastation.
"Eek…?!"
"Aughhhhhh!"
Fields, homes, livestock, people; the wheel-like things made no distinctions,
crushing all in their paths. The sight of their neighbors' demise left the survivors
screaming. Waves of fear rippled across the landscape. The wheels made no
effort to pursue the fleeing humans, simply tracing elaborate geometric spirals
from the outside in, flattening everything in their paths.
As the screams rang in his ears, Oliver fought the impulse to do something.
The sights before him were but a recreation; this tragedy was long in the past.
He knew this, but it ate at him.
"You see what they're doing? That's what we call indiscriminate feeding.
Often seen in packs after an unplanned migration. They've found themselves in
a whole new world and don't know right from left, so they just try eating
everything to see if it goes down. Plants or animals, animate or inanimate, no
distinction. They just eat and puke till they find things that suit their fancy."
Karlie's lecture helped Oliver understand what he was witnessing. Those
wheels were alive. When he looked closely, people, livestock, and dwellings
alike were losing mass far beyond what could be explained by mere crushing. It
boggled the mind, but it seemed these monsters fed by running things over.
That was how the wheels ate and how they hunted.
They were utterly different from the creatures of this world. Even magical
creatures had not evolved like this. These creatures must have hailed from a
fundamentally different ecosystem, otherwise they never would have evolved
to acquire these characteristics. Uninvited guests from a strange and terrible
world—the essence of a migration.
"Uh-oh. They're ccoming this way."
Robert pointed. A wheel was rolling toward them. Karlie pointed her athame
in its direction.
"Better take a look at this one. Colligationem."
Her spell hit the wheel a few yards out, stopping it dead, like it was in the grip
of an invisible hand. She'd forcibly restrained it with a binding spell.
"Okay, safe to inspect. The shape's a doozy, but the actual physical
construction is on the comprehensible side for migrations. Pack hunting ain't
too far-flung from the creatures we know and love, right?"
Karlie launched right into a lecture, maintaining the constraint. The mana
output this required was no small feat. Impressed, Oliver focused on the tír
creature before him, eyes poring over it. Robert was using his athame to dissect
the wheel. Where he cut, gray fluid spilled out, revealing soft tissues beneath—
likely organs. It really was alive.
"Casualties are pretty high even at this stage, but once they've locked onto
their prey, they get far worse. Best to make the most of it. You know—while
they're still preoccupied."
She finished off the restrained wheel and turned her eyes toward the
indiscriminate feeders. Easy enough to handle on their own, but the assignment
was to take out the whole pack.
"Going one at a time'll take forever. But there's a great way to handle foes
like this. Robert, take 'em out."
"A-alone? You could h-help, you know."
He shook his head and stepped forward. He opened the front of his robe,
revealing dozens of test tubes strapped beneath it. Each had a magical creature
sealed within—radiating magical malevolence. He selected one—a type of fairy
—and popped the lid.
"Satus sursum."
The spell released the fairy from torpor, and it shook itself, hopped out of the
tube, and flew off toward the migratory monsters. This behavior was mandated
by the spell cast on it. But of course, a tiny fairy had no recourse against a
mighty wheel. It was crushed and eaten—along with the curse it harbored.
The infected wheel's behavior immediately changed. The precise coordination
was gone, and it charged right at its own pack. The wheel it struck changed with
it, the curse spreading like waves. The migrant monsters were now feeding on
one another. Oliver shuddered, balling his fists tightly.
"Works like a charm!" Karlie said. "Cannibal curses are just the thing for closeknit packs."
That was all it took for Oliver to catch on. This was how curses worked: use a
creature harboring a curse as a medium to transfer the spell, feeding it to your
target to infect them. And not just the target itself—contact with the infected
host would spread that curse through the whole population. The wheels
crashed into each other, splitting open, cracking, then collapsing.
"They're going down fast! But don't relax yet. The curse intensity ain't
dropping at all. That shit stacks each time they feed. The law of curse
conservation! If we see this through to the bitter end…"
As the numbers dwindled, the fighting was getting more intense. Each slain
fellow was multiplying the curse's effects, concentrating them in the remaining
wheels. A hundred wheels became fifty, fifty became twenty, and twenty
became ten. Their clashes were ceaseless. At length, there were only two left,
and they crashed head-on into each other—then only one remained, radiating
an inky-black aura.
"You get one left, and it's stuffed. And if you kill it, the curse leaks out.
Normally, you'd catch it and break the curse, but this is just an ancient record,
so we don't need the follow-through. Curse effects in assignments are neatly
handled by the library itself."
Karlie cast a burst spell to get its attention. The last wheel rolled toward the
noise, its inherent nature entirely overwritten by the curse, its cognitive
functions reduced to the instinct to crush and eat anything that moved. Oliver
raised his athame. The sole survivor was twice the size of the others, and the
curses it had absorbed made it far stronger. But…
"Now, now, hold your horses, Your Majesty."
Karlie waved him down, then stepped forward. Robert backed off, standing by
Oliver's side. Yielding the stage to her.
"…Haaaaah…"
She took a long, deep breath. The closer this thing got, the more dangerous it
was, but Karlie wasn't budging. The wheel bore down on her, its hostility
palpable. Unable to bear it, Oliver cried out, "Karlie!"
"Extruditor!"
The moment he yelled, she'd finally swung her athame. Not to attack headon, though; just as her target seemed about to hit, she'd struck a blow to its
side—like a hook to the brow. The wheel creature was moving at top speed,
powerless to resist a push from that angle. It rolled right past Karlie before
toppling over onto its side. It spun uselessly, scattering dust, pebbles, and the
blood of its own kind.
"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Just keep on spinning!"
Karlie pounced on it. She landed on the wheel's side, at the center axle—no
matter how fast it spun, it could do nothing to her there. It shot out a bunch of
spikes to protect its weakness, but she'd known that was coming, easily
dodged, and stabbed her blade straight into the creature. She didn't even need
to move her athame. With the blade held still, the wheel kept spinning, driven
by instinct—and delivering a fatal wound via the same principle as a can
opener.
"Bye-bye. Impetus."
Once the lid was open, Karlie didn't hesitate. She pounded home a spell to
finish it off. It was like a hammer of wind slamming into the wheel's insides,
forcing the severed disc inward and crushing all the soft bits beyond. A moment
later, bodily fluids squirted out in all directions.
"Okay, assignment complete," she said. "Mm? Your Majesty, did you call my
name just now?"
Covered in gray fluid, Karlie turned back to Oliver, grinning. She was a grisly
sight.
"N-nasty, right? Th-that's why they call her Bloody Karlie. She does the s-same
shit to people, too."
"..."
Oliver had no words, but relief was winning out. They'd gotten through this
without any injuries.
"We lucked into an easy assignment," Karlie said. "These can get real bad if
the draw's against you."
Their surroundings were already fading, giving way to the big doors they
started at. She glanced back at Gwyn's group, giving them a wave.
"Goin' on in! We'll show him around."
"We'll be right behind. Don't go too deep," Gwyn called.
Oliver's group moved on through the open doors. When all three were inside,
the doors swung shut with a loud clunk. The rules precluded anyone from
entering unless they completed an assignment, and the rest of Oliver's
comrades would face a trial of their own. He'd just have to trust his cousins and
wait.
"Welcome, Your Majesty," Karlie said, swinging round to face him, arms
outstretched, "to a place no second-years ever tread—the labyrinth's fourth
layer, the Library of the Depths."
Oliver swiveled his head; the view blew him away. A tower of bookshelves
stretching skyward as far as the eye could see. Countless staircases ran this way
and that across the void, and winged demis flew between.
"…Harpies…"
"They're the books' caretakers. Not hired by Kimberly—they've been living
down here since before the labyrinth was even discovered. They can be a little
temperamental, but they'll also serve as guides. When you come to return a
book, you'll want to give it to them."
Karlie ran down the rules. Several harpies observed the trio, but they didn't
seem hostile. This place was not a library merely in name.
As the three moved forward, carefully looking things over, a black-robed
figure approached—the same type of being that had given them their assigned
reading. When Oliver looked tense, Karlie leaned in.
"The things in black are the watchmen. Can you tell what they are?"
He felt the smirk in her voice. One figure passed, and he caught a glimpse
inside the robes; his hair stood on end. There was a scythe in one hand and a
skull with eyes of infinite blackness. A being he'd only read about in books.
"Reapers…!"
"H-hilarious, r-right? Almost nowhere else can you still see d-death seraphs.
But here they are, on p-patrol." Robert stifled a hollow laugh.
In the age of god, seraphs had been sent out into the world, playing their part
in the grand scheme. Reapers were but one type, responsible for maintaining
order over life and death. It was said they still appeared if mages attempted to
escape their mortality, but few had ever seen them. Though some held this was
because the sight of a reaper ensured your death.
"Even we'd be sunk if we tried to fight them. Be on your best behavior. If you
follow the rules, they won't bug you."
"…What kinds of rules, exactly?"
"Don't damage the books, remove them without permission, return them
late, cause problems within the library itself, et cetera. The Survivor tried to
cook in here once and nearly got himself killed. A real moron, that guy."
Karlie cackled. That definitely sounded like something Kevin Walker would do.
"Every book in here is one of those forbidden tomes. The bulk of them date
from before the calendar began. To mages, a true treasure trove, but a mistake
here—and the books'll eat you. Don't even dare treat this like an extension of
the school's library."
Oliver nodded. He was certainly very interested, although reaching for a book
would likely be perilous at this point.
When she was sure he properly understood the threat, Karlie took her broom
off her back and hopped aboard.
"C'mon. Broom use isn't forbidden, but if you go too fast, it'll earn you some
nasty glares."
"A-are you good at l-low speeds? W-we could go tandem."
A generous offer, but Oliver shook his head, mounting his own broom and
taking off. He was certainly no match for Nanao's maneuvering, but he'd had
the basics drilled into him by now. He certainly didn't need help flying slowly.
As he started to rise, he heard the doors close behind him. He spun toward
them.
"…Someone just left?"
"An upperclassman here before us. Don't worry, everyone hides their faces
here. Even if someone sees, no one will think we're out of place."
Karlie seemed unperturbed. Oliver was less convinced, but he followed her
and Robert's lead.
Meanwhile, two layers up, a different trio were tackling the labyrinth's giant
tree.
"…! Hng…!"
Doing his best not to look down, Pete shimmied up the irminsul after Guy.
The broom on his back had a lifeline attached, and they'd practiced casting
deceleration spells in case they did fall, but that did nothing for the sheer terror
of being a good hundred and fifty feet up. With his nonmagical background,
Pete was especially terrified.
"Make it up here, and we can rest!" Guy called. "Think you can do it, Pete?"
"Of—of course I can!" the bespectacled boy said, summoning every ounce of
tenacity he had. "This is…nothing…!"
He felt a hand on his back. Katie was bringing up the rear.
"Don't force it, Pete. Your legs are getting wobbly. Let's take a seat for a
minute."
Kind but firm. She and Guy had both spent more time down here than Pete
and were playing support and leadership roles, respectively. When Pete still
refused to rest, she quickly passed a rope, tying it to a protrusion on the tree.
"See? You're secured and safe. Sit down."
"…Urgh…"
She'd done all the work for him, and he was forced to take a seat next to her.
While they caught their breath, Guy came back down. He looked Pete over and
made a face.
"Got tuckered out halfway, huh? I told you the third marker was far enough
for today."
"To hell with that," Pete insisted. "I'm not letting you get any further ahead."
Guy shrugged. "You spend every day drowning in books and still wanna keep
up with us on labyrinth stuff? I applaud the determination, but it's too much."
"It's nowhere near enough. I can't stay a liability," Pete hissed, biting his lip.
Katie patted him on the back. "You don't want Oliver worrying about you,
huh? I know how that feels."
"I—I didn't say—"
"Sure, sure, you didn't," Guy teased. "And you'll get out of breath again, so no
more chatter."
Pete fell silent. Watching their surroundings closely, the group rested for
another five minutes, then resumed their climb. Struggling with the steep slope,
Pete grumbled, "Argh… If we could just use our brooms, we'd be over this in no
time…"
"I'd love to, but see those things up above?"
Guy pointed, and Pete looked up. There were a few dozen bird wyverns
wheeling overhead right above the three of them—hardly a coincidence.
"They'll attack the moment we leave the ground. I tried taking the easy route
once, and it did not end well. Best to accept brooms here are nothing but a
lifeline for if you slip."
"If you balance properly, you can minimize the fatigue. That doesn't come
easy, but you'll get used to it in time."
Katie's voice from behind, Guy's from up ahead—being flanked like this was
definitely reassuring, but it also drove home how much Pete still had to learn.
He didn't want to lag behind the two of them.
"The last part's extra steep. Hang on, I'll lower a rope."
Guy scrambled up the tricky section and got a rope secured. Pete had been
using both hands to hang onto the tree, so he willingly switched to the rope—it
was best to keep your dominant hand free in case of magical beast attacks.
"Better make it quick. Linger here, and they'll think you're vulnerable."
Taking Guy's advice to heart, the other two pressed on—and Katie saw a
shadow closing in behind the tall boy.
"…?! Guy, behind you! Look out!"
"Huh?"
Guy spun around and found a demon ape's arm swinging right at him. He
reflexively reached for his athame, but before he could defend himself, the
blow knocked him sideways. He was flung off the tree into the air.
"Guy!" Pete yelled—and Guy's fall stopped.
Sensing its partner in trouble, his broom had taken flight, and the lifeline had
left Guy dangling in the air. But that was still very exposed. And the hit had
shaken him up enough he wasn't thinking straight yet.
"…Uh… Ah…?"
"Guy, move! The wyverns…!" Katie yelled.
That snapped him out of it. His left hand closed on the broom handle—and
the bird wyverns swooped down toward him.
"Ah—ahhhhh!"
Their attack hit before he could reach the tree again. He managed to free his
athame and fight back. Katie and Pete covered him as best they could from the
tree but weren't able to deflect all the wyvern strikes. One of the bird wyverns
slipped through the spells and knocked the athame out of Guy's hand, and the
next one bit the rope stretched between him and his broom.
"Ah—"
The rope snapped, and Guy dropped, no safety measures left. As he fell, he
tried to grab his white wand, but his fingers weren't moving right. The athame
loss had left him with a gouged tendon. Katie and Pete couldn't get to him in
time. He hurtled straight toward the ground—
"Elletardus."
A force caught him, powerful enough for it to hurt. His descent slowed until
he was hovering just above the ground, and an arm wrapped around his chest.
Oliver's catches were a gentle embrace, and this was far rougher—yet that
drove home the fact that he was alive.
"Gah-ha! Been a while since I caught a plummeter! I just happened to be right
under you—you got good luck, kid."
A hearty laugh echoed in Guy's ears. Pete and Katie caught up on their
brooms, landing by their friend and his savior before running over.
"Guy, are you okay…?"
"Any injuries?!"
"Mm, a trio of second-years? That's pushing it. You oughta bring an
upperclassman with you."
The burly older boy put Guy down, looking at each person in turn. Katie and
Pete weren't listening—they had their athames pointed skyward. Their friend
had survived his fall, but those bird wyverns were still hot on his heels.
"Dumb birds! Gotta teach them a lesson. Gah-ha!"
Spotting them, the upperclassman pulled his athame, raising it high. The
blade had a look of scorched steel, and it was soon aglow with magic.
"Turbo Flamma!"
A burning tornado shot out of his blade, spreading rapidly outward and
swallowing up eight wyverns in a single shot. The force of the winds trapped
them all inside even as it burned them alive. They were suspended like that for
just over ten seconds, then their bodies hit the ground, not a one of them still
breathing.
"Gah-ha! Got ourselves a cookout! I was just getting hungry!"
The young man headed toward the nearest bird wyvern corpse, put his
athame at the base of the leg, and started carving away. Then he noticed the
trio's stares.
"Want some?" he asked. "The thighs are pretty good!"
"…Er, um…" Katie and Pete both looked flummoxed, so the young man took a
big bite.
Guy was already reaching into his robe, pulling out a salt shaker.
"…I got seasonings," he offered.
"Oh! Aren't you handy? Gah-ha-ha! Have a seat!"
"Huhhh?!"
They soon recovered Guy's athame and settled down, talking to their older
savior. Once he'd heard their names and what had happened, he introduced
himself.
"Clifton Morgan, sixth-year. Training to catch up with your friend? I get that!"
He folded his arms, looking them over.
"I admire the spirit, but it's real risky," he told them, his expression severe. "If
I hadn't been passing by, that fall could've killed you."
"…I got no excuses," Guy said, well aware of his blunders.
Pete was looking even more downcast. Guy had been exposed precisely
because his attention had been on helping his friend.
"Gah-ha-ha! Been through similar stuff myself, many a time. No way you can
get by in this school tapping every bridge before you cross it," Morgan said with
a laugh. "Nothing wrong with a dangerous bridge or two. What you need to
learn is how to get across without dying. Don't rush for results. Rely on your
elders another few months. Watch what they do and copy it. That'll make
things come naturally."
He ended the lecture there, sprinkling Guy's herb-and-salt blend on the bird
wyvern meat. He seemed to be enjoying it despite the haphazard preparation.
He chewed a couple of times and swallowed, then shot the trio another grin.
"Can't remember the last time I talked to any second-years! Underclassmen
almost never go lower than the third layer. I like this floor! It's teeming with life
—"
He glanced around him. He sure made it sound like he lived down here. But
before they could ask about that, Morgan clutched his chest.
"Cough, cough!"
As he spluttered, flames belched out of his mouth. They flinched back.
"Whoa…!"
"A-are you all right?! You're breathing fire!"
Even mages were only human—they weren't usually capable of this. Well
aware of their shocked looks, Morgan coughed up a few more flames before his
fit subsided.
"…All better. Sorry, bit of a shocker, huh?"
He shot them a rueful smile. A few seconds of silence passed as everyone
stared at him.
"No, this is a trailblazer's duty, I guess," he said, reconsidering. "I'm actually
not gonna get better. Don't have much time left."
Everyone gulped.
"This is the result of crossing one of those dangerous bridges," he said, his
hand on his chest. "This inferno's a real ravager. Gah-ha! I was pretty sure I
could control it, but no such luck."
Chuckling, he pulled his white wand, and a flame appeared at the tip.
Primarily orange, it had tinges of green and brown mixed in—highly distinctive.
Their eyes locked on it, watching as it branched and swayed.
"Don't you dare touch it. It'll do a lot more than burn ya. What I'm working
with isn't a fire of this world. If you're second-years, you've started astronomy
by now, right?"
They were almost afraid to admit it. Morgan's explanation built upon that
basic knowledge.
"One of the tír that connects up to ours regularly is called Luftmarz. The
Ravaging Inferno's Kiln. It's a world where fire flows in place of water. I could
bend your ear all day about that environment's peculiarities, but the most
singular of them is that the fire itself is evolving. They have multiple types of fire
elementals alone," he said. "That suggests this is a world that never had many
elements. Where our world is dominated by other types, theirs filled the gaps
with a variety of fires. And the ecosystem is built on that. When migrations
occur…well, you've heard how the phoenix lives within the flames consuming
it?"
He paused there, hand on his chest again.
"I got interested in the nature of those flames. Can't exactly tell you what I
did, but… Well, this is the result. Couldn't control it, and it's ravaging me from
the inside."
"…You…can't get it out?" Guy asked.
"Afraid there's no treatment. It's fused with my etheric body now. No modern
magic techniques can help. And that means I won't live out the year."
Guy was out of ideas, and the man cleaned the last of the meat off the bone.
"So there you have it! The pursuit of sorcery sometimes results in failures you
can't walk back. But if you let that scare you, you'll get no results worth
having… Cough, cough!"
Morgan coughed again, belching flames. When they just watched, speechless,
he flashed a big grin.
"Come now, don't look so gloomy! You're all mages, right? Failures have their
upsides. The data I leave will guide research to come. And they'll be able to
avoid stepping in the same shit I did. I may have a date with death, but it's one
of the best deaths a mage can have! And I get to have a nice long chat with a
few lucky underclassmen! Gah-ha-ha!"
He laughed hard at his own joke. This was clearly neither a brave face nor an
empty platitude. And that made them feel a little better. At the same time, it
was a harsh reminder—research could lead to failure, and that failure to death.
And that was hardly unusual at Kimberly.
Seeing them all facing reality in their own way, Morgan's smile faded.
"Given my condition, I can't exactly go back to school. But there is one thing
preying on my mind. I'd appreciate anything you know," he said solemnly
before asking: "How's the Blue Swallows' ace doing?"
"That turn was weak!"
The shout cracked like a lightning bolt.
Nanao had been turning her broom at the edge of the practice arena; Ashbury
had spied her opening and jumped on it, her club taking a vicious sideways
swipe that the Azian girl just barely managed to block and withstand.
"You're better than that, Ms. Hibiya!" the Blue Swallows' ace roared. "Both
you and that broom!"
"Naturally!"
Nanao's response was just as loud, and her broom shot off, the two clashing
in the air once again. No one else on the field, no matter the team, dared try to
get between those clubs.
"…Yiiikes, is this even a practice match any more?"
"She's got her eyes on Nanao, poor thing… Granted, Nanao does seem to be
having fun?"
The speakers were both on the Wild Geese. One of them took his eyes off the
clashing clubs—and spotted something far more alarming. His body went stiff
as a board, and he barely managed to croak a warning to the teammate flying
with him.
"…Y-yo, look…"
"? What—? Whoa."
Said teammate reacted exactly the same way, and that reaction spread
through the players around them.
"Well, Emmy? Nanao's flying is something else, isn't it?"
"..."
Two figures stood in the observation space outside the practice arena. One
was a dapper gentleman with rich golden ringlets—Theodore McFarlane. The
other was a silver-haired witch, a personification of frozen steel—the
headmistress of Kimberly, Esmeralda.
"Oh, don't mind us!" Theodore called, realizing there were eyes on them.
"We're just watching, so carry on like normal."
That got things moving again, but…clearly not at anything like peak
performance. He shook his ringlets.
"I supposed that's a bit of an ask, really. 'Normal'…with you watching!"
Their headmistress attending practice was virtually unprecedented. He could
hardly blame the athletes for stressing over it.
"But I suppose there are exceptions…"
Two, to be precise. Nanao and Ashbury's battle raged on, the pair oblivious to
their teachers' presence—and the Kimberly witch's eyes never left them.
Practice lasted another half hour. When the whistles blew for break,
Theodore spied his chance, his voice echoing through the skies.
"Well done, Nanao! I hate to rob you of your rest, but mind joining us?"
"Mm? Oh, Lord McFarlane!"
Clearly only now realizing he was here, Nanao dropped to ground level.
Seeing the witch at his side, the Azian girl smiled.
"Unusual company you keep today," she said.
"Emmy doesn't make a habit of attending practice. But she's always loved
broomsports. She had real passion for them in her student days."
"Oh? I was not aware!"
Nanao hopped off her broom, approaching the two teachers. Ashbury came in
for a landing behind her, giving the headmistress a curious look.
"Fancy seeing you here," she said. "Scoping out the rookie, Headmistress? Or
her broom?"
She didn't hesitate to pry. But her question earned her an indifferent glance
and words that cut her and her question down.
"You've gotten slow, Ashbury."
The air froze around them. After several seconds of silence, Ashbury managed
shakily, "…Say that again?"
"You were faster a year ago. You've grown better…but that's all," Esmeralda
growled. "Are you scared to fly without your usual catcher?"
A merciless pile on that left the arena feeling as hostile as the scrape of metal
on metal. Their teammates above gulped. But no matter how the Blue
Swallows' ace scowled, Kimberly's top witch just kept going right for the source
of her pride.
"You haven't set a new personal best in a while. If you've reached your limit
and are content to train your successors, then so be it. Take a step back and be
a typical broomrider."
"Typical?!"
Ashbury's howl refuted the very concept. She'd have drawn her blade if this
wasn't a teacher—nay, if it wasn't the headmistress. Seeing the rage in her
eyes, Theodore clapped his hands.
"Now, now, calm yourself, Ms. Ashbury," he said blithely. "Her words may be
harsh, but that's her way of encouraging. You know you can fly faster. And
that's all she wants to say."
This might sound like an olive branch, but it failed to lighten the mood in the
slightest. Basking in the light of Ashbury's fury, the headmistress spoke again.
"Seems you haven't entirely lost your moxie. I will reserve my disappointment
for another day."
"…!"
Without results, no argument could carry any weight. Realizing that, Ashbury
turned her broom and rocketed off toward the skies above. A few teammates
called after her, but she ignored them, leaving the arena behind. Nanao
watched her go, arms folded.
"Hmm. A brutal form of encouragement."
"We wouldn't put you on the spot like that, Nanao," Theodore said, patting
her on the head. "Ms. Ashbury's position is rather exceptional. She's a purebred
broomrider."
He turned his smile to her.
"More importantly, do you have time to talk? We'll let you go when your
break's over."
Nanao looked at each of the teachers in turn, then smiled, nodding.
"The honor is all mine," she said.
On the grass not far from the arena was a spot perfect for tea parties.
Theodore was laying out a tea set on a table made from toolplants.
"This is green tea, commonly consumed in Yamatsu. I was told to brew it with
water well below a boil—is this right?"
His spell heated the water in no time, and he poured it into a Yamatsu-made
pot, let it steep for a minute, then filled each of their cups. Nanao took a sip of
the steaming green liquid, and her eyes lit up.
"Ah! It has been far too long."
The taste of home soothed Nanao, and she turned to the silent witch beside
her.
"We have yet to exchange words since the entrance ceremony,
Headmistress."
"..."
Esmeralda remained impassive. Nanao took in her face a few moments
longer.
"Your headaches have not subsided, then?" she said. "It seems the trick I told
you was not enough."
Theodore had been laying out sweets and looked up at this, surprised.
"You can tell?" he asked.
"Theodore."
The witch spoke his name like a hammer on a nail, but he shook her off.
"She already knows," he said. "Nanao, Emmy's headaches have a rather
unusual cause. Simple cures will not help. I'm sure she appreciates the
thought."
He left it at that, and Nanao did not pursue the topic further. She took
another sip of tea, clearly possessed of no motives beyond concern for the
witch's well-being. Pleased by that, Theodore smiled.
"Emmy, you should say something," he urged. "You have much to ask."
It took her a moment, but at length, the witch of Kimberly broke her silence.
"…How's your broom?"
"In tip-top shape," Nanao said, glancing at the broom resting beside her.
"Amatsukaze has your interest?"
Theodore was using his wand to place plates laden with sweets before each
of them.
"More than a little," he said. "It's the only broom in the school—perhaps the
world—that would not obey Emmy. And yet, you've made it yours, Nanao."
"Have I? I do my utmost to bring out the broom's power, but I remain no
match for Ashbury."
There was a frown on her face. Everyone at Kimberly recognized Nanao's
singular talents, but the task before her was a tall one.
"She said a broom was a part of her, like an extra limb. I knew people back
home who felt the same about their horses. Yet, I simply cannot conceive of it
that way. This broom is my partner. I have no intention of placing it under my
control."
Nanao stroked Amatsukaze's handle.
"…Perhaps that's why," Esmeralda murmured.
"Mm?" Nanao blinked at her.
Catching the headmistress's intent, Theodore explained, "The reason your
broom—Amatsukaze—accepted you as its rider. Thinking back, she—the
previous rider—said much the same thing. 'It has more fun flying with me than
anyone else. That's why it lets me ride it and will take me anywhere.'"
Clearly a fond memory for him. And when his eyes turned back to Nanao,
there was a mix of aspiration and envy in them. Like gazing at the twinkle of a
star he could never hope to reach.
"Most mages see brooms as little more than familiars. That goes for Ms.
Ashbury and for Emmy, too. But you're different. And perhaps that's why
Amatsukaze chose you. Not as its master—but as its partner."
"..."
Esmeralda voiced no objections to his interpretation. Nanao took this to mean
Amatsukaze's previous rider meant a great deal to both of them.
"Very well. Then I shall strive to be a suitable partner," she declared, a smile
on her face once more.
With her current riding skills, this was the most she could promise.
When Theodore nodded, Nanao held out her empty cup.
"Lord McFarlane, may I trouble you for another cup?"
"Mm? Oh, but of course."
He pointed his wand at the cup, but as he did, Nanao added something he did
not expect.
"The headmistress first, if you would. She seems to want another herself."
Theodore glanced Esmeralda's way—and indeed, her cup had somehow
grown empty. He looked rather shocked. Experience had told him that she
would never take so much as a sip if she did not intend to speak further.
"…Right you are. My apologies, Emmy. I should have noticed."
"..."
He received only silence in response, and her expression had not once shifted
this entire time. But Theodore was certain—she was enjoying this.
He shot Nanao a look of gratitude, and then a thought struck him.
"If I could ask one thing, Nanao—are you not afraid? Of her?"
Nanao looked baffled. "? The thought has not once crossed my mind. Though
she is certainly intimidating."
Most people would consider fear and intimidation to be two sides of the
same coin, but clearly Nanao saw them as entirely separate.
Theodore slapped his knee, laughing. "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Excellent. That is
exactly how you should be, Nanao!"
He happily refilled both their cups, praying this precious moment would linger
a while longer.
Oliver's group rode their brooms around the Library of the Depths for some
thirty minutes before the door opened and Gwyn's group entered. They flew
down to meet them.
"That took a while. Rough one?" Karlie asked.
"Assignment was a poor match for us," Gwyn said. "No injuries sustained."
He, Shannon, and Teresa looked none the worse for wear. Oliver kept his
relief to himself.
"Cool. We did the basic library rundown, so should we head on out?"
Karlie took the lead again, and they passed through the doors at the far end,
leaving the library behind. Outside, they were bathed in sunlight. Like the
second layer, it was illuminated by an artificial sun, the ground blanketed in
well-maintained flowerbeds. The last thing Oliver had expected to see here.
"…A park?"
"More of a garden, really. Like the harpies inside, the gnomes look after it."
Karlie had taken a few steps forward, and now she swung back toward them,
arms outstretched.
"This place is a perk for any mages who can make it this far. They got
everything from herbs to mushrooms; whatever ingredients you need to brew
your potions. With gnomes looking after it, you know the quality's guaranteed.
Course, if you harvest too many, the reapers come after you."
Oliver nodded. This clarified some things. When they'd been searching for
Pete on the third layer, Miligan had suggested Ophelia might be gathering
materials on a floor below—and she'd likely meant this garden. Anyone who
made regular use of this area needed the proper strength to reliably clear the
prerequisite assignments, which was why Miligan had deemed it still too
dangerous as a fourth-year.
Looking around the garden, Oliver frowned. "I don't see any gnomes," he
said.
"They're pretty timid. They hide when we show up. We won't eatcha!"
Karlie cackled, and Oliver's eyes found gardening tools abandoned here and
there. A few minutes before, gnomes had been at work in the garden, and the
group's arrival had forced them all to take cover behind the foliage. He felt a
pang of guilt.
"You'll need a proper tour of the place, but that can wait till the return trip.
We're on a mission, so let's hit our destination first."
Karlie clearly knew her way around the place and moved swiftly ahead. The
garden wrapped all around the library tower and was pretty large, so it was a
solid twenty minutes before the greenery gave way to a large tunnel some fifty
yards in diameter. The cross-section was a perfect geometric circle (thus, it was
clearly no cave) and the walls themselves were coated in something very
smooth.
"This is one of the passages to the fifth layer, commonly known as the
helicoid halls. It's just one of twenty. Each of the halls connect to a different
point on the fifth layer."
Following her, they stepped carefully inside. A strong gust of wind ruffled
Oliver's hair. Ahead, the tunnel curved, and he couldn't see the end—as the
name suggested, it was a long and winding spiral.
"If we're h-hitting…Enrico—th-this is the pl-place."
"The reason being?" Oliver pressed.
"First," Karlie said, "less foot traffic than the second layer. We don't want any
surprises dropping in, so anything on the higher floors is out. Third layer could
go either way, but the terrain sucks, and there's too much aggressive wildlife. If
we wanna rule out flukes, tough to call the marsh a good choice.
"So we use the fourth layer's barrier to our advantage. Only mages with the
skills to pass the assignments can even get here, which means much less chance
of anyone passing through than up above. And most people who do come here
are after the books. Unless you got a real good reason to dive further, you don't
hit the tunnels."
He nodded. It all made sense. The battle before them was going to be fraught
enough as is, and any and all precautions against a third party jumping in were
well advised.
"Naturally, there are students who dive to the fifth floor and beyond," Gwyn
added. "But they won't be using Hall Eleven here. It leads somewhere extra
perilous. The only people unhinged enough to use it are a handful of
teachers…"
"…And one of those is Enrico Forghieri?" Oliver said, increasingly convinced.
These conditions sounded highly favorable.
"Exactly. And all this is only half the reason," Karlie replied.
When Oliver looked surprised, Robert took over.
"T-try using a barrier spell. Aim it at the f-floor. D-don't hold back."
"…?"
Puzzled, Oliver drew his athame and aimed it down.
"Clypeus!"
The spell's light hit the floor…but seconds passed, and no barrier formed.
Oliver's frown deepened.
"…We can't alter it?"
"That's right," Karlie said. "The fourth layer is highly neutral, which means the
terrain here is extremely resistant to magical interference. Even on other floors,
if you smash a wall down, it fixes itself, right? Basically just an extra strong
version of that. Labyrinth homeostasis."
Oliver experimented with a few more spells, but the results were always the
same. No matter the element, spells cast here vanished uselessly into the
terrain.
"And then there's the reapers. They patrol the library heavily, keeping the
valuable books safe. But the helicoid halls are out of bounds. They maintain
homeostasis, but we can go buck wild, and the reapers won't show. Best of
both worlds." Karlie grinned.
Oliver nodded, and Karlie looked further down the tunnel.
"Point is, it's nigh impossible to mess with the terrain magically. Given our
objective, can you see why we'd want that?"
"Golem interference," Oliver said. Not a difficult conclusion to reach.
"Yep!" Karlie said, beaming at him. "You've tried chasing Enrico around down
here before, so you know how bad it gets. We hit him anywhere else, no telling
what golems or magic traps'll come at us. That happens, the fight'll just be pure
chaos. And we either wear ourselves out and end up obliterated or get bogged
down long enough for him to escape—either way, it won't end well."
"…I've been wondering about that for a while. How does Enrico have so many
golems and traps ready and waiting?"
"I'm afraid n-nobody knows. W-we've tried tailing and s-scouting but to no
avail. But it's m-more than just the first l-layer. They s-swarm out on the second
and third, too."
Robert's frustration was clear. They'd spent a year trying to figure it out and
learned only that their opponent was not to be trifled with.
"B-but we can guess. We s-suspect there's a g-golem that plants other
golems. We h-have s-several theories about how that works but…he c-can't use
it here. The fourth layer's homeostasis is t-too strong."
Robert seemed sure of that, at least, and Oliver took him at his word,
nodding. They might not know everything, but what they did know was enough
to dull their target's advantage. And that was why they'd chosen the helicoid
halls.
"We'll still have to fight Enrico Forghieri himself and however many small or
medium golems he has on him. But fighting here limits him to that," said Karlie.
"Meanwhile, our side has thirty-two committed to the attempt. We go all out,
we've got a viable shot."
Enrico Forghieri was a builder. His threat level was concentrated in the
golems the man himself designed and constructed. This was a big part of why
they were hitting him before the other five targets. If they could peel him away
from his golems, fighting only the man himself, then in theory, he'd be one of
the easier opponents.
But Oliver was very aware that theory was but a small comfort. There was no
chance of starting within the spellblade's range, as he had with Darius. With
one Kimberly instructor already taken out, the rest would be on guard against a
spellblade. And Enrico himself was hardly a close-range fighter.
And the nature of Oliver's spellblade meant he couldn't hide his intentions
until the last possible second. It required extreme concentration, and to
activate it at all, he had to be in combat mode, both mentally and physically. His
hostility would be more than evident. That was one reason why he'd gone after
Darius head-on, baiting him into a duel.
But for all the reasons mentioned, a duel would not be possible this time
around. Like Karlie said, victory was only achievable with the full support of his
comrades. Armed with that conclusion, he asked, "How long is this hall?"
"Just over seven miles," Karlie answered. "Even at top broomspeed, you can't
get through it fast. The tunnels also serve as safety valves, preventing the real
nasty customers from wandering up from down below. If we're hitting him,
we'd do it somewhere in the middle."
"And it never branches?"
"Not even once. Can't even make one because of the homeostasis. Even if he
could, it'd be faster to just kill us all."
Oliver could think of nothing else to ask. He took a few deep breaths. Decision
time. With all the advantages this provided, any further hesitation would just be
cowardice.
"Very well. We hit the mad old man here."
Even as he said it, a shiver ran down his spine. Fear, tension—and a dark glee
that overshadowed those apprehensions.