A graduate once famously said that the main task of a first-year
Kimberly student was to get all the crying and screaming out of their
system.
"And that's how you handle magical silkworms. Don't you dare tell
me you didn't get it, first-years."
This class might well be on the curriculum for that sole purpose.
Vanessa Aldiss, magical biology instructor, was smirking at her firstyear pupils over the ashes of an insect's corpse. Every student
present gulped.
The silkworm had seemed so friendly. Then the cocoon had turned
black, and a hideous winged monster had emerged—only to be
dispatched by Vanessa's spell. Every step was exactly as it had been
for Oliver's group the year before.
"Let's get started. You successfully make five outta ten of these
things cocoon, you pass. Easy!" Vanessa barked. "I doubt anyone
here's this dumb, but if you mess it up, don't try and peel off the
cocoon. One dipshit nearly got her hand eaten last year. Can't stand
having more than one of those kids per decade."
And with her shrug as the signal, the pressure was on. The task
before these first-years was less a matter of skill than of keeping the
mind steady as you weathered the storm. Quite a few of them
looked down at their box of silkworms and failed to make the first
move.
"…You okay, Dean?" Peter Cornish asked, concerned for his old
friend.
"…Huh? Wh-why wouldn't I be? I got this!" Dean Travers spluttered,
finally springing to life. He drew his white wand from his hip and
29 | P a g e
pointed it at a silkworm—then froze up a second time, unable to
picture himself succeeding.
"…Hmph."
Across the table from him, a much smaller girl was making short
work of things, spending barely a second on each silkworm. Nine of
them formed proper white cocoons, but one went black, like the
demonstration.
The tall girl next to her—Rita Appleton—looked surprised. "…Wait—
Teresa? You're already done?"
"Not worth wasting time on. Flamma."
Her voice its usual monotone, Teresa Carste swiftly burned the
failure. Rita was still gaping at her, so she gave the girl a blank look.
"Get it over with. Waiting is tedious."
"I'd—I'd like to, but…my nerves…"
"Don't take it that seriously. Failure just means death."
"I'm gonna die?!"
"You? The silkworms, of course."
Rita was shaking like a leaf, but Teresa remained unmoved. Peter
looked really impressed.
"You don't flinch easy, huh? You're really good at this, Teresa."
"I-it's not that hard! I can do this, too!"
Competition pushed Dean into motion, and he pointed his wand at a
silkworm. He was clearly leaning way too far forward.
"H-hold on, Dean," Peter said, worried. "If you're that tense—"
But his warning went in one ear and out the other. Far too much
magic shot out of Dean's wand, and the result—seconds later, the
silkworm formed a black cocoon before bursting out of it.
30 | P a g e
"Ahhhhh!"
"Augh, I knew it!"
Peter wailed as the bug attacked his friend. Dean was waving his
wand around and chanting fire spells but barely aiming—and the
target was small and swift. Seeing it flying circles around him, Peter
raised his athame.
"Duck, Dean! I can't aim like this!"
"Sh-shut up! Stay back! I can handle— Gah!"
Despite his protests, before he could even fire off another spell—the
bug's mandibles sank into his wrist. The pain made him drop his
wand, and students swarmed around him.
Vanessa glanced toward the uproar from the sidelines. "Another
year, another kid got bit. The annual idiot."
"Dean…!" Rita jumped in to help, but the insect came after her. She
fired off a spell only to catch air, and its mandibles closed in on her
throat.
But right before her eyes, the insect—split into two.
"…Huh…?"
Rita stood stunned, her athame raised.
The two halves of the bug fell to the ground, and the small girl
behind it—Teresa—sheathed her athame. Nobody else had even
seen her move. She'd drawn and sliced with practiced ease.
"…What are you doing?"
"…Uh…"
Teresa's eyes had turned on Dean, where he sat clutching his wrist.
No scorn or contempt, just genuine bafflement, as in: How was this
outcome even possible?
31 | P a g e
"We were taught how to handle them. Spell or blade, if you have an
athame, you can dispatch it. At the very least, you can dodge."
Apparently can't wasn't part of her vernacular. She'd been raised to
handle these things like any basic function. That much, Dean got—
and it unnerved him. Teresa watched fear flicker across his face
before clapping her hands together as if she'd just worked it out.
"Oh, I see. That makes sense—you're inept."
She nodded, then seemed to lose all interest, moving away. The cold,
hard insult—she didn't mean it as one, but an insult it was—left
Dean's lips moving wordlessly.
A second later, anger caught up with him.
"Wha…?! Say that again!"
The words shot out of him like a geyser.
"…What are they fighting about this time?"
Oliver was watching them from the window of a large room on the
second story. Dean yelling, Teresa with her back to him, Peter and
Rita scrambling to talk them down—clearly, the first two were to
blame.
"Hah!"
With Oliver's attention elsewhere, Pete rushed at him with his
athame in hand to take full advantage of his friend's lapse. But Oliver
had kept enough wits about him to respond, deflecting the blow
away from his chest, and with Pete off-balance, he kicked the boy's
legs out from under him. Pete landed on his backside.
"Too eager, Pete."
"W-well, you weren't even looking!"
Pete was soon back on his feet, fuming. Oliver forgot about the view
outside, fully focusing on the bespectacled boy.
32 | P a g e
"Sorry. I just noticed the new kids making trouble. Won't happen
again."
He hit his stance once more. His distraction had been a slap in the
face, an insult to Pete's dedication, and he owed it to him to remain
focused.
"Nope. You need a new teacher."
"Oh?"
Someone picked Pete up by his collar, easily supporting his full
weight with one arm.
"Mr. Albright?" Oliver said, taken aback.
This arrogant interloper had been a tough opponent during the firstyears' battle royal.
"I've been watching," he said with a snort. "You're too gentle. He's
not a toddler."
"I don't mean to—"
"If you don't, that's even worse."
Albright didn't let him finish. He turned on his heel, hauling Pete
away.
"Come, Pete Reston. I'm not letting anyone whose name I learned
stay a nobody forever. I'm gonna train you myself."
"L-let me down first!"
Dangling at Albright's arm's length, Pete flailed about in protest and
was soon dropped on the ground. Pete glared up at him—then his
eyes started flitting to Oliver and back.
"…Okay," he said. "Let's give this a shot, Mr. Albright."
"Pete?!" Oliver gasped, unable to believe his ears.
Pete took a few steps closer, pointing right at his face.
33 | P a g e
"Just you watch," he said. "When I get back, I'm gonna land a hit on
you."
And with that, he spun around and ran after Albright. Oliver had no
words.
Then a hand patted him on the shoulder.
"Ah-ha-ha! You 'ave lost your precious pupil. Fret not, Oliver! I would
be 'onored to take 'is place."
"..."
This tall smiler was Tullio Rossi. Another opponent in the battle royal,
but Oliver was long past caring about that history. The only thing in
his mind was the sight of his stolen student training at the hands of
another teacher. They were already starting.
"First question," said Albright. "Why are you weak?"
"…My techniques aren't polished," Pete replied, looking sullen
already.
Albright rolled his eyes, like he was dealing with an amateur.
"Already wrong. What you think are techniques are forms. You're
just rehearsing memorized choreography like some sort of puppet."
"…I am…?"
"Forms become techniques when they're a seamless part of the
fight. What you need now is to learn how that feels. To start, show
me the move you think you're best at."
Pete thought for a second, then raised his dominant left hand, taking
the mid-tier Rizett-style lightning stance. From there, he lunged
forward, unleashing a series of thrusts. As he did, he smacked the
floor with his right hand, using that force to push himself back into
his original stance. The swift recovery showed that despite the lack
34 | P a g e
of polish, he was controlling his center of gravity well. Albright
narrowed his eyes.
"Rizett's Hero's Charge? As a form, not bad."
"How does that become technique?"
"On its own, it's nothing but a gamble. To make it decisive, you need
to put together a battle plan."
Pete put his hand to his chin, thinking.
"Picture it," Albright said. "It's one thing when you just started, but
you've got a year's worth of experience under your robe. You've
watched top fighters go at it up close. Traded blows with them in
practice. If your eyes can see, you've started to figure out how a
sword art fight works."
As prompted, Pete ran several of these fights through his mind's eye.
With the Hero's Charge as his finisher, he went back through the
fight leading up to that. A number of patterns he'd personally
experienced came to mind, and he picked one with solid odds that
he felt capable of reproducing. A moment later, he found himself in a
stance. His athame at eye level, held vertically. The Lanoff high
stance.
"Exactly. A tad obvious, but it works. Pull your foe's attention
upward. The crux of Hero's Charge is the vertical motion and the
shift in range. Get your opponent used to trading blows above chest
height, wait for them to fire a spell at your chest—that's the perfect
moment to unleash your technique."
Pete had passed his test and earned a trace of a smile.
"If it lands, you've won, but if it fails, you'll pay for it—true for any
lunging move. But you've already got the nerves. That alone I'll
praise you for."
"…Coming from you, it feels wrong."
35 | P a g e
"Hmph. So whose praise do you want?"
Albright clearly knew the answer. Pete stiffened. He managed to
keep himself from looking toward the person he had in mind, but he
nonetheless felt his cheeks burning.
"You're an open book." Albright chuckled. "Fair enough. Oliver's
attention is a prize."
"…Shut up…!"
To hide how much that rattled him, Pete turned back, still in the high
stance, ready to test it. Albright responded, calmly drawing his own
athame.
"Good intensity. Take that blade and make me shut up."
Meanwhile, Oliver was trading blows with Rossi, keeping one eye on
Pete's training.
"…What are they talking about…?"
"You are wide open, Oliver!"
Rossi took that as an opportunity to attack. A tricky move, well off
the beaten path—but in the year since his defeat at Oliver's hands,
he'd melded it to Koutz-style techniques, making it even harder to
deal with. Unreadable footwork, Flash Wisp to blind you and move
where you least expected him to be.
"Oof—?!"
But a heel slammed into his plexus. A counterblow, doubling the
impact—and Rossi was on his knees. Realizing he'd hit too hard,
Oliver quickly came over.
"Sorry, Rossi. Overextended a bit."
"Urghhh… Be 'onest, you are working through some issues!"
36 | P a g e
He sounded as peeved as he was frustrated. Not only had Oliver
been clearly distracted, he'd still easily handled the attack. The
difference in their abilities was all too clear. While Rossi had been
rebuilding himself, Oliver had charged on ahead.
"…And 'ere I am, eating dust."
Clutching his stomach, Rossi was grinning through the pain. This was
what he wanted. What good was a goal that neither changed nor
adapted?
"Seiiiiii!"
A bellow echoed through the room, grabbing both boys' attention. In
the corner opposite the pair, an Azian girl was furiously trading blows
with the sword arts instructor, Garland.
Seeing Oliver's eyes glued to the exchange, Rossi sighed. "…Now it is
'er turn? You do not lack for distractions, Oliver."
"Okay, I admit it. But how can you not look? You're doing the same
thing."
"Ha-ha, that I am! Nanao is a sight to behold! 'Er blows grow sharper
by the hour."
Rossi took his place by Oliver, hand on chin, in full observation mode.
Sparks flew from Nanao's blade as she took a wide step in. Garland
dodged by a hairbreadth, his athame caressing the girl's arm.
The sword arts instructor had flawlessly handled her assault, and as
they regrouped, he said, "That big step was careless. Don't confuse
courage with recklessness. Once more!"
"Understood!"
Taking instruction with her characteristic alacrity, Nanao was soon
cheerfully squaring off against the master again. As Oliver watched,
enraptured, Chela approached him.
37 | P a g e
"He's not holding back with her anymore. I'm sure he sees her
potential."
"Yes." Oliver nodded. "The best student with the best teacher. She's
bound to get even better."
An instant later, they all jumped—at the sound of a voice from
above.
"Enjoying yourself, Luther? If you like her that much, why not
officially take her as an apprentice?"
This man had the same hairstyle as Chela but was standing upside
down, his feet on the ceiling. As the students jumped and looked up,
Garland smiled—like he'd known this man was here the whole time.
"She's only in her second year, Theodore. The time for trying a bit of
everything, not narrowing your focus."
"No rush to pin her down, then? You couldn't be less like Darius
there. Naturally, I mean that as a compliment."
It was obvious from their tone that they were old friends. But while
their exchange was breezy, Oliver's expression was guarded—and
Chela glanced at both him and Theodore, raising an eyebrow.
"..."
"…Sigh…"
"? What is it?" Rossi asked. "You two look like you 'ave just bitten a
lemon."
They both ignored him, and as they watched in silence, Garland
spoke again.
"If you're here, why not help teach? Show these kids your Rizett
style."
38 | P a g e
"I can hardly refuse a request for the blade master himself!
Especially with my beloved daughter's eyes on me. By all means, let
me strut."
Winking at Chela, Theodore flipped down to the floor. He took
Nanao's place, facing Garland at one-step, one-spell range, and drew
his athame.
"We're no longer students, so be gentle."
"Droll. What's it been, two years?" Garland was clearly looking
forward to this.
Meanwhile, as Pete—like every student here—gulped at the sight,
Albright whispered, "A match between masters. Watch and learn,
Pete Reston."
"Yeah…"
"Though you may not catch much of it."
"That's just mean!"
But even as he protested, the teachers sprang into action. It started
surprisingly slow, but with each clash, their strikes grew faster,
harder. Soon the air between them was filled with sparks. No longer
able to follow the flow of battle with his eyes, Pete forgot to breathe.
"…?! …?! ...?!"
"I figured you weren't there yet. Don't worry, I'll—"
"I'll explain, Pete."
Before Albright could deliver a word of exposition, he was
interrupted. He turned to find Oliver standing on Pete's other side.
"He's in my hands right now."
"When you're directly instructing him, yes. Doesn't apply to
observation."
39 | P a g e
"Bullshit logic. Shut up and let me handle this."
Albright grabbed Pete's shoulder and pulled, but Oliver grabbed the
other one, and leaned in, whispering in his ear.
"Pete, don't try and see all of it. Just break down what you can see.
First, what stances are they using?"
This query forced Pete to focus his attention. Both teachers were
moving too fast to see, but he could just about make out the gist of
things based on their body language.
"…Lanoff mid?" he asked, not too sure. "And Rizett mid…I think."
"Exactly. They're both sticking to the fundamentals. Deliberately, so
that we can compare and contrast. Nearly every technique they're
using is something we've been taught."
"I-it is?"
And here Pete was, not following 80 percent of it. Not about to let
his charge get stolen away, Albright took a turn, pulling the
bespectacled boy's shoulder his way.
"Watch Instructor McFarlane's footwork. Constant pressure,
crushing the gap, never lets his opponent make a lateral move. The
fundamentals of Rizett positioning. Keep your opponent where your
strengths lie, and the scales of victory will tilt toward you."
"But don't miss Instructor Garland's response. It might look like he's
trapped in defensive mode, but he's squeezing in well-timed
counters to keep his opponent from dominating. Withstanding the
onslaught, and when the flurry dies down and the pressure eases, he
seizes the chance. A lunge forward when his opponent steps back—"
"Um, uh, so…"
"Oh, do calm down," Chela said. "You're making Pete's head spin."
40 | P a g e
Too much information from both sides at once. Chela's intervention
silenced both Oliver and Albright, but by this time, the faculty match
was wrapping up. They'd exchanged a hundred blows in mere
minutes, never leaving that one-step, one-spell distance.
Theodore dropped his stance, sighing. "You ought to let your elders
shine a little, Luther."
"Oh, please." Garland chuckled. "I have never once even considered
holding back against you."
His athame sheathed, the ringlet instructor's gaze raked the student
audience.
"Did that help at all? Then I'll be taking my leave. Farewell, Chela, my
darling child."
"Yes, yes, I know, just go."
He blew her a kiss, and she rolled her eyes. Theodore sauntered
away looking thoroughly pleased, and Garland wasted no time
getting the students paired up for another match.
Screaming and crying might be a first-year's job, but the later years
had their share of trials, too. The only difference—a year of practice
and training made it that much harder to reduce them to tears.
"You all came back! Heh. I've got a fun one for you today!"
Vanessa Aldiss licked her lips, seeing her magical biology students
looking that much sturdier than the year before. There was a fencedoff area behind her, with a number of strange foal-sized creatures
within. Wings and heads were like birds of prey, but the sinewy
muscles and bone structure of their lower halves were clearly feline.
Katie took one look at them and whispered, "Griffins."
"Babies. Hatched a month ago. Wings have grown in, and they're just
starting to look like the real thing."
41 | P a g e
These griffins were far too imposing to call babies, but Vanessa was
clearly in a particularly good mood today.
"Your task is to train 'em. Turn 'em into animals that do what mages
say," she said, turning toward the enclosure. "Don't care how you do
it, but it ain't gonna be easy. In their natural environment, these
things are king of the magical ecosystem. They feed on everything
else. They don't have it in 'em to bow their heads to other
creatures."
She moved closer to the fence, and the nearest griffin chomped
down on her shoulder. The students gasped, but Vanessa just
grinned, not even trying to pry the beak off.
"Ha, see? They got spirit. Wouldn't be worth training 'em
otherwise!"
Her right arm bulged unnaturally, then transformed into a set of
giant claws. She wrapped this bulk round the griffin's neck, hauling it
bodily into the air. Its limbs thrashed helplessly, and it let out an
earsplitting shriek.
"C'mon, show yer belly. Wag your damn tail at me. Or else."
The griffin might not understand words, but that was all it took; the
moment Vanessa grabbed the creature, it was clear who was
stronger. The griffin went limp, demonstrating it was unwilling to
resist, and wagged its tail, pleading for mercy. Once she saw that,
Vanessa released her prey. The griffin hit the ground and fled to the
far side of the enclosure.
"That's basically it. Prove you're stronger, make 'em submit. That's
how you make livestock outta wild beasts," she said, turning back to
the students. "If you blow it, they'll kill ya. And since I can't watch
out for all of you at once, we've got some upperclassmen here to
help. Come on down!"
42 | P a g e
The older students who'd been waiting at the back stepped forward
to answer her call. Twenty-odd students in years four through seven,
and Katie spotted a familiar face among them.
"Ms. Miligan!" she said, her face lighting up.
"Hello, everyone. I knew this class would be Katie's personal hell and
decided I should swing by for moral support."
As Miligan reached Katie's side, Chela spoke up.
"Thank you," she said. "I didn't see this ending well."
Once each student team had an upperclassman in tow, a sixth-year
girl raised her white wand high.
"Okay, okay! Eyes here! There are several ways to tame a magical
beast, but fundamentally, it all comes down to the carrot and the
stick. And at this stage, the stick is most important. Right now, these
griffins think you're all jokes."
As she spoke, she opened the gate and led a griffin out. All secondyear eyes on her, she faced the fledging griffin down. Vanessa getting
bitten was fresh in their minds; they were stressing this far more
than the sixth-year.
"Pain is a good way to sap their desire to fight, but if you wound
them, then you've gotta waste time healing it. That's where pain
spells come in. Manavian physiques aren't that different from
humans, so once you get the hang of it, it's easy. You there! Sit."
She waved her wand, barking orders at the griffin. It turned its head,
contemptuous. It obviously knew what she wanted but had no
intention of obeying.
"Ignore me, huh? Fine. Dolor."
Clearly exactly what she expected, the girl wasted no time casting a
spell. Light left her wand, and when it reached the griffin, the beast
shuddered.
43 | P a g e
"KYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
The griffin let out a shrill cry, writhing on the ground. Katie clenched
her fists. Next to her, Oliver was starting to sweat, afraid she'd jump
in to stop it.
"See? In the words of sadly missing Instructor Darius, pain is the
great leveler, affecting sages and fools alike. Give them an order, and
if they resist or ignore you, that's where a pain spell comes in. Rinse
and repeat until they reluctantly start to listen. Then you bring in the
carrot. Give them the meat they like and shower them in praise."
She pointed at the trays of raw meat lying on a nearby worktable.
Vanessa grabbed a hunk and took a bite—or rather, swallowed it
whole. "Let me remind you, a griffin egg ain't gonna go for less than
two million belc. Nowhere but Kimberly are you gonna get these in
class. Once they're grown, it's nigh impossible to tame 'em, and if
your attempts here fail, the money spent on 'em gets flushed right
down the drain. They're gonna end up as snacks to go with my
booze."
That added a new layer of pressure. Pleased by the tense looks, she
sat down on the worktable, swinging her legs.
"Do your worst. I'm happy to eat 'em for you, but you don't want us
sending a sky-high bill to your folks, do you? Begin!"
Not even giving them time to collect themselves, the assignment
began. Like throwing them into the wild. As the other teams started
working, Oliver and his friends exchanged looks.
"...What now?"
"…I'm sure it's useless to ask, but is the method we just saw—?"
"Don't. You. Dare!" Katie didn't even let him finish.
44 | P a g e
Chela patted her shoulders. "I rather thought so. But we can't just
ignore the assignment. Our team will have to find a means of
completing it without the use of pain spells."
"Heh-heh-heh. That's where the fruits of our research come in!"
Miligan said, smiling. Her eyes caught Katie's. "Interspecies
communication studies. An academic discipline specifically created
for just this situation. Isn't that right, Katie?"
"Absolutely, Ms. Miligan!"
These two were clearly on the same page here, while the others
were rather taken aback.
"Listen close," the Snake-Eyed Witch said. "There is some individual
variance, but pain spell training has a nasty side effect—it makes the
target hate you. Since time immemorial, accidents have been caused
when the beast's emotions burst forth! However! If you apply the
interspecies communication principle of mutual understanding, it is
possible to forge relationships with magical beings at a much more
elevated level! As we will soon prove."
While she spoke, she approached the fence and used her white wand
to lead a griffin out. She brought it over to the others and spoke
again.
"To forge a positive connection, you begin by getting to know each
other! This, I have already done! I know everything there is to know
about griffins—how they eat and live, what environments they
prefer, where their organs lie, and where to stab if I need to kill them
in a single blow! Fear not, griffin! I am your greatest advocate!"
Oliver nearly pointed out the flaws in this logic, but he saw the same
look on Katie's face and held his tongue. An upperclassman was
attempting to help them. No reason to be a wet blanket.
45 | P a g e
"Sadly, griffins lack language. But they are social creatures and have
concepts of friendship and cooperation! As I will now demonstrate.
Plumare!"
Casting off her robe, Miligan enchanted herself. Griffin-like feathers
sprouted from her shoulders and arms, and a large beak formed on
her face. She crossed her new wings in front of that beak.
"Putting your wings together like so is an in-group signal that you are
not hostile! Rather than forcing our ways on them, we adapt to
theirs! This humility is the greatest achievement of interspecies
communication studies! Those accustomed to existing training
techniques may well find it roundabout, but observe! The beast is
already less wary!"
46 | P a g e
47 | P a g e
Keeping a close eye on the griffin through her feathers, Miligan
snapped her beak together, calling to it. Oliver took a good look at
the griffin; it did seem to be slightly less openly hostile. But it was
hard to tell if it had actually registered the friendly overture or was
simply confused.
"Now for the second phase! Having established that we two griffins
do not mean each other harm, we take the next step, rubbing our
beaks together in a gesture of friendship! Accomplishing this means
we're as good as BFFs!"
Slowly, yet with total confidence, Miligan approached the fledgling.
She leaned forward, pointing her beak toward it like a human
reaching out for a handshake. The crowd watching gulped. After a
moment, the griffin moved its beak next to hers…
"KYOOOOOOOOOOO!"
…and screamed right in her ear. Blood gushed out of both Miligan's
ears, and she collapsed in a heap.
"Mil—"
"Ms. Miligan—?!"
Guy and Katie both yelped, and the friends raced over to her, using
their athames to keep the griffin at bay as they pulled her to safety.
"Ha-ha-ha, it got me good!" Miligan cried, not the least bit
discouraged. "A close-range sound wave attack! Mm? Sorry, Katie, I
can't make out a word you're saying. And was the sky always this
purple?"
"Both drums and the inner ears are damaged!"
"Possible cerebral hemorrhaging! Heal her quick!"
Oliver and Chela were already treating her injuries. Meanwhile, the
other groups were going back to their own assignments, clearly
deeming this outcome inevitable. Vanessa was doubled over
48 | P a g e
laughing. That was extremely grating, but given what had just
happened, Oliver was disinclined to protest.
"…My turn."
Katie stood up, leaving Miligan's side. Guy heard what she'd said,
blinked a second, then realized what it meant. He grabbed her wrist.
"Wha—?! Have you lost your mind? I can't let you! You saw how it
turned out!"
"So what?! Interspecies communication isn't easy! Of course it's not
going to work the first time!"
Katie shook Guy off. He started to follow her, but Oliver grabbed his
shoulder. Nothing they said would stop her now.
"Hello, griffin," she said. "My name's Katie Aalto. Would you like to
be friends with me?"
She left a few steps between her and the fledgling, speaking softly to
it. The griffin answered with a shake of its wings—and the wind
elementals dwelling within them created a strong wind, rejecting
Katie, pushing her away. Given the creature's age, the force was not
substantial—but this was the same ability the garuda had.
"…Mm, sorry, let me rephrase," Katie said. "We will be friends.
Whether you like it or not."
Even with the wind buffeting her, Katie did not yield a single step.
Her voice did not waver. A pang shot through Oliver's heart. She
could not have said this last year. This was a mage's strength—an
arrogance indistinguishable from madness.
"KYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
She stepped forward, pushing against the gale, and was hit with the
same sound attack that had downed Miligan. The shrill echoes
ringing in his ears, Guy went pale—Katie was directly within the
attack's line of fire.
49 | P a g e
"I will defend myself. I'm not making you my slave, but neither am I
your food," Katie told the fledgling. "Throw anything you want at me.
Attack till you're satisfied. I'll face it with everything I've got!"
She took another step closer. The manavian retreated a step,
unnerved.
"Hmph." Vanessa snorted from across the room. "Trying new things
ain't bad, little lady Aalto. But if you can't wrap this up before time
runs out, your whole team fails with you. You really think this is
gonna work?"
Harsh truths to lay on anyone striving for an ideal. Katie heard them
loud and clear, her fists balling up.
Without glancing over her shoulder, she asked her five friends,
"…How long will you give me?"
She requested more time: as much as this classroom period allowed
her.
"Be honest with me. You all know I'm not doing this because I want
to—I just don't want to let this poor thing die."
Any griffins that failed to be tamed were eliminated. Since Katie was
the one rejecting the most successful approach, this griffin's fate lay
on her shoulders. As much as it hurt to do so, she had to draw the
line. She was painfully aware that her own shortcomings left her
unable to guarantee the survival of the life before her eyes.
Fully aware of what she was going through, Chela and Oliver glanced
at each other.
"…Leave us half an hour. That'll be enough, right?"
"…Yeah," Oliver said. "With that much time, we can get the minimal
training in."
They looked at Guy and Pete, who both nodded. Trusting their
decision.
50 | P a g e
Grateful for her friends' trust, Katie focused her heart and soul on
the trial before her.
"Thank you. Till then, I've gotta try."
Time passed…but no miracles occurred.
"…Haah…haah…!"
Katie was breathing heavily, the feathers on her shoulders torn up by
the griffin's fierce resistance; countless scrapes and scratches riddled
her body, and her throat was parched from the number of spells
she'd cast. She'd tried sounds, gestures, expressions, mana waves—
every means of communication except violence, and they'd all been
flicked aside.
"..."
Oliver had seen this coming. This was far more difficult than the
rapport Nanao had built with the demon ape on the labyrinth's
second layer, on their way to rescue Pete. All she'd had to do was
prove they meant no harm—Katie, on the other hand, had to make
friends. And the griffin had no interest, making the task virtually
impossible.
"…Yo, should we?"
"No. Let her have the full time."
There wasn't much of that left. Guy was nearing the end of his rope,
but Oliver was stubbornly holding him back. If Katie's shoulders had
betrayed the slightest sign of defeat, he wouldn't be, but…
"Look close, Guy. This is Katie's fight. She's up against reality as we
know it—always has been, always will be."
She never gave up. Even now, she was so focused on the griffin's
motions she'd forgotten the pain she was in. She observed each
move it made, searching for a way to earn its trust. Oliver couldn't
stand to stop her. Any mage would respect Katie's efforts.
51 | P a g e
But the time Katie had was finite. Chela glanced down at her pocket
watch again and called it.
"Time's up, Katie… I'm sorry."
"…Nn…!"
Her shoulders shook. Chela stepped forward and put her hands on
them.
"You did your best," she said. "Step back. And feel free to cover your
ears if you want."
"No! I don't want to!" Katie rasped. Large tears streamed down her
cheeks. "This little one's fate is my fault. I won't just turn my back on
it… Not ever…!"
She still had her eyes locked on the griffin, not budging an inch. And
if she'd made her choice, no one would argue with it. Chela and
Oliver gritted their teeth and took a step toward the manavian.
"…Huh?" Katie squeaked.
A pale finger had brushed the tears from her face.
"You're sweet…"
A gentle voice in her ears made Katie turn. An older girl stood behind
her, both arms around Katie. Pale-blond hair and a soft smile that
made Katie's heart melt.
"You're here?" Oliver said, surprised to see his sister.
Shannon Sherwood smiled at him. As she did, the solemn sounds of a
stringed instrument rang out. Recognizing that timbre, Oliver
wheeled toward it—and found an older boy playing a viola with a
modified white wand.
"Both of you…?!"
52 | P a g e
Gwyn Sherwood glanced once at his brother but said not a word,
letting his instrument speak for him. Mana-laced sounds filled the
room, and everyone sharing that space couldn't help but listen. Not
just the people—even the griffins, who'd likely never heard music
before, stopped in their tracks, feeling the melody wash over them.
"This girl is trying…to save you."
As the music played, Shannon walked quietly toward the griffin, not
even drawing her wand. She didn't hesitate to stroke its beak,
speaking softly to it as if she were cajoling a small child.
"…Mm… Mm… Good griffin… Now you. Come join us."
Shannon turned, beckoning Katie to her. Thoroughly confused, the
curly-haired girl stepped up to the manavian.
"Try…asking for something," Shannon urged. "I know…it'll listen."
Strangely, Katie didn't doubt her. She nodded and gestured.
"Can you…spread your wings wide for me?"
She demonstrated, holding her own arms all the way out. It stared at
her for a good long moment—and then there was a gust of wind, and
the manavian's wings unfurled. Katie gulped.
"It obeyed her," Gwyn said. "The assignment's complete."
The viola stopped.
Vanessa had been watching in silence, but now she jumped down off
the worktable, stomping over.
"Wait a goddamn minute! You need to butt the hell out, Sherwoods!
You did the whole assignment for 'em! This is a second-year class,
y'know!"
"All we contributed was a performance to soothe its nerves and the
final mediation. Well within the range of permissible support, Ms.
Aldiss."
53 | P a g e
Gwyn's tone was peaceful, but he wasn't backing down. Vanessa
scowled at him…only to start laughing.
"…Ha! I get it. If I can't explain what you did, then I can shut my pie
hole—is that it?"
The magical biology teacher was referring to an unwritten Kimberly
rule. No one, not even a teacher, could argue with the results of a
spell they could not understand. If she wanted to overturn the
results of the Sherwoods' interference, she'd first have to uncover
the trick behind it.
"Fair enough. Okay, you get a passing grade today. But there's more
griffin training to come. Here's hoping you didn't just delay the
inevitable."
And with that, the bell rang. The students began leading their griffins
back into the pen, and Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't
expected his cousins to bail him out in public.
"Er, um…! Thank you!" Katie said, running over before they could
leave. Shannon and Gwyn turned back to find her cheeks flushed.
"Can I ask…what you did? You…connected to it—emotionally—
right?"
She was looking from the griffin to the Sherwoods and back again.
Shannon smiled uncomfortably.
"…My sister's not great at explanations," Gwyn said, "so let me.
Eighty percent of that was your doing, Ms. Aalto. Shannon just added
a little push. We can't tell you exactly how, and even if we did—you
couldn't copy it. It's something only she can do."
He was very firm, and Katie had nothing else to say. The pair turned
to leave.
"You're walking a thorny path," Gwyn added. "But it does lead
somewhere. That's all we can really tell you."
54 | P a g e
With their morning classes over, the six friends gathered for lunch in
the Fellowship, but they didn't chatter much that day—because
Katie inhaled her oatmeal.
"Done! Going to see the griffin! Later!"
Wiping her lips on her napkin, she jumped up and ran off toward the
exit. She'd managed to negotiate permission to train the griffin
outside of class time, and the rest of lunch break was going to be
spent furthering her connection to the creature. The rest of the
group wished her luck.
"…I'll be in the library," Pete said upon finishing a light meal.
He often left early to hit up the stacks, but today there was a surprise
turn of events. Guy shoved the last of his toast in his mouth and ran
after him.
"Yo, wait up, Pete. I'm coming with."
"You are?!" Pete gaped at him. The other three were equally
shocked. Seeing eight eyes on him, Guy looked deeply
uncomfortable.
"D-don't act like I grew another head! I read sometimes! Walker
mentioned a survival book I should check out."
That explained it. Everyone knew Guy was a learn-by-doing type, but
maybe what the Survivor was teaching him had started to change
that. Like Pete and Katie, Guy was always trying to improve.
Perhaps spurred by his motivated demeanor, Nanao put her fork
down and rose to her feet.
"The pursuit of letters is a valuable discipline. Allow me to join you
gentlemen."
"Of all people…," Pete grumbled. "I mean, fine, but we're really just
going to read! If you nod off in there, the librarians get pissed."
55 | P a g e
"Don't worry, already been through it. Didn't need to sic a hoolibook
on me, though…"
Guy rubbed the back of his head, remembering the pain. Nanao
caught up and glanced back toward the table.
"Oliver, Chela, will you not join us?"
"Mm…"
Oliver made to rise, but Chela spoke first.
"Nanao, you go on ahead. We'll catch up in ten."
He sat back down. Nanao nodded and turned to go. When the three
of them had left the room, Chela spoke again.
"I hope I wasn't being too presumptuous. But I felt we should speak."
This was clearly something serious—and Oliver had an idea what.
"…This about Instructor Theodore?"
"…I'm afraid so. Today was bad enough, but the Galatea incident
cannot be overlooked."
She was referring to the time her father had manipulated Nanao into
fighting a back-alley slasher. Oliver had told her about that
immediately. Reflecting again on the events of that night, Oliver
went right to the question at the heart of it.
"What is it he wants from Nanao? That's what I have to know. I can
tell he's got high hopes for her but not where those lead. He brought
her here from Yamatsu, is training her as a mage…to what end?"
"Honestly, I can't begin to fathom it myself. He's always been an
enigma, and that side of him is especially strong where Nanao is
concerned. Having said that—call it a daughter's intuition, perhaps,
but something is telling me this is no ordinary obsession."
Oliver folded his arms, considering this.
56 | P a g e
Chela swirled the liquid in her teacup, adding, "And when a mage of
his skills grows obsessed, it is a powerful curse. I can promise you it's
not mere malice, but…that is hardly a comfort."
"Yeah… Frankly, Miligan was never particularly malicious, either."
And she'd still kidnapped Katie. Oliver nodded. He knew that much
himself. Malicious or not, a mage's actions could easily be lifethreatening.
"At the very least, it's not related to any McFarlane sorcery. I think. If
it was—as his heir, I would be able to fathom it, perceive its nature. I
suspect this is something else… A fixation derived from his personal
affairs."
"…A personal fixation?"
And if that was how his own daughter saw things, the man's motives
were even murkier. If only they had a clue—but as Oliver drifted into
thought, Chela shifted to another topic.
"Have you heard the name Chloe Halford?"
And for Oliver… Well, that was one of the most unnerving questions
he'd heard at Kimberly.
He forgot to breathe. His pulse skyrocketed; his mana grew agitated.
In the blink of an eye, he forced it all back to normal and answered.
"…I've heard stories. She's one of our most famous graduates."
"Indeed. Chloe Two-Blade, said to be the strongest Gnostic Hunter
we've ever had."
Chela was nodding. Didn't look like he'd aroused her suspicions. That
was a relief. Her eyes had been on her hands, not him. He didn't
know where she was going with this, but it seemed safe to assume
she wasn't trying to gauge his reactions.
"I met her once, when I was very young."
57 | P a g e
That sent further echoes rippling through Oliver. He'd known
Theodore McFarlane was in the same year at Kimberly as his mother,
but…to the point where he'd introduced her to his daughter?
58 | P a g e
59 | P a g e
"She was a friend of my father's, apparently. I remember they
seemed very close. She wasn't…like anyone I'd met, in a way that's
hard to describe."
Chela pulled herself out of the memory, changing tacks.
"The broom Nanao matched with—she's named it Amatsukaze,
but…you're aware it once belonged to Chloe Halford? It returned to
Kimberly on its own, not long after her death."
He was aware. More than anyone else. Had her broom been in her
hand that night—that was a thought he kept coming back to. And it
begged the question—why had his mother been broomless in a
situation that dire?
"I'm sure you're aware of this as well, but Chloe Halford's death is
the subject of many sinister rumors."
"...Mm."
"She was a flag bearer for civil rights groups. I've heard she never
once identified herself as one of them, but between her character
and actions, it was only natural that people treated her as such. And
with her history as a legendary Gnostic Hunter—well, I'm sure she
had no end of enemies or allies."
At this point, Oliver raised a hand, cutting her off. This was illadvised. Talking about her was a taboo at this school.
"…Considering where we are, perhaps that's enough."
"I appreciate the concern. But…some things must not be swept
under the rug," Chela said. "If my memory serves correctly, my
father's demeanor changed greatly around the time of Ms. Halford's
death."
She was keeping one foot firmly in that no-fly zone. Oliver gulped.
Chela had chosen to make this statement in public—at least partly as
an attempt to rein her father in.
60 | P a g e
"He's always been prone to his excursions. But their frequency
increased dramatically. Like he was driven by something. And soon,
no distance was too great for those excursions of his."
"..."
"Yet, as his classroom visit today suggested, lately he's stuck to
countries within the Union. And most of those were missions
ordered by the school itself. His wanderlust is clearly diminished…
And I trust you know what that means."
"…Because he already found Nanao."
This point had not been lost on him. Conscious of the ears around
them, Oliver put it in words.
"Instructor Theodore's fixation with Nanao is related to Chloe
Halford's death. Is that what you're saying?"
Chela's silence signaled agreement. She took a sip of her long-sincecold tea.
"…Mere conjecture, of course," she said. "But no mage would be
wise to ignore their intuition. Regardless of whether I'm right, I felt
you should hear it."
Oliver nodded, saying nothing. If Chela herself chose to voice the
theory, then it wasn't one he could afford to dismiss.
"…Right," he said. "Nanao isn't the kind of person who can act
naturally while sounding someone out. We'll have to handle that for
her."
"Precisely. My father saved her life on the battlefield, and she feels
indebted to him. If—and I do mean if—he intends to use her for
some purpose of his own, she will likely go along with that willingly.
That is her nature."
For a moment, Chela's eyes swam with sadness. But then they took
on a steely quality, and she caught his gaze.
61 | P a g e
"And that's why we must protect her. My father isn't the kind of man
who'll spill the beans at his daughter's behest, but I am still heir to
the main McFarlane line. I do have a voice. And I will stake my pride
on ensuring he does not have his way with Nanao."
Protecting her friend even from her own father. Her words a vow.
Warmth rose up within Oliver, and he found himself smiling at her.
"Thank you, Chela. I'll keep an eye on her myself. I'll make sure we'll
be able to notice if Instructor Theodore starts meddling with her.
And I'll make sure she hears what she needs to."
"I should be thanking you. This is a matter that by all rights should be
handled within the family. Yet, here you both are, mixed up in it. I
assure you, I'm suitably chagrined."
Ashamed of her own shortcomings, Chela bit her lip, eyes downcast.
Oliver knew this was a product of her perfectionist nature—he had
to shake his head.
"That's hardly fair, Chela."
"Oh?"
"You know perfectly well an issue affecting any member of the
Sword Roses affects us all. Yet, you always try to draw a line when
something's bothering you. Our friendship keeps us on equal footing,
so that's simply unfair."
He smiled ruefully.
"If anyone else was in trouble, you'd help. Even if you had to force it.
Even if they rejected it."
This statement made her turn bright red, all the way to the ears.
Belatedly, Oliver realized his blunder. Any mention of forced
intervention from him would naturally remind her of what had
happened in the Lily of the Valley on their weekend in Galatea.
"…I have no words," she managed.
62 | P a g e
"Wait, Chela! Don't…go there. That wasn't what I—"
She had her head all the way down now. Oliver tried to salvage
things—but there were at least two pairs of eyes on them: Chela's
half sister, Stacy Cornwallis, and her servant, Fay Willock.
"…Clearly, something happened between them."
"Curious?" Fay asked.
"No!" Stacy snapped, stabbing her pear tart with a fork. But even as
she ate, her eyes never left her sister's face.
Fay sighed. As always, he was convinced being honest with herself
would make things far easier for Stacy, but he had long since
discovered saying that aloud would get him nowhere.
The last class of the day was astronomy. Like curses, this was a new
subject for second-years, and it was the first class on the topic for
Oliver and his friends.
As the bell rang, a man in his prime appeared, clad in old-fashioned,
baggy robes. Even as he stepped through the door, he was giving
orders.
"Open your books to page eight."
Drawing his white wand, he walked straight past the podium to the
blackboard, quickly filling it with manascript.
"Er, um…," a student said, raising a hand. "Will we be skipping the
class rundown and introductions?"
The man at the board went perfectly still. Like the words were a new
concept to him.
"Rundown… Introductions… Oh, right. You do need those," he said.
"Pardon me, I spend most of my time in the library, and it makes it
hard to keep my bearings."
63 | P a g e
He swung around, sighing. Eyes glowing with boundless intellect
swept over the students.
"I am Demitrio Aristides, and I teach astronomy," he said solemnly.
"Let me offer a word of caution—when you address me, use a name.
Doesn't matter which. But if you simply say Instructor, I won't
perceive that as a term of address."
Quite a thing to lead with; the students were already looking baffled.
Oliver took this as a discrepancy in cognitive density—mages with
particularly vast knowledge stores often had difficulty
communicating with those less informed, and this man seemed to be
one of those.
"As for the core concepts of astronomy, the term itself means 'the
laws of the stars.' We read the positions of the celestial bodies and
estimate their influence on the world, predicting events to come. It is
an extremely urgent and practical science."
This last line was extra forceful. But Demitrio didn't even pause to let
it sink in.
"Why is observing the stars such a pressing matter? I doubt you need
that explained, but as it is fundamental to the conceit, I shall do so:
Because every little light in the night sky is a world distinct from our
own—a tír."
Here, Demitrio chanted a spell and waved his wand at the classroom
ceiling. The room went dark, and countless stars appeared above the
astonished students' heads. Those armed with prior knowledge
recognized their placements—this was a planetarium, accurately
mimicking the night sky.
"What is a tír? It is a world that operates on different principles and
physics than our own. They have different environments and
ecosystems, perhaps even cultures born of different intelligence.
64 | P a g e
And many of them are controlled by the god of that tír. Like the
ancient kings ruled over lands in human history."
The stars above their heads shone in many different colors, the sight
every bit as beautiful as it was bewitching. There was a compelling
force to it, one the heart found hard to resist. Every student gulped.
That feeling was not wrong in the slightest.
"Meanwhile, the world we live in has no god. In astronomical terms,
we call this an atheosphere. Rights of dominion over atheospheres
are divided; thus, we mages came to exist. In other words, the art we
call magic was originally the authority invested in a god." He went
on. "Looked at another way, it is what remains of the god this world
once had. We rebelled against its control, slew god with our own
hands, and robbed it of its authority. This happened fifty thousand
years ago, before the development of our current civilization. Thus,
the age of divinity ended, and the dawn of our modern-day magical
world arrived."
Having reached the dawn of history, Demitrio paused. And beneath
the bewitching gleam of the stars, one student's hand shot up.
"May I ask a question, Instructor Aristides?"
"I'll allow it. Ask away, Katie Aalto."
The curly-haired girl stood up in the darkness. She spent several
seconds choosing her words.
"…I've heard the rebellion against god was carried out by a band of
all demi species that existed at the time. And that the heart of it was
a species long since extinct, known as the progenitor demis."
"That is the prevailing theory. What of it?"
"Why were we unable to stay united?"
A very direct question, and he answered without a trace of
hesitation.
65 | P a g e
"Flip your question, Katie Aalto. Ask not why they couldn't stay
united but how they were able to come together in the first place.
The answer—they shared a common enemy in god. In the face of an
overwhelming threat, all other conflicts cease to matter. That led to
the ancient alliance, a battle for their very survival—but the moment
their common foe was slain, the alliance splintered. Simple, really."
Indeed, it was so simple it left Katie speechless. Demitrio's theory
held that conflict was the default state of being. Unable to argue
with that stance, she clenched her jaw in frustration. Essentially, he
had implied that her ceaseless quest for interspecies harmony was
but another survival strategy.
"Another popular theory is the impressive leadership by the
progenitor demis you mentioned. They do seem to have excelled at
bridging the gaps between different life-forms. We believe they were
every bit as intelligent as humans, elves, dwarves, and centaurs. We
will go into this in detail later, but while the god still controlled our
world, these five progenitor demis were what we call clergy species,
serving under that god. Anything further would be outside the
domain of astronomy. Study your magical history, Katie Aalto."
"…I will. Thank you."
Hardly pleased with what she'd heard, she nonetheless thanked him
and sat down.
Demitrio waved his white wand again, and the stars began to
change. Complex shifts in their positions, dim little stars growing
brighter, and big bright stars growing dim.
"Every star in the sky is a glimpse of a tír, but the locations relative to
this world vary per star. Generally speaking, the brighter the star, the
closer the range. Here that word refers not to physical distance but
the composite difficultly of passage between the two worlds. Every
tír is on a constant cycle, drawing closer to our world and then
66 | P a g e
moving farther away again." He then added, "I can't imagine anyone
here is unaware of this, but the sun and moon are not tírs. Those two
objects were placed in the sky by god during the creation of the
world. They are a part of this world. So they have no direct bearing
on the subject at hand."
He waggled his wand at the false sky again, extinguishing the light of
the moon. The sun had never been there to begin with, so all
remaining stars were tír.
"Our concern lies with these other stars—countless other worlds
with fundamentally different life-forms born of alien gods. Eight of
these are on a consistent cycle that brings them into direct contact
with our world. These are our primary threat. Specifically:
"Marcurius, the Fragrant Water's Shore.
"Venasgorn, the Brooding Golden Mountains.
"Luftmarz, the Ravaging Inferno's Kiln.
"Hadiaiupitre, the Imperious Green Garden.
"Ganosatun, the Beast's Terrain.
"Uranischegar, the Judgmental Heavens.
"Ayrioneptu, the Rotting Sea's Shoals.
"And Vanato, the Chthonic Retreat."
He rattled off this list of bizarre names and forged ahead into the
next phase of his lecture.
"The first threat these offer is the occasional migration of tír
creatures. Invasions from entirely discrete ecosystems cause major
damage to local ones. This sort of disruption occurs between our
own world's ecosystems as well, but assume the results are far more
dramatic," Demitrio explained. "But I should say that modern
magical ecosystems have occasionally thrived despite these
67 | P a g e
invasions. Several of the magical creatures you know are descended
from tír ancestors. These successful invaders often fill a key niche
within the resulting ecosystem, so it would be a mistake to assume
all such migrations are dire. There are entire fields of research
studying the potential benefits therein."
Oliver could see Katie's arms folded, her lips pursed. She had
boundless love for all creatures from slugs to behemoths, but she
had never come in direct contact with any migrations. She had
enough on her plate facing the magical ecosystems of this world;
how could she find room to add in lives from outside that
framework? She'd yet to make up her mind.
"Depending on what migrates, that alone can cause disasters; but if
we observe them carefully, determine their natures, and deal with
them appropriately, we can minimize casualties. The act of coming
from their world to ours means they can't make full use of their
powers. Essentially, a random monster popping over is unlikely to
end the world. The problem lies with the things that join the
migrations with intent and purpose. Scouts for the tír gods—we call
them apostles. We can afford no mistakes handling them."
Demitrio was sounding grimmer by the minute. The whole class
knew this was the meat of the subject.
"What do these apostles do here? Exactly what it sounds like. They
spread the word. They teach people about the gods of their world,
preach the allure of their control, and gather followers to their
cause. The specific approaches vary by the apostle's characteristics
and the nature of the god they serve, but there is a tendency to
target species of higher intelligence. Smarter creatures are more
likely to be unhappy with their lot in life and are more susceptible to
religious persuasions. This creates intelligent species that worship tír
gods. And naturally, in our world, humans and several types of demis
are prime targets."
68 | P a g e
The stars wheeling overhead began flashing, as if each had a mind of
its own, calling out to the students, begging them to cross over.
"Alien teachings wind their way into their minds, reducing them to
pawns of these tír gods. We call these beings—Gnostics."
A silence settled over the room. The stars' tumult had subsided, and
the false sky was calm again. The astronomy teacher's soft voice
echoed once more amid the darkness.
"No matter which god they serve, the ultimate goal of every Gnostic
is the same. Summon the god they worship here. Destroy the order
and dominion of our world and remake it according to the unnatural
rules of the god's tír. Whatever the outcome, to us it is pure
devastation. Thus," he continued, "we must stop them. Without
compromise or concession, every Gnostic must be pruned. Allowing
them to proliferate spells this world's doom. We have come this
close to succumbing to such threats more times than I have fingers
on my hands."
As Demitrio put it, the history of mages was the history of Gnostic
wars. From ancient times to the modern day, the battles raged on.
"The direct extermination missions are carried out by the elite
Gnostic Hunters you're familiar with. Teams composed of mages
who excel at combat are out there protecting our world this very
minute. I've been on my share of missions and have seen more than
my fair share of hell. Each fight I survived left countless comrades'
bodies piled behind—a sight some of you will likely witness for
yourselves one day."
They all knew that time was not that far off. Gnostic hunting was a
major post-graduation career path.
"The battle against Gnostics is a duty to every citizen of this world—
not just the hunters. To prevail in combat, you must know your
enemy. This is why I teach astronomy. Which tír will be within range
69 | P a g e
when, and what kind of threats does it bring? Obtaining this
knowledge now will directly prepare you to resist the Gnostic
threat," he said before finishing with "And that's what this class is all
about. Any questions?"
Demitrio waved his white wand again, returning the afternoon light
to the classroom. The stars twinkling above were snuffed out. But
every student present knew full well they were still up there, staring
down at them.
After a moment's thought, Pete raised his hand.
"…If I may, Instructor Aristides?"
Demitrio flicked his gaze upon him. "You may speak, Pete Reston."
"Thank you. I guess what I don't understand is…why do these people
think it's a good idea to summon tír gods?"
Given the lecture so far, that seemed like a key thing to ask. Once
again, the astronomy teacher had the answer ready.
"Their hearts are weak. They are unable to accept that this world is
the way it should be."
"…He's different from the other teachers, somehow," Guy said in the
hall after class.
The others had formed similar impressions.
"He seemed very conscious of a mage's responsibilities," Chela said,
nodding. "Given his experiences on Gnostic Hunter missions, perhaps
it's only natural."
"But he's hardly the only one," Oliver added. "Most of the Kimberly
faculty have served on the front lines. And that's definitely had a big
impact on the way this school does things."
70 | P a g e
Kimberly's brutal curriculum meant it was often derided as a Gnostic
Hunter vocational school. While there was some variation, anyone
who survived their time here did learn how to fight.
As the group chatted, they reached an intersection, and Chela
paused.
"…Well, then. Ms. Miligan asked Katie to meet up before dinner, and
I wanted to thank her for the griffin help, so I'll be joining them.
Anyone else coming?"
"…Yeah, I'm in."
"Oh? Really, Guy? I thought you had a Labyrinth Gourmet Club
meeting?"
"No big deal if I miss one. And you're gonna check out the griffin
again before you eat, right?"
"Yes, but… Wait, are you worried?" Katie asked.
"Uh, yeah?" Guy said, exasperated. "When am I not worried about
you?"
Katie made a face. "Sorry," she said.
Oliver smiled at the sight, and Nanao suddenly tugged his arm.
"Then Oliver and I must show ourselves at the broomriding arena."
"Oh? Me too?"
"Naturally. A rider and her catcher are inseparable."
She had both hands on his sleeve and was not letting go. Oliver gave
up the fight and let himself be dragged away. Katie's trio turned left,
and Oliver and Nanao glanced straight ahead—and then back at
Pete, the odd man out. The bespectacled boy shrugged and turned
right.
"I've got plans of my own. I won't be around for dinner."
71 | P a g e
"Okay, then, Pete. See you back at our room tonight."
Each went their separate ways. But three minutes later, Oliver
suddenly stopped.
"Wait… Where was Pete going?"
Nanao blinked at him. "? I rather assumed the library."
"That's in the other direction. It'd be much faster if he joined us. I
could see Guy or Katie making a wrong turn, but Pete practically lives
at the library."
He mulled it over. Maybe he was overthinking this. There were
plenty of things Pete might need to do other than visit the library.
But things that would keep him from dinner? Something he was sure
would last that long?
"…It's bugging me. Sorry, Nanao!"
"Mm!"
She asked for no explanation. Both turned and raced back. They
reached the intersection and took the right-hand turn after Pete.
Oliver drew his white wand and the tip glowed, reacting to the scent
of Pete's uniform—the same method he'd used to track Katie when
Miligan had kidnapped her.
"…This way."
It led him in a classroom door—and just as he'd feared, he found
Pete looking up in surprise—and the mad old man with him.
"Oh? Some unexpected guests!"
"Wh-what are you guys doing here?"
"…Instructor Enrico," Oliver whispered.
Even today, the magical engineering teacher had subjected his
students to whatever terrors he saw fit. That same man—Enrico
72 | P a g e
Forghieri—stood by Pete's side, a painting of a lake before them—a
well-known labyrinth entrance. They'd been about to dive in.
"As promised in class before, I am about to show Mr. Reston my
laboratory. Did you have pressing business with him?"
Enrico's question forced Oliver to think a second. How best to handle
the man?
He decided the direct approach was the right one. He straightened
up and replied, "If I may be so bold—could we attend this laboratory
visit as well?"
"Huh? No, wait, what?" Pete spluttered.
"Please," Oliver said, speaking over him.
He couldn't let the mad old man get Pete alone. Within the school
building was one thing, but in Enrico's personal workshop? Even if
there was no direct physical threat, this laboratory was without a
doubt home to all manner of unspeakable horrors.
"Hmm… Hmm... Hmm?"
Enrico was tilting his head from one side to the other, eyeing Oliver
with great curiosity. Even with glasses on, his gaze was making the
boy's skin crawl. That cheery gleam to his eye was more terrifying
than any beast Oliver had fought. It made him feel like a fragile toy
about to be picked up by a rambunctious child.
"I have only invited Mr. Reston…but I will admit you both did quite
well in the last class. Your conquest of the liquid golem was
magnificent!" Enrico nodded. "Very well! In honor of your
achievements, I shall give you a chance."
Grinning, he spun around—and nabbed Pete bodily beneath one
arm. Pete yelped, but by then he was already halfway inside the
painting.
"You may join us—if you can keep up! Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
73 | P a g e
With a peal of laughter, Enrico left the classroom for the labyrinth.
Oliver drew his athame.
"After them, Nanao!"
"On it!"
The Azian girl matched his stride. The two of them plunged into the
labyrinth in pursuit of the mad old man.