Nanatsu no Maken ga Shihai suru - Volume 12 - Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The Evil Tree

After an hour on standby at the landing site, Guy’s group decided there was little chance of rescue here, and they gingerly began to explore the cavern. The marks on the walls told them which way the dead tree had grown, and they’d chosen to follow this “branch” back to the source.

“…This is wild. How old was this tree? If a single branch is this big, it must have been even more massive than the one we got now.”

Guy was still making observations on the go, clearly impressed.

“Could you try not enjoying this?” Mackley scowled. “You’re as bad as Aalto in biology class.”

“Huh? Please—this is just basic academic curiosity.”

“You’re not convincing anyone. Normal people don’t get curious when their lives are in danger! But I get it—that’s what mages do. Suit yourself! I’ll be over here, imagining how bad it’ll be when you get consumed by the spell.”

“You are made of spite! It’s been three years. Sand off them rough edges.”

Guy sighed, but turning to glower at her made him realize the Barthés were falling behind. He looked back. Lélia was carrying her brother, and was very out of breath.

“Time for a break?” Guy suggested. “Put him down a bit, Ms. Barthé. No use running ourselves into the ground.”

“…Just call me Lélia. Sorry…I need that rest.”

“Why are you tired already?” Mackley demanded. “Even with him on your back, we haven’t walked—”

Puzzled, Mackley approached them, but then she stopped midsentence. Lélia was laying her brother down—and there was a black mist in the air around her, too. Much like the curse affecting Gui.

“…What the…?” Mackley gaped. “Why are you infected?! Did you take some from him?”

“…No.” Lélia shook her head. “I tried to process it, but…this is the upshot. Worse than I thought.”

Guy crossed his arms, looking the siblings over, and one potential cause crossed his mind. He hesitated a second, then spoke up.

“Uh…yeah, best distance yourself a little, Lélia. Mackley, you’re both girls—look after her a bit. Treat the symptoms if you can. I’ll handle her brother.”

He hoisted Gui up and moved him a ways off. Leaning the boy against the cave wall, he knelt down. Gui’s breathing was shallow, his eyes half-lidded.

“You still with us, Barthé? Mind if call you Gui? I hate to put it like this, but you feeling any better after transferring some of it to her?”

“…Yeah. Sorry…we’re slowing you two down.”

Gui managed to answer, eyes on the ground. Then he drew his white wand, putting a sound dampener up between them and the girls.

“Greenwood…you know why, right?”

“…Uh, why what?”

“Spare me. Why my curse energy shifted to her.”

Guy’s eyes swam. His honesty was working against him here; he wasn’t great at playing dumb.

“You’re siblings!” he said. “You’re closer than any strangers would be. And, uh…I’m guessing Valois’s mind control is a factor? That shit seemed pretty brute-force.”

He tried to chalk it up to other things, and Gui mustered a half smile, appreciative of his consideration.

“All those things aren’t helping, no. But they’re all manageable concerns. Lady Ursule wouldn’t leave us that exposed to curses. Only reason Lélia got corrupted this easy—”

Gui cut himself off, covering his eyes with one hand and leaning his head all the way back.

Guy tried to stop him from saying anything else, but to no avail. Gui was hell-bent on making this admission.

“Lately,” he said, “we’ve been at it every night.”

Guy was silent for several seconds, scratching his head, and finally spun around, taking a seat next to Gui. He had Gui drop his dampener spell and cast one himself, not wanting Gui to expend his remaining resources.

“I take it you’re looking to talk. Fine—I’m listening.”

“Thanks…,” Gui whispered.

Leaning back against the wall, Guy chose his next words carefully.

“I ain’t an expert…but I hear it happens often enough in old houses. For all kinds of reasons…like keeping the bloodline pure, or…”

“Yeah…but that’s not what’s going on with us. We’re twins. Been together since the womb, already lots in common. And after our birth, they raised us to lean into that stuff. Our psychic overlap was a prerequisite for serving as her attendants. Basically…”

Gui began explaining their origins. It was hardly uncommon for mages to tweak a certain degree of their functions. But it was unusual to link two minds like this. For the simple reason that it undermined their individuality—essential to any mage.

“The two of us are one, which sounds great. We don’t need words to be on the same page. We can coordinate in fights. But there is a downside: We can’t be separated. If there’s distance between us, we go nuts—quite literally. It’s like we’re missing half of our selves; we start getting scared, our mana circulation goes awry, then our bodies fall apart. The longer we’re apart, the worse it gets.”

“…Sounds rough. We’ve got gendered dorms! How’s that work?”

“…A night apart isn’t an issue. We can see each other at school, and we’ve gotten adjusted so we can handle up to a week apart. But that’s assuming Lady Ursule is managing us. With her distancing herself from us, it rattled us both, like we were limbs cut off from the brain. It sucks, but we don’t know what to do with ourselves. We know she’s avoiding us, we know it’s stupid, but we have to go looking for her.”

Gui’s tone grew increasingly bitter, and Guy figured it was best to let him vent. He offered no words of comfort or encouragement, for none of that would help when it came to a story like this one.

“To keep our minds intact, we had to stick to each other like glue twenty-four seven. The last few months, we’ve barely been back to the dorms beyond quick errands. Sleeping in our labyrinth base, going straight from there to class, still clinging to each other for any comfort we could get. And one thing led to another. No love involved. Just masturbating with each other’s bodies because only that could stave off our oncoming breakdown.”

Gui’s voice grew hoarse, like he was coughing up blood. He had his head buried in his knees. From his profile alone, Guy could tell he was utterly exhausted—and that made their predicament clear. They’d already been at the end of their rope, even before this curse had hit them.

“…Honestly, we’re doomed. This bought us some time, but if our mistress keeps avoiding us, it’s only gonna get worse. But if Lady Ursule no longer needs our services, then there’s no reason for us to exist at all.”

“…”

That made Guy’s brow furrow. Oblivious to that response, Gui’s tone grew increasingly desperate.

“…Maybe we’d be better off if you left us here. If things get tough, do so. We won’t blame you for it.”

Guy could take no more. He raised his fist high and bopped the other boy on the head.

“…Ow…!”

“Are you stupid? You think I’m gonna abandon you after hearing all this? Fuck, I’m so pissed off right now! I wanna punch the wall or something!”

He dropped the dampener, jumped to his feet, and let out a roar. Mackley and Lélia jumped and turned toward him, and he swung angrily around to face them.

“Break’s over! The curse energy’s split between you two. You can both walk now, right? No use waiting for rescue in a branch like this—we gotta reach the trunk. If they realize this is a lava tree mold, they’ll start the search there.”

Gui was still gaping at him, so Guy lent him a shoulder.

Mackley sighed. “We’ll be lucky to make it with these two slowing us down. But I’m not objecting! I wouldn’t stand much chance of getting back alive on my own, and it’s not like you’d even considering ditching them.”

“You’re damn right, Mackley. They’re friends now.”

“Shut up, you exhausting man. Grab my shoulder, Lélia. We gotta move.”

Watching her get Lélia up, Guy grinned. Together, they moved on down the cave, but it didn’t take long for the terrain to change. The hard rock underfoot gave way to something soft. Bats flew past above.

“…The ground…,” Gui muttered.

“Yeah, there’s soil coating the rock now. That’s glow moss on the ceiling, same as on the third stratum. And we’re starting to see the critters that live down here. The biota down here ain’t as old as the caves themselves. Someone’s gotta be maintaining it—maybe the same person that messed up the layer—”

Guy broke off his analysis, stopping in his tracks. Mackley pulled up alongside him, squinting at the path ahead.

“Take them and go back down, Mackley. This ain’t good,” he growled.

An instant later, cursed beasts shot toward them out of the dark.

“……!”

“…Antlerods,” Guy muttered, watching close. “The one in back’s a doozy—gotta be one of the lords that staked out turf atop the irminsul. Guess it got dragged down here, too, and it just had to bring backup.”

The glow moss provided enough light to make out the creatures without an illumination spell. Five oversized magideer, each with at least one massive antler. These were among the tougher foes the second layer offered; those antlers allowed the magideer to each control a single type of elemental. This was a lot like the spells mages cast—hence the “rod” in the species name. As they aged, they grew extra antlers, which allowed them to control multiple elements. The boss Guy had pointed out had three.

The herd stopped some distance off. Guy’s eyes narrowed. These creatures weren’t attacking on sight like the corrupted beasts above. But that didn’t mean the antlerods weren’t hostile; they were merely gauging the threat before they attacked. Four mages who were not fully grown, including two who were injured—Guy was sure they could tell.

“They’ve adapted to the curse,” he spat. “If they’re still in control, that’s worse—can’t bait ’em into fighting each other.”

“…Is there a plan here?” Mackley asked. “You know it’s functionally just the two of us. Carrying them, we can’t even run.”

“Oh, you ain’t even got the half of it. Unless one of us stands guard over the Barthés, they’ll get hit first. Keep backing off, Mackley. Get some barriers up around them, and don’t move.”

Guy dropped his rucksack, foisted Gui off on Mackley, and stepped forward. Mackley gaped at him.

“Wha—? You’re going alone? Talk about overconfident! Charging in full frontal with no prep? None of the schemes you used in the combat league?”

“Not like I wanna do this! C’mon, back off!” Guy yelled, raising his athame.

That made the antlerods bristle.

“Progressio!”

Guy moved first, scattering seeds in front of him. His spell made them grow rapidly, erecting a barrier, and the antlerods all made to leap over it. A snap decision that proved how many fights this herd had been through—but the moment he’d seen the boss, Guy had expected that.

“““VOOO?!”””

Three magideer leaped forward, and tentacle-like tendrils shot up from the half-formed barricade, grabbing at them. A faux barrier trap employing toolplants Guy had personally altered. The rapid-growth vines held them for only a few seconds, but they lost their balance in the air and had to right themselves, giving Guy more than enough time to follow up. And their bodies prevented the two in the back from leaping in to help.

“Fortis Flamma!”

That was when he slammed home a doublecant. He’d had this plan in mind from the start, and moved through the steps smoothly, staggering the antlerods with this spell just as they freed themselves from the vines. He thought he’d taken out the three in the lead. Right before him, one had turned sideways to deal with the vines—and the boss’s horns pierced its flank.

“VOOOOO!”

One of its antlers was already generating a powerful freeze, even as it exited the deer’s flesh. This canceled out Guy’s flames and gave the antlerods on either side of it time to free themselves and spread out. The boss tossed the dying magideer aside, and Guy shuddered. Killing one had prevented the loss of all three, and the speed and mercilessness of that decision was terrifying. This antlerod had earned its mastery of that irminsul turf.

“…Not gonna make this easy, huh?” said Guy.

“VOOOOO!”

A howl of rage—and the herd recovered, moving to surround their prey. He’d been growing more barriers around him the moment he knew his surprise attack had failed, but they weren’t going to last long.

“Dammit,” Guy muttered. “Did you see this coming, Instructor Baldia…?”

Remembering what the curse instructor had told him, he couldn’t help but grumble. Still—even if she had called it, he had no right to blame her. She hadn’t forced his hand; she’d merely given him options. Even now, he could choose not to take that path and die a horrible death.

The rest was his own concern. What choice to make for which gain. What to sacrifice for what he could protect in turn. He had to decide—no one else in the world could make up his mind for him.

“…I knew it. I can’t be the only one keeping my nose clean.”

A look of resignation. No need to fret under pressure—he’d reached his answer a long time ago.

He could not die here. There were too many things he’d left undone, too many things he wanted to preserve.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered how they’d take his loss.

They’d grieve for him. Not just that—they’d lose another pillar. One less reason to hesitate before striding toward the spell that would consume them. And that he could not abide. He had to be their anchor. Had to stand behind them, on this side of the line they could not cross, pulling them back until the bitter end.

And so he made his choice. To maintain that role, he had to take a step into his own darkness—his own spell. As vile a contradiction as that was.

“Sorry, Katie… I won’t be hugging you for a while.”

An apology crossed his lips, and his hand plunged into his robe, fingers clutching the gnarled, swollen red fruit hidden there. Baldia Muwezicamili had given him a seed. He’d grown it with his own blood. And that plant had borne this fruit.

It passed his lips. His teeth sank into it. His throat swallowed once.

“Ngh—!”

Searing heat burst within his body, followed by a chill that rippled through him from head to toe. A black veil converged from his peripherals, coating all he saw. He knew he could never tear it away again. This was how he saw the world, now and forever. His body and soul now knew just what it meant to take a curse within himself.

“…Wha—?”

“…Greenwood…”

“…You son of a…!”

The three mages behind him looked on in horror. Even the antlerods surrounding him were unnerved, and faltered in their steps. These reactions spoke volumes about his condition—but Guy put that thought out of his mind. It was not worth considering. It did not matter how horrifying he might look. He knew what he had to do: get home alive. Back to his friends, having removed all obstacles in his way.

His mind and the curse energy converged. As host, he provided direction in broad strokes, letting that which he’d taken in do as it pleased within the range of what he permitted. He did not try to apply logic—he’d known from the start that could not be done. This was fundamentally different from taming a familiar. There was no point in training or arguing here. He could do only one thing—hang on to the rudder and try to steer.

The curse energy delighted in its new host. It spoke to him like a new friend, whose path was bound to its own. Guy could only nod—knowing full well it was already a part of him.

A nightmarish power coursed through him. He felt sickeningly strong, and his lips curled. For the first time in his life, he wore the smile of a mage.

“…Ha-ha… Yeah, I really took to it. You said I had a knack for this, and you weren’t lying.”

Guy Greenwood, curse wrangler. If his default state was like that of the sun, then this dark turn was an eclipse. The curse behind it was borrowed, but the talent had not been grafted on. Rooted in the same soil, here bloomed a new breed of his magecraft.

“…Now we’re even. Come at me, deer.”

““““VOOOOO!””””

Unleashing their elementals, the antlerods leaped at him. The nature of this threat had transformed, and they could sense this curse was far stronger than they were. Fire, lightning, and cold bore down on him—each of these spells alone could have meant Guy’s end. He did not balk, merely casting a spell at the seeds by his feet.

“Progressio!”

Cursed trees shot upward diagonally, and he bounded off them, leaping over the cold air and landing right by a foe’s head. The antlerod dodged his slash, backing off, but the slash left Guy’s athame pointed to the side; he aimed a spell that way, at a seed he’d sown before his landing. The toolplant grew, winding upward at horrifying speed and puncturing the magideer’s hide, invading the flesh beyond. The magideer roared in pain and fear, but the cursed tree grew mercilessly, turning its flesh into a seedbed.

“…What in the…?”

“That’s…not how he fought before…”

The Barthés could not believe their eyes. Mackley finished creating her barriers and stood up, glowering at the fight before them.

“Yeah, the magiflora he uses aren’t inherently offensive. Fighting with them, they’re normally barriers, traps—things that give him time to attack. But not anymore.”

She knew exactly where the difference lay, and that left her disinclined to rejoice now the tables had turned. She was all too aware of what it meant.

“Curses have no purpose other than causing harm. Everything wranglers do is intended to make something suffer. This has changed the very color of his magic. A mage who grew things with love—reduced to one who curses, corrupts, and kills.”

Mackley was not mincing words, and the sheer weight of her pronouncement left Lélia and Gui speechless. All they could do was watch as Guy fought on, with the curse he’d taken in.

“Impetus! Impetus!”

Cursed whirlwinds raged. Wide-ranging, but less powerful in return. The antlerods took that as a chance to fight back, charging their elementals and braving the winds. But as they stepped in, cursed trees captured two sets of forelegs, locking them down. Guy’s earlier spell had already set them to grow on a delay.

“Progressio!”

Two deer were immobilized, and Guy’s next spell passed through the obstruction at their feet. The last exchange had taught the antlerods this was an attack. One of them lunged forward, intercepting the spell bodily before it hit the ground. A growth spell alone was hardly fatal, so this wasn’t the wrong call—its mistake lay elsewhere.

“…VOO?!” the antlerod screamed, feeling an unnatural writhing accompanied by pain.

Countless cursed roots slithered like snakes beneath the beast’s hide from toolplant seeds that had been swept there by the earlier wind spell. The wind itself had been no threat, but it had planted seeds on anything it touched. Guy had laid a trap, counting on his enemies’ ability to adapt and to block his growth spells.

Watching the roots drive the antlerod mad, he muttered, “Ha-ha, damn. They ain’t even parasitic toolplants—I’m just planting and growing ’em, and they do this.”

Guy turned his attention to the two remaining magideer. His seeds were on them both—one of these was smart enough to realize that, and it backed off, afraid.

With the creatures’ numbers reduced, Mackley saw her chance to join in, and she made her move. While the antlerods focused on Guy, she hit the minion with a lightning bolt, downing it and leaving Guy to face the boss alone.

“Curses are so simple. Way easier than growing things, far less complicated,” said Guy, “and altogether unproductive.”

Muttering his impressions, he fixed his darkened eyes upon his foe. He’d flipped the script when it came to their strength and numbers, but still the boss did not hesitate. It set its elementals to maximum output, and flames raced across the ground toward Guy. Letting those hit him head-on would mean defeat, and if he dodged to either side, the magideer could turn the flames in pursuit.

“Fortis Progressio!”

Guy chose neither option. Instead, he maximized his output and directed it at all the seeds he’d sown in the vicinity. All the cursed trees grew as one, forming a line of spears aimed at the boss. The flames incinerated those at the fore, but did not extend to those which came from the sides. Its flanks punctured repeatedly, the boss’s speed diminished. More trees caught up, shackling it, binding it, and dragging it to a halt right before Guy’s eyes.

“VOOOOOO—!”

“It’s time you rest. I’ll take the curse. Sorry you got mixed up in our mess.”

He aimed his athame, canceling out the last burst of flames, then stepped in and plunged the blade into the antlerod’s brain. Too trussed up by branches to even collapse, the boss perished—and the curse energy stored within came gushing into Guy himself. And yet, this did not hit him nearly as hard as when he’d first allowed it in.

“……All done. Anyone hurt?”

“N-no…”

“…You have our thanks, Greenwood…”

Behind him, the Barthés sounded grim. He looked back, checking on them and Mackley, then went around to the downed foes to finish them off. These were the creatures tormented by his cursed trees but unable to die, along with the beast Mackley had knocked out with her lightning spell. Guy delivered a quick slash to each of their throats to put them out of their misery, stockpiling that much more curse energy within himself.

“…That’s all of them. Now, then…”

Guy turned back to his waiting companions, who looked rather nervous. Mackley had sat both Barthés down to avoid wearing them out any further, but now Guy grabbed the siblings by their heads.

“Wha—?”

“Urk—?!”

Each groaned, feeling something flowing out of them. Mackley gulped. A few minutes later, Guy let them go. He shook himself a bit, taking stock, then blinked several times.

“So I can take it. I figured. A real eye-opener, on many levels.”

The Barthés just gaped up at him. All the curse energy in them was gone, and their bodies felt unbelievably light. This made Mackley’s scowl deepen.

Certainly, a curse wrangler could easily move that energy around. But that alone could not begin to explain what she’d just seen.

Guy himself was well aware of that, and had a hunch as to the cause, but left it unsaid. It had no direct bearing on their escape attempt, and if he was wrong—well, so be it. Unfounded speculation would only unnerve his companions.

“I’ve taken on the curse energy. You might have some side effects, but you oughtta be a solid eighty percent better. Let’s move on.”

With that, he turned and led the way. The Barthés scrambled to their feet, and Mackley followed them. She soon sped up, drawing level with Guy, and giving him some side-eye.

“…You gonna leave it like that?” she spat.

“What are you asking?”

“…Fine. Act like you don’t know. None of my business.”

With that, she angrily kicked the ground. Guy moved on down the darkened tunnel, saying not a word.

With the briefing complete, the Watch gave orders to resume the search.

The students in the Forum sprang into action. Three main roles—a group led by fourth-years headed into the lava tree mold’s trunk in search of survivors; a group of older students heading for Lombardi’s workshop in the upper areas of that formation, intent on serving as a Final Visitor for the mage consumed by the spell; and finally, a group remaining on the second-layer surface, securing an escape route. The Sword Roses were naturally headed to the trunk—they split into teams, each assigned to one of the three main fissures on the surface.

“We’re quite far down! How are you faring with mapping, Pete?” Chela asked.

“…Steady progress. The Watch called it—it’s vast, but not that complicated a structure.”

Team Aalto was heading down into the caverns. Other teams assigned to this fissure had split off at earlier branches to cover more ground; now it was just the three of them.

Oliver’s team was at a different fissure entirely, so they would likely not see each other until they reached the trunk. Hoping to get there faster, Pete was once again dispatching as many golems as he could while he ran alongside his companions. The number of golems wasn’t as high as he’d managed sitting down, but it was more than enough to scout the terrain and spot enemies. And one of the golems linked to his mind had just spotted their first obstacle.

“…Beast pack ahead,” Pete warned. “Fell from the layer above, standard curse energy levels. Two big, eight midsize.”

“Intercepting!” Katie cried, sending in her familiars.

The terrain and curses meant her oversized familiars, Marco and Lyla, weren’t in tow; Katie had gone with several small manavians that had paralytic talons. They flew ahead, slashing at the beasts—exclusively hit-and-run tactics. The manavians scratched their enemies as they flew past, then swooped in again, doling out poison and diminishing the threat before Katie’s group made contact. The curse’s influence meant the beasts ignored this minor damage, which made the tactic that much more effective.

“…All midsize beasts are down. The big ones are slowed. At this speed, we’ll be on them in twenty,” said Pete.

“I’ll take one,” Chela offered. “Katie, you handle the other.”

“Got it!”

As her manavians flew back, Katie and Chela drew their athames. Pete’s estimate was accurate—seconds later, two beasts staggered toward them, and the girls cast a spell as one.

““Tonitrus!””

A bolt to each head, and both beasts fell unconscious. Partially paralyzed, confused, and caught utterly off guard, the enemy could offer no resistance. Katie had her birds scratch them a few more times just in case. With that much poison in them, they’d be immobilized for a full day, and there was no risk of them attacking from behind.

“…First scout golem hit the trunk. That hollow is terrifyingly large; once I get the full scale of it, I’ll share that map with the other teams.”

Pete was leaving all the combat to his companions, focused only on his scouts; both girls nodded in reply. The three of them wanted nothing more than to get their arms around their lost friend as soon as they could manage.

“Tonitrus!”

“Impediendum!”

Their spells toppled beast after beast. Team Horn had delved into the lava tree mold from a different fissure, and were racing down the branch, headed for the trunk as well. They were making short work of their enemies, but of the three, Nanao alone looked somewhat out of her element.

“Hrm. I’m not accustomed to paralysis spells. I’d much prefer simply slashing away instead.”

“Hang in there,” Oliver told her. “Dealing with the curse energy from an accidental kill would be a headache; I’ll make up for the reduction in damage.”

“Frigus! Tonitrus! Prohibere!”

Even as Oliver cautioned his team, Valois was casting away. Each spell was precisely targeted and effective, with the output appropriately diminished to avoid causing a fatal wound. This polished off the last of the pack. Impressed, Oliver rephrased his earlier statement.

“Ms. Valois and I will make up for it. I still have concerns, but she’s performing a lot better than anticipated. Not just her Koutz moves—she has a real knack for choosing the right spell for the occasion.”

“I am aware. We saw as much in our duel.”

“And that’s why you put your faith in her?” Oliver smiled. “You have me beat on that front.”

They went around their fallen foes, ensuring they would not get up again—and a familiar golem shot in from ahead. It paused above them, prompting contact. Oliver tapped his athame to it, retrieving the intel directly to his consciousness. A 3D map of the lava tree mold filled his mind’s eye.

“Pete’s sent a partial map. Wow, he’s already got the trunk done and a route to it. That’ll speed us up.”

“Excellent,” said Nanao. “Pete’s recent progress is downright astounding. He’s so much more reliable than a mere year ago.”

“…Agreed, but still concerning. Mages are most unstable in a period of explosive growth. Let us hope he does not get drunk on his newfound power.”

Even as he voiced his doubts, Oliver couldn’t stop himself from remembering the events of the night before. Perhaps these concerns had come too late, and his friend was already in too deep.

Oliver quickly shook off those fears. This was not the time to dwell on them. Guy was waiting for their rescue.

“…No time for distractions. First, we save our friends. I know Guy won’t abandon anyone with him. We do have hope, Ms. Valois.”

“Spare me the speeches, would you? And hurry!”

With the beasts out of commission, Valois was already moving ahead. Sensing her urgent need to locate her attendants, Oliver and Nanao soon matched her pace.

Meanwhile, as the front lines heated up, the surface of the second layer was eerily silent.

“…Why’d it get so quiet?”

“I know we’re making progress on beast suppression, but…”

Whalley and Miligan were whispering atop a plateau near the fissures. They were here to take command, ready for any eventuality. Behind them stood their president, Tim Linton.

“…That ain’t the half of it,” he said, crouching down and pinching the soil. “The curse energy levels are draining from the soil. He’s stopped spewing the stuff.”

“He’s switching to handling our assault, then?” Whalley suggested.

“That’d be one thing. But it could be far worse,” Tim replied, glowering up at the irminsul and that cursed aura around it. “Given what Rivermoore said, Lombardi’s right under that thing. Controlling the curse energy from the top of the lava tree mold. If he’s knocked that off, then he might have gone down. Into the lower portions of the cave.”

“Hmm…fleeing our attack?”

“Once consumed, mages don’t get scared. If he’s on the move anyway, there’s a reason for it. Something below that appeals to a mind no longer thinking straight…”

The more Tim talked, the worse the feeling in his gut became. Right now, it was just one possibility—and he hoped he was wrong. But being in charge meant preparing for the worst. Straightening his thoughts out, he barked an order.

“Warn the front lines, have ’em locate Lombardi ASAP. Urge the teachers to be on the lookout in case the worst happens. I hope I’m wrong, but if I ain’t…even fourth-years’ll be in trouble.”

While Tim was dealing with that, a group of third-year exceptions were standing nearby. Team Carste, with Peter in tow. They were glued to the edge of one fissure, eliminating all beasts that approached.

“…Less to do than I thought,” Dean muttered. “Oh well.”

“Nobody knows what’s going on inside,” Peter said. “It’s a shame, but it’s a fair assignment.”

“I could have gone with them,” Teresa intoned.

“Don’t glare at me, Teresa,” Dean scoffed. “You heard Mr. Horn—you ain’t no different from us.”

But it wasn’t like he enjoyed standing around like this. Magical beasts had only come at them early on—with fourth-year teams moving around to suppress the hordes, they’d soon been left with nothing to do.

Dean turned to the fourth member of their party. Rita Appleton had been staring fixedly at the fissure this whole time, saying not a word. Well aware of why, he tried talking to her.

“Buck up, Rita. I mean, I know how you feel. It sucks getting left behind. But Mr. Horn himself is leading the rescue. No need to worry—”

As he spoke, she swung around to face him. He flinched, and Rita took a step closer, her eyes boring into his.

“You know how I feel? Do you? Really?”

“Y-yeah?”

Dean nodded, bowled over. He wasn’t just running his mouth off—he was genuinely sympathetic. He looked up to Katie the way Rita did with Guy; they had that in common. Katie’s recent tendency to plaster herself up against Guy in public had been bugging him, too, and he could tell Rita had even stronger feelings on the matter. Based on all that, he was pretty sure he had a solid idea what she was going through.

“Then let me ask a favor,” said Rita. “I’m about to do something—wait a while before you tell anyone.”

With that, she swung back to the fissure, eyes gleaming. That was all Dean needed to guess what she had in mind. He leaned in, spooked.

“You mean that? No, wait—think, Rita. On your own, you’ll just be the next to get stranded. You know this!”

“I do. But…I can’t just stand here. I can’t stop myself.”

Hand shaking, Rita clutched her own shoulder. Unable to think of anything to say that would get through to her, Dean clammed up.

Teresa had been watching from the side, and quietly stepped in.

“Rita, you’re beside yourself.”

“…Teresa…”

“What exactly do you want to do? You’ve got to tell us that first. Hide nothing, put it all out there.”

Teresa was looking her right in the eye, and Rita had to peer within herself for answers.

Beside herself. Yes, that was the right phrase. She cared about Greenwood and was worried about him, but the uncontrollable anger she felt toward Aalto was every bit as strong.

As these powerful emotions churned inside her, Rita let out a silent howl.

Why did you let him be alone? His feelings for you were eating at him! Why weren’t you there when he needed you? If you’d been there, this might never have happened. The man who smells like sunshine might never have been exposed to this unnecessary danger.

Could she have been there instead? With him day and night, thinking only of him, supporting his troubled heart? Frustrating as it was, she just wasn’t that close to him.

But you are. And I’ve envied that to no end, cursed that truth. So— So why weren’t you there?!

Her mounting thoughts took form. Affection, admiration, envy, and anger—all distilled into a crystal: Rita’s unadorned need.

“I want to get to Mr. Greenwood before she does!” she cried.

The words came directly from the throbbing in her heart. Tears welled up in her eyes, her lashes trembling. Taking all that in, Teresa thought, Oh, I know that feeling all too well.

Rita was acting just like Teresa had when she’d been convinced Nanao Hibiya’s actions had hurt her lord, and the rage had taken control, sending her out to seek retribution. Logically, she had known that was the wrong choice. Regardless of the outcome, her actions would only sadden him. But there was no way she could’ve stopped herself. If she’d tried, if she’d tamped down those emotions, she would have killed something vital inside herself.

The same went for Rita. She had to dive in; it was unavoidable. Even if she could do nothing once there, even if she regretted acting, even if she died without getting there—at least she would spare her heart.

In which case, nothing in the world, no magic words could ever stop her.

“…Very well. I understand.”

With that acknowledgment, Teresa moved. She was no longer standing in front of Rita, but beside her, with the fissure behind them. Standing with her friend at the brink of a precipice—to Peter and Dean’s surprise.

“Teresa—”

“You mean…”

A weighty silence. Rita seemed every bit as shocked as the boys, but Teresa made her feelings known.

“I’m going with Rita. It’s obviously stupid, but I personally don’t want to stop her. What say you? Want to rat us out to the upperclassmen? Fight us here to prevent us from going?”

She tapped the hilt of her athame, clearly ready to carry out that threat. Her expression remained as neutral as ever, but her eyes were lit with genuine passion.

Dean eventually let out a sigh. Resigned, he shrugged. “Do you even have to ask? Damn, of course I’m coming. If you’re hell-bent on it, just say so.”

“Okay, then I’ll find the right timing,” Peter said, immediately scanning their surroundings.

For once, Teresa actually looked surprised. Part of her had anticipated Dean’s response; they’d known each other more than two years, and she had a level of unconscious trust with him. But Peter’s response had come out of left field.

“…You’re coming, Peter? You’ll die if you get separated.”

“Yikes, don’t rub it in. But it’s not a choice. Live or die, I’m doing that with Dean.”

Peter flashed a dazzling smile. Teresa reconsidered her own question and decided it had been a foolish one. This boy, too, had principles he would not allow to bend.

“…Forget I said that. And sorry, Peter.”

“Wow, Teresa actually apologized! Oh, wait, now’s good. No one’s looking our way.”

Seizing the moment, he urged them to act. Things were moving too fast, and Rita had blown her chance to thank anyone, but she wiped her tears and turned to the fissure below. Drawing her blade, she peered into the depths…and spoke to the friends joining her on this reckless endeavor.

“I’ll go in first. Don’t get too far behind. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’ll be keeping you safe. Ain’t no one dying today,” Dean assured her.

“Says the one most likely to kick the bucket.”

“Teresa, you and I are dueling once we get back. No rest beforehand!”

“Ah-ha-ha! Then I’ll be the ref,” Peter offered.

Their banter gave Rita courage. And that was the last push she needed. Her feet left the ground, and her friends followed her on the plunge into the darkness.

Felicia Echevalria had observed this entire exchange from behind a nearby tree.

“…Hmm.”

“Ignoring orders! Acting on their own authority! Objectionable!”

“What should we do, Lady Felicia?”

Her attendants were fuming, but she just crossed her arms, considering the matter. Then a smile flickered across her lips.

“Could be a lark. Let’s spectate!” she said.

“Ignoring orders! Acting on our own authority! Acceptable!”

“I’ll lead the way!”

Both attendants immediately reversed their stances, and Felicia flung herself into the fissure after them.

Not long after all third-years had vanished from their posts, Team Bowles swung by, none the wiser.

“Wait.” Bowles frowned. “Where’d everyone go…?”

After that big battle, Guy’s group had encountered no major obstacles, and were making steady progress. The Barthés had recovered enough to move on their own, so their pace picked up, all of them eager to reach their destination.

“…Ah…”

“…Are we here?”

At the end of a long upward slope, the view opened up. Several branches converged here, at a massive cylindrical expanse. The walls of the chamber were lined with trees, like spiral staircases connecting the branches up and down, splitting along the way to form bridges. The natural glow moss was enhanced by massive crystal lamps placed here and there to gently illuminate the entire chamber. Momentarily forgetting their predicament, they paused to soak in the view. Kimberly fourth-years were no stranger to the wonders of the labyrinth, but all the same, this took their breath away—it was just that unreal.

“…We’re at the trunk. Maybe we hustled too hard. Looks like we got here first.”

Pulling himself together, Guy was scanning the area. His academic curiosity was back in spades, but even he knew this wasn’t the time for fieldwork. Given how exposed they’d be, it was risky just stepping into the trunk. After a brief discussion, they decided to set up a barrier by the branch exit and lie low. Once they’d finished that work, he finally lowered his rucksack.

“Now we just gotta hold our breath and wait for rescue. Let’s eat some—”

But as he opened his provisions, he winced. The pound cake he’d worked so hard on had rotted. Clearly, this was not a problem of sanitation—rather, the curse energy he’d accepted had taken its toll on the food he carried.

He hastily took stock of his other possessions. There was a magic circle inscribed on his canteen, so he still had drinking water—only the food was ruined. But they had nothing else to fill their bellies with. Setting the rotting provisions on the ground beside him, Guy had to shrug.

“…Whoops. Nothing edible left. Guess I gotta take countermeasures when I’m this cursed.”

“Classic new wrangler blunder,” Mackley said. “Eat this.”

She handed over her own emergency provisions, to his surprise. It took him a few seconds to recover and take it from her.

“…Uh, thanks.”

“Whatever. Better eat fast. Same thing might happen if you sit there holding it.”

“Good point. Down the hatch!”

Guy bit into the food…and got a loud thunk for his trouble. The food was quite hard. More of a biscuit than a bread or cake. He upped the force and gnawed away at it, then swallowed, curious.

He tilted his head. “…Mackley, you make this yourself?”

“I wasn’t asking for reviews. It’s nutritious.”

“…It sure is filling, at least. You sure you don’t want any baking lessons?”

“If you say another word, I’ll punch you so hard you’ll puke it back up.”

Guy looked deeply saddened, and Mackley waved a fist at him. Watching from a distance, Gui started to wheeze.

“…Ha-ha…”

“? What, Gui?” Lélia asked.

“…Just seems nice, you know? They way they bicker. It’s like…how humans interact. We’ve never been able to do that with Lady Ursule.”

His eyes were on their past, and Lélia shifted uncomfortably.

“…We’re servants,” she said. “We’re not her friends. We acted according to our station.”

“I know that. But, like…I’d like more give-and-take. Not just obeying the orders she gives us. If we were more puppets than attendants, then I think that’s what we were lacking.”

The words were tumbling out of his mouth unbidden, and Lélia reached out, clutching his sleeve.

“…Don’t leave me behind, Brother. If you do that…I’ll have to cry.”

“Sorry, Sister. I won’t leave you. Not now, or ever. I belong at your side.”

She was shivering, and he pulled her close, hugging her tight. One eye on that, Guy choked down the last of Mackley’s provisions.

“Gotta do something for him,” he muttered.

“Please. Like you’re in any state to meddle. Do you even have a plan for when we’re out of here? That curse ain’t going anywhere.”

“Yeah…well, I’m gonna be inconvenienced for a while, that’s for sure. I imagine the faculty will be able to do something for me. Hope Instructor Baldia comes back soon…I kinda miss her.”

“Holy crap, you’re in deep. I can see Instructor David looking crestfallen already, the poor man.”

“…I’m that messed up, huh? That curse family tree thing is pretty scary. It messes with your emotions, and if you don’t watch yourself, you’ll wind up totally dependent—”

Guy broke out of his reverie as he felt himself wrapped in an unnatural chill, a weight settling upon his skin. The others all felt it, too, and turned pale.

“Is that—?”

“Don’t speak, Mackley. Use your eyes alone. Above us.”

Sliding away along the wall, Guy looked up at the source descending from the trunk above. A mage, carried on countless cursed branches like tentacles from on high, himself merged with the tips of some. Sickly leaves had grown wild across his head where his hair should have been.

“Don’t try to hide,” he said, his eyes rolling toward their location. “You can’t escape me here.”

All four students shivered. Realizing they were already in this mage’s clutches, Guy took a breath, then voluntarily stepped out of their barriers toward the trunk hollow. Mackley and the Barthés followed, looking tense.

“Can’t just ride it out, huh? Hey there. We’ve never talked before, but I’m seen you in the halls on campus.”

“I know you well, Mr. Greenwood. In only a few years, you’ve achieved astonishing things in magical botany, and I keep tabs on all students who earn Instructor Baldia’s interest. Still…I see. You’re this year’s favorite.”

The man chuckled. Seeing their eyes on him, he put his left hand to his chest, making it formal.

“As a friendly overture, allow me to introduce myself. Kimberly Magic Academy sixth-year, Dino Lombardi. I’ve specialized in researching curses transmitted through plants. One of many lowly wranglers struggling under the tutelage of the great and piteous cradle of maelstroms, Master Muwezicamili. Some rude individual has dubbed me the Evil Tree.”

“Appreciate the gesture. Guy Greenwood, fourth-year. Sounds like you know I’m majoring in magical botany. I’m just a farmer’s son, got no highfalutin name to give.”

“Yet, you’ve finally taken a step into the curse wrangler’s domain. Heh-heh…I feel a connection. This deep in, I’m sure you do as well. We are brothers in curses. I’m delighted to meet you, Little Brother.”

Guy’s companions turned to him, shocked, but he didn’t even blink. His gut had told him they were kin, and face-to-face, it would have been harder not to have noticed. The curses each of them bore had been handed down from the same mother.

“…Thought so,” said Guy. “Yeah, when I let it inside me, I had a hunch. The beasts I felled, the curse I took from the siblings behind me—it was far too easy for me to get that curse under control. If the origin’s the same, that’d explain it. Not like I’m some sort of once-in-a-lifetime talent!”

“Ha-ha-ha, how modest you are. Once-in-a-lifetime, perhaps not—but your talent for harboring curses is more than exceptional. Otherwise, you’d hardly take this on without ill effects. Even I spent days rolling around in agony, yet you’ve only just accepted it, yes? Your knack for this may be superior to my own.”

“I’ll take the compliment! But I’d rather discuss this somewhere more relaxing. We kinda fell down here by accident and don’t know how to get out. Mind showing us the way back to campus?”

This took a lot of nerve, but Guy made a point of asking anyway. Lombardi looked amused and pointed upward.

“If you climb to the top of the trunk and pick an appropriate branch, you’ll emerge within the irminsul. Brooms will get you there faster. I’m afraid there are no signs, so you may get lost.”

“Yeah? Huge help! Afraid we gotta get going now. Hit me up on campus, and I’ll thank you then.”

With that, Guy tried to break off their talk, but Lombardi shook his head.

“I’m afraid I must request a payment now. Processing curses through the irminsul is more difficult than I’d anticipated. You can control the same curse, so I’d like to ask for your assistance. Surely you won’t mind, no? You’ll be taking part in a feat of this measure. A privilege for any curse wrangler.”

With that, he held out his hand.

“A feat, is it?” Guy said, frowning. He scratched his head. “Okay, tell me more—what is it you’re trying to do?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m processing curse energy using the irminsul as a host. I’m sure you’re aware that some plants—especially very old ones—are able to harbor and cleanse curse energy. I’m applying that principle to seal away the curse and break it. Via a means far more efficient than the standard process.”

“Aha. Then you’ve failed,” Guy declared.

The air around them froze. Mackley winced.

“I know all about plants and curses, yeah,” Guy continued. “Read more papers on the subject than I got fingers on both hands—your own paper included. And the upshot of it was plants ain’t designed for long-term storage. For the simple reason that the plant serving as host is changed by the curse within. It’ll only hold and break the curse at first—as that function declines, it’ll start spraying the curse energy everywhere. That principle holds true for every species out there.”

He was laying out solid grounds for his conclusion, completely undaunted. He was well aware that buttering this mage up would not buy them time. Better to get to the heart of the matter. He was counting on Lombardi’s pride as a researcher; the mage would not dismiss these words out of hand.

“I’ll acknowledge your techniques are something else. Normally, moving curse energy from animals to plants via the food chain takes a ton of time. Biologically, they’re too disparate—hard to create a direct channel between them. Enough that there’s an old mage saying, ‘No man loathes a tree.’ Pass it through a wrangler, and you can reduce that time, but that’d hardly be enough given the scale the irminsul requires,” Guy explained. “But you solved that problem by embedding carnivorous parasite plants within the irminsul. You flipped the food chain on its head by feeding animals to the tree and creating a channel for the energy. Real impressive. You’ve pioneered a whole new possibility for this field—I know that much is true.”

Digging up memories of the man’s papers, he offered unvarnished praise, not mere flattery. He wasn’t here to disparage Lombardi’s efforts—what this situation required was simply an accurate, logical read. And since the mage was still listening, Guy felt confident that this approach was getting him somewhere, so he voiced the rest of his thoughts.

“But even with that, turning the irminsul into a curse receptacle ain’t gonna work. Maintaining it ain’t just ‘difficult.’ You’re long past having any kinda control. The fact that we fell down here proves it… I’m guessing the irminsul roots play a major role in supporting the ground on the second layer, and your approach literally uprooted that. The effects are way beyond roots swollen with curse energy writhing through the ground—the curses seeping out of them corrupted the entire second-layer ecosystem. It’s a brutal sight. Can’t call that anything but failure.”

Guy had based this conclusion on the very sights he’d witnessed. Had the scale of things been reduced, perhaps a partial success would have been possible, but that likely hadn’t been enough for Lombardi. He’d been striving to achieve a fundamental technical revolution within his field, something that would flip the way everyone thought about curse energy. And his attempt had fallen short. The means he’d employed had been unable to accomplish his goals. That fact alone could not be denied.

Lombardi clenched his fists. Guy knew how he must feel. A rejection of a lifetime’s worth of research would not just go in one ear and out the other. Aware it was meaningless, Lombardi could not stop himself from arguing.

“…I’ll admit I’ve made some errors in control. But that’s just the expected instability on start-up. If I can stabilize the flow of curse energy within the irminsul, it should clear up! It’s not enough…not nearly enough! Easing off here would be a grievous error,” said Lombardi. “I have to push it harder! This is merely an obstacle caused by adding haphazard curses at the start; what I need to do is align the curses employed! I’m sure that will bring the cycle within safe margins! I just want your help to accomplish that—why can you not see how simple this is?!”

Lombardi’s voice shook; he was almost sobbing.

Guy quietly shook his head. “You’re just going around in circles. The results you want ain’t worth the risk involved, and the logic behind it’s a total mess. But you can’t tell, right? And we all know why. That’s what being consumed by the spell means.”

He spoke with pity—and that last line made Lombardi clutch his head.

“…I’ve been consumed… No, no, I’m still sane! My thoughts are not frayed… I’d never…let myself be… I’m not…”

His expression hollow, he was muttering to himself, no longer looking at them. Realizing the time for conversation had passed, Guy called over his shoulder. “You’d better go. He’s only fixated on me. I bet you could slip past him now. I’m not joking—that might be your last chance to get out alive.”

His tone was grim, and his companions knew he meant every word of it. The Barthés exchanged glances and grinned.

“And leave you here alone? I’m afraid we’re not that shameless.”

“Don’t wanna run this debt up any higher. Besides, it’d be a waste—you taking on that curse got us back in this, so let us throw down.”

Lélia and Gui both drew their athames. Then they glanced at Mackley, who crossed her arms, snorting.

“…I’m fine with being the sole survivor.”

“Big talk from someone who’s not budging, Mackley,” said Lélia.

“We’ve got your number now,” added Gui. “Your own nature works against you at every turn.”

The twins chuckled, and Mackley’s brow twitched.

“You are all so aggravating! Fine, I can’t live with it. Not letting this debt balloon any further, and not letting you die here so I can never pay it off. And if I can’t live with it”—her voice rose to a roar, and she drew her athame—“then I don’t have a fucking choice.”

“You folks are being real dumb. But that’s the kinda dumb I love.”

Guy let that serve as his thanks. He ran his eyes around the trunk’s interior, noting the small creatures and golems flitting around in the air. Then he raised his athame.

“I’m seeing scouts around. Rescue’s definitely inbound. I’ll take on the curse energy. If you soak up any, fork it over to me. In return, fight like our lives depend on it.”

“Ha! Who do you think you’re talking to, Greenwood?”

“You may have carried us this far, so perhaps you’ve forgotten. Think back to the combat league. Curses are one thing, but if it’s spells or blades, we’re pretty damn good.”

The Barthés sounded equally confident. Lombardi’s bloodshot eyes settled on them.

Mackley braced herself and yelled, “We’ll have time to talk on campus or in hell. Here he comes!”

Team Carste had managed to enter the lava tree mold undetected. A while down the passage, they encountered a group of berserk beasts, and were now desperately fleeing their pursuit.

“…Hahh, hahh…!”

“Eeaughhh!”

“Hide yourselves!” Rita yelled, as they reached a fork in the road. She cast a smoke screen to the rear.

Catching her drift, her three companions threw themselves into a hollow and held their breath. Teresa’s spell created several splinters, which made a show of running off down the side passage. The beasts took the bait and ran off, away from where the four of them planned to go.

Listening to them scurrying off through the smoke, Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

“…We’re in the clear, somehow.”

“Urgh, it’s so dark! So scary!” Peter moaned. “Oh, incidentally, this is the eighth fork from the entrance, down a bit to the right, then up a bit to the left. I’ve got the map our seniors made in my head, so we won’t get lost.”

“Very helpful, Peter,” Teresa said. “But make up your mind if you’re scared or not.”

She seemed entirely baffled by her friend’s condition—then something tiny flitted by overhead. Watching it sail off toward the depths, Dean frowned.

“The beasts are horrifying, but we don’t want our elders catching up with us, right? Whose golem just flew past?”

“Probably Pete’s. He can put a ridiculous number out there at once,” said Peter. “Hope I can manage even half of that someday. I’ve gotta pick his brain on that soon.”

“You sure don’t let any social shit spook you, huh? What’s the word, Rita? We going straight on to the trunk?”

“…As long as we don’t run into any older teams. I imagine it’ll depend on who catches us, but the last thing I want is to get sent packing halfway down.”

Everyone nodded at this directive. They emerged from their hiding space, and resumed their run down the cavern depths. For a while, they were unimpeded—but after several further branches, they reached another pack. All four drew their athames, facing down the snarling beasts.

“…More of ’em,” said Dean.

“Quite a lot. Do we fight, or flee? Augh, this is terrifying!” Peter whimpered.

“…If we try and slip past, we might bring more beasts to the front lines,” said Rita. “We’ll be enough of a burden on them as it is; can’t let that happen. Nor can we turn back.”

“So no other option, then,” Dean surmised. “I’m fine with that. It’s just much harder if we can’t kill ’em.”

He steeled himself and stepped to the fore. Teresa was right by his side. Rita waved Peter to the back, taking command and weighing their prowess. Six midsize enemies, all cursed. Not impossible odds, but throttling their spells to avoid getting cursed from a kill was tough. To keep her friends safe, she might have to resort to the trick she’d hidden.

“Magnus Tonitrus.”

Her grim train of thought was silenced by a blinding flash of light. A massive electric bolt from behind them swallowed all six beasts, knocking out the pack with a single spell. They jumped and spun around—and saw a golden-haired girl behind them, athame in hand.

“Oh, we caught up already? Why are you dawdling here? I thought you were headed for the trunk.”

“Hmph, the vixen…,” Teresa muttered.

“Ms. Felicia…?” said Rita.

As they stared, Felicia’s attendants managed to catch up, and Dean voiced the first question that popped into his head.

“So, uh…we could ask you the same thing. Why’d you come? What happened to securing the retreat?”

“I abandoned that duty. There are teachers lurking about, and our positions were established enough that my presence would make little difference. A whimsical spectating jaunt—line up!”

She abruptly turned to her attendants, who stiffened. Her eyes raked them both.

“You forced my hand,” she told them. “Excuses?”

“None!”

“Accepting all punishments!”

They closed their eyes, waiting. Felicia nodded and raised both hands. She pressed the tip of her middle finger against the ball of her thumb, charging it—and then a powerful forehead flick struck both brows as one.

““Owwww!””

“That shall suffice. Perhaps I ran a mite too quickly for you.”

Their punishment complete, she turned her back on her groaning attendants and began walking. Stunned, Team Carste watched her go.

She gave them a puzzled frown. “What, are you not coming? Suit yourselves. I appreciate that stepping on ground I have previously tread upon is a tall order.”

Rita blinked at the offer, but Dean spoke first.

“Never once thought that! But if we can team up, let’s. Teresa, no fighting now. You don’t mind the extra hands, do you, Rita?”

“N-no…they’re definitely welcome.” Rita nodded, still a bit taken aback.

Teresa could hardly object here. Felicia’s attendants recovered, and the two parties converged. Their unexpected new companions were as encouraging as they were baffling.

Rita gave her classmate a searching look. “…Do you mind if I ask you something, Ms. Felicia? I’ve been wondering.”

“I’ll allow it. Ask away.”

“…Why do you leave all the work to your attendants?”

“Because working is not my job.”

That concept rattled Rita’s very notion of the world. Before she could recover, she asked the boy beside her, “Dean, am I appalled? Or impressed?”

“Put it out your mind. The least meaningful question this world has to offer.”

Rita figured Dean had a point, so she took that advice to heart.

“…Keep moving while I talk. I have good news and bad news,” Pete growled, as they ran on down the cave.

Sensing this would be critical, Katie and Chela perked up their ears.

“First, I found Guy,” Pete began. “We called it—he’s in the trunk with the Barthés and Mackley. No one’s sustained any real injuries yet.”

“…!”

“Guy…! Oh, thank goodness…!”

They looked relieved…but Pete’s next words wiped that from their faces.

“Now for the bad news. Mr. Lombardi has been consumed by the spell, and he’s right there with them—and they just started fighting. The battle’s going too hard for my golems to get close. And…there’s something off about Guy. The way he’s fighting is totally different. To my eyes, it looks like he’s taken on a powerful curse.”

The girls gasped and glanced at each other. They knew the situation was dire, but had no clue what to make of the rest of it. If the curse had weakened him, that’d be one thing. But how would it change the way he fought? Curses weren’t something you could turn to your advantage overnight. Had Guy been hauling some kind of secret weapon around without their knowledge?

“Oh, and one more thing,” Pete added. “The third-year teams are in the cave. Both Team Carste and Team Echevalria. No upperclassmen anywhere near them. I’m guessing they went rogue.”

Pete made a face, watching them through one of his golems. Neither he nor Katie nor Chela were inclined to ignore this. Both teams were skilled enough to make exceptions for them, but that didn’t mean they could be left on their own in here.

Sharing Katie and Chela’s sentiments, Pete said, “I’m on it. Team Andrews is closest. Given all that’s going on, we can’t escort them back up. Okay, stop there! All seven of you!”

He suddenly raised his voice, making the girls jump. But they soon realized what was happening—he was calling to the third-years through his scout golem. They’d had no idea he’d added such a function.

“Er, Pete?!” cried Peter.

“You’re kidding! Those talk?!” Dean yelped.

“You’ve really done it this time, but I’ll save the lecture for later. First, what’s your goal?”

Through his golem, Pete saw them pull up short. One girl stepped forward to answer. Rita Appleton; he’d had a hunch it would be her.

“We’re going after Mr. Greenwood. Personal reasons on my part,” she said.

That was enough to tell Pete this was neither thoughtless nor an act of desperation. Most things he could say here would go in one ear and out the other. In which case, he turned to the other team.

“And you, Team Echevalria?”

“Pure curiosity. It was so dull upstairs,” Felicia Echevalria replied.

Not a trace of guilt, and Pete rolled his eyes. Yelling at her would be just as useless as scolding Rita, if for very different reasons.

“Fine, got it. Turn left at the next branch. Join up with Team Andrews there.”

“…Are they taking us back up?” Rita asked. “If so—”

“Shush. At this depth, there’s no time for it. No matter who says what, you’re in the search now. You’ll get your wish—we’re taking you to Guy. Ride Andrews’s coattails like your lives depend on it. That’s all from me. Questions?”

Pete was wasting no words here. Rita, who had expected a tongue-lashing, was caught flat-footed. Teresa had to elbow her in the ribs before she managed a nod.

“N-no questions. Um, thanks, Mr. Reston.”

“Don’t thank me. Ignoring orders in this mess will cost you. Be ready for it.”

With that threat, he cut off the comms. Katie and Chela had only heard one side of this exchange, so Pete relayed the rest to them on the go. Chela could imagine how Rita felt.

“…Can’t hardly blame her,” Chela said, sighing. “Given what we’ve done…”

“Don’t get soft,” Pete snapped. “How we feel and how we ought to mentor them is different. I’ll be giving them a piece of my mind later.”

Then he glanced at their third member, who was clearly struggling with this.

“Don’t fall behind, Katie. Do you want them getting there first?”

“ !”

Katie pursed her lips and sped up. She wasn’t about to let that happen; she’d been more reliant on Guy than anyone, and her feelings for him were therefore that much stronger.

“Tonitrus!”

“Flamma!”

“Flamma!”

Spells echoed across the great cavern. Four of them against one consumed sixth-year—they threw out everything they had, the battle’s pitch only intensifying.

“Progressio!”

Cursed roots reached out to attack, but Guy’s spell turned them aside. Magiflora powered by a curse from the same mother made it easy for him to interfere. For that reason, they were fighting defensively.

“Ha-ha, I see. Very good,” said Lombardi, much calmer now. “You’ve got a firm grasp on the basics of curse energy. Instead of trying to force your orders on it, you’re broadly accepting it, then providing minimal direction. Like handling an injured horse gone buck wild.”

He clearly had a high opinion of Guy’s curse-wrangling skills. Lombardi was dangling from a number of massive cursed roots belonging to the irminsul above the cavern’s ceiling. Cursed flowers Guy had planted on a platform near him fired a volley of seeds. All the footholds in the trunk were made from magiflora, and it was a cinch for Guy to parasite his own plants on them. His adaptability impressed Lombardi once again.

“The way you use magiflora is a lot like how I do. I feel so close to you! As if you really are my brother.”

“Enough jokes. Progressio!”

Even as he spoke, Guy was deflecting incoming cursed roots. Lombardi seemed to find his resistance delightful.

“It wasn’t meant to be a joke. It’s so very rare to meet a like-minded mage, let alone one so similar to myself. How can I not feel close to you? Especially since we attend the same school!” Lombardi roared. “…But that also means I can tell: You cannot defeat me.”

With that pronouncement, the roots split. Thinner, tauter, their speed increased by leaps and bounds. Some acting as jagged pikes, others as heavy whips—all after their prey. Guy’s athame was too slow to stop them all; one whip cracked hard against his side, and the blow sent him flying across the cavern’s expanse.

“…Ngh! Impetus!”

He snapped out a wind spell, barely managing to direct himself into a roll across a platform a level below. He’d avoided a nasty fall, but the blow to his stomach had left him unable to stand. Seeing him in trouble, the others leaped in.

“Greenwood!”

“We’ve gotta cover him! Mackley!”

“Argh, do I have to do everything?!”

The Barthés moved to occupy their enemy. Mackley dropped down a level, running over to Guy. This interruption just seemed to irritate Lombardi.

“Get out of my way,” he spat. “I’m having a conversation with my brother!”

“Hey, don’t be like that. We wanna chat, too!”

“Seriously, the nepotism is uncalled for!”

Taunting him, the siblings each took a side, casting spells from opposite angles. One handled the incoming roots, the other focused on attacking their wrangler, and they switched roles as the need arose. They were coordinating far too well. Lombardi’s frown deepened.

“You’re sickeningly in sync,” he muttered, fending off their attacks. “I can tell you’re siblings…but this goes far beyond ‘we always fight together.’”

He soon reached a conclusion.

“Oh, I see! Your minds are connected. They made these adjustments while you were quite young—possibly before you were born! That is so horrible… Still…”

“Flamma!  ?!”

Gui had just cast a spell when a black vine shot up from beneath his feet, binding him. A seed embedded in a fragment of root that had been sliced away earlier in the fight. Gui quickly tried to cut his way free, but a new root shot in from above, preventing that.

“Hang in there, Gui!”

Seeing her brother in trouble, Lélia dashed around the rim of the platform. Lombardi chose not to stop her, instead urging his roots to snare them both once they were together. Coordinated attacks from both sides had been vexing him; if his prey were fixed in place, they posed no threat.

“…… ”

“Gah…!”

“…You can’t hide it from me. There’s a key component missing from your style. You’re meant to have someone else here with you! A pity. In this state, you’re no match for any Kimberly sixth-year.”

In mere seconds, the cursed roots overwhelmed their spell resistance, trussing them up and nailing them to the wall—but then a burst of flames shot in from below, incinerating the roots around them.

“…Let ’em go. You want my companions, you gotta go through me.”

“…Oh…?”

Lombardi had not expected Guy to get back up this fast. Mackley worked with him to make the older student back off while Guy ran to the Barthés. The pair had managed to extract themselves from the remaining roots. Guy clapped his hands to their shoulders, absorbing the curse energy this attack had planted in them.

“Hah…! Hah…hah…!”

“…Look at you…,” said Mackley.

Guy was looking rather pale and breathing heavily. Mackley scowled. This was his third absorption in this fight alone, and the toll of the curse was only mounting. Lombardi seemed to agree.

“You can’t keep doing this, Mr. Greenwood. You’ve only just become a wrangler; taking on too much energy would be folly. At this rate, you’ll lose control and be consumed yourself before you ever manage to stop me.”

“…This is nothing. I roll with the punches and just keep going!”

Guy flashed Lombardi a grin and readied his athame again. The Barthés and Mackley lined up with him, still prepared to fight.

“I’ll admit your tenacity is a virtue.” Lombardi sighed, seeing them undaunted. “But I’m disinclined to prolong your suffering.”

With that quiet promise, roots broke through the wall behind them. These had burrowed down through the walls from high above. Guy’s group jumped and turned to deal with them…but that left their backs open to Lombardi.

“Let’s end things here. Tonitrus.”

A bolt of mercy came bearing down on them. Burning the roots away was the most they could do—none of them could handle this assault on top of that. Guy swore under his breath—and someone else landed behind them, spinning in the air to adjust the bolt’s flow.

“Huh?”

Barely free of the roots, Guy turned around to see a girl standing before him, her back to them. Mackley looked every bit as shocked, but the Barthés were on the verge of tears.

“…Oh…”

“…Lady…Ursule…?”

Their mistress had arrived. Badly out of breath from a headlong run, she’d used a Koutz Flow Cut that had easily deflected the bolt and the curse it bore. Ursule Valois stood before the consumed sixth-year, shoulders shaking with emotions immeasurable.

“…No more…”

A whisper escaped her lips. Everything that had driven her to race to her attendants’ sides. Emotions she’d been afraid to harbor, afraid to even acknowledge—and for the first time, she voiced her desire.

“I’ve lost too much already! Don’t you dare take anything more!”

A howl from her soul shook the entire chamber. And that made the Barthés’ tears flow. Not because she’d come to rescue them, but because this sight proved beyond all doubt that she needed them.

“Your words have been heard, Lady Valois.”

Another voice—recognizing it instantly, Guy felt himself relax. He turned to smile up at the speaker.

“You finally joined us? Took you long enough.”

“My deepest apologies, Guy,” said Nanao.

“Yeah, looks like we made you stress it.”

Oliver was right there with her, bearing the scars from the beasts they’d fought their way through, cheeks still flushed from the exertion. Valois had ignored those foes and lunged on ahead, seizing the opportunity borne from Oliver and Nanao’s teamwork—but they’d allowed that. They’d placed their faith in her, certain she could handle it. She’d unconsciously given them a foundation for that belief along the way.

Moments later, further footsteps echoed across the trunk. A row of people Guy knew well emerged from a different branch.

“Looks like we’re here in time.”

“Guy! You’re safe now; we’re all here!”

“Still in one piece. We’ll ask about the curse later; for now, this is good enough.”

Chela, Katie, and Pete, all looking relieved. With six fresh faces against him, Lombardi narrowed his eyes.

“…And you are…?”

“Oliver Horn, fourth-year. There’s a lot going on here, so we’ll skip the intros and get to the point. You’re finished, Mr. Lombardi. You’ve got nowhere else to go.”

Even as his words echoed, more fourth-years emerged from other branches. Nearly all the search and rescue teams in the lava tree mold had arrived.

Lombardi smiled at the countless piercing stares. “Well, well. The more the merrier!”

“Upperclassmen will be here soon,” Oliver announced. “Your descent into the trunk threw a wrench in things, but the outcome will not change. It is not too late—stop corrupting the irminsul and the second layer, and surrender. Or else we will be forced to take you down.”

Oliver thrust the tip of his athame toward Lombardi for emphasis. One last warning. They had him outnumbered—and even a skilled sixth-year would have seen that, if they were thinking straight. But that did not apply to one consumed by the spell. Lombardi turned his eyes back to Oliver, looking genuinely baffled.

“I hear your demands, but they defy my comprehension. How exactly am I finished? Your gathering here works in my favor. I merely need to snare you in my curse, turn you into pawns, and then I’ll have the army I need. This is my workshop. The arrival of a few upperclassmen will hardly—”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Lombardi. This is no longer your turf.”

Oliver knew that getting through to this mage was futile, but he made an attempt regardless.

Lombardi’s gaze snapped to the ceiling above as he sensed something he could not ignore.

Meanwhile, on the second layer—or just below it, near the roots of the irminsul, the source of the curse contamination.

“…Impetus–”

In a hollow gouged out of the tree’s heart, alchemy instructor Ted Williams was chanting away, sweat pouring down his brow. Next to him, a massive syringe had been injected into the floor, with a thick pipe connected to the other end of it that wormed its way out of the chamber. Turquoise fluid flowed through this pipe into the great tree, the spread of it enhanced by Ted’s spells. He’d done the same thing at two previous locations, and now at this third instance, he completed the job, and lowered his wand.

“…Whew. Managed it somehow.”

“Well done, Teddy.”

“Looks like it went off without a hitch.”

Isko, the librarian, and Dustin, the broomriding instructor, offered praise; Ted turned back to them with a smile.

“Yes, the three injections have solidified the irminsul. I’m an alchemist, so I haven’t worked with curses; all I’ve done is dose the living tree. Given the sheer size of it, it took quite a lot of potions. Thank goodness Instructor David lent me his stock—and your assistance made all the difference, Instructor Zelma.”

Zelma Warburg was on the far side of the chamber, hands on the floor. Very focused on removing the curse energy from the tree, she didn’t even open her eyes.

“No problem,” she said. “It’s my job to clean up any mess Baldia’s apprentices cause. Still, it’s a lot of energy. Not saying I can’t handle it, but I’m not taking it all on at once.”

Zelma frowned, but Ted nodded, having assumed as much.

“If we get it down to what the irminsul itself can contain, that’s a rock-solid start. The potion’s starting to reach the roots, so the layer’s terrain won’t be disrupted any further. It’ll take a while to restore things, but we can tackle that task once this situation is resolved. Still, this is all the faculty can do here. We’ll just have to wait until the students tackling the search return. I’m sure you agree, don’t you, Mr. Rivermoore?”

Ted turned again, checking in with the man watching from the far corner.

Rivermoore gave a somber nod. “Astonishing work, Mr. Williams. I appreciate the swift response.”

“Appreciaaaate! Appreciaaaate!”

Around his neck, Ufa let out a joyous cry, and Ted couldn’t repress a smile.

“There is one other thing that concerns me,” Rivermoore said, eyes downcast. “Where did the great sage go?”

“ ……”

Lombardi glared at the ceiling for a long, grim moment. Certain the man had grasped the reality of the situation, Oliver spoke again.

“You can tell, right? Instructor Ted has already petrified a solid eighty percent of the irminsul. Kimberly faculty may not lift a finger for a few missing students, but major damage to Kimberly property—like the labyrinth itself—is not something they can overlook. Simply put, you’ve gone too far. Arguably, having accomplished all this on your own is downright astonishing.”

A spoonful of praise atop his scorn. None of this seemed to reach Lombardi’s ears; his face contorted in fury, and he ground his teeth.

“…The faculty are against me? Why? Why do you interfere? It makes no sense! You should be on my side! How long do you intend to make her carry all those curses?! You force so much of the world’s liabilities onto one wrangler—how can you live with yourselves?! Not even batting an eye, you dare to go on breathing?!”

Bottled-up emotions frothed over. It was no longer even clear who he was yelling at. Yet, it made Oliver feel oddly sympathetic. He bit his lip. He could tell this man had once worked with purpose. A desperate desire had driven him toward his spell until it had consumed him.

“I can’t abide it! I can’t afford to waste a second! Not as long as her face haunts the backs of my eyelids!” Lombardi roared.

Emotion too strong for his body burst forth as magic. Cursed roots rocketed down from the rafters, increasing in number, filling the air above the fourth-years. All too predictable.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. So far, Lombardi had been controlling the irminsul’s roots. Ted’s work had solidified those near the surface, but that effect hadn’t reached the roots as deep as this lava tree mold. Thus, Lombardi was taking everything still under his control, applying all the power he had—and fighting back. Well past considering the odds of this succeeding, well past any other thoughts, he strove only to complete the endeavor he’d begun. That was how those consumed by the spell always thought.

This man was cursed by his heart’s desire, and though she felt pity, Nanao kept her blade drawn. She asked only one thing: that the comrade beside her let loose the dogs of war.

“Oliver,” she urged. “It is time.”

“So it is,” he said. “Very well, Mr. Lombardi. It seems you will not stop. In that case, we will take you on. Until the older students arrive, you face us fourth-years!”

That sounded the bells of battle; all students sprang into action. As they tried to land the first hit, a voice rang out from a branch above.

“The first strike is ours,” said Stacy. “My way of making up for slapping her.”

“I’ll run a distraction—stay behind me, Odets,” Fay ordered.

“Heh-heh-heh, don’t be foolish, guard dog. My very presence assures a swift resolution, a thousand spells slammed home at maximum chant speed and optimal trajectory!”

Team Cornwallis was running down the walls, with Stacy and Fay joined by a fellow fourth-year girl, Evelyn Odets. This shocked Oliver; Odets was great at snap casting and chaining her spells, but generally far too particular about the craft to team up with anyone. They’d pulled a tricky customer, but before Oliver could worry about it, another team leaped in from the far side.

“I rescind my earlier insult, Ms. Valois. But pray, do not mistreat your attendants again.”

“Ah-ha-ha, Jaz is blushing!”

“She’s so cute when she’s embarrassed!”

Cheery voices rang out—Jasmine Ames, with her attendants in tow. Like Stacy, she’d heaped scorn upon Valois, and the fact that Valois had arrived here before her clearly mattered. Valois herself was preoccupied with healing the Barthés, and barely spared her a glance.

As the other students flung themselves into the fray for reasons of their own, Guy moved up beside Oliver, laughing to himself.

“…What a sight for sore eyes,” he said. “Like a combat league reunion.”

“You absorbed a curse, Guy?” Oliver asked. His friend’s entire vibe was different.

Clearly uncomfortable with the look on Oliver’s face, Guy scratched his head. “Yeah, a hand-me-down from Instructor Baldia. Seems like it’s a match for our enemy here. Can’t tell myself, but do I look that different? Don’t worry—it ain’t that bad.”

“…It clearly is, you idiot,” snapped Katie.

Team Aalto had caught up with them.

Guy’s attempt to shrug off his new look earned him a teary-eyed stare from Katie. He almost reached for her, but yanked his hand back just in time. A harsh reminder that such a privilege was now denied to him. The pain of it showed on his face.

“Aw, fuck,” Guy grumbled. “The cost sure hurts. Can’t even rub her head.”

He’d known this would happen the moment he’d chosen to swallow the curse—and he reminded himself of that now. Then he tore himself away from Katie’s gaze so hard he almost snapped his neck, refocusing instead on Lombardi.

“I’d love to be done here, but there’s work to do. This ain’t a connection I expected; mind leaving the last blow to me?”

“Guy, you can’t mean—”

“Absolutely not! You’ll be—”

His friends all knew exactly what the consequences of that would be. Guy nodded, acknowledging it.

“I know. All that curse energy’ll hit me. But that’s true no matter who does the job. If we’re all afraid to finish things, this fight’ll just drag on—and that ain’t good for anybody. No telling how many of us’ll die before the upperclassmen get here.”

Oliver reluctantly conceded that point.

Guy was right. They had the advantage of numbers, but battles against those consumed by the spell never followed those rules. His advantage might have been curtailed, but they were still in Lombardi’s workshop—it stood to reason the mage would have several more tricks up his sleeve. Worst-case scenario, he might be prepared to collapse this entire chamber. And in that case, buying time for the older students to arrive was itself an untenable risk.

“…Let me do this,” Guy insisted. “This is a curse from the same mother. It falls to me to take on my brother’s burden.”

That was not just determination—there was a hint of affection. And the look on his face pushed Oliver to accept. If it really had been impossible, his friend would never have suggested it. This was a proposal from a curse wrangler who knew he had the capacity required.

And the boy himself wanted to be Lombardi’s Final Visitor. They’d looked each other in the eye, exchanged more than a few words, and crossed wands. And Guy knew that role belonged to him. This could not be dismissed. No mage could ever take that lightly. Thus, they would simply have to help with the aftermath.

“…Fine,” Oliver said. “Taking on his curse energy doesn’t mean you’ll be absorbing what’s in the irminsul. If you’re brothers in curses, that’ll help you control it. A temporary receptacle until more advanced wranglers arrive—”

“W-wait!” Katie cried. “What if he can’t? What if it’s too much for him?”

“That’s why we’re here. You know what that means, Katie?” Oliver asked, his look forcing her to be on the same page.

Katie gulped, then nodded. Nanao, Chela, and Pete were swift to join her. All minds were as one. This would not fall to Guy alone. If needed, each of them would take their share.

Consensus achieved, Guy stepped forward. This was where Nanao, Oliver, and Chela always stood—but for once, he could be with them, with pride. And that fact brought a surge of delight.

“…Fantastic. I can finally fight alongside you guys.”

The fourth-years plunged into the fray, employing every technique they had acquired. A dazzling display—and the third-year teams, arriving at last, were watching in awe from the exit to one branch.

“ !”

“Yikes, this place is nuts,” Peter said under his breath.

“…Damn, this is how the best fourth-years fight?” Dean managed.

The ferocity of the encounter left Rita speechless. Keenly aware he didn’t belong here, Peter was muttering away, while Dean could hardly tear his eyes off a fight markedly more advanced than anything he was remotely capable of. For once, Teresa was disinclined to mock them for it. She had to keep her covert skills hidden, which left her with no option but to stand there twiddling her thumbs—much like the three of them. Team Andrews had brought them here, and was very firm that they must remain on standby. If they chose to ignore that order, they had only themselves to blame for their deaths.

“…There’s no place for us here, Rita,” said Teresa. “I’m afraid—”

“Heh-heh-heh, exquisite!”

But another voice cut in. The group turned to look, and found Felicia watching the fight, flanked by her attendants, lounging on a chair made from toolplants—one so elaborate it even had armrests. Rita rubbed her eyes; even Dean, by far the most experienced with Felicia’s foibles, had to gape. All of them were being forced to spectate, but clearly Felicia was far more amenable to being in that position.

“…Why in the hell would you make your own chair?” Dean asked.

“Why would I not? I’ve got the best seat in the house! Nothing I’d rather do than enjoy the show. Ah, I can hardly bear it. No matter where I look, the talent here is gasp-inducing. My nether regions will not stop tingling. How I wish I could collar every one of these fourth-years!”

Felicia raised both hands, miming that very action. Teresa’s group could picture it, but couldn’t comprehend it.

Rita soon tore her gaze away, focusing on the battle once more. She’d confirmed Guy’s safety the moment they’d arrived, and was very conscious of his presence on the front lines.

“…Honestly, I don’t think we’ll be called on to act here,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean we can afford to relax. I’m sure nobody here thinks they’ve got this fight in the bag.”

“Ha-ha, this terrain is just my style, no?”

“You prefer this to flat surfaces? You’ve got one foot in the circus.”

“Fortis Impetus!”

Team Andrews darted out across the uneven footing. One cursed root after another stretched down from above, but they cut through them with spells or blades, occasionally even using them as makeshift footholds. Andrews and Albright had always been good at adapting to terrain, but light footwork was Rossi’s bread and butter, and he took to it like a fish to water. Well over twenty cursed roots were pursuing him alone.

“Wrong! Wrong! They’re all wrong! Ha-ha, gotcha good!”

“You’re loving this, Mistral.”

“Been so long since his splinters fooled anyone—’course, it’s ’cause of the sheer numbers here.”

Mistral’s fighting style employed duplicates of himself to confuse his foes. He was in his element against an opponent who had far fewer eyes than the roots he had in play. Each successful deception meant fewer attacks the rest had to handle; the better bait he managed to be, the more the other fourth-years could go on the offensive.

“Severed one large branch. Thomas, make sure you hit.”

“Yes, yes, sorry I suck. This is so frustrating! Can’t I just aim for him?”

“If you want the curse to kill you, go ahead. We’ll leave your body here.”

Team Liebert was taking advantage of their ranged skills, spell-sniping the roots at their base. Meanwhile, Jürgen Liebert was using his classic golem arts to firm up the footholds on the walls. These increased in number each time they moved to a new sniping point, and the other teams were making good use of them. Unable to aim at Lombardi himself, both Camilla and Thomas had their hands tied—but even so, they had the skills to make a difference with supporting fire alone. Camilla had cast several long-range paralysis and hardening spells at Lombardi and confirmed that these were rendered ineffective by his link to the irminsul.

“Gladio Ferrum!”

One eye on her classmates’ feats, Nanao was unleashing iai spells, cleaving swatches of roots. No matter how many cursed roots she severed, the energy never transferred to her; the restrictions she’d faced on the road here were no longer in effect. The sheer quantity of roots her spells severed was far above anyone else in her year. The direct upshot: No roots made it past her position to the territory under her.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”

Their resistance was far beyond his wildest expectations. Lombardi might have been losing his capacity for thought, but he sensed it, and began flailing wildly with all the curse energy he could muster. Roots began growing not just from the ceiling, but from the walls all around the trunk’s chamber—and that told Oliver their moment had arrived. After a burst of power like this, there was always a lull. What better timing to finish things?

“…Been waiting for this. Nanao, Valois!”

“On it!”

“I don’t take orders from you!”

Team Horn took to their brooms, zooming upward. Spiraling through the incoming roots, higher, higher, and higher still. The density of attacks was far beyond what one could dodge with broom skills alone; where that proved insufficient, the other teams kept them covered.

“Flamma!”

“Flamma!”

“Flamma!”

Lélia, Gui, and Mackley cast from their respective locations. Other students matched their chants, incinerating any roots that tried to knock Team Horn out of the air. That powerful backup let them soar—all the way to where Lombardi stood, surrounded by his own roots.

“Gladio!”

“Flamma!”

“Flamma!”

Nanao’s spell sliced deep into the roots directly over Lombardi’s head, and Oliver and Valois sent flames billowing in after it, incinerating still more roots. Lombardi lost the bulk of what kept him afloat, and he was left dangling in midair. Camilla and Thomas did not let that go unnoticed—their spells severed the remaining roots, putting him in free fall. Spells from two other locations hit him as he plummeted: Chela’s hardening spell, and Katie’s levitation.

“He’s stiff!” Chela yelled.

“Go, Guy!” Katie hollered.

They had him immobilized in the air—for a scant few seconds. But that was all Guy needed. He’d been on standby for just this moment, and skidded down a root no longer under Lombardi’s control.

“Ah—”

Letting go of the root, Guy flung himself out into the air. Both hands on the hilt of his athame, he landed directly on top of Lombardi’s floating, root-encrusted body. Their gazes met. Guy saw a future in Lombardi’s eyes that might well have been his. He sensed he’d learned a lot from the man in this brief time. And so—

“Good-bye, Brother.”

—he did not hesitate to drive that blade into Lombardi’s heart. His first time killing a man—and with that sensation, memories not his own poured into Guy’s mind.

“You’re absolutely sure?”

Her back was turned toward him, her frame too small and too frail to be allowed to move forward in time.

“I know I invited you to join the world of curses, but do think long and hard. You have quite a talent for magical botany, too. If you follow that path instead, you may well achieve big things. Perhaps even join the ranks of history’s greatest mages,” she said. “Becoming a curse wrangler means discarding most such opportunities. Turning your back on the light that would have shone upon your life, descending instead into the depths of the cold, dark earth. If you fully understand that fact, do you still want to be a wrangler?”

He wanted to nod right away, but held himself in check, forcing himself to mull the question over. He could see Instructor David urging him to reconsider. This choice betrayed his debt to that man. A mentor who’d seen great promise in him, had taught him so much—and now he aimed to take those teachings and run.

Yet, still he felt no doubts. His mind already made up, he said the words—and her back quivered. Like a child crying in the dark.

“……Okay,” she said. “Mm…I hear you. Sorry I had to test you like that. You’ve been saying the same thing for a while now. So strange, isn’t it? I pull so hard while you’re wavering, but when the time arrives, I get cold feet.”

Mocking herself, she turned around. There was a smile on her sickly, pale face. A trace less strength to it than usual.

“But we’ve had quite enough of that. True to my word, you’re my apprentice now. Don’t celebrate. You’ve been charmed by the most corrupt witch alive—that makes you the second saddest child around.”

She turned her back on him again, unable to maintain the smile any longer. The rest of her speech reached him from over her shoulder. He’d known her long enough to know that she always got like this when she spoke outside her professional capacity.

“So please—when you die, curse my name. Hate me for it, despise me—seethe with contempt. You have more right to those emotions than anyone else,” she told him. “……No matter what, do not feel for me—”

There the memory ended. Guy accepted it. All that Lombardi loved, all that had driven his life.

“…Instructor…Baldia… Your burden—”

His last words were a rasp. Guy’s blade withdrew, the spell ran its course—and Lombardi’s body began to fall. Nursing a lingering sadness, Guy sank into the depths of the hollow with his brother-in-curses.

“““Elletardus!!!”””

And the living and the dead went their separate ways. His friends’ spells slowed his fall, letting Lombardi’s corpse alone plummet into the abyss below. Guy spared it one final glance, and then another spell hit him from the side, landing him on one of the platforms Liebert had made.

His friends flocked to his side. Lying immobile on his back, eyes on the rafters, Guy yelled, “Stay back! It’s starting!”

And with that warning, the first deluge flowed in. Too intense to be registered as either heat or cold, the impact of it ejected all the air from his lungs. His vision strobed, he forgot to inhale; the thing raging within robbed him of everything but agony.

“…Aughh…! Gakkk…gck…”

“Guy—!” Nanao shouted.

“Guy, listen to my voice!” Oliver urged. “Don’t lose yourself!”

The Sword Roses landed on the platform with him and ran toward their writhing friend. The changes wrought by all that curse energy were not contained within Guy—they were spilling over, a raging tempest around him. It was obvious at a glance this was beyond his capacity to control. They’d planned for this, and Oliver took a step forward.

“…He’s at his limit! I’ll go first, you follow—”

But before he could finish, someone darted past him.

Katie.

Before anyone else could act, the moment they’d broached the topic, she’d made up her mind to go first. Oliver followed close behind.

“Katie…!”

“We’d best join them!”

“Agreed!”

“Don’t die, Guy!”

Nanao, Chela, and Pete had been further out, but were closing quickly in. Katie reached the center of the storm, a few steps away from Guy. Seeing his face contorted in pain, she could think of nothing else. Desperate to share that suffering—

“Huh?”

But someone else landed in front of her. A girl far taller than Katie, but clad in a third-year’s uniform. Barely bothering with a deceleration spell, she broke both legs in several places—and didn’t even care.

She was already acting. Bending over before Katie’s very eyes, leaning over Guy’s tormented frame and pressing her lips to his. Sharing the curse with a kiss. The simplest, most powerful way to move curse energy, even for non-wranglers.

Katie froze—but time kept moving. The girl took on as much energy as she could handle, then pulled her lips away, smiling.

“I hope…that helped,” she said.

“……Rita……?” Guy murmured, unable to tell if he was dreaming the face in front of him.

There were tears in Rita’s eyes. The warmth filling her heart outweighed her suffering.

“Good…I’m glad I came. I got…to be first…this time…”

She muttered this blearily and gave him another kiss. Only then did Katie recover—now was not the time to linger. The excess curse energy within Guy was far more than a single third-year could hope to take on.

“G-give me room, Rita! You’ve had enough! It’ll—”

“Ducere!”

Katie had grabbed Rita’s shoulder, and Oliver’s spell yanked the third-year away, giving her no chance of arguing. A forcible measure taken out of the conviction that she would not budge of her own accord. Rita was merely half-conscious and did not fight him. Oliver caught her, and Katie tore her eyes away, leaning over Guy.

“…Sorry…! Here I go, Guy!”

And she managed a kiss. Enduring the agony of the curse energy flowing in through her lips—in the corner of her mind, she wondered whose lips she was tasting. Her mind was reviewing the sight she’d seen a moment ago despite herself, but she shook it off, focusing on the task at hand. Her limit came up fast, but she did not stop. She would have taken it all if she could, and if not—at the very least, she adamantly refused to break off faster than her junior had.

“Move away, Katie! Ducere!”

Oliver was forced to drag his friend away once he sensed she was in the same condition as Rita now was. Chela ran over next, examining Guy while forcing herself to remain levelheaded. Curse energy could have lingering aftereffects; it wasn’t simply a matter of taking turns withdrawing it. It was vital that they acted according to his capacity.

“…Well?!” said Oliver.

“…Not yet!” Chela replied. “He’s recovered somewhat, but not yet stable. I’d better—”

“No, let me! You handle the rest.”

“Nay, I shall take a turn!” Nanao cut in.

“Since we’ll need to carry people,” Pete said, “I’d better—”

“Augh, quit your squawking!”

A roar cut through their squabble, and they spun around in surprise. They’d each been trying to minimize the risks to each other—but been interrupted by the last person any of them had seen coming. Annie Mackley, the same girl who’d cast that spell on Katie during the welcome parade that had first brought the Sword Roses together.

“…I owe him. A lot. You get how that eats at you?”

Mackley’s face contorted; she clearly wasn’t processing her own feelings well. Nobody knew what she meant—none of them had been privy to the time she’d spent with Guy. Or how her unyielding nature meant she refused to bend on what mattered most.

Before they could work anything out, Mackley pushed past them to Guy’s side. She pounced on him like a carnivore.

“Mackley…?” he whispered, his eyes barely focusing.

“…I’m clearing my tab. If there’s change…then be grateful till you die!”

With that threat, she pressed her lips firmly against his.

The Sword Roses stared, stunned. Few things in their time here had been harder to comprehend. Mackley made a conscious effort to ignore their stares, focusing on absorbing the curse energy. Unlike Rita and Katie, she carefully, accurately judged her own capacity, and broke off there.

“…Hahh, hah… Hell yeah… How…ya like that…?!”

Mackley wiped her mouth with her sleeve so hard it almost chafed, and that was the last thing she managed before toppling over backward.

Oliver tore his eyes from her, looking back at Guy.

“Guy, how’s it going?” he called. “Got it under control?”

“…Yeah, it’s settling down. Just…can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

Guy was blinking furiously, utterly lost. His friends took that as proof he’d stabilized, and they breathed a sigh of relief. Then they moved on to easing the pain of those who’d taken on the excess energy. By now, other students were joining them, helping with the treatment. Rita’s friends caught up with her, while Rossi knelt down beside Mackley, smirking.

“You ’ave changed my mind, Ms. Mackley. That was a fine kiss!”

“…Drop dead, asshole…”

She could barely move, but looked ready to kill him anyway. Albright laughed out loud, and even Andrews had to hide his smile.

Perhaps that moment had done more to change her reputation than anything else.

With the main peril gone, the fourth-years began to relax. Now they needed merely wait for the older students to arrive, and they could return to campus. Everyone assumed that was how things would go.

But then a tremor hit, forcibly shaking off that notion.

“…Wait…what’s the noise?” Albright growled, his athame back in hand.

A moment later, dark, filthy water began pouring from the rafters. Hauling the wounded away from this deluge, Oliver and Chela were the first to realize the implications.

“…Subterranean water! And it’s laced with curse energy!” Oliver shouted.

“Everyone, get to high ground! Do not let this touch you!” Chela ordered.

All students in earshot sprang into action. The majority hopped on their brooms, flying upward and helping those carrying the wounded as they bounded from platform to platform. Oliver’s team had Guy and Katie on their backs, and once they’d gained some ground on the foul waters filling the depths, they paused to assess.

“Mr. Lombardi had this stored beneath the irminsul? I thought it was odd the second layer’s water was unaffected—he’d kept it all pooled here?” Oliver wondered aloud.

“…This is bad news. The water’s swiftly filling this chamber. If we try and flee the way we came, it’ll come after us,” said Pete. “We might get the older students caught in this and find ourselves trapped…”

“We should be fine so long as the water level doesn’t get too high,” said Chela. “But if it does…”

These were dire predictions, and everyone present looked concerned. Ordinary water would have hardly been a threat; a mage could survive being submerged. But this curse energy changed everything. Water was the source of all life—once corrupted, mere contact would infect a person; submerge oneself for any length of time without proper measures taken, and you’d soon be in critical condition.

They could use spells to dig themselves a shelter, but they had no real way of escaping that with this tainted water all around them; they’d be stuck waiting ages for a rescue. That thought made Oliver turn to Guy and Katie. He bit back a wave of panic. With multiple students already laden with curse energy, they could not afford a wait of indeterminate length.

“Hmm? I say, is this a predicament?”

A languid voice punctured Oliver’s thoughts. He and his friends jumped, and when they turned, they found the new Kimberly instructor, the great sage Rod Farquois.

“Instructor Farquois?!”

“Where’d you come from—?”

“Why, I just came down the halls in the usual fashion. How awful! Sending students to a place this rife with danger? I would never dream of it,” they said, examining their surroundings.

As everyone gaped, the great sage drew their white wand, taking action.

“Let’s go one step at a time. First, those afflicted with curse energy—come here.”

They called out to Guy and Katie—neither was capable of moving, nor did the sage expect it. Farquois spoke to what lay within them. A cursed black mist lifted out of the pair’s bodies, flowing through the air and into Farquois.

“…Ah…?”

“I feel…much better…”

Recovering at once, Guy and Katie sat up, blinking. Farquois looked at Guy, faintly surprised.

“Oh, I can’t take yours on! It likes you so much it refused to join me. Hmm…well, you’d best look after it, then. I’m only slightly vexed.”

The sage huffed, then spun around, hopping onto a broom. Moving freely around the cave, they repeated this treatment for the other teams carrying wounded students. Rita and Mackley were both shocked by their sudden recovery, but soon boarded brooms of their own.

“Next, that,” the sage said, turning their attention to the waters, which had already filled a third of the chamber. “So many ways I could handle it, but let’s make this simple. Inflarebulla!”

This spell generated a bubble around Farquois, who plunged straight into the tainted waters below. Everyone watched, wordless—and not long after, the surface began to swirl, and the water level dropped.

“What…is the instructor doing?” Guy asked.

“I think…they’ve altered the terrain,” Oliver ventured. “Creating a larger reservoir below this chamber. All the water’s draining into it…”

It sounded absurd, but Oliver could think of no other explanation. Chela nodded, shuddering.

“…Such power,” she marveled. “They must be strengthening the sides to avoid collapse as well—a construction project that would normally take several magic builders weeks to complete. And they’re improvising it while submerged in cursed water.”

Oliver could only nod.

On top of that, it wasn’t like the curse energy they’d taken from the wounded had disappeared. It had simply been transferred to a new receptacle: Farquois. In other words, the great sage should have been suffering from the same curse; however, they showed no ill effects because their capacity was simply that vast. All this curse energy had consumed three others before Guy could handle it—and that was a small enough quantity for Farquois to simply ignore.

The great sage was operating on a different scale, a pointed reminder that they were every bit as powerful as the other Kimberly faculty. Oliver might have buried Darius, Enrico, and Demitrio—but even he could not begin to plumb the sage’s depths. He very much hoped the sage would not become his enemy, although he knew how faint a hope that was.

The construction complete, Farquois resurfaced.

“Okay, that should do it,” they said. “Don’t worry about the upperclassmen! If they aren’t getting washed down here, they’ve played their cards right.”

All eyes focused on the body in Farquois’s arms—Lombardi, the very boy that had just been slain. His body had been cut free of the cursed roots.

“You poor thing.” Farquois smiled gently down at him. “You, too, must have been so alone.”

They hugged the body’s head to their chest. Everyone watching gulped. Much like Farquois’s actions in class, this was unthinkable at Kimberly. Yet, at the same time, Oliver had to admit—it was not wrong. And that brought an ominous thought to mind: Were they the mad ones, driven around the bend by this hellscape? Was this teacher the lone sane person here?

“Did anyone else die? Very good. I’m sure it was quite touch and go!” Farquois exclaimed. “Now then, let’s head back. Don’t worry about the trip up to the surface! The great sage is with you, and there is no safer place in the world.”

Farquois directed a bright smile at the students. No one could find a reason to refuse the offer—and that was why it scared them.

From the bottom of his heart, Oliver shared that sentiment.

END