Nanatsu no Maken ga Shihai suru - Volume 13 - Chapter Ep

Epilogue

The night after Zelma arranged a three-mage consolation, Guy returned to his rightful position, sharing the good news with the Sword Roses.

“Ah…”

The entrance opened with a spell, and he stepped inside, taking it all in. The couch he’d sat on so often, the table his books rested on during cramming sessions, the kitchen he knew his way around with eyes closed. The pleasant light of the crystal lamps, the incense Katie had burning—to his very skin, all aspects of the workshop felt like home. How could they not? He’d spent so much time here over the ages.

“…Feels like I’ve been away for years, but it wasn’t even two months.”

“Hmph, subjective—but I bet it felt longer to me,” Pete grumbled, stepping past and then turning to face Guy.

Nanao and Chela stood beside Pete, smiling.

“Each day an eternity—how glad I am to see you returned, Guy.”

“…Yes, you made it back. Back to us…”

There were tears in Chela’s eyes, and Guy winced, shrugging.

“Like I wasn’t gonna eventually. How could I just abandon you all? Is there some other Guy I dunno who was born without a heart?”

“…Are you sure you never considered it? Not even once?” Pete asked, staring into his eyes.

Guy puffed up his chest, holding that gaze. “Not even once. I mean it. Logically, sure—I was aware the option existed. But that ain’t even worth considering.”

He remembered that talk with Mackley and the Barthés. They’d helped him a lot while he was separated from the Sword Roses. He intended to keep that connection alive. But not once had he been tempted to switch to their side—and thus, that was his answer.

Pete smiled and moved closer. Comforted, secure, he buried his face in Guy’s chest.

“Then good. Rub my head. I’ll grant you special permission.”

“Okay, sure. You’ve really learned how to wriggle in,” Guy said with a snort. He began mussing Pete’s hair, keeping that up till the boy was satisfied.

Then at last, Guy turned to where Katie stood in silence by the door, at Oliver’s side—an awkward distance between them.

“C’mon, Katie. I dunno what went down, and I ain’t gonna ask. Whatever it was, it don’t matter. I knew that from the start. How about you?”

Katie’s shoulders quivered; she was unable to budge under her own power. Nanao quickly moved over to her, took her hand, and led her to Guy. Once they were too close for Katie to flee or hide, her eyes met Guy’s, and something burst within.

“…Uwahhhhh…!”

She let out a wail and flung herself at his chest, rubbing her face on him. Guy’s arms locked around her back, pulling her in tight. Each of them had longed for this but had been unable to indulge. The heat they’d so missed provoked a sob from each.

“…Damn, you’re warm. Were you always like this?” Guy muttered, feeling the thaw inside.

He’d have loved to stay like that forever, but he reluctantly pried his arms away after a couple of minutes. It had to be done—he knew the deepest freeze here was not his heart or Katie’s.

With all his love, he mussed up Katie’s hair—then turned away to face Oliver, who’d barely kept his emotions from showing this whole time. Oliver told himself to put on a welcoming smile and stifle any conflicts within.

“…Welcome back, Guy. I really—”

“Get that phony smile off your face. I can’t bear it.”

Guy didn’t even let him finish. And that shattered the mask over Oliver’s heart. The false smile twisted up, and his lips quivered, deprived of their next words.

“…! ……………!”

“Uh-oh. Okay.”

Unable to watch, Guy grabbed him into a bear hug. Oliver didn’t even try to resist, his body cold as ice.

Trying to warm him with his body heat, Guy whispered, “I’m good with all of it. You know that. I gave you permission. I dunno what it was, but that don’t matter. I forgive you.”

He piled that on, not an empty word to be found. In fact, Guy had a pretty solid idea what had happened between his friends. Oliver and Katie had maintained a delicate closeness, and he’d been the buffer between them—his lengthy absence would inevitably make that come tumbling down and leave them both with a burden of guilt.

So before anything else, he needed to make them set that down. For a while, he rubbed Oliver’s back, then he cupped his cheeks, pulling his head up. Face stained with tears, eyes and nose red. And that cleared up the last snarl inside Guy.

“…Ah—”

He was certain now: He’d come back to stop these tears.

And at the same time, he realized his feelings for Katie were not the least bit pure. When he had her in his arms, his thoughts were with someone else.

“…I’m as nuts as the rest of you,” Guy muttered, his fingers brushing away Oliver’s tears. One hell of a messy relationship he found himself in, but he chose to view that as proof he belonged in the Sword Roses.

He didn’t want to be normal. They’d come too far for that, and it was much too late.

He squeezed Oliver once more, even tighter than before, only letting go when he was sure the boy’s sobs had died away. Guy was convinced and prepared. There was nothing more to think about—he could be himself again and feel great about it. He stalked over to the cupboards, yanked open the doors, and inspected where his baked goods ought to be.

“You ain’t got nothing left in stock, huh? Cake is one thing, but you ate your way through all those cookies and biscuits?” said Guy. “Right then, let’s make one of each. Katie, don’t just stand there, gimme a hand.”

“Oh—r-right!”

That snapped Katie out of it, and she ran over. From that moment forth, everything was normal again, and they all went about their days. Pete flopped down in a chair with an open book. Chela put the kettle on, lining up teacups for everyone. Nanao was at Oliver’s side, and the two of them settled in on the couch.

“…Oh…,” Katie murmured, using a wand to pour ingredients into a bowl.

“What?” Guy said, working next to her. In the same workshop again. “Something fall into place?”

“…Yeah, I think so,” she replied with a nod. Her hands kept moving, but she looked at him, voicing her discovery. “You’re just like me, Guy.”

“……”

Guy smiled. He didn’t even need to nod; that had always been the bond between them.

They both were enamored with the same man. Their hearts held captive by the same source. In which case, it was best to share those emotions with each other. Remembering Pete’s word of caution, Guy made up his mind to do just that. An awkward relationship, never quite siblings or romantic—from today on, he had a name for it: cohorts.

“Get all three types of flour mixed right. Texture’s way different if you slack on that.”

“Mm, I remember it all. How many times have we made this together?”

Katie smiled, doing her part—and Guy doing his, in perfect harmony. It had been far too long since the group saw them like this.

Watching from the couch, her arms around Oliver, Nanao whispered, “See, Oliver. You have not lost a thing.”

“…Yeah…it’s all right here,” he said tearfully, nodding.

Steam rose from the cups Chela poured. Every now and then, they heard Pete turning a page. The scene in their workshop just as it had ever been.

“So he came back, safe and sound? Sorry it took so long,” said Gwyn.

The day after Guy’s return, Oliver was at his cousin’s hidden workshop on the first layer, sitting across the table from them and reporting in. When he was done, Gwyn looked rueful.

“We could have quieted the energy much earlier,” Gwyn added. “But that’s not a real solution, and we thought it best for him to learn how to control it first. After discussing the matter with Instructor Zelma, this is how things turned out.”

“Yeah, so he said. Twice a month for a while, at least. Brother, Sister, I really appreciate it. I’ll have to say the same to Rivermoore.”

Oliver took pains to mention the contributor not present. And that name prompted a rare bit of mirth on Gwyn’s lips.

“Heh, he seemed pretty pleased with it. He feels indebted to you. And this favor does little to repay it. When you get a chance, assign him a doozy of a job.”

His grin had shifted to wicked—and Oliver winced. Aware of how her cousin felt, Shannon added milk to his tea, smiling softly.

“Cyrus’s piano…is so gentle. I do…love hearing it.”

Oliver had to agree with this assessment. He’d heard Rivermoore’s consolation concert in the Kingdom of the Dead and vividly remembered how astonished he’d been by that delicate, merciful melody. At the time, he’d been confused by the contrast between it and the man’s behavior—but the way that incident played out and how he’d acted on campus ever since had vanquished all doubts. Oliver knew Guy was safe in his hands.

The conversation died out, but Gwyn did not immediately bring up the next subject. Oliver was well aware of what that would be. Not one recent meeting had ended without it getting touched upon.

“…Given the politics on campus, I’m glad your crowd has settled down. Farquois’s behavior is far beyond what we predicted. They brought up the invitation theory in class? That’s not bold; it’s insane. Not that I don’t get the value in arguing that at Kimberly, but…”

Gwyn rubbed his temples, sighing. Oliver knew exactly how he felt but drew attention to the thing he could not look past.

“But what they said is true. As we well know.”

Gwyn and Shannon responded with grim silence. Oliver took a sip of tea, then searched for any signs of life behind him.

He found her soon. And if he did, she must want him to.

“I’d love to see your face, Teresa,” he murmured.

Without a second’s pause, she appeared on her knee before him.

“I am here, my lord.”

“Mm, thank you. Have some of these. They’ll melt in your mouth,” Oliver said, pointing to the cookies and pulling out a chair.

Teresa sat down right away but did not reach for the cookies, though he knew she liked them. Oliver searched her profile and soon understood.

“Something on your mind, I see. Close at hand—Ms. Appleton?”

“ !”

He got it in one, and she looked shocked. Oliver smiled, and Shannon added a scoop of sugar to Teresa’s teacup. If she would not take a cookie, then perhaps this should be sweet.

“I can tell. Not many people would worry you outside this table. And her recent actions have not gone unnoticed. I only saw her briefly myself, but I saw enough to hazard a guess. She wants to pull Guy away from us? No—she wants to make him hers.”

From the pieces he had, he assembled a theory. Teresa’s silence was confirmation enough, and so he addressed the conflicted emotions within.

“If you don’t report that, you’re shirking your duty to me, but if you do, you’ll be betraying her. You’re caught between those two motives?”

“…How…?”

“Because I’m thinking of you, even when you’re not around,” he said. “On my lap.”

He turned on his chair, patting his knees. She slipped off her chair and into his arms. Making close eye contact, Oliver spoke gently.

“Long story short, I’m not planning on meddling there. It’s only natural people outside the Sword Roses will fall for him—and not just Guy. People have feelings for one another; that’s a part of the world, and I would never dream of forbidding it.”

“……”

“That would change if Ms. Appleton took drastic action. Too strong a charm, attempting to eliminate competition, etc. But I’m not worried about that now. I have faith Guy will tackle the issue head-on, and her previous behavior tells me enough about Ms. Appleton’s character. And…I know I can trust the friends she’s made.”

Realizing that included her, Teresa quietly thought this over. That tickled him, so he gave further counsel.

“Don’t overthink it. Just do what’s right for her. Offer advice if she comes to you, listen to her grumble. No need to report every detail. You being a good friend alone will help her. And that will prove invaluable in guiding her to a happy ending.”

Pushing her to be a good friend, to the appropriate closeness. He’d known Teresa needed that right now. Teresa thought about it a while, reached a conclusion, and unconsciously rubbed her cheek on his chest.

“…Then it’s okay if I stay Rita’s friend?” she whispered, a trace of a smile.

Sensing her relief and joy, Oliver returned that smile.

He’d never seen Teresa respond emotionally to an issue with her friends. Her fight with Dean or her clashing antlers with Felicia had both centered around him—but this time, she was driven purely by her feelings for Rita.

“…You’ve changed, Teresa. You’re so much more expressive now.”

“…Do you like me better this way?”

“It’s not easy to compare. But I love seeing your heart grow. If only I could, I’d like to watch over that forever.”

As he stroked her cheek, Oliver realized his slip.

Even making that wish was a sin. Because he was the one who was sending this girl toward certain death.

“…Sorry, I’m speaking out of turn.”

“I don’t mind.”

Teresa shook her head, fully smiling now, and put her arms around Oliver’s neck. Given how little time each had left, she knew “forever” was a cruel joke. But the wish itself filled her with such joy, she could almost cry.

A few days after the Sword Roses recovered their equilibrium. Oliver happened to be in the base already when Guy came bursting in, out of breath.

“Yo, anybody free?!”

“? What’s up, Guy? I’ve got time, but I’m the only one here.”

Oliver got to his feet, and that alone made Guy spin on his heel.

“Let’s move! Before he’s gone!”

Unsure what this was about, Oliver gave chase. A few minutes spent hurtling down corridors, and the answer to his questions came into view.

“Ah, you’re back, Guy! You brought Oliver?”

“Oh?”

Oliver pulled up short, stunned. This man should not be here. He’d graduated from Kimberly several years back. Short of stature, but full of life—a trusted sight that made even the labyrinth’s dangers falter. No less reliable now, and the rucksack on his back no smaller.

“…Walker? Why…?”

“Shocking, right?” Guy said. “I nearly lost my shit, too! He’s headed into the depths, so I ran to see if anyone else was around. Dammit, wish the others had been there.”

He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Meanwhile, Walker approached and slapped both hands on Oliver’s shoulders.

“Been a while, Oliver! Guy was a shock, too, but you’ve grown so strong, I hardly recognized you! Yet—is it my imagination, or are you that much more brittle?”

“It’s been far too long, Walker. I’m in peak condition, don’t worry. But please—don’t keep me waiting. What brings a graduate back here?”

The man’s keen observational skills remained unnerving, so Oliver deflected.

“You heard of a labyrinth monitor?” Walker said, hands on his hips. “It’s a standard position on the Kimberly administrative staff, and like it sounds, they’re in charge of maintaining the labyrinth. I came back to take that job. I’ve been applying since graduation—my research on this place was far from done.”

“Ah, so you’re faculty now. Colleagues with Gwyn, Shannon, and Rivermoore?”

“Yep, I met them all! Gwyn and Shannon haven’t changed a bit! But Rivermoore was a shock to the senses. Never saw him becoming a regular teacher! Ha-ha, all those games of tag I played with his familiars—sure takes me back. Maybe not the right phrase for it. Being here makes me feel like it was all just yesterday,” Walker muttered, glancing around.

He’d infamously spent more time in the labyrinth than he had on campus, so that feeling made sense. After a moment, his gaze returned to his juniors.

“While their work is on campus, I won’t get many opportunities to see you. That’s a real shame.”

“? Will we not bump into you down here?”

“Not so much, no. The labyrinth monitor role I took has been an empty slot for a while now—the extreme depth investigator. In other words, I’m in charge of looking into everything on the sixth layer and below. The difficulties and dangers are off the charts, so they weren’t about to let a fresh-faced graduate tackle it—I had to get out there and prove myself a while. I figured it would take about a decade but somehow pulled it off while you were still here!”

Walker accompanied this with a carefree smile, but they could easily imagine how relentless a pace he must have set. The specifics were different—but the standards this job required were likely every bit as high as a Kimberly instructor. Achieving that in ten years would have been a feat—and Walker had managed it in a third of that time. He must have worked his head off, racking up accomplishments—and neither could imagine what.

“…The sixth on down? That’s past where students are even allowed to tread. Well, except…”

“Yeah, that’s where I got lost for the better part of a year. I swore I’d go back one day—no matter how many years or decades it took me.”

“Mm, and didn’t I say I was dying to hear more about it?” a new voice cut in.

Oliver and Guy jumped and swung around to find an instructor emerging from a side passage. A beautifully androgynous face above gaudy robes—unmistakably Rod Farquois.

“…Instructor Farquois.”

“Oh, hey there, Mx. Farquois. Mm? Did you say that?” Walker blinked, crooking his head.

Farquois pursed their lips but soon recovered. “I did! I’m curious about your experiences, so I asked if we could discuss them at length—perhaps tonight.”

“Oh yeah—I just assumed you were being polite. Sorry, my bad. My head was full of the labyrinth and my juniors!”

Realizing his blunder, Walker was all too ready to apologize, and that made Rod Farquois visibly flinch. For reasons totally lost on the Survivor. He was busy beaming and offering a suggestion.

“Hey! What say we chat a bit on the way to the sixth layer? I’d love the chance to show these kids what it’s like, and they’ll be safer with a teacher along.”

“…Good lord. Not only do you ignore my invitation, but you also intend to turn me into a bodyguard?”

“Not up for it? Shame! We’ll have to talk some other day, then. Might be a while—it’ll be at least a month before I’m back on campus!”

With that boisterous promise, Walker turned his back. Oliver’s and Guy’s jaws hit the floor.

Farquois was on Walker in a flash, hand gripping his shoulder tight. “Did I say no? Bodyguard? Fine! I’ll gladly take that on. No reason not to. It won’t even make me break a sweat.”

“That’s the spirit! I’m counting on you!”

Walker swung back, took Farquois’s hand, and shook it vigorously. The great sage’s face was now actively twitching. Clearly the sight of a lifetime, and neither Guy nor Oliver dared to move. But at last, their minds caught up with the present.

“…Um, Walker?” said Oliver.

“You make it sound like…,” Guy started.

“Yep, you two come along and check out the sixth layer! My privileges only let me take you as far as the entrance, and if you went in, you’d probably die, so this’ll just be a quick glimpse.”

A terrifying statement, but it certainly piqued their curiosity. The Survivor’s offer made Guy and Oliver exchange glances…and then both nodded.

And so their motley crew’s journey began. Farquois kept trying to ask about Walker’s experiences lost below the fifth layer, and Walker was sharing effusively. However—even Oliver and Guy could tell the specifics were rather niche.

“It was all like that, almost nothing edible on the sixth layer,” said Walker. “When the supplies I’d brought dipped below twenty percent, I knew I was hosed. But I also thought—there’s gotta be magical species that have adapted to this hostile environment. Maybe underground, where the changes are less dramatic—”

“Mm-hmm, that’s fascinating. But it does seem like you’re mostly talking about food. I’d quite like to hear about other things, too…”

Farquois was clearly getting impatient. Understandably—Walker had yet to speak about anything unrelated to food. Oliver and Guy were left sweating in their wake—and since the pace Walker set was demanding, they could not relax for a second. This might as well be a labyrinth trail run—and they maintained that all the way through the second and third layers. Before they knew it, they were at the Library Plaza. There, Walker’s privileges let him skip the trial, and they sailed right on into the Library of the Depths.

“Hello, librarians!” Walker yelled right off the bat. “Don’t glare at me like that. I’m not cooking dinner here again! Just passing through! Keep up the good work!”

The harpies flying around tending to the books in the tower, the reapers working the desks—every head turned to look. A clear distinction to how they reacted to anyone else—and Oliver remembered him joking about trying to make a stew here and nearly getting himself killed. If they still held it against him, then sure—that was so appalling, you had to laugh.

They raced across the plains where Oliver had once fought the philosopher Demitrio, and beyond that lay the Firedrake Canyon, where the mad old man Enrico had met his end. Observing the wyverns flying around their nests in the deep ravine, Walker glanced back at his juniors.

“You been to the fifth layer before? It’s a bit soon, I’d imagine. Most need to be in their sixth or seventh year to make it this deep.”

“…Not yet, no,” Oliver said. The safe answer.

Not wanting to give anything away, he decided to follow Walker’s lead as if this place was sight unseen. Meanwhile, it genuinely was a new experience for Guy, and his brow was deeply furrowed.

“Yeah, me neither,” he said. “We’re really crossing this? I’m not too confident.”

“Oh, don’t sweat it! You just gotta make sure the dragons don’t spot you! And deal with it if they do! I once ran through here clutching a stolen egg!”

Walker brought a personal anecdote into it, but that was not in the least bit helpful. Oliver and Guy exchanged glances, and picking up on their nerves, Farquois sighed.

“Still, if we must move stealthily, four is a bit too many. Better we split into two pairs. I can handle anything here, but that should help the fourth-years out.”

“Oh, nice idea, Mx. Farquois. You mind taking Oliver on? I had Guy under my wing before—wanna see how he moves these days.”

“Wait, this is a test now? I ain’t even been here before!”

Guy reeled, but they’d come too far to turn back. With the plan settled, they set out across the fifth layer. First, spells camouflaged them as they approached the canyon, and when the wyverns were away, they slipped on in. At the base of the terrain, Oliver quickly scanned his surroundings. The first thought on his mind was the lindwurm, but at least for now, he sensed nothing that large. Getting themselves spotted by that so soon would prove they had no business being here.

Once everyone was down, they began traversing the chasm basin. Wyverns wheeling overhead, small and midsize drakes scrabbling around the walls, and to effectively evade them all, the pairs frequently had to part ways. That left Oliver functionally alone with Farquois. And given that opportunity, he tried feeling the mage out. Starting with something that had been on his mind the whole way down.

“…Um, Instructor, you seem a touch different today.”

“…Mm? Oh, you can tell? Yes, I’m a liiiiiiiiittle bit ticked off. Honestly, it’s not often I meet someone quite as immune to me,” the great sage grumbled.

Oliver was well aware they meant Walker; it had been all too clear Farquois was not holding the reins of their conversation. Their notoriously powerful charm was providing zero advantages in those interactions.

“He’s a tough nut to crack. His core long since entranced by something else, no wiggle room for me to slip in. Ah, even admitting it out loud is humiliating! Such a humdrum excuse.”

Farquois threw their head back, jaw clenched—a look you often saw ordinaries make. This rather threw Oliver. They’d always seemed so above it all, but their actions today were betraying the human within. Or perhaps that, too, was establishing a foothold for their charm.

As Oliver watched and pondered, Farquois suddenly turned his way.

“I could say the same thing for your friend Mr. Reston, though hardly to the same degree.”

“Oh, Pete?”

“Yes. Other people being fascinated by me is the way of things, the natural order, but it’s not often I get a snot feigning that fascination to get closer to me. It irked me, so I’ve paid him little attention. Honestly, a fellow reversi—I’d intended to look after him first and foremost.”

Farquois shrugged, sighing like it was such a disappointment. But this statement caught Oliver off guard.

He’d long been concerned about the effects of the charm on Pete, but it had never occurred to him that Pete might simply be faking it. He couldn’t necessarily swallow Farquois’s opinion whole, but it was also a fact that Pete had his feet on the ground as a mage now. Ironic that this had worked against him.

Oliver felt his mind start to ponder Pete’s motivations, but he soon realized that could wait. Whatever his friend’s schemes, what mattered was Farquois’s intentions.

“So you were planning on bringing Pete into your household?”

“Less a plan than…generally, that’s just what happens. It’s totally fine if he’s an exception. The nature of this trait means reversi children are often profoundly isolated, and I’ve been plucking them all out of the muck. Mr. Reston simply wasn’t in those circumstances. He gets more than enough love from all of you.”

“……!”

That rattled Oliver even further.

It stood to reason the mage knew who Pete’s friends were. That wasn’t the issue; it was more the reason for all the reversi they’d taken in. Not a soul believed this was out of benevolence or sympathy—to the point where there was no use even paying lip service to those motives. Yet, voice them they did. Two possible explanations came to mind: Either Farquois took Oliver for a fool, or they simply didn’t care about this conversation at all.

Instinctively, he felt it was the latter. But if that was all, then the feelers he’d put out were useless. Oliver wanted to take another step in, to catch a glimpse of their real intent. Couldn’t hurt to try.

“If I might be a touch too honest—I cannot get a read on you at all.”

He pulled up short, turning to face the mage. Sensing the shift in mood, Farquois faced him, too.

“Mm? Were you trying to? That’s presumptuous.”

“I think it’s only natural. Your behavior is far too outlandish for Kimberly. And you know it—yet you refuse to change or even compromise. I don’t know why. I can’t tell what you intend to achieve with this performance, or what you really want. And without that insight, I’ve gotta assume you’re a shit stirrer with a death wish.”

He specifically chose strong language, scowling as he spoke. He’d felt this was a risky move, and it did earn him a sour look.

“Sounds like I’ve cause you much concern. Does my head look that easy to fell?”

“Hardly. But the headmistress’s blade is not exactly dull.”

“Fair enough. I’d go so far as to say there is no one else alive whose will is quite that sharp. After all, she’s ruling over one of the world’s keystones all on her own,” said Farquois. “However—that is not a human job. It pains me to even look at her.”

The great sage seemed unconcerned. The witch might claim their head the next day, yet they felt only pity for her. Oliver could say nothing back. Where he stood, blinded by vengeance, no amount of suffering could make him voice those words.

“You asked what I want, Mr. Horn? I’m not hiding it. If you want to know, I’ll tell you now.”

“ !”

That lead-in took Oliver’s breath away. The next words would be decisive. Were they a mad mage not worth listening to, or would this speech contain a fragment of truth? His eyes strained to see the difference, and Farquois spoke softly.

“I want to change the world. Ordinaries, demis, mages—everything we consider people. Make a place where not one of them will be called fuel for the fire.”

Who was asking, and who was answering—for a moment, Oliver lost track of it.

“An implementation and expansion of the civil rights beliefs. Rephrased in words the world can parse—that’s essentially it. Nothing astonishing there, surely? Everything I’ve done and said before my students is in line with that thinking. If you simply take it at face value, I’d not even need to explain myself.”

Stifling his leaping heart, Oliver tried to grasp the facts.

What was this? What was even happening? Was Farquois aware of Oliver’s background and teasing him about it? In that case, he had to kill them here and now. Would that be possible, even with a spellblade?

Wait, calm down. Don’t forget Guy and Walker are right over there. Don’t rush into it—keep talking.

“That’s…a stretch,” Oliver managed. “There are too many contradictions. The great sage is a civil rights proponent? But the ultraconservative Five Rods chose you, and you took that offer to come to Kimberly…?”

“Where’s the conflict there? The Five Rods don’t know what I’m after, and if they hear what I’m up to, they’ll merely take it as a tactical disruption, a colorful performance. Frankly, they don’t really give a damn what I think. All that matters is whether I’m effective in their efforts to topple Esmeralda—that’s the only thing they have eyes for. Extreme tunnel vision.”

Again, a note of pity in their voice. Oliver was watching their every movement, and that earned him a smile from Farquois.

“You wish to discern my motives and decide how you should act in light of that? I’ll tell you—you need discern nothing and take no action at all. I will continue to act just as I have and ask nothing of you students in return. Fundamentally, I require no support or cooperation. Although, it is me we’re talking about—people tend to like me even if I’m not making a conscious effort.”

“……”

“Don’t worry your head about a thing. I’ll take care of it. I’ll give you all a better future. But do know this: I am the great sage, Rod Farquois, and I will make it look easy.”

Overwhelmed, Oliver just stood there. The great sage spun on their heel, moving onward. His mind refusing to budge, Oliver followed—and his ears caught a muttered remark, the mage talking to themself.

“…Angry the proof came late? Nay, you died too soon. I’m the one who should complain.”

And these last grumbled words changed a doubt Oliver had long held to conviction.

This mage met my mother.

He wasn’t sure how they’d met, but he was certain. He’d caught whiffs of it from their earlier behavior, and he was her son—he hadn’t read this wrong. This was what had gotten under his skin so bad. Rod Farquois was acting like this due to the influence of Chloe Halford.

Oliver asked himself if there was anyone more deserving of trust. No matter how hard he thought, he could not argue that point. In his mind, his mother was just that unshakable a force. If he lined Farquois’s actions up with his mother’s, all his doubts faded. Act as he thought fit, as he felt right—just as Chloe Halford had always done. Whether that was at Kimberly, whether that turned the Gnostic Hunters against her. And if the great sage was the same…

“ ?”

This thought brought a new doubt to mind. Not about Farquois, but about Oliver himself.

Namely—was this mage not a better candidate to take on Esmeralda, the Gnostic Hunters, and the magical world itself? Were they not better positioned to pull off that epic feat?

Rod Farquois was a great mage. Everyone in the magical world knew their name—even if one only counted other mages, their followers numbered well over a thousand. A far greater number than those he’d earned through his mother’s connections—and it was ghastly to even consider comparing their individual strength. When they claimed to need no support or cooperation, they were not exaggerating in the slightest. This mage had the strength to force the issue. That was why they could cheerily argue against the Kimberly way. Where Oliver could only skulk about the shadows, the great sage could show their face center stage.

This would end with their head rolling—he’d thought that prediction apt, but how dare he? Had he not the same concerns? How many brushes with death had he experienced on the path to those three teachers slain? Even Darius would have been formidable under other circumstances. Enrico had been a close call at the cost of many comrades’ lives. Demitrio had been functionally a loss, overturned only by Yuri. Oliver could have died anywhere along that line. It was the devil’s luck that he yet lived.

But what about Farquois? They were riling up the entire faculty yet stayed breathing on their own terms. Perhaps the other staff were talking Esmeralda down, but arguably, their actions depended on that. Kimberly was not a place you could survive on pure luck—had he not learned that lesson all too well?

“ ?  ?”

Confusion made Oliver’s feet falter. He knew this thought was too far-fetched.

But what if he just…left the rest to this mage?

That would be so easy. His comrades were already planning to sit back a year—why not do just that? Just wait around, and the answer would present itself. Either Farquois was true to their word and found a way to banish Esmeralda from the magical world—or they failed at that and lost their head, sowing discord between Kimberly and the Gnostic Hunters. Either way, he knew his comrades could turn that to their advantage. Simply put, as long as there was no risk of getting caught in the crossfire, there was no downside no matter what Farquois did.

Arguably, this would make his revenge harder to complete. But Oliver and his comrades had just concluded again that they could not prioritizing vengeance over the mission. And if he let Farquois act—then his comrades would be kept out of harm’s way. He would not need to feed them to the pyre. He could keep his cousins from the flames of war. He could let Teresa’s life last just that much longer—

“…Ngh… Haah…haah…”

His breathing shallow, Oliver walked on. A temptation too great to just shake off, giving rise to a desire all too desperate.

While Oliver’s inner turmoil raged, the group advanced along the canyon. Two hours after their arrival, they reached the end of the fifth layer. A cave opened at the canyon base, and through that was a whole new view.

“Here we are!” Walker cried, audibly excited. “Up ahead is the sixth layer, commonly known as the Twisted Mountains!”

Oliver and Guy both gasped. This was a view that could rob anyone of words.

If one had to describe it, it was a range of mountains where up, down, left, and right had lost all meaning. An icy wind blew through it, constantly shifting directions, with such force that hill-sized boulders were caught up in it, tossed every which way. From their perspective, these boulders were floating, but that was not technically correct. The gravitational pull itself was constantly changing; everything was simply falling unpredictably. Only rocks in contact with the walls remained fixed. This meant there were mountains in all directions, and even those were warped into elaborate three-dimensional mazes. Not a trace of life anywhere—perhaps this place simply did not allow for it.

“…I’ve read descriptions of it…,” said Oliver.

“…But it’s even worse in person,” Guy added. “All those dragons seem totally harmless.”

Oliver forgot all other concerns, matching Guy’s astonishment. This was clearly not a place either of them could possibly survive—and the fact that Walker was now working here really drove home how great his skills must be.

“Can I get an answer now, Mr. Walker?” Farquois asked, their tone urgent. “You are the sole student on record who has seriously explored this layer and returned to tell the tale. Even among the faculty, only a select few have ever ventured into these depths. What was it you saw here?”

Even as the great sage spoke, Walker had his rucksack on the ground, doing stretches. His eyes locked on the view before them.

“I’ve come back here to make sure of that. Can’t wait. My heart’s singing out loud. I get to tackle this!”

His voice quivered with excitement. This was clearly a dream come true.

Realizing further prodding would get them nowhere, Farquois hung their head. “You’ve forgotten me entirely. This entire trip was a waste of my time! Fine, so be it. I’m the one who said it wouldn’t make me break a sweat.”

Abandoning their efforts, Farquois spun on their heel and walked away. Oliver and Guy jumped and turned their way—and a voice came over the great sage’s shoulder.

“You’ve caught your glimpse, boys. Time you got on home. I’ll take you as far as the fourth layer—that should be enough, right, Mr. Walker?”

“Yeah, thanks. Sorry I’m like this, Mx. Farquois. We’ll have to have a real chat when I return.”

Walker’s tone had shifted dramatically. He hadn’t glanced their way—but this was the first real indication he was actually conscious of the great sage’s presence. That caught Farquois by surprise, and they snorted awkwardly.

“I won’t pin my hopes too high. But go on, have your fun—do try not to die.”

It was hard to tell if that was encouragement or spite; either way, Farquois was already walking back up the cave. Oliver and Guy took a step after them, then looked back once.

“We’ll await your safe return, Walker.”

“Let’s have another first-layer barbeque! I’ll make sure the whole gang’s there!”

Both meant every word. Walker said nothing more—just shot them a thumbs-up. A sight that made it hard to worry.

Putting their faith in him, the boys turned and set out upon their journey back to the campus above.

All gods worshipped by Gnostics demanded oaths in return, and these colored the lives of their followers, differing them from the norm. To prevent discovery, they were forced into a variety of disguises and subterfuge—but in all such cases, the more followers there were, the harder it was to hide. Blending into ordinary villages, building settlements of their own in the wilderness—in each case, once the population swelled beyond a given point, the approach was no longer practical.

But they were not just given restrictions. In return for those labors, they were granted miracles. This made things possible, including a full-scale community escaping the attention not just of ordinaries but mages as well.

The Order of the Sacred Light’s subterranean sanctuary. A vast undiscovered underground cavern located beneath the western end of the Union, at the back of which lay the center of their sect’s veneration. Over eight thousand worshippers resided in the underground village, their lives supported by any number of miracles the god of Uranischegar provided. All dwellings were constructed of regular polyhedrons, their countless faces giving the streets the appearance of a beehive rolled out lengthwise. The perfection of this design was guaranteed by their god, and as long as they lived according to the oaths, the worshippers here faced no inconvenience.

“How very uyun uyun.”

The sanctuary itself was designed to look down upon the followers’ lives—it, too, was built from conjoined polyhedrons. In a room near the top was a seat reserved for those most revered. A girl clad in a pure-white habit sat there, and the whisper that crossed her lips made the man feeding her bread dipped in soup froze.

“…Do you not like it? My apologies.”

“No, not the food, Helissio. I mean you. The bread is quite nice. It’s extra pwaks pwaks. Did you change the temperature of the kiln?”

The girl smiled. Her eyes had never once opened. Helissio returned the smile, placing a hand to his chest in a show of reverence.

“Thank you,” he said. “Our oaths require our food to be simple, but if I can provide any pleasure to you within those terms…”

“Why change the shape and texture daily?” a flat voice cut in.

Helissio looked up to see a bald man clad in the same plain habit that he wore. The bald man’s face was devoid of expression, eerily unchanging, like he was molded out of plaster.

His eyes on the tray’s food, he moved only his lips, and even then—very slightly.

“Yesterday, it was cut thin. Two days ago, in cubes. Three days ago, there was a vegetable paste smeared on it, and today, you’ve dunked it in bean soup. What purpose does these alterations serve? Would it not suffice to repeat a unified superior form?”

Helissio grimaced at this and went back to feeding the girl. Tearing off a piece of bread, dunking it in the soup, and carefully conveying it to the girl’s mouth.

“I doubt you’d understand. But humans soon grow tired of the same thing. Repetition of anything soon drains the joy from it. Perhaps that merely speaks to our own imperfections.”

“Heh-heh, I love all your food, Helissio. I could not possibly pick just one. That one’s best, this one’s best, they’re all the best. Nothing wrong with having many good things.”

“Optimal is…plural? A contradiction. I fail to comprehend.”

Baffled, the man tilted his head—at far too great an angle for that word to really apply. Like an awkward imitation of a human behavior he’d once been told was an appropriate expression of confusion.

The girl swallowed her bread and spoke again. “You’re worried about Kunigunde, Helissio?”

“…Honestly, yes. We’ve had no contact from her since her infiltration mission began. I’m aware where she is makes communication difficult, but…”

This admission clearly pained him, but his head snapped up, spotting something new. This location was the pinnacle of their settlement and afforded a view of the entirety—he’d spotted one of their own coming down the path on the far-side dwellings, through the passage to the surface.

“Old Evit and Nicolas have returned. I’m sure they’ll report in soon.”

“I shall go to greet them. Helissio, hold my hand?”

“Happily.”

Helissio stood up and obsequiously took the girl’s hand. As he led the way, her eyes remained closed, her movements distinctly those of one who could not see. As they moved to the window, the bald man mutely followed, the wall of the sanctuary rebuilding itself into a flowing staircase that led downward from these heights. During their slow descent, they were met by their returning colleagues. One was a tall elder with a long pentagonal staff. The priest, Evit. He knelt before the girl.

“Lady Linnea, you need not have come to me. I would have dragged my old bones to see you soon enough.”

“Though the words you speak are true…  ”

“…They’ll make Lady Linnea come to you!  ”

New faces approached the original group of five. Two singsong voices, but it was hard to say if they belonged to two girls—for they were joined together at the torso. Yet, their feet never faltered, their advance accompanied by an especially large figure. A man with a dog’s head, clad in a habit. At a glance, he appeared to be a kobold, but the skeletal structure differed, and the gleam of intelligence in his eyes was far too strong.

“The length of your absence led to this, Evit. Lady Linnea missed you so. Were you not due back five days ago?”

The dogheaded man spoke fluently, though there were no recorded instances of kobolds mastering human speech anywhere in the Union.

“I cannot deny it,” Evit said, nodding to him. “Alas, my feet grow slow. Perhaps it’s time I retire.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to blame your age? Even if your back was thoroughly bent, you’ve not the character to desire retirement.”

This voice came from the opposite direction, and Evit turned around to find a male elf wearing a similar habit, half his pointy ears missing. As the old man made to respond, the small-statured boy beside him took a hesitant step forward, peering at the girl from a hood pulled down across his eyes.

“…L-Lady Linnea,” he stammered. “H-how…fare you?”

His voice was oddly raspy—and at the sound of it, the ground at his feet rusted over. Beneath the hood was a baby face, 80 percent of which was covered in reddish rust, like painful scabs. These went down his neck, suggesting his entire body was in this condition. An uncanny sight, yet—

“Oh!” the girl said, smiling warmly. “Nicolas, you’ve grown so good at speaking. I do love your voice. It’s warm and fyula fyula.”

She moved right up to Nicolas, reaching out her hands and brushing his rusty cheeks without concern. The boy closed his eyes, basking in it, and gave a sigh of relief.

“I’m doing great,” she said. “I can even hop up and down if I choose. Should I demonstrate?”

“Please don’t, Lady Linnea. The last time, you twisted your ankle badly. And you know how hard Nicolas took that.”

“Aww, but I’d get it right this time!”

The girl puffed out her cheeks. Helissio winced and took a step forward, gently pulling the boy’s hood back. The rust ran up his cheeks and across his head, but Helissio looked upon him as one would a brother.

“You’ve built up a lot of rust, Nicolas. I’ll get you clean soon.”

“Th-thank…you,” Nicolas said with a bashful smile.

Evit glanced around the assembled faces, then spoke solemnly.

“The time is but a year away. Are we all ready for it?”

The mood shifted immediately. The conjoined girls bared canines, laughing musically. The dogheaded man flexed his grip. The elf with severed ears filled himself with mana. The warm, relaxed mood gone in a flash—each one of them ready for a fight.

“When we need to fight…  ”

“…You’ll find our readiness is right!  ”

“A foolish question, Evit. We are always prepared.”

“Any time. Merely waiting for the moment to arrive.”

“…Fooo… Fooo…!”

Nicolas quivered bodily, a wheeze escaping his throat, and the rusty corruption at his feet rapidly spread out around him. Joy and suffering mingled on his face, caught in between. As if in response to this emotional outburst, the ground shook.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

And a tremendous howl echoed far and wide. A massive something rose up beside the sanctuary the girl had been. An arm thicker than a tree trunk raised high. Merely shifting the legs on folded knees alone was enough to shake the cavern. Two massive eyes were aglow with a dark light. The worshippers in the dwellings fell to their knees in awe.

And the girl put her arms around Nicolas, holding him tight. The tension drained from him, and the cultists all snapped out of their fervor. The girl patted Nicolas gently on the back, speaking to them all.

“It’s too soon to get all bahfoh bahfoh.” Her voice as calm as ever, soothing her fellows, then she addressed the giant thing above. “Settle down, Sulfo. You’ll hit your head on the ceiling again.”

The giant dropped back into the shadow of the sanctuary. The cultists knelt reverentially before the girl; no matter how much power they might have, no one here would go against her word.

“We don’t have long to wait. Until the day our god draws near. They’ll set the stage for us, I’m sure.”

The girl smiled, speaking warmly.

The Oracle, Linnea.

A blind, ordinary girl—and the leader of the Order of the Sacred Light.

Farquois escorted them to the fourth layer, and there, they split up, Oliver and Guy making their own ways home. The great sage watched their students pass through the library tower, then whispered sadly.

“…They’re both trying so hard to grow. How adorable, really.”

Then they turned, heading back the way they’d come—to the fifth layer. An area infamous for the sheer quantity of dragons, but it had one other distinctive feature. Almost nobody ever went there. A few instructors kept workshops within, although as long as one knew their general locations, it was easy enough to avoid chance encounters.

“This should do,” said Farquois. “Ready, Kunigunde?”

Farquois spoke to empty air at the bottom of a canyon. No answer met them. Yet, Farquois smiled as if one had—and they drew their athame.

“Very well. Then come on out.”

With that, they sliced open their own side. A gash so deep, their entrails spilled out on the ground before them—but these quickly swelled up, taking human form. In a matter of seconds, there knelt a woman, lightly dressed, drenched in Farquois’s blood.

“…Took you…long enough,” she managed. “I thought—you were going to make me part of you forever.”

“Perish the thought. It was necessary to get around Kimberly security, but I won’t do this twice. Turning you into a part of myself to smuggle you in? Simply ghastly.”

Farquois was calmly healing the wound shut. The woman stood up, shaking herself off and opening her eyes. They gradually came into focus.

“…At last, my eyes can see again. This means I’m free to begin?”

“Mm. I’ve learned the lay of the land from the campus through the labyrinth. You should be free to move around. But watch out for students as well as staff. The children here are well trained. Even those in lower forms are not to be trifled with, and many of the older ones are more than a match for you.”

“…Heh-heh… This hellscape’s reputation proceeds it. How terrified my father must have been, infiltrating this place on his own.”

Her voice quivered. Realizing that, she stifled it, recovering herself—and knelt before the great sage again.

“Let us work together, until our desire is met, and our god arrives.

“Rod Farquois. High Priest of the Triangle, blessed by the Sacred Light.”

A title they did not often go by—but Farquois merely smiled. The smile of a confident, merciful mage, no different from the one they showed their students.

END