They might hide themselves in the light of day, but traumatic memories have
a way of crawling back up in the middle of the night.
"…Unghhh…"
Midnight, not long after they'd laid down to sleep, Oliver heard a groan from
the next bed over. He knew what it was.
"…Haah, haah…haah…!"
"..."
"Haah, haah… Ah, ah… Ahhh, aughhhhhhhh!"
"…Pete!"
There was no sign of it dying down; the noises were only getting worse. Oliver
leaped out of bed and moved to his friend's side, shaking his shoulders to rouse
him.
"Relax, Pete, it's just a dream. I'm right here. Right here with you."
"…Huh… Uh…? …Oh…"
It took several seconds after Pete awoke. He stared at his roommate for a
moment, then darted his eyes around the room. Certain everything was as it
should be, he at last separated dream from reality, and the tension drained
from his shoulders.
"…S-sorry. This again…"
"Don't. This is not your fault. Try to catch your breath."
Oliver kept his tone soft, rubbing the boy's back. No wonder Pete's having
nightmares.
What the mad old man had shown them in his workshop took morality and
ethics and trampled them into the mud. An insane invention that hurled
countless lives into the kiln; seeing the Dea Ex Machina, hearing how he'd
arrived at the concept and execution, and worse—understanding it. That would
rattle anyone, especially someone who'd been introduced to magic just two
years before.
Oliver could tell it had shattered any number of things within his friend.
Concepts of right and wrong he'd still been clutching to, nonmagical norms he
could have lived a lifetime without questioning, all leveled in one go.
Pete knew better now. He knew what mages were, where their extremes lay,
that those extremes might well lie at the end of the path he treaded—and that
no one pursuing sorcery would criticize him for it.
He was forced to redefine everything—ethics, morals, right and wrong.
Concepts at the core of one's personhood shaken and questioned anew. That
would be an ordeal for anyone. Oliver had been through it once himself.
"…Pete, over here."
Oliver put one arm around Pete's back and the other under his knees, hefting
him up.
"Er…?"
Blinking, Pete let himself be carried from his own night sweat–soaked bed
over to Oliver's. He was laid gently down and embraced from behind.
" Uh…?!"
"Sorry it had to be my bed. But if you're willing, we can stay like this awhile."
Oliver pulled the covers up, covering both of them. Their bodies pressed
tightly together.
"…Your pulse is racing. Mana circulation's off, too. Might as well do some
healing while we're at it."
"Wai—! …Mm…!"
Before Pete could protest, Oliver slid his hand up the back of his friend's
pajamas. Pete could feel mana flowing into him through his skin. Oliver had
done this for him any number of times but never in such close contact, and…
"…Er, um… Today, I'm…!"
"Mm?"
He had almost said he was a girl today but let the words die on his tongue.
He knew saying that would make Oliver let go, apologize for the lack of
consideration, reflect upon his own actions, and draw lines he shouldn't cross.
Oliver might never touch him like this again.
Oliver's contact with him, this narrow distance between them—both were
clearly that of a close male friend. That hadn't changed since he awakened as a
reversi. Pete had preferred it that way and said aloud he wanted them to stay
as they were before. Oliver had taken him at his word.
And so Pete was sure if he even once said he was a girl today, that spell would
be broken. And he might lose this warmth forever.
Each time he felt the words crawl up his throat, he choked them back down.
"…Never mind."
"Should I keep going?"
"..."
Oliver felt a slight nod and took that as permission. He resumed healing,
unaware of how much this contact rattled the boy's heart.
"…This takes me back," Oliver said. "I was in your position, but my mother
used to do this for me. On windy nights, or…"
Oliver's smile had grown wistful. Relaxing into his friend's palms, Pete listened
closely.
"If I begged for a story, she always had a new one. So many stories, so good
they just kept me awake, and my father would have to stop her. And all three of
us would oversleep the next day. I loved that."
As he spoke, Oliver's fingers tousled the ashy hair in front of him. He spoke of
days lost, and Pete's chest tightened. These rare glimpses of his past were the
one time his stalwart friend seemed fragile. Like a single push would send him
tumbling down.
Pete could tell this scar ran very deep.
And if he stayed weak, he'd never be able to ease Oliver's pain.
"…Don't…worry too much," Pete said.
"?"
He squeezed Oliver's hand back. Last year was one thing, but he'd survived a
year here. He was a little bit stronger now.
"…I'm not about to swallow that stuff whole."
Pete wanted to clear that up, at least. Given what they'd seen in the old
man's workshop, he knew what his roommate's primary concern would be.
"Same goes for Katie. She's learning a lot from Miligan, but that doesn't mean
she'll end up like her. She's taking the knowledge and techniques and applying
them in her own way, forging her own path forward. I'm doing the same thing."
He was doing his level best to sound tough, but he could tell Oliver's fears still
lingered.
"I know what you're thinking," Pete added. "I don't have a clear goal like she
does. I'm well aware of that. I'm still feeling my way forward on everything.
But…"
He paused, tightening his grip on Oliver's hand. He wasn't Katie. He wasn't
striving toward conceptual ideals. But he had someone worth following.
"…But…I do have a role model."
Pete's voice shook; it took all his courage to say that. It felt like leaping off a
precipice. You're my goal. It's your path I'm following.
And this admission of a lifetime—earned him a smile.
"…Good. It's good to have someone to look up to."
"…!"
That reaction told Pete the most important part had not gotten across at all.
Oblivious to his roommate's feelings, Oliver tightened his embrace, smiling.
"Gah—?!"
And Pete jerked his head backward, hitting Oliver's jaw. Once wasn't enough,
and he landed two, then three more blows, a series of dull thunks.
"O-ow! Wait, Pete, why are you—?!"
"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
Requests for clarification just added insult to injury. Oliver was stuck taking a
headbutting to the chin for a solid ten minutes before Pete's tantrum subsided.
When the night ended, Oliver woke up and opened the curtains, letting the
summer sun stream in. Not too hot, not too cold. The blue sky was pocked with
low-hanging clouds. A gentle breeze from the west ruffled his hair.
"..."
A peaceful morning. Ironic, given what today held in store.
"…Morning, Pete. Sugar in your tea?"
"...Two, please."
Oliver glanced back to find Pete sitting up, rubbing his eyes. Then Pete's
memories caught up with him, and he turned bright red, avoiding his
roommate's gaze. Laughing, Oliver got the tea ready, just like always.
Guy joined them in the dorm hall, and on the path to school, they met the
girls coming out of their dorm. Katie spotted them and waved.
"Oh, morning, Oliver! Pete and Guy!"
"You must hear this at once! This morning, Katie spoke in her sleep, saying the
most amusing—"
"Augh! You can't start with that!"
Katie clapped a hand over her roommate's mouth. Watching them make
merry, Oliver smiled. He worried he might look tense.
"…When we first got here, only me and Nanao really filled our plates," Guy
said, looking around the table.
They'd headed right to the Fellowship and were tackling their breakfasts amid
the hubbub of the morning rush. Guy's comment was specifically directed at
Katie and Pete, who were both really packing it away.
"But man, these two are getting nuts. Like shoveling wood onto a hearth."
"Not eating is a waste! You're no better, Guy! Here, oatmeal!"
"What, oatmeal?! I mean, sure, I'll eat it. But still!"
Katie shoved a bowl Guy's way, and he dug straight in. Stifling a laugh, Oliver
glanced to his side, and Pete caught the look. He dropped his toast, stabbing a
fork into his steamed veggies instead.
"…I'm eating my greens, see?"
"Nice. Proud of you, Pete."
Oliver patted his head. Pete snorted and kept eating. Chela took a quiet sip of
tea, saying nothing. It was just like any other morning.
Morning classes wrapped up without a fuss—a few injuries, but nobody
batted an eye at that anymore. Katie shot out of the room first thing, headed to
her next appointment.
"Okay! I'm off to see my griffin!"
"I'll be in the library. Guy, Katie, don't forget! Study group after dinner."
"Yeah, I know! I'm literally about to go do some spell practice."
Pete and Katie were gone, and Guy stayed behind for a little elective study.
Waving to him, Oliver followed Nanao and Chela out, but then turned the other
way.
"…I'm gonna stop by the bathroom. You two go on ahead."
"Certainly," said Chela.
Making it seem natural, Oliver slipped through the bathroom doors. Luckily, it
was empty, and he hid himself in a stall.
"Blegh…!"
No sooner had the door closed then the contents of his stomach hit the bowl.
The acid made the back of his tongue sting; he heaved again and again.
"Haah…hah…"
When there was nothing left to expunge, he finally righted himself, resting
against the stall wall. One hand pulled the handle, and water washed the
contents away. He felt like his face was a far more convincing actor than his
stomach.
After a minute's rest, he left the stall, washed his hands thoroughly, and then
rinsed his mouth out. He checked his face carefully in the mirror. He wasn't sure
he was hiding the tension completely, but at least his eyes weren't bloodshot
from lack of sleep. Perhaps Pete had helped him sleep well. With that thought
in mind, he left the bathroom.
"Feeling a tad under the weather?"
The voice echoed through the deserted hall, and—there was a small girl next
to him. He was past being surprised by this.
"You're one dedicated covert operative," he said. "You usually follow me into
the men's room?"
"Certainly not under ordinary circumstances. But today…"
Teresa trailed off, looking up at him with concern.
Marveling at that fact, he mustered a goofy shrug. "Don't be too worried.
Given who we're up against, I think this is the right level of stressed."
"Any means to ease it?"
"There are, but I have no wish to bring in potions that'll affect my mental
state. Can't risk any dull to my edge."
He slowly balled up his fist. He had to be in peak condition. No way he could
ever face the warlock otherwise.
"You aren't scared, Teresa?" he asked, gazing back at her.
She looked down, considering the question.
"I'm…not sure," she replied. "Scared of death? Not especially. I was born and
raised here in Kimberly, after all."
And that meant risking her life was a daily occurrence. Fear and cowardice
only got in the way, so she'd long since eliminated them both. That was the
education she'd received, and her answer served as a reminder to Oliver.
"...…"
"...?"
Without realizing it, his hand had reached out to her, his fingers mussing her
black hair. He was sure Teresa herself had no clue what that meant. She shot
him a baffled look, and he grimaced.
"…We're all messed up, huh?"
Each was concerned for the other, but their feelings never quite connected.
Perhaps they had that in common. Deep down, neither one of them could
admit they were worth caring about.
And their mutual damage felt good right now. Though part of him hated
himself for finding salvation in that feeling.
"Don't worry. Same as before," he told her. "Once the fire's lit, the shaking
subsides."
He met her eyes, the vow unwavering. Teresa nodded.
"I believe in you, my lord," she said. She recalled the night he'd claimed their
first target. If she could see that sight again—that was all the motivation she
needed.
Meanwhile, on the labyrinth's fourth layer, deep in the Library of the Depths'
shelves of forbidden tomes…
"What'd you make of him?"
Parked at a reading table, checking over their athames and magic tools, Karlie
and Robert were waiting for the operation commencement. Groups of their
comrades were on standby around the labyrinth, ready to converge on the
battlefield when the time came.
"…Y-you mean our lord?"
"Yep. The kid."
Robert looked up from his cursed tools.
Her feet up on the table, Karlie went on, "I ain't talking about his current
combat skills. That's our thing, and it's the king's job to sit at the back looking
regal. If he's weak, it's no big deal." Then she added, "What I don't get is why
it's him. Not Gwyn or one of the other upperclassmen. But this kid. He's a good
kid! Too good to be at Kimberly at all. And forcing a kid like him to play boss
puts a bad taste in my mouth. Even if this is about his mom."
She was among the eldest of their comrades and acting like it.
"…I th-think…I get it, though," Robert said quietly.
"Elaborate," Karlie barked, thumping her heel on the table.
"I d-don't know how," Robert started, shaking his head. "Just…he has
something I d-don't. Something you don't; n-none of our other comrades do.
Deep down inside his…his c-character."
Karlie listened to his halting speech intently, frowning. She pouted her lips.
"I hate abstract shit like that."
"Ha-ha-ha. You always h-have."
Robert smiled at her, and she snorted. This was how they usually were—and
how they'd remain until the fight began.
The day seemed endless, but at last it was nine PM. Oliver stepped onto the
labyrinth's first layer.
"Yo!"
He was met by an older girl just beyond the painting he'd entered. He nodded
at her and moved right past.
"Assides Imitantor Vitae."
As the spell left her lips, she was enveloped in a thick fog—and when it
cleared, there stood a second Oliver Horn. A perfect imitation, down to the
hairs on his head and even the shape of his nails.
"Got your alibi covered. Go all out."
"I will."
And with that, Oliver headed for the labyrinth depths, leaving no lingering
concerns behind.
His first friend was nonmagical. This is true of many mages, though few talk of
it much.
It's hardly strange for mages born to ordinary parents, or mages residing in
ordinary towns and villages, to befriend nonmagicals. But it's surprisingly
common even among the children of storied magical houses, although they
have a mage's mentality drilled into them from an early age and tend to look
down on ordinary people as a result.
A famed magical comedian once put the reason in plain terms—they were
suffocating.
"The more history your family has and the greater your talent, the greater the
expectation and responsibility riding on your little shoulders. Children under
that pressure day and night grow weary of it, and when they hear of a world
outside where the rules are different—they get curious. But if you want to get
there, you need a go-between."
He was clearly speaking from experience, and his words had carried weight
accordingly. In his case, it had been a boy who delivered milk to his manor every
morning—and that boy had been his point of contact to ordinary society. There
were plenty of mages who had ordinaries employed as servants, but there were
many ways to make first contact.
And not all of them were particularly commendable.
" aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAHH!!!"
As the dawn sky lightened, a boy on a broom came flying in, his scream
trailing behind him. He was maybe eight years old. He wore beautiful, tailored
robes poorly, showing both that he came from money and that he didn't know
what that meant.
"…Uh-oh, him again."
"He's extra loud this morning…"
A farmer couple glanced up from their just-heading cabbages. Everyone had
long since stopped being surprised by his arrivals. "The crybaby's morning
broomrides" were famous in these parts. They happened once a fortnight.
"Aughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
His broom carried him across the fields, and the rustic town spread out below
him. As new ground was broken, the population was starting to expand, but it
was still very deep country. There were towns just like it all across Yelgland.
Fixing his tear-blurred vision on the streets below, he turned his broom's head
down, flying straight to his destination—past the houses on the outskirts,
toward the central shopping area's west side, where little shops catered to
morning shoppers. The boy chose a clearing just outside as his landing zone.
"Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
He failed to slow in time and lost his balance. His feet barely hit the ground,
and he dropped his broom, stumbled forward, and went rolling across the
street. He crashed headfirst into some empty barrels, and splintered timber
flew everywhere.
"Waaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"
His head popped out of the wood piles, his wails growing extra powerful. He'd
gotten off with minor scratches—mages were sturdy like that—but they still
hurt. Heads popped out of buildings all around, wondering what the racket was,
and saw him lying there. Then a girl came running around the corner.
"…I thought that was you! Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! What, you blow the landing
again? You're so dumb!"
"Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"
The boy's cries seemed liable to split his throat. Subjected to that at pointblank range, the girl snapped her hands to her ears, laughing.
"Kya-ha-ha-ha! You sure can belt it out! My ears are splitting!" She pulled out
a lollipop. "Come on now, stop crying!" she told him, shoving it right in his
mouth. The boy's wails ceased.
"…Mmph."
"Mm, mm! There's a good boy!"
She took a knee, rubbing his frizzy hair with both hands like he was a dog. An
older woman's face popped out of the crowd around—she ran the candy store.
"Him again, Noemi? He can come all he likes, but he needs to land quietly! I'm
always scared he'll come crashing through my roof next time."
"Aw, he's not that bad," the girl said. "He's picking safe places to land! And if
you do smash someone's house, you can fix it for them, right, little mage?"
The boy sniffled and pulled the candy out of his mouth. He moved it to his left
hand, then pulled his white wand and cast a spell. The smashed-up barrels were
soon restored to normal, lining the street like nothing had happened to them.
The girl grinned and turned back to the candy store lady.
"Can we get some candy, Aunt Monica? Four lollipops, please."
"So why were you crying today?" Noemi asked.
They were walking together, working on their lollipops, and she'd decided the
boy was calm enough to talk. His hand clenched the candy's stick tight.
"…I was drawing a blueprint. It's gonna be the biggest golem in the world! I
told you about my dream, right?"
"Mm-hmm. I remember. You talk about it a lot. You said with normal
construction, it won't move at all if it gets too big?"
She remembered him babbling excitedly, clearly prepared to talk her ear off
until the sun went down.
"Mm, so I need technological revolutions in fuel, materials, and construction. I
don't even have a clue yet on fuel, so I'm working on the other two."
He shoved his hand into his robe and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper.
He spread it out and showed it to the girl.
"This is it. The red parts are my mom's corrections."
"Yikes."
Noemi didn't know if the blueprint itself was any good, but the sheer detail
and energy of the lines spoke volumes about how fired up he'd been.
What made her yelp were the red comments scrawled across it, like barrels of
ice water dumped on a fire. Requesting grounds for the numbers, pointing out
poor material choices, lists of flaws in the design—she'd been merciless. That
alone was enough to kill a boy's spirit, but the final evaluation was extra
merciless: Blueprints are not for drawing your fantasies.
"I can't take it anymore! Day after day of staring at data and other people's
work, and she never lets me make anything my way! If I ask, she just says I'm
not ready yet! I've gotta be a perfect builder first! Better than perfect!"
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Your mom sure doesn't pull her punches!"
Noemi laughed heartily, one eye on the boy's downcast face. He was still
licking that lollipop.
"You gonna quit the whole mage thing?" she asked.
It took him a second, but he shook his head.
"…No. I haven't made anything yet!" he said. "But…the more work I have to
do, and the more mean things she says…I…I just can't breathe. Before I know it,
I'm on my broom. It's like I'll explode if I don't scream across the sky."
He looked up at the girl.
"Do you ever get like that, Noemi?"
"Sure!" she said, hands on her hips. "I can't fly, but the rest? You betcha."
"Really?"
"Yep! Our shop's pretty big, right? You gotta be nice to some not-nice people.
And I'm gonna be running the place one day, so I've gotta be there to help."
This sounded all grown-up, but she was just telling the truth. The boy knew
she wasn't showing off or making herself sound important. Her family ran the
second largest dry goods shop in town. They'd opened their doors to meet a
rise in demand as the town expanded, and that had paid off, their profits rising
steadily over the past decade.
But growth like that often caused internal conflict, and as their eldest, she
was dragged right into the middle of it. She might be ten years old, but in a
small town like this, that was almost grown-up. The future of her family
business could well depend on her proving she had what it took.
Truth was, she was probably too busy to hang out eating candy. Part of him
knew that, but he kept coming to see her anyway. This girl might be two years
older, but she was his first friend, and her advice had helped him a lot.
"…What do you do when it gets tough?"
"Laugh," she said.
He gave her a shocked look, and she demonstrated.
"If I feel like crying, I let out a laugh. So loud it makes everyone jump," she
explained. "And the weird thing is, it helps everyone. They get caught up in my
laughter and start to see the upside. Sometimes they scold me for it, but— Kyaha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
The laugh ripped out of her so loudly the people around them jumped. She
stopped in her tracks and turned toward the boy.
"So when you feel like crying, eat some candy."
"…Does that help?"
"Yep! If your mouth is filled with something sweet, the rest doesn't feel so
bad."
She brandished her own lollipop with a flourish. She'd given him one the day
they first met, and it had become their thing. A spell to stop his tears.
"Then go on and laugh. So loud it shocks your mom. Take all the energy you
got for crying and use it up!"
Her arms were in the air.
"Candy makes you smile! Smiles are invincible! Remember this simple
formula, and everything will be okay."
Noemi flashed her teeth at him. The boy didn't know how she did it, but
seeing that smile always banished the clouds in his heart.
"But if you still wanna cry, then go on and come to me. I'll be right here!
When I hear you wailing, I'll come running."
With that promise, she started walking again. He scrambled after her. She
glanced back his way, the morning sun catching her bashful smile.
"So give me a ride on your broom someday, crybaby Enrico."
Many Kimberly faculty members were also cutting-edge researchers in their
respective fields of sorcery.
Naturally, the contents of their work were a closely guarded secret. They each
had workshops in the school building, but it was the norm for genuinely
important research to be conducted elsewhere, namely: deep in the labyrinth—
for the most part, beyond the fourth layer barrier, in the fifth layer—or even
lower.
This was true for Enrico Forghieri. The Library of the Depths contained a
wealth of data, and his trips between that and his workshop inevitably led him
through the helicoid halls. The mad old man rather liked the quiet and generally
kept his nose buried in a borrowed tome during the long trek down. Servant
golems trailed behind.
Ideal for an ambush.
" Mm?"
Sensing someone up ahead, Enrico's eyes left the page.
There was a figure standing twenty yards away. Not very large—perhaps a
student? He couldn't make out any details; some sort of spell was preventing
him from identifying the individual. The mask covering half the figure's face
seemed the likely cause.
"Don't often run into students in these halls," the old man called, pausing his
advance. "You have business with me?"
There was a long silence before the figure answered. The voice, too, was
magically altered, making it impossible to hazard a gender.
"The night of April eighth, 1525, of the Great Calendar. Where were you, and
what were you doing?"
No mistaking the purpose of that question. The old man stroked his chin,
thinking.
"April eighth, 1525? …Oh! That day," he said. "I remember it well! Such a busy
day. I gathered some prickly colleagues, paid a visit to a witch's retreat in some
out-of-the-way locale—"
He spoke fondly, the words flowing smoothly.
"—and beat a student of ours to death. Taking our time with it."
Not an ounce of hesitation. Like sharing a pleasant memory.
"…And how did that make you feel?" the shadow asked.
"Oof, that's tricky. Very tricky. How to put those feelings into words?" The old
man paused dramatically, his lips twisting into a smile. "That distinct guilty
pleasure of taking a peerless treasure and smashing it to pieces, grinding those
pieces beneath your feet. At your age, I'm sure you've yet to savor the like,
yes?"
Enrico spoke like he was consoling a recalcitrant child.
"Indeed not. I know only one thing," the shadow said, its tones measured.
"The torment she endured when betrayed, smashed, and trampled."
No understanding could be reached here. That had never been in the cards.
The shadow—Oliver—released the enmity he'd barely held in check. The time
was ripe. The passage began filling up. Enrico scanned his surroundings, taking
in the crowd. Each figure wore a mask, their uniforms bereft of anything that
would identify their year.
"Revenge, eh?" the old man whispered. "I assume this is connected to
Darius's disappearance, then."
Even surrounded, he did not seem the least bit disturbed. The gleam in his
eyes suggested he was enjoying this.
"You have the numbers, and you've chosen your location well. I can see this
plan has been carefully considered. You're an organized group with personnel
inside campus and out."
He grinned.
"I approve! An admirable degree of dedication."
Analysis and evaluation. Oliver had no ears for it. And the comrades behind
him caught his intent.
"Deploy it, Shannon," Gwyn said.
"Mm."
She nodded, and something expanded around her. The feeling was like being
wrapped in invisible cloth, and Enrico frowned.
"…Hmm? What did you—?"
""""""""Tonitrus!""""""""
""""""""Fortis Flamma!""""""""
He was interrupted by incantations from fore and aft. Waves of spells
buffeted the old man, the flash and smoke obscuring him from sight. With the
first blow struck, Oliver stepped back, his comrades taking his place.
"A singlecant to pin me down, and a double in a different element to crush
me. Quite the greeting!"
He sounded positively giddy. As the smoke cleared, they saw the mad old man
on a multi-legged golem, protected by sturdy armor. Neither he nor the golem
were the worse for wear—he'd successfully weathered the group's opening
volley.
"Shall we begin? Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
His hands emerged from both sleeves, a lollipop between each finger—eight
in all. Enrico crunched down on all of them at once, issuing a declaration of war.
The six-legged golem darted forth at speeds too fast for the eye to follow,
clearly much higher spec than anything he'd assigned in Oliver's class. There
were balls at the tips of every leg, and these could spin in any direction,
allowing for complex, precise motion.
"A multipedal on ball rollers…!"
"Disrupt its footing!"
"Fragor!"
Oliver's comrades scattered magic tools, combined spells that made the
terrain mildly worse, and hammered them with spells. But Enrico's golem ran
right up the walls, its progress unimpeded. Misaimed spells struck the walls
fruitlessly. The tubular passage and the ball rollers were an uncannily good
match; the modest impediments laid down proved to be of little consequence
as the golem raced across floor, walls, and ceiling at will. Oliver was not
surprised. Enrico had chosen his golem with this terrain in mind.
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha! Now it's my turn! Tonitrus!"
And then the old man started firing spells between the chinks in the armor.
Under a barrage from thirty-two mages, avoiding their attacks with every
mobility trick in the book, his aim was uncannily accurate. Nearby allies barely
managed to negate it with the oppositional element before it struck home.
"Don't panic! We've got his retreat blocked in both directions."
Gwyn's voice urged calm, but nobody here would lose their nerve this soon.
They were up against a Kimberly instructor. None of them had thought this
would be easy.
"However agile it is, in an enclosed space like this, it can't evade forever. Try
one thing at a time."
This brief exchange had been enough that they were starting to get a handle
on the foe. It looked like the old man was trying to avoid big hits, so he wasn't
moving toward groups of three or more. They started using that to their
advantage, baiting the golem, giving it an escape route, and leading it where
they wanted.
" Hng!"
As Enrico hit their mark, every athame turned his way. Gwyn's call planned for
every escape route.
"Flatten it!"
""""""""Extruditor!""""""""
Sideways pressure slammed the golem against the wall; not enough to stop it,
but it was forced to strain its legs, pushing back against the pressure.
""""""""Ducere!""""""""
" Mm?!"
And that was their real aim. As the golem pushed back, their next spell
yanked it the other way, peeling it off the wall. Its own force used against it, the
golem and Enrico spun through the air, exposed to the attacks of every mage
around. However good the ball rollers were, they could do nothing without
solid footing.
""""""""Magnus Fragor!""""""""
Over twenty double-incantation spells buffeted the golem before it hit the
ground. Each struck with sound and fury. And the golem was defenseless—
surely this had done more than their first volley. This time, Enrico must have
taken damage. Oliver watched with bated breath.
"…Ack—"
"…Gah…"
" !"
Three comrades went down, smoking at the mouths. No one had expected
that, and every face tensed.
"What happened?!"
"Spell recoil!"
"That was no accident—something induced it!"
The analysis and inferences matched Oliver's own. Doublecant spells were
powerful, but a loss of control would cause a backfire, harming the caster. Yet,
no mage here would make such a basic error, much less three at once. There
was clearly another factor at work, something that had made their spells
detonate.
"…Kya-ha-ha-ha! That was good!"
Adding insult to injury, the multipedal golem came bounding out of the
smoke. There were some burns and dents on the armor, but that was it for
visible damage; far less than they'd hoped. Oliver's comrades were incensed.
"…Enemy's alive and well! Golem damage minimal!"
"That thing's armor is too damn hard!"
"Durable alone doesn't cover it! There's gotta be a trick to it!"
This golem's design was clearly built to prioritize mobility. No matter what it
was made from or how ingenious the design, it should not have been sturdy
enough to weather twenty-plus doublecant spells. That was a constructional
limit based upon the fundamentals of magical engineering.
"…You catch it, Shannon?"
"...Mm, got it."
It was Oliver's sister who solved the contradiction first. Within the zone she'd
deployed, she felt a faint—yet clear—shift.
"…Lots of little ones, all around… Like elementals…but not."
Not the most articulate, but enough for Oliver and Gwyn to grasp her
meaning. The enemy golem's inexplicable defense, the induced recoil—this
explained both of them, so Oliver yelled with conviction.
"Look out for disruption magic! There's nano golems in the air!"
That caused a stir. The multi-legged golem stopped dead.
"…Fascinating. You noticed them?" Enrico's voice emerged from the chinks in
the armor, sounding impressed.
Oliver raised a hand, halting his comrades' attacks.
"That requires more than simply on-the-scene analysis," Enrico said,
delighted. "You must have had a pre-prepped hypothesis proven by events that
transpired. Excellent work!"
Oliver let him finish, engaging him. Any new discoveries required a tactical
adjustment. It was best to buy some time.
"…A pillar of your research, Enrico Forghieri?"
"Indeed. You can see the logic, I'm sure! To achieve macro success, I must first
master the micro. If you've read a few of my papers, I'm sure you're already
nodding along."
Enrico dished this out like it was a reward for seeing through the trick. This
placed him at a disadvantage, although the mad old man himself didn't seem to
care. In his mind, he was a teacher, surrounded by students.
"You all know perfectly well elementals form symbiotic relationships with
certain magical beasts. My connection to these aerial nano golems is much the
same, albeit with one exception—they serve at my behest. They automatically
cancel out any attacks directed at me—or deflect them."
That was the secret to the impossible defense. The multipedal golem wasn't
blocking the spells at all; the nano golems hovering around it were. Just like the
wind elementals had protected the garuda Oliver fought, countless nano
golems were protecting Enrico. And these were far more durable than those
elementals.
"Naturally, they are not merely defensive. At my prompting, they can attack
directly or interfere with spell activation, causing denotations. You know very
well spell activation is the most unstable moment!"
Oliver gritted his teeth. This, too, was exactly like the disruption magic the
garuda had used. The same trick he'd used to knock Nanao out in his workshop.
And what was most galling was that without knowledge of the nano golem
concept, you could never hope to defeat them.
"So what next, children? You chose this location to minimize my repertoire,
but things aren't quite going according to plan, are they? After all, here I am,
with this utility golem and—"
He broke off as glittering gas jetted out from between the multipedal golem's
legs, spreading around it like mist caught in the sun. He had clearly made these
nano golems light up so they'd be visible to the naked eye.
"—approximately two hundred trillion nano golems. The odds are slightly in
my favor," Enrico added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
He could easily have released them unseen, without any warning, but chose
not to. He wanted the students facing him to correctly perceive the threat—
that he might savor their attempts to foil it.
"How will you handle this? Summon winds? High heat? Or perhaps freeze
them? Try anything you like!"
The glow vanished, and the nano machines blended into the air itself. Oliver
concluded none of those approaches would work. It would boil down to a
contest of strength—the force of their spells against the golem's capacity for
interfering with them. If the air had enough nano golems concentrated in it,
they could easily deflect twenty-odd doublecanted spells. And given their foe's
wild movements, trying to focus any extra fire would be impractical.
So Oliver flipped the logic. The nano golems were not evenly distributed
through a space this large. With that in mind, he aimed his athame high.
"Go red! Repeat! Densa nebula!"
""""""""Densa nebula!""""""""
All comrades chanted after him. Red mist poured from the tips of their
athames, and the wind currents carried it to all corners.
"…Interesting," Enrico purred.
This was just a red mist—no magical effect, no elemental affinity. So the nano
golems did not react to it.
A gust came down the tunnel, sweeping much of the mist with it. Yet, several
red pockets remained, including one directly above the multipedal golem.
"The shadow is cast," Oliver said, his eyes on the mottled red mist. For
microorganism-sized golems to remain suspended in the air, or move around,
they had to follow the air itself. And that meant that the greater the density of
golems, the more mist would remain.
"Can you order them to remove the red, Enrico? Is that a function your
beloved golems have?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He was certain they could not. Issuing an order
would render Enrico defenseless. The golems themselves could not detect plain
red mist, and any means of handling this would require instructions from Enrico
himself. And while they obeyed that, their autonomous defense would be lost.
"Go on and try, if you dare. We'll be waiting to pounce," Oliver growled.
Currently, the field of microengineering was solely Enrico's domain. That
meant it was highly likely any attempts to directly deal with the nano golems
would be fruitless. If they had time for trial and error, that would be one thing,
but they were in a battle to the death.
Yet, they were mages. This was hardly their first time dealing with things
invisible to the naked eye. There were ways to handle things not directly
observable—as they did the ether and the soul. And now that they'd caught
their shadow, the nano golems were no longer an unseen threat.
"And here, you cannot draw more mana from the labyrinth itself. Keeping
countless nano golems active must be a titanic drain on your reserves. I imagine
you're feeling it in your bones, old man."
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I like it. No one's insulted my age in years!" Enrico
cackled. "Let's find out, shall we? Can you all stay standing until I start to
wheeze?"
No longer concerned about the nano golems' visibility, Enrico's multipedal
golem began moving again, dragging the red cloud with it. Oliver's comrades
moved to resume their attacks, so Oliver barked further orders.
"…Concentrate your spells to dissipate the nano golem distribution. Then,
break off two of the multipedal's legs and seize our chance to crack the armor.
We've got to expose Enrico himself."
Observing the movements of the mist made it clear how the nano golems'
magical interference worked. If they were canceling or deflecting, the space in
the spell's trajectory would always take a deep red hue. And if one location
darkened, another grew light. There was a limit to their total number, so this
was inevitable. Even if two hundred trillion was no exaggeration, it was
nowhere near enough to fill a hall this size.
"Once that's done, I'll finish things."
Oliver saw a path to victory. He quivered with anticipation, tightening his grip
on his athame. If he could reach one-step, one-spell distance, there'd be no
escaping. His spellblade would end this charade.
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! No one's hesitating now! I approve!"
And matching that lack of hesitation, the ball rollers went wild, the golem's
movements growing snappier, trickier. Make it block a spell, then strike again
where the red mist had thinned—that was all they had to do, but the nimble
motions of Enrico's transport prevented it. Watching this, Oliver was forced to
admit the mad old man was not just the world's best builder but a top-class
golem operator.
"We've gotta stop those legs," came a voice. "Colligationem."
Yet, as long as a person controlled it, the movements would be biased. And
one of their number had been watching long enough. Her spell slipped through
the gap in the mist, slamming down on one of the legs. The golem slowed, and
Enrico let out a cry.
"A powerful spell, devoid of any delicacy! That must be you, Ms. Buckle!"
"Ah-ha-ha! Brutal! I know my magical engineering grades sucked, but I still
passed!"
Their other comrades were already firing off spells, and Karlie herself didn't
hesitate to close in. She was heedless of the spells burning her flesh in passing.
Before her very eyes, the golem tried to dodge a concentrated burst of fire—
but Karlie's athame flashed a step ahead of it.
"…What?!" the old man yelped in surprise.
There was a clang, and the tip of the severed leg rolled across the floor. The
most damage they'd done so far.
Karlie quickly backed away, mindful of counters.
"One down!" she said, grinning. "Don't need delicacy to smash someone's
work to pieces, do ya, Instructor Enrico?"
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha! You certainly don't beat around the bush! You're the last
person I'd want as a student."
"Ah-ha-ha-ha! Is that any way for a teacher to talk?"
Their laughs echoed through the hall. Oliver felt a chill run down his spine.
They'd been student and teacher for over six years and were trading quips and
sarcasm even as they tried to kill each other. That was a mage's battlefield for
you.
""""""""Fragor!""""""""
With the golem down one leg, they seized their chance, pounding it with
spells. Enrico tried to dodge like before, but the loss of a leg was no small
matter. The old man knew that perfectly well.
"Playing defense will just whittle me down! Very well—time to change the
game!"
No sooner had the words left Enrico's lips than approximately half the red
mist around the multipedal golem scattered to the air. Oliver's comrades
tensed. This significantly lowered their foe's defenses—but obviously not just
that.
"Tonitrus!"
As his golem swiftly dodged another volley, the old man chanted a spell of his
own. A perfectly ordinary lightning spell fired through the chinks in the armor.
He was a Kimberly teacher, and the power was absurd, but there was more
than enough distance to dodge it. The few comrades in its path easily moved to
avoid it—and then the bolt bent in the air, striking two of them at once.
"Kahhh!"
"Guh…"
"?!"
"What? It curved?!"
The unexpected hit rattled them. Enrico was firing spell after spell, each one
changing course in midair, raining down upon his foes. None of these changes
were ordinarily possible.
Six more were hit in rapid succession, but no one let that get them down—
they were all focused on figuring this out. The red mist was spread out through
the air, forming a number of clusters. And the spells were changing paths in
those. The first to notice that called out.
"Wait—he's using the nano golems…to change the direction of his own
spells?!"
"Careful! No telling what angle they'll take!"
"Right answer! But I'm not slowing down!" Enrico hollered. "Tonitrus! Frigus!
Flamma!"
Spells shot in all directions; blocking them was clearly impossible. The
comrades aimed at the red mist, scattering it with gust spells—but once
scattered, the mist merely collected again nearby, forming a new deflection
point. Some tried creating magic bubbles to enclose the nano golems, but their
interference easily broke them free. And worst of all, the hail of spells
continued unabated.
"Crap, this isn't just curving!"
"Spells from head-on are hitting us in our backs!"
With no signs of an effective strategy, eight more comrades were down in a
few dozen seconds. Focusing on defense and raising a barrier could allow them
to weather things, but if their side stopped attacking, victory grew distant.
Oliver made his choice, turning to his brother.
"…You're up."
"Got it."
Gwyn pulled the instrument from his back, using his modified white wand as a
bow, and began to play.
"I can go on all day! Toni■■us!"
Enrico made to cast another spell, but—his athame remained still. Frowning,
he tried again.
"…Mm? ■■nitrus!"
There was a crackle, and it dissipated. The incantation was incomplete, and
the second's pause in his onslaught did not go unnoticed. Spells from both
sides, limiting his retreat, and two circling ahead of his path, cut in. One slash
caught a leg, severing it at the halfway point.
"Two down… Careless, Forghieri," Oliver said. One step closer to check.
Now it was Enrico's turn to figure out an unexpected attack. His eyes lit on
Gwyn's viola.
"Auditory spelljamming? And only affecting my voice. How deft!" he said.
"Mr. Gwyn, to think I'd find you here."
"Are your ears burning, Instructor Enrico?"
Named but undaunted, Gwyn had known full well his actions would identify
him. Much like the late Carlos Whitrow's enchanted voice, the enchanted music
he played was a rare talent indeed. No one else at Kimberly could do it.
"Which naturally means that must be Ms. Shannon accompanying you. You've
dragged the Sherwood siblings into this? That is shocking."
Enrico's eyes had gone from Gwyn to Shannon to the figure behind them. It
seemed like the mad old man was finally wondering exactly who he was up
against.
"You there, leader. Who might you be?"
"You'll learn my name—at the moment of your death."
Even as they spoke, the battle raged on. With two legs gone, the golem's
movements were notably less precise, and it was surrounded, buffeted by spells
from all directions. Enrico was forced to put his nano golems back on defense.
But that tactic had only been so effective because his alacrity had allowed him
to evade the bulk of the spells. Now that he was soaking those head-on, he
wouldn't last long.
"Hmm, the tide seems to be against me," Enrico muttered. "Best I change the
premise."
Oliver had been biding his chance to step in—but Enrico's multipedal golem
abruptly transformed. This was no mere minor alteration; the entire framework
of it was reshaped like starting a clay pot anew.
"Don't let him!"
Certain the fight could hinge on this, Oliver cast a spell of his own. His
comrades joined him, throwing in everything they had. But—in response, the
nano golems began to spin, forming a tornado-like barrier around Enrico, letting
no spells pass through. This resistance required immense mana from their
operator and clearly could not last long—but it allowed the transformation
within.
Of the remaining four legs, two became razor-sharp arms. The other two
remained legs but thicker, sturdier ones. Enrico was encased in the torso, but it
was now streamlined, anything extra stripped away. In less than a minute, what
had been a multi-legged golem had transformed into a vicious looking exterior,
somewhere between a man and a carnivorous beast. The overall size was
greatly reduced, and it was less like Enrico was riding the golem than wearing it.
"All done! And ready for more."
Like drawing a breath, the new golem used the vents coating it to inhale all
the nano golems, drawing them inside itself. As its defenses thinned, the spell
barrage began to get through.
They had him now—or so they thought. But before the spells reached it, the
golem jumped—rocketing upward.
" ?!"
"Above us!"
Oliver's comrades raised their athames high, following the golem—but found
no trace of it.
"Nope! I'm over here."
The voice came from right beside them, in the ear of a comrade—who
immediately lost everything above the waist. Blood and guts spattered across
the floor, a feat managed with a single sweep of the golem's arm. Another
comrade flung himself at it—but his athame caught only air as the wind
whistled through the hole in his belly.
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Pardon me; that jab was a bit too strong!"
The golem's metal arms were covered in blood; Enrico laughed maniacally.
Oliver clenched his jaw, eyes like daggers. Both comrades had escaped instant
death, but neither could anyone stop to heal them properly. While the old
man's attention was elsewhere, nearby comrades were stopping the bleeding
and dragging them to the side, but nothing more.
The sight cut Oliver to the quick, but he forced himself to keep his focus
honed on the enemy before him—on this new, as yet undefined threat.
"…A golem exoskeleton?"
"Oh? You've heard of it? You've done your homework."
The old man sounded impressed, but Oliver was well aware just how fringe
this technology was. Not just the exoskeleton. This and the nano golems that
had been tormenting them—these were all magitech that should not yet exist.
Concepts that by all rights would be confined to theoretical papers.
"Isn't it cool? By having the nano golems circulate through the interior, I can
make it both lightweight and high-output! The downside is that it
compositionally doesn't allow much mana storage, so it's a huge drain on the
operator's mana reserves. It works because I'm running it! Mages less blessed
in the capacity department would dry up in seconds!"
The mad old man was living all on his own, a century in the future. As this
thought struck him, Oliver was forced to put aside his own opinion of the man's
character and face the truth—Enrico Forghieri was undoubtedly a genius.
"But it's not a bad prototype at all. It enhances a mage's physical prowess,
completely negativing the sluggish response endemic to the golem arts. With
the mana drain, spells above doublecants are rather a challenge, but in
exchange—"
Enrico broke off, and the golem vanished from view. Two comrades sensed it
approaching and swung their blades its way—but both of their dominant arms
were torn off at the shoulder at exactly the same time.
"—it enables this barbaric fighting style! Isn't it just the best?"
Enrico brandished the severed limbs proudly, with the innocent cheer of a
child showing off their new toy.
"I want a go with it, Instructor!" Karlie yelled, shoving the athameless pair to
the side. Several others skilled in sword arts joined her, starting a close-range
battle with Enrico in his exoskeleton cocoon. But he was more than twice as
fast; he dodged every blow aimed at him, and the risk of friendly fire meant
they couldn't risk flinging spells around. Even Karlie found herself barely able to
avoid a fatal counter.
"...!"
This thing's specs were overwhelming. It was anybody's guess as to whether
Godfrey would have stood a chance against it. They'd almost had Enrico in
check—and he'd cleared the board again. As Oliver scrambled to figure out
their next move, one comrade after another dodged too late and went down.
He turned to Shannon. "…Get it ready," he said. They couldn't afford to hold
back here. Shannon knew why he'd given the order but still flinched.
"Not yet," Gwyn said, raising a hand. "Trust the upperclassmen."
His unshaken confidence settled Oliver's nerves. Oliver kept watching—and a
moment later, a subtle shift occurred.
"…Mm?"
The sound of metal scraping could be heard. Enrico had failed to fully dodge
an athame, letting out a quizzical grunt. More comrades pounced. Mere
moments earlier he'd been running circles around them, but more and more of
their blows were getting through. They were adapting to fighting this thing—
but that wasn't the only reason.
"…It's slowing down?"
Hovering around the outskirts, it was obvious even to his eye. The
exoskeleton was clearly not maintaining its initial speed. Like it was shouldering
heavy baggage, each move it took grew steadily heavier.
"F-finally k-kicking in. You've b-been too sloppy, Instructor Enrico."
A gloomy voice echoed over the battlefield. The old man turned toward it.
"Mr. Dufourcq! One of your curses, I assume?"
"Lead turtles. A th-thousandfold. H-heavy even for you."
Oliver squinted and could just make out shadows swarming the exoskeleton
golem. A curse of encumbrance. In accordance with the law of curse
conservation, Robert had scattered tiny camouflaged cursed items on the floor,
mingled with the obstacles his comrades had laid down. Enrico had been
treading on these since the battle began, unawares. Without the golem's
weight, the shells wouldn't break—so his comrades were at no risk of infection.
And the clincher was the curse effect latency caused by the delayed activation
formula. Each curse he'd trod upon was kicking in, weighing the old man down.
"Colligationem. Let's see if you can dodge the next one, Instructor."
Karlie piled on a binding spell, and Enrico's legs paused for just a moment—
""""""""Frigus!""""""""
""""""""Magnus Flamma!""""""""
—but nonetheless a moment long enough to turn the tide. A singlecant to pin
him, and a focus-fired doublecant—the same strategy they'd stuck to from the
start, but here at last it achieved results. With the nano golems absorbed into
the exoskeleton, he could no longer block the spells. The moment he no longer
had the mobility to dodge, the exoskeleton was done for.
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Wonderful! Simply wonderful, children!"
Just before the barrage of spells wrecked the golem, the air was filled with
flashes and explosions. And in the instant their eyes were blinded, Enrico
detached the torso from the limbs, rocketing himself upward.
"After him!" Oliver yelled.
Was he ejecting the nano golems like propellant? The exoskeleton's torso had
the old man flying at broom-like speeds into the depths of the helicoid hall. The
students had a barrier up to prevent escape, but Enrico hurtled right at it. The
battle so far had drastically reduced the number of people who could intercept
him.
"Good barrier! But not quite thick enough!"
Enrico started spinning like a drill, forcing his way through the barrier. It took
a good five seconds to break it, but the surviving framework was still sturdy
enough to weather that long a barrage. On the other side it began falling off,
and he hit the floor—the impact of that finally destroying it for good. Fully
exposed, Enrico scrambled to his feet.
"Kya-ha?!"
With no warning at all, a blade shot right toward his heart. Enrico's athame
struck it almost purely on instinct. The deflected blow gouged deep into his side
—the first blood he'd shed since the battle began.
"You're—" He blinked. The covert operative leaped safely away. Teresa Carste
had been on standby outside the barrier from the start, in case he attempted to
flee. But even with the element of surprise, her blade had not managed to claim
his life.
"Kya-ha… Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha! Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
Enrico tore his eyes off the girl and raced down the helicoid hall, peals of
laughter echoing in his wake. He had more ball rollers embedded in the soles of
his shoes and was swiftly gaining distance. Oliver's comrades took the barrier
down and were forced to give chase on broomback, Teresa among them.
"…I failed to finish him," she said. "I have no excuse."
"No, you did good," Oliver told her. "Don't let him get away! He's injured!"
An injury like that made all the difference. Certain of that, he and his
comrades shot after Enrico at top speed.
Broomriding students were hot on his heels. Enrico could feel the hostility;
they would not be easily dissuaded. He bounded down the helicoid halls as fast
as his feet could carry him.
"Kya-ha-ha-ha! Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha…!"
Spells aimed at his back pelted the air like rain, forcing him to dodge or fire
oppositional spells to cancel them out. On even terrain like this, ball roller
boots' top speed was a match for any broom. He could keep his distance for the
length of this tunnel, at least.
But he'd lost both his main golem and the nanos. The students' plan had been
a clever one, a real threat to him, and the sheer depths of their brilliance was
causing explosions of joy.
"This! This is what makes being a teacher worthwhile!"
Enrico was delighted. Becoming a teacher was the right choice. Even with a
flock of students out for his blood, he was having fun.
Oliver's team raced down the multi-mile tubular passage. As they neared the
end, they could feel the air changing on their skins. Where the library layer had
been quite comfortable, the air here was hot and dry.
"Careful! Fifth layer coming up!"
They cleared the tunnel exit, and the fifth layer spread out before them—
Firedrake Canyon. Undulating rocks, a deep ravine, and winged shadows
soaring through the space between. The titular canyon was like a maze
branching in all directions, and many a dragon nested in its walls. Most breeds
were as aggressive as they were powerful; getting through here required the
proper strength to fight one's way past them.
"Don't engage the dragons!"
"Focus only on Enrico!"
The comrades in the lead barked orders. These weren't bird wyverns like the
second layer; these skies were ruled by real wyverns, all with the proportionate
size, flight skills, and ferocity. An inexperienced student lost down here could
easily be burned to a crisp in a single breath.
But this environment wasn't enough to make any member of this group balk.
They broke through the waiting wyverns with suppressing fire and mobility,
eyes on Enrico as he slid down the ravine's sides on his ball roller boots. If he'd
merely jumped down, they'd have hit him in the air, so he kept his feet
grounded. Spells were raining down upon him, but despite the sheer rock face,
he was still proving fully capable of evading everything coming his way.
""""""""Tonitrus!""""""""
But as he reached the canyon floor, the old man's route was cut off. He was
trapped with his back to the wall, students landing in all directions, pelting him
with spells. Enrico threw up a barrier spell and held fast, but this was clearly but
a momentary respite.
"You've chosen this as your grave, Forghieri."
This time they really had him in check. No more nano golems, and even if he
tried generating more from the ground around him, their spells would
incinerate him first. The next doublecant volley would punch right through the
old man's barrier.
"…Do it!" Oliver yelled.
""""""""Magnus Flamma!""""""""
Magic lights fired from twenty-one athames, all bound for Enrico…
"I don't think so," came the mad old man's voice. "Behold."
…but a massive hand broke free of the rocks, slipping between them and the
old man.
"Wha—?"
Massive wrists, arms, and shoulders emerged from the tumbling rock face. A
torso the size of the irminsul's trunk, eyes burning with enmity. Every inch of
the three-hundred-foot colossus was covered in adamant plating. And worst of
all—the drumbeat of life echoed within.
"Noll!"
"Your Majesty, get back!"
Shannon yanked Oliver away, putting him behind her. Karlie and the front line
were gaping up at the giant.
"I can hardly leave this lying about, can I? After that fight, serving up any old
golems would hardly be a fitting reward!"
Enrico was perched on the golem's shoulder, far above the ground. A sight
that should not be—the worst imaginable outcome.
Oliver gritted his teeth. "…Dea Ex Machina."
The giant living golem he'd seen in the man's workshop. That one had been
missing the lower half but had certainly made an impression. It was the last
thing he ever wanted to fight. Choosing a battleground far from that workshop
had been mandatory, and this location was supposed to fit the bill.
"…You made two."
But there had always been the potential for something to throw a wrench in
their plans: the existence of a second living golem.
"You knew about it? I did show it to a few promising students," Enrico said,
seeing they were aware of the concept. "But I must make one correction! This is
Deus Ex Machina. Look closely—this is not the incomplete goddess you know.
This one's form is masculine!"
The old man was pointing down the machine god's length. Certainly, this
golem's skeletal structure was more robust, without the slimmer portions
Oliver remembered.
"Deus here was the first variant of the concept to reach completion. The Dea I
showed off was the second, still mid-construction. Well? Nifty little invention,
isn't it?"
Enrico beamed down at the students. They gulped, staring up at it…and then
felt a rumble from underfoot. They quickly looked around and saw a massive
four-legged dragon charging through the canyon toward them, easily three
hundred feet long, with scales like boulders. Had it not been moving, they could
well have mistaken it for part of the terrain.
"…Lindwurm coming," Gwyn muttered.
Fighting these head-on was a nightmare, so most students passing through
here dedicated themselves to avoiding its notice. But…
"Oh, don't spoil the party. Go on, get!"
Enrico had his machine god, and was not like most people. He hopped into
the control seat in the head and stood before the charging dragon.
"GRRRAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!"
Furious at this violation of its territory, the dragon let out an ear-shattering
bellow. Its charge was capable of toppling mountains—but the machine god
caught it with two hands, not sliding back a single step.
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-
ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
The machine god grabbed the dragon's neck with one hand and swung it
around like a toy. Oliver watched in awe, unable to step in. This was a sight like
no other. Lindwurms were the apex of all magical ecosystems, and this one was
helpless before the golem. Their sizes were similar, but their power was not.
"Whoops, not supposed to kill it," Enrico muttered. "It would disrupt the
whole ecosystem here!"
The dragon was already unconscious and foaming at the mouth, so he simply
tossed it away. The fifth layer's overlord slid across the canyon floor and did not
get up. In the Deus's driver's seat, Enrico turned his eyes from the lindwurm to
the wyverns wheeling overhead.
"There are far too many of you. Let's thin your numbers a tad. Spiritale!"
The golem's raised hands fired a beam of purple light from the tips. Any
wyvern unlucky enough to be caught in the light was instantly incinerated. A
few breathed fire back, but Enrico ignored this entirely, thinning the wyvern
numbers like he was swatting mosquitoes.
"Hmm, mana packing efficiency at less than ten percent."
As wyverns fled, Enrico waggled the machine god's fingers, checking the
functions.
"Hardly peak performance, but it is an emergency activation during
maintenance. Fuel reserves are inadequate, but nothing to be done about
that."
These checks complete, the golem's massive bulk turned with surprising ease,
facing Oliver and his comrades. It lorded over them, making everyone flinch.
The relentless pressure was no longer directed at the lindwurm or the wyverns,
but at them.
"Shall we go on, children? How are you going to kill me now? It's only right
that you do so by overcoming my greatest invention!"
He was clearly champing at the bit. The students, meanwhile, didn't move. All
of them had yet to falter in their attacks, but now they were frozen stiff. They
were at a loss. How could they fight this monster? How could they avoid being
decimated within the next minute?
Despite everything they'd achieved so far, Oliver's comrades were back at
square one. The multi-legged golem on ball rollers, the nano golems, the
exoskeleton—they'd racked their brains and overcome them all, only to find
this nightmare looming above them. Deus Ex Machina, the most horrifying thing
imaginable.
"Ha-ha."
But despite all that, Oliver alone…was laughing.
"Right? You dare talk about what's right?"
The laugh tore out of him like he couldn't endure it otherwise. His nearby
comrades stared wide-eyed with alarm.
"Please, Forghieri. Don't go acting like you have principles. An animal like you
who's betrayed and turned on his own student has long since lost that
privilege."
He glared up at the machine god. All seemed lost, yet the fight had not yet
left him—he was here to kill this man.
"You will die like a dog. Like an insect. Like the trash you are. A fate more
miserable than those of the countless lives you've trifled with. That is the right
way for you to die."
He took a step forward, athame brandished at his side. Then he called over
his shoulder to Gwyn and Shannon.
"Do it."
"…!"
Shannon shook her head. A refusal far more adamant than she was ordinarily
capable of. Fully aware of why she was so reluctant, Oliver commanded her
again, his voice like steel.
"That was an order from your lord. Release the seal, Shannon Sherwood!"
He spoke to her not as his sister but as his vassal. She looked ready to burst
into tears, but Gwyn put his hand on her shoulder.
"...Shannon."
His voice said it all. This was the only option left.
"...…"
And it forced her to act, knowing this would put her cousin through hellish
suffering.
"…Duaedetroni."
Her mind made up, Shannon raised her white wand, chanting. As he heard the
words, Oliver felt a familiar presence join him. A great and powerful soul, using
him as a temporary solace.
"Misce, misce."
"...Ah..."
It overlapped with Oliver's soul, merging with it. Pouring into him like molten
gold.
" kk "
Dizzying heat, pain racking his body. Every ounce of his flesh rejecting the
invasion, resisting, trying to force it out. This response was a defense
mechanism, one Oliver had to override with inflexible willpower. That
intractable contradiction caused yet more pain—yet that, too, was but a taste
of what lay in store.
" AH ah "
In accordance with the golden flow, the change advanced from his soul to his
etheric body, from there unto his flesh. The flow of mana expanded and
accelerated, rebuilding his very bones, causing an eruption of hurt a hundred
times that of growing pains. An orchestra of maddening torment that the boy
squashed with incessant loathing for the enemy at hand.
" A A "
He embraced the pain, like a cup of hemlock willingly downed. From the
depths of his melting reason rose an ironic relief. This was an apt punishment
for defiling his mother's soul.
The blood vessels in his eyes were ripping open. Crimson tears flowed from
both eyes, flowing down over his mask and onto his cheeks below.
" GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
With a howl, he hurtled himself into the air. The broom on his back was quick
to react and took flight, catching his feet atop its back.
Aboard the sprinting broom, Oliver assumed a stance, turned right, hand low.
A heretical form found in none of the three core sword art styles—but one he'd
shown a hint of before, when dueling Nanao.
Chloe style, unleashed.
Arts once lost, now reborn. By swallowing the soul of a genius, the boy
became a comet, trailing tears of blood in his wake as he shot toward the
machine god.
"Gladio!"
He swung his athame in passing. The impact of the severing spell struck the
machine god's shoulder, and shards of torn-off adamant fell through the air.
"You broke through the armor with a singlecant?!" Enrico gasped.
Behind the giant, Oliver wheeled around, coming back in. The machine god
swung its arms to swat him out of the sky, but he evaded this with daredevil
maneuvers and dove beneath the arm, raking the torso's side with a doublecant
severing spell. A metallic screech assaulted everyone's ears, and once again, a
deep gash appeared in the armor.
"…An adamant-piercing Gladio."
The mad old man's voice had dropped deep and low.
The machine god's palms went out, aimed at Oliver's trajectory. The same
purple light that had decimated the wyverns now became a barrage of shots
peppering the vicinity. The blasts were far too dense to evade, no matter how
good you were with a broom.
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
But faced with that unavoidable bombardment, Oliver leaped off his broom.
Freed from his weight, the broom easily slipped safely through the gaps, and
Oliver stepped on the air itself, dashing in three dimensions through the
onslaught. A few steps later, the broom wheeled back, and his feet landed on it
once more.
"…Acrobatic broom tricks mixed with Sky Walking…"
All these moves defied magical combat de rigueur, making the word masterful
seem like an understatement. But the old man had seen them all before.
"Who taught you to fight like that?" Enrico demanded.
In lieu of an answer, Oliver fired a severing spell at the machine god's head. It
used its arms as shields, weathering the strike as Enrico remained fixated on
deciphering the situation.
"…No. Nobody did. Even if she personally trained you, they're not moves you
can imitate. Moreover—how are those absurd maneuvers not tearing your
body apart?!"
Flying a broom at impossible speeds, pausing only to dash across the air well
beyond the limits of what Sky Walking could do. These maneuvers were beyond
what even mages should be capable of. Forcibly turning that hard would crush
your organs. Enrico had seen someone prove him wrong on that before.
"…Mm—"
But there was one clear difference here. The red stream of blood left in the
boy's wake was no longer mere tears. Blood was pouring from every inch of his
body, his long-since-sodden robe unable to soak up any more. Enrico tweaked
his observations accordingly.
"…They are tearing you apart. Yet, you are healing in tandem. Maintaining a
healing spell to match the toll on your physique? Who is…? Where? How?"
Successive impossibilities should long since have destroyed him, yet
someone's healing was keeping that at bay. Enrico could tell that much, but he
had no clue who was capable of that or how they were pulling it off. It was
clearly beyond the boy himself, but the distance was too great for his comrades
to be offering remote support. Healing was a delicate art to begin with,
generally requiring the finesse afforded only within the range of spatial magic. It
couldn't be done to someone performing mid-aerial maneuvers.
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
But reality refuted that theory. Damaged but not downed, the boy's aerial
display continued unabated. His crimson-stained eyes gleamed with hellish
hostility, and Enrico felt a chill he had not felt in years—and this sensation, too,
gave him pleasure.
"…What a thrill! So many mysteries…!"
His bleeding eyes left his vision stained red. Bottomless pain and loathing
strobed in and out of his mind.
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Heat like molten lava was running through his veins. Oliver fought like the
embodiment of hell on earth.
The word pain had long since ceased to have meaning. His body shattered, his
soul splintering; there was no part of him that didn't hurt, no moment of relief.
All five senses merged into the agony, and external information was carried to
him on waves of torment. And that's what made this so essential. Just as Deus
Ex Machina was fueled by a curse, he was running on pain.
Spell light fired from the machine god's fingers. A single hit would evaporate
his flesh, forcing him to dance across the sky heedless of inertia. The enormous
strain ripped the flesh from his extremities, but every wound was healed within
moments. It was like a punishment. He was a damned soul not even allowed
the privilege of an end.
As it should be, the boy thought. As it has to be. He laughed. There were two
indelible sinners here. And he had never dared dream that one might be spared
from torment.
Oliver was going solo against Deus Ex Machina, fighting like nothing in this
world. Feeble attempts at support seemed liable to undermine that, and his
comrades below were unsure what to do.
"Where do we aim?!"
"The joins! Armor's too thick elsewhere!"
"Anyone think they can punch through adamant?!"
"At point-blank range, sure! Someone back me!"
"Wait, no reckless charges! If we can't get to Enrico himself—"
Even battle-hardened upperclassmen were left in disarray. Frustrated by their
lack of options, some comrades broke away from the pack, hopping on their
brooms, determined not to let their young lord fight alone.
But their actions didn't go unnoticed. They were barely in the air before a
purple light swept toward them from the machine god's palms.
"Ah—"
"Crap—!"
Realizing their blunder, their faces blanched. When taking flight, you had to
hit a set speed before evasion was possible. And that left them fatally exposed,
helpless to avoid bathing in that merciless purple light.
"Extruditor!"
Oliver slipped in a spell and a hand, saving his two comrades from death by a
hairbreadth.
"Huh…?"
"L-Lord…?"
He'd knocked one away with a spell and dragged the other by their collar. All
of them just managed to get outside the kill zone in time. Leaving them
stunned, the boy was back on his broom, rocketing skyward.
" GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
He roared for Enrico's undivided attention. Comrades safe behind him, he
took on the terrifying machine god all on his own. They were no longer
protecting that boy; he was protecting them.
"Dammit, Gwyn!" Karlie roared. "What the hell was that?! What's he thinking,
stepping in to save anyone?! One false move, and we'd have lost our king!"
"…I doubt Noll is capable of thinking," Gwyn said, his bow wand never
pausing. The tones he put out were a mess, betraying the emotional toll that
putting his cousin in harm's way took on him. But he couldn't afford to stop.
The enchanted healing music was the only thing easing Oliver's suffering.
"He's fused with the soul of Chloe Halford, the mage of the millennium. It was
sheer luck that his body didn't explode on the first attempt, and it's honestly a
miracle that he's still fighting. He's got no room left for logic."
Harboring his mother's soul—to Oliver, this was like putting a lion's heart
inside a mouse. It could not fit; it could only tear him apart. Even if it was
somehow forced inside, a single beat would cause a rush of blood so powerful
his flesh would explode.
"Even a momentary fusion is risky. And right now, he's maintaining it, even as
he fights. That's not a sane act. Regardless of the foundation he's built from
repeated prior fusions…"
Gwyn knew what a titanic feat this was better than anyone but the boy
himself. As a mage of the Sherwood clan—their eldest son—this was a hand
fate should have dealt to him first.
"I couldn't bear it. I couldn't handle the pain for even a single second."
And he would never forget the sin of forcing his burden onto his cousin.
"Sanavulnera… Sanavulnera… Sanavulnera…!"
In Gwyn's shadow, Shannon was casting healing magic through her tears. This
was keeping her cousin's body intact, yet also torturing him with ceaseless pain.
Rapid healing went hand-in-hand with recovery pain. The wounds themselves
hurt, and so did the repairs to them—Oliver was fighting while buffeted by both
at once. And the pain Gwyn mentioned, the one brought by Chloe's soul—that
was yet a third source of suffering.
Karlie looked at the siblings, then at Oliver above, catching up on just how bad
all this was.
"He's not capable of thought…?" she asked. "Hang on—then why would he
protect us? He's basically in a trance! He shouldn't be capable of protecting his
pawns…"
Unable to find a reason why he'd have stepped in, Karlie was at a loss. But in
Gwyn's mind, the answer was obvious. Even as he played his instrument, he put
it into words.
"It's the other way around. Without the constraints of his rational mind, Noll
is incapable of abandoning anyone. Even with his mother's killer before him,
even with his body racked by pain."
Gwyn bit his lip, and a drop of blood ran down his chin. It wasn't nearly
painful enough, but without it he could not stay sane. He couldn't let his cousin
suffer alone.
"…Deep down, he's just nice. Incorrigibly kindhearted…!"
His voice was an anguished cry. And the emotion in it was what allowed Karlie
and her brethren to fully understand who their lord really was, what kind of
person she'd allowed to lead her into war.
"…Holy…shit…!" Karlie swore, emotions boiling up inside: shame, inadequacy,
and something beyond both she did not have a word for. And not just her; the
other comrades were shaking as mana raged within them. They resisted the
urge to leap right into the fray, holding themselves in check, eyes on the battle
above.
"…How long does it last?" Karlie asked.
"We've never tried longer than two minutes," Gwyn growled.
That clinched it for everyone. Their lord was carving his own life to ribbons,
buying them time—time to come up with a plan worth what he was putting
himself through.
Up in the machine god's driver's seat, Enrico had already ceased to see these
students as a threat, his enthusiasm entirely directed to Oliver alone. He found
his opponent's inexplicable strength and the mechanism behind it deeply
fascinating.
"…I think I'm starting to piece it together. Still a lot of guesswork, though."
He'd made enough observations to voice a hypothesis.
"Her soul lies within you, yes?" he said, certain that much was true. "The soul
of Chloe Two-Blade Halford herself."
Oliver was past responding. His very bones creaked from the speed of his
broom. He ducked beneath the golem's mighty swing, doggedly aiming for
Enrico's perch before chiseling away at the armor with yet another severing
spell.
The mad old man paid him no heed. He just kept musing away.
"A soul merge! I was aware of the theory but have never seen it in practice
before. I heard only two demi species in history have ever pulled it off! To blend
another's soul with your own, making their nature and experience yours… What
a feat! We have scarcely any method of directly observing the soul, leaving
soulology a sadly nascent field, so I have no way of proving this, but…"
Successes in an unobservable domain had results in an observable one. That,
too, was commonplace where mages operated. And it allowed Enrico to narrow
down what must be happening within his opponent.
"But once I eliminate the alternatives, a soul merge is the one remaining
option. Chloe's sword arts were hers and hers alone. Even Garland could only
learn a fraction of the whole and proved unable to copy her fighting style in any
measurable way."
A particularly strong slash struck the golem's hand, slicing off a finger. Enrico
remained unperturbed. Indeed, he seemed impressed by how smooth the cut
was. A spell indifferent to the hardness of adamant—was it severing the bonds
between matter at a micro level, or was it just yet another testament to Chloe
Halford's superiority?
"A once-in-a-generation ability, one that cannot be passed on through blood
or education—we mages call that a soul skill. And Chloe had more soul skills
than any other. There is but one way to obtain them—if you have access to that
very soul. As you and the headmistress do."
When the seven of them had taken Chloe Halford down, the headmistress
had absorbed her soul. That was her role—that, and the surprise betrayal.
But the sight before him contradicted what he knew—and led him to a
different conclusion.
"On the night in question, the headmistress didn't manage to steal all of
Chloe's soul, I see. A portion of it escaped her clutches and made its way to you.
That's the only explanation."
Enrico was sure of that. He didn't understand how that worked, but a portion
of Chloe Halford's soul must have split away and was here inside his foe,
allowing this boy to use her arts against Enrico.
And having reached that conclusion, the instructor drew a deep breath.
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
His laugh tore up from the diaphragm as if trying to drown out his opponent's
murderous roar.
"Compare us to the demis, and you shall see! Humans—are creatures of
individuality!"
The mad old man was yelling now, to a foe who seemed unlikely to be
capable of conversation. Yet, he raised his voice to make his words reach home
—nay, hit home.
"That is especially true for mages! The art of the soul merge is fundamentally
not for us! The stress of two souls melding must be beyond imagining! The
headmistress is managing to dominate the soul she stole, but even a witch like
her is left with chronic headaches!"
Oliver didn't need to be told this. He knew how impossible this feat was. Even
as they spoke, he shed blood, stifled his agony, and groaned under the strain.
These sensations were telling him that same thing. But he didn't listen. If he
paid them the slightest heed, the spell would break. And he knew that would
leave him unable to lift a single finger.
"Meanwhile, what you're doing is far more demanding! The vessel of your
flesh cannot match the soul skill! Each move you make destroys you,
necessitating constant healing!"
Accurate. Oliver's body was only in one piece because his cousin's healing was
faster than his physical collapse. Without her support he would have been long
since rent asunder. He'd lost count of how many times his tendons had snapped
in this fight alone.
"Humans can receive only a finite amount of healing in one lifetime. I'm sure
you know that! How much of your total lifespan are you sacrificing for each
minute you fight like this?!"
The old man's words called forth a memory. At the back of Oliver's mind was
a step on the road to what he now was.
"Feel that? You're starting to hit that wall."
On all fours in a cold cellar, Oliver listened to the even colder sound of his
father's voice. For fifteen hours straight, they'd been training, leaving every inch
of his body in pain. Oliver had lost track of how many bones he'd broken or how
many times he'd passed out. Liberal use of medical treatment and potions
forced his recovery, but that was proving to be increasingly fruitless to get him
moving again.
"…Kah… Hah…"
"That's the limit of your talent. Obtaining any techniques above your level will
take ages, or prove entirely impossible. Only the truly gifted can overcome that
wall. And I'm afraid you have no such talent."
Even with his son on the brink of death, his father's tone stayed flat. No trace
of any emotion. The purpose of this attempt was to break his son's body and
mind; they had no use for feelings here.
"Physical growth and experience can supplement it to a degree, but that
won't be nearly enough. Each of your targets are real talents," he told Oliver.
"That's where Chloe Halford's soul comes in. Inputting the experience of a
genius—experience you could never hope to reach—will allow you to break
through this wall and nothing more. That is, of course…only if you can
withstand the soul merge."
Too tired and hurting to speak, Oliver still somehow managed to grasp his
father's words. Thought alone must never be abandoned. The cessation of
thought meant the loss of all meaning. If meaning was lost, then the pain to
come would be unendurable.
"Do you know why we hurt you to your limits before we attempt a fusion?
Because we require your soul to feel the need. To convince it that you flesh will
not survive otherwise," his father explained. "Human souls are fundamentally
not capable of accepting outside input. The shells of our selves are very hard
and can only be changed via the filter of our own experiences. That remains
true even with the soul-sucking progenitor power. But if we meet a number of
conditions, that can change. And one of those involves weakening the soul's
resistance to the merger."
The voice droned on, no variation to it. All the training and pain so far had
merely been preparations for the real goal. Oliver felt a cold wave of fear—fear
he'd thought long since paralyzed. He couldn't begin to fathom it. Suffering
greater than this? How was that even possible?
"The pain will be unimaginable. There is no guarantee you'll endure it. When
you are ready, say the word."
He offered no smidgen of reassurance, merely a promise of a future filled
with agony. And his father was well aware how merciless it was to demand a
decision from him here.
"…Will…?"
Oliver feebly tried to string the words together. He hadn't spoken in hours,
and now that he did, it was not to voice his own suffering but to ask an urgent
question.
"…Will it hurt…Mom…?"
"...!"
All this time, his father had kept that mask of indifference over his heart, but
these words caused its facade to crack. His nails dug into his quivering cheeks,
stilling them. Between those fingers, Oliver caught the briefest glimpse of the
man his father once was. Of the time when Oliver had been happy.
"…A being that exists only as a soul does not have a conscious mind like the
living. Only when the body, ether, and soul are assembled does the mind truly
function. Chloe is not capable of feeling the pain you do."
This was the first and only respite Oliver had been granted since this training
began. A small hint of relief amid the pain he'd been through and had yet to
experience, none of which would reach his mother.
"Put that unneeded concern out of your mind. Focus, else your personality
will be lost on the first attempt."
The man aimed his white wand at the room's sole door, calling, "Come in,
Shannon." Opened with a spell, the girl plastered to the door this whole time
came tumbling into the cellar: Shannon Sherwood, her eyes red with tears.
"Noll!"
Seeing her cousin barely breathing, Shannon scrambled over to him, wrapping
her arms tight around his frame. The corners of his lips twitched. He could
barely feel anything but pain, but her warmth pushed through. He could feel
her love for him.
"Do it. You're from the main line; you know far better than I do that this is the
duty our lineage demands."
And his father was already snatching away that small comfort. Oliver knew
that was for his benefit. If he was allowed a rest here, if the thread of tension
snapped, then he could never endure the pain to come.