Nanatsu no Maken ga Shihai suru - Volume 3 - Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4 

The Final Hymn 

When you’re completely infatuated with something, you’re often one of the last to realize it. 

“…Which do you like more, this or this? Tell me, Carlos!” 

And that was precisely the predicament Ophelia found herself in. She’d already asked Carlos the question six times, holding the same accessories up in both hands. But it was even more impressive that Carlos managed to give a unique answer each time, with nary a wrinkle of their brow. 

“They’re both cute, but if you asked Al, it’d be the left. He’s not a fan of gaudy things.” 

“I—I see… Then I’ll go with this one.” 

She took their advice and chose the left hair accessory, then excitedly put it on. Just as she finished, she realized what they’d said and rounded on them. 

“…?! Wh-what was that?! No one asked about Mr. Godfrey’s preferences!” 

“Oh, really? Sorry, guess I jumped to conclusions.” 

“Isn’t it obvious? Th-this is just a normal part of getting dressed…!” 

Ophelia turned away haughtily, her face bright red. 

Carlos smiled and shrugged as they studied her profile. “Don’t get too worked up about it. Al’s a simple guy at heart. A long, honest relationship is the key to getting close to him. You’d do well to remember that rushing things will only backfire.” 

“Like I said—!” 

She turned around again to try and make more excuses, but Carlos hugged her head-on, catching her by surprise. The words died on her lips. 

“Don’t be so shy. You look really cute, Lia.” 

It was incredibly confusing. Why did her thoughts always drift to him? Why did she feel so glum when she couldn’t see him? 

The six months she’d spent with the neighborhood watch were full of endless confusion, following him around without a clue as to what was going on. His every word held the potential to bring her the greatest joy or sadness, and there wasn’t anything more exciting in the world to her—thinking back on it, she was a total child. 

“Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow! I-I’m stuck! Someone help!” 

“How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t stick your hand in random places!” 

And so, once again, she found herself on this day healing Tim’s arm after his encounter with a cracking crab. Early on, these events gave her a huge fright, but now it was all in a day’s work. 

“Thanks…” 

“Don’t pinch your nose,” Godfrey demanded. “You’re being rude to her.” 

“It’s a show of my loyalty!” Tim crowed. “I swear, my loins shall never yearn for anyone but you, Godf— Gyaaaaaaa! The painnnn!” 

That said, she’d realized there was no need for mercy or compassion with someone like this. It was hardly the first time someone made a crack about her Perfume, but Tim was the only idiot to ever pinch his nose in front of her. So as an expression of respect for his bravery, she made sure once again to heal him in the most painful way possible. His high-pitched screams echoed in the dark labyrinth. 

“…Sorry about that, Ophelia,” said Godfrey. 

“Can you be any more shameless?” Lesedi snapped. “You both pollute the air, but at least she’s not so evil as to do it on purpose.” 

The two of them sighed as they lectured Tim, as per usual. In fact, it had become so typical because Ophelia was now a part of the group. She was among people who didn’t shun her—it was such an incredibly refreshing experience for Ophelia that she felt like a new person. 

“You people again… Hmm? I see you’ve brought an interesting morsel this time.” 

Of course, they ran into danger as well. Not only was it completely normal for students to carry out secret battles within the labyrinth, but Godfrey’s neighborhood watch also made him a lot of enemies. Wherever they went, there was sure to be fireworks. 

“Fascinating. Let’s see what she can do. Congreganta! ” 

“To arms! Flamma! ” 

Godfrey blasted the charging skeletal beast with a fireball. As the flames licked up his arm after yet another failure to control the spell, he roared, “Why can’t you value life more?! Not just the lives of others! Yours as well!” 

On every corner of campus, in every dark cavern of the labyrinth, they fought all manner of opponents: classmates, lowerclassmen, and sometimes even monstrous upperclassmen. And through their battles, they formed a tiny measure of order within the unholy temple and tried to create a safe haven for the weak and injured. They might have been the first in Kimberly’s history to try and do so. 

As for why they were attempting such madness, Ophelia had no idea. Nor did she come even close to understanding Alvin Godfrey’s constant rage. He was simply beyond her comprehension. 

Since enrolling at Kimberly, Ophelia had never felt that something was wrong with the academy. The students dedicated their lives to the pursuit of magic, consequently trampling on everything else and killing one another. It was just like home—but most importantly, it was just like how her mother had taught her the world worked. 

“…I just want to make Kimberly a place where you can relax a bit,” Godfrey would sometimes say with a sigh. Ophelia always gave a noncommittal response, never really understanding. Was he talking about a place like her garden? She tried to imagine it but quickly realized that was wrong. Stomping on the flowers was all the garden was good for. 

Confusingly, Godfrey apparently didn’t want anyone to get trampled or downtrodden. In fact, he rejected the common notion that trampling on others was only natural. He wanted to place standardized rules on activities within the labyrinth and reduce the number of student fights—when others heard his goals, nearly all of them looked at him like he was crazy. And honestly speaking, Ophelia had felt the same at first. But shockingly enough, as he continued to spout his rhetoric in earnest, little by little, people sympathetic to his cause started appearing out of the woodwork. 

“Are you guys the Godfrey Gang? Hey, hey, let me join!” 

“Seems kinda fun. How about letting me in? I can give ya a hand.” 

As they went up in years, the students learned to adapt to Kimberly. Whether they enjoyed this, however, was another matter entirely. And those who didn’t enjoy adapting were drawn to Godfrey. Not for any grand reason like sharing in his ideology—it was simply because the students who were forced to live in such a bloodthirsty environment preferred Godfrey’s overall “vibe.” 

Some students would even confess, “I used to think I’d enrolled in the wrong school… But with you guys, it’s not so bad.” And for Ophelia, who couldn’t understand most of her peers’ feelings, this at least she could heavily sympathize with. When she was by Alvin Godfrey’s side, her heart was at ease. When they interacted, she was able to forget for just a moment that she was a mage. 

But even as naive as she was, Ophelia knew the hard truth—that this fantastical time could not last forever. 

Every time Godfrey stuck his neck into trouble and came back in one piece, public opinion of their group rose, and little by little, their numbers swelled. 

They were like campers huddled around a fire. Kimberly was a place devoid of warmth, especially the welcoming, undiscriminating kind. Any kindling was immediately extinguished. 

But this fire was unprecedentedly stubborn. As people began to realize this, the stares slowly turned from bewilderment to respect. Even the upperclassmen respected Godfrey; before long, his name was known far and wide throughout the academy. 

“……” 

And the brighter he shone, the more the shadows near him stood out. Try as she might to stay out of the limelight, Ophelia’s Perfume wouldn’t allow it. Not everyone was able to overcome her aroma like Godfrey had—so, predictably, the newer members came to resent her. 

“Someone should do something about her. It’s just indecent.” 

“Stop it. You know she’s Godfrey’s favorite.” 

“You really think so? I hate to say it, but maybe he’s under her spell, too.” 

The discord came from all directions, eating away at her heart bit by bit. The influx in members also meant that Ophelia’s role of healer was not so unique anymore. This should have been a good thing; more supporters meant that Godfrey’s initiatives were making real progress. 

“Our little family’s gotten so big so fast… It’s all thanks to you, Ophelia. If you and Carlos weren’t there to heal my wounds, I would’ve died in the labyrinth long ago, no question.” 

Most of all, it made her incredibly happy to hear him say those words. She wanted to hear them so much that she hated the idea of giving up her role to anyone else. It was her only way to remain by his side. 

“He’ll never reach his full potential with you around. You do realize that, right?” 

The friction between her and the new members was endless. They came in private, pleading with her in earnest; they came in groups, threatening her. Each time, what they wanted was the same: Stay away from Godfrey. 

“Your Perfume bewitches every man who comes close. That’s enough to hurt the group as a whole, but worst of all is how close you are to our leader. Godfrey’s greatest strength is how he will interact with anyone, regardless of who they are. But as long as you’re around, people will doubt his motives.” 

“Everyone’s thinking it. There’s only one reason he’d keep such a nuisance like you around: You must’ve seduced him.” 

“…Go to hell.” 

It was rare for her voice to tremble with anger. She was used to being ridiculed for her Perfume, but she couldn’t permit people to think that Godfrey had been seduced by it. Everything he’d put himself through just to be able to look her in the eye—the pain he’d undergone, the time he’d dedicated, the sincerity he’d shown—they were all irreplaceable treasures to Ophelia. 

“Are you really going to insist that your Perfume has nothing to do with why Godfrey keeps you around? All right, then let me ask: What makes you so valuable that you deserve your spot?” 

“—!” 

“We know you were there in the beginning, when healers were limited. No one’s trying to take that away from you. But things are different now. Plenty of us can heal just as well as you can. And unlike you, we don’t cast Perfume on everyone around us.” 

Their argument boiled down to this: Pass the torch to someone more suitable. And they did have a point. Ophelia realized that her healing skills alone weren’t enough to outweigh the negative of her Perfume and protect her current position. 

She panicked, unable to find a way out of this argument. What should she do? What could she show these people that would prove that her place was by Godfrey’s side? All she knew for sure was that she didn’t have the option of giving up. 

“…You think you’re stronger than me?” 

So she switched gears and struck back. She would help the group not by healing but by fighting. The students merely chuckled. 

“Of course. Wanna test us right now, Salvadori Harlot?” 

They were clearly mocking her. She’d never gotten the best grades in sword arts or spellology. She was a great healer but below average when it came to battling on the front lines. At least, that was what everyone else believed. 

“…Sure. Let’s do it.” 

The air suddenly grew heavy; the tension was palpable. The students backed away from her into spell distance, then drew their athames. Ophelia eyed them with pity. They were gravely mistaken. It wasn’t because she lacked power that she avoided the battlefield—but because she didn’t want Godfrey to see what she was truly capable of. 

“Partus.” 

And she wasn’t wrong. What unfolded wasn’t even a competition—it was a massacre. 

I’m stronger than any of you. In order to protect her spot by Godfrey’s side, she had to thoroughly convince others of that. The group’s reaction made it clear that her position would be stolen if she stayed a meek healer. So she decided to do a complete one-eighty. 

After that day, she made a point to accept every fight that came her way. Anyone who complained, she silenced with her full power; once they were weakened, she Charmed them and dominated their minds. This was what happened when she got serious. 

Opponents from her own year were no big deal, but she still couldn’t let down her guard against the battle-hardened second- and third-years. She dared not make an enemy of fourth-years and up. She soon needed to keep a powerful chimera in her belly at all times in order to be able to fight at a moment’s notice, something she had no qualms about doing. 

“Lia, stop! You don’t have to do this. Al won’t abandon you—” 

She brushed off even her childhood friend’s attempts to stop her. With her mindset changed, Ophelia danced through life like never before. She now had two purposes: desperately protect her position at Godfrey’s side and weed out the members bringing their group down. Nothing held her back anymore. She would be more cunning and greedier than anyone else—just as a mage should be. 

Ophelia’s new stance naturally caused a chain reaction among the rest of the group. Flaunting one’s own strength while defeating others in order to secure one’s desired position—conflict became the new normal. The group’s rapid expansion, combined with Godfrey’s inability to keep an eye on every last member, became its downfall. The once peaceful vibe was lost over time, and a definitive change came over the neighborhood watch. 

“That’s enough! What good can come of fighting among one another?!” 

Godfrey noticed this and tried to stop it, but he was too inexperienced as a leader. It would have been one thing if they had only five or six members like in the beginning, but it was nearly impossible to rein in dozens of people all at once. Day in and day out, his comrades grew more combative; unable to find a solution, he watched the stress mount. 

“It’s okay, Godfrey… I haven’t changed at all. I’ll always be by your side.” 

Meanwhile, Ophelia used this turmoil as an opening to cement her place by Godfrey’s side. It was much more convenient for her if things stayed violent. When the group was still peaceful, someone who constantly emitted Perfume would have immediately been eliminated as a threat. There was no place for her in clear waters, but in muddied waters, a threat could lurk unnoticed. 

“…Stop riling everyone up, Ophelia. I can’t turn a blind eye anymore.” 

However, as things grew worse, people caught on to her plan. The first to speak up was another female student and founding member of the neighborhood watch: Lesedi Ingwe. She pulled Ophelia aside and gave her a warning, not an accusation. 

“…What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything.” 

“Don’t play dumb. You’ve Charmed some of our members into being your servants. I would’ve overlooked it if you were just finishing fights others started, but this is clearly against the rules. If Godfrey knew, he’d never allow it.” 

Lesedi pierced her with a stern gaze. The emotion vanished from Ophelia’s face in an instant. 

“…So you agree? That a girl like me doesn’t belong by Godfrey’s side?” 

“…? What’re you babbling about? I’m talking about the group’s rules—” 

“You think you’re a better fit for him? Is that what it is?” 

Ophelia cut her off, ignoring what she had to say. Lesedi immediately grabbed her cheek in an iron grip. 

“Enough crazy talk, little girl. Can you not even tell anymore when someone’s on your side?” 

“……” 

“Listen to me. I’m warning you so that you can stay with Godfrey,” Lesedi growled. “What you think you’re doing, and what you’re actually accomplishing, couldn’t be more different. Right now, you’re on a crash course for a nasty split. You need to hurry up and realize that before it’s too late!” 

She shoved Ophelia back, then spun on her heel. Ophelia watched her go until she was left all alone. 

“…What other way is there?” she muttered. 

Ophelia didn’t know how to interact with other people, how to make friends, or even how to fall in love. So in all things, she acted as a mage would. Her goal was to stay by Godfrey’s side, and she achieved that by any means necessary. This was the surest way to get what she wanted, after all. 

“…You smell awful.” 

Naturally, this method meant there was a lot of collateral damage as well—including the friendships she’d taken so long to foster. 

“Disgusting! I could deal with it before, but not anymore. You absolutely reek,” Tim spat as they patrolled the labyrinth alone. His tone was cold, completely unlike his usual friendly ribbing. He glared at her with unbridled disdain. “Your Perfume is polluting the air at full blast… You’re not even trying to control it. I bet your goal is to seduce every last male around you.” 

Ophelia intentionally didn’t deny it. Instead, her eyes flicked to Tim’s crotch. Her lips twisted in a bewitching smile. 

“…You’re hard, aren’t you?” 

“Fuck off. I don’t get hard for anyone but Mr. Godfrey. I would never let you affect me.” 

Tim swore in disgust. Ophelia’s unfettered Perfume was violating; it forced others into a state of arousal. Her oppressive Charm could even overwrite an individual’s sexual orientation on occasion. So in order to resist this onslaught, Tim had to keep his mind sharp at all times. 

“But you’re trampling all over my feelings, crushing them into the mud. All you want is to rob me of my will and turn me into a drooling male, just like the rest of your harem…isn’t that right?” 

“……” 

Her silence was his answer. Tim’s fists shook. 

“And in the end, are you going to seduce Mr. Godfrey, too? We’ve spent so much time together, broken bread together, risked death over and over—but that’s what you really wanted all along?” 

Tim’s eyes wavered with rage and sadness in equal measure. Ophelia’s chest twinged for a brief moment, which she immediately chalked up to a coincidence. She had no friends. She never got close enough to anyone to make her heart hurt like this in the first place. So it was all in her imagination. 

“At least deny it… Tell me I’m wrong, Opheliaaaa!” 

With a scream, Tim drew his athame. Ophelia’s face froze into a sneer as she intercepted the attack. 

The next thing she knew, the boy was lying before her like a rag. Godfrey came running over. She would never forget the anger, regret, and self-condemnation on his face. 

“Godfrey, I…” 

She tried to say something to the person in front of her, then realized it was just a memory from long ago. Back in reality, Ophelia was welcomed by the familiar sight of her workshop and the fledgling chimeras crawling about. Her hands shook as she looked at her wristwatch: Five hours had passed. Apparently, she had been simply sitting there daydreaming. 

“…Heh-heh-heh… I can’t tell the difference between a dream and reality anymore, huh? …It’s finally time.” 

Her body was rapidly approaching its human limits. She could be consumed by the spell at any moment. With this in mind, she stood shakily from her chair. 

“…I don’t want it to start here… No—outside…” 

She hobbled over to the door, opened it, and stepped out of the workshop. That was the beginning of her final wandering voyage as a human. 

“…Her presence is fading.” 

Albright, who’d been listening carefully from his cell nearby, picked up on the witch’s departure. 

Pete swallowed, realizing what this meant. 

“Now’s our chance. Our first and last, probably. Are you ready?” 

“…Y-yeah.” 

The bespectacled boy nodded without letting himself tremble. He’d made his mind up long ago—if he wanted to survive, there was no time to be afraid. Albright liked the look of determination on Pete’s face. 

“Let’s get started. I’ll lure the chimeras to me.” 

That was the signal—Pete took action, pouring mana into the explosive spheres they’d buried in two spots within the flesh prison. Then he quickly backed up, dropped to the floor, and covered his ears. A few seconds later, an explosive boom rattled his eardrums straight through the hands covering them. He turned around to see a hole had been ripped open in the bars. 

“…!” 

He tossed another sphere—which started billowing smoke—and leaped out of the prison. He had only a few precious moments until the chimeras realized what was happening and it was all over. Just as he’d practiced again and again in his mind, Pete ran toward the next room, using the smoke as cover. 

“Come, wretches! I’ll take on every last one of you!” 

Meanwhile, Albright caught the incoming chimeras’ attention. Unfortunately, he’d given his precious magical tools to Pete and was completely unarmed. If he moved too quickly, he’d inhale more of the Perfume, so he couldn’t even leave the prison and run around. Pete needed to find Albright’s wand quickly, or the chimeras would torture him to death. 

“Wands, wands… Where are they?!” 

He scanned the room and ripped open every bit of storage he could find. Ophelia could have already disposed of their things, so if he didn’t find anything right away, he’d have to abandon the idea. The twenty-second time limit he’d given himself was quickly approaching. 

“…There!” 

Luck was on his side. Ophelia had tossed her prisoners’ wands and athames into a box in the corner, apparently not even worried about the potential threat if they got back into the students’ hands. First he grabbed his own, then searched for Albright’s based on his descriptions. 

“Here’s yours! Take it!” 

Pete dashed back to the prison room and tossed the athame through the bars toward Albright, who was stubbornly kicking back the fledgling chimeras. He caught it, and with a weapon now in his possession, he smiled. 

“Great work! Frigus! ” 

Albright immediately cast a spell, striking back at the incoming chimeras. Pete sighed in relief, but Albright barked, “What are you doing? Get outside and call for help!” 

“But you—” 

“Now! Salvadori will be back once she notices something’s wrong!” he shouted as he fended off the chimeras. 

Pete shook off his doubts and sprinted through the door; the witch hadn’t bothered to lock it. He burst out of the workshop into an unfamiliar swamp. 

“Huff! Huff…!” 

Escaping wasn’t much of a relief. Would Ophelia come back first, or would help arrive in time? It was all up to fate now. Pete poured mana into the rescue orb, sending a shrill sound and waves of mana reverberating through the third layer. 

“Please, someone help…!” 

One boy in particular immediately picked up on the desperate cry. 

“An SOS! He’s close!” Oliver shouted as soon as he heard the orb’s signal. He and the girls had already crossed the swamp, landed the boat, and begun searching the area. His eyes turned toward the source of the sound, and the other three followed suit. The chimeras could hear it, too, of course—if there was indeed a person in need of rescue there, then it was a race against time to save them. 

“Not the time to be suspicious of traps. Let’s move!” Miligan urged. 

Oliver and the girls took off without delay. They tore through the mud, not a shred of doubt in their minds that their friend was nearby. 

The third layer was so vast that the signal didn’t even cover a tenth of it. However, Oliver’s group weren’t the only mages within its range. 

“An SOS signal!” 

Picking up the faint sound in the air, Carlos stopped immediately and shouted to their comrade. Godfrey cupped his hand to his ear to try and catch it but shook his head after a few seconds. 

“…I can’t hear it. Must be pretty far.” 

“I’ll lead the way. Let’s hurry, Al!” 

Carlos began running, and Godfrey was hot on their heels. When it came to sensitivity to sounds, Carlos couldn’t be beat. The two of them rushed ahead, relying on Carlos’s ears to guide them. 

“It’s this way… Noll’s friend might be there. Let’s hurry, Shannon.” 

At the same time, Oliver’s relatives-slash-vassals Gwyn and Shannon Sherwood hurried off as well. The signal was just barely audible, although Gwyn’s hearing was nowhere near Carlos’s. However, Oliver’s cousins had no idea that he was on this layer as well. 

“Lia…!” Shannon said mournfully. 

Ophelia was the source of all this strife, but she wasn’t just another enemy to Shannon, nor to Gwyn, either. Still, the elder Sherwood remained calm. 

“Don’t assume that you’ll be able to reason with her. If we meet—we’ll have no choice but to fight.” 

“…!” Shannon bit her lip at her brother’s callous remark. 

No matter her feelings, that fact wouldn’t change. This was part of facing someone who’d been consumed by the spell. 

“Mm?” 

Suddenly, Gwyn stopped, as did Shannon. The clock was ticking, but they were confident in their decision. 

“Impetus!” 

Gwyn drew his athame and shot a wind spell toward the ground a few dozen yards away. The mud around the target flew into the air—revealing white bones. 

“…Oh? The Sherwood siblings?” 

The skeletal sphere showed itself, and within it was a man. Gwyn, who’d sensed the ambush, glared at the familiar face. “…Rivermoore?” 

“It’s been a while, Gwyn. I’m sure you heard the alarm, but I suggest you quit while you’re ahead. If you follow it, you’ll most certainly run into Salvadori. And you are not welcome near her.” 

The bony capsule around Rivermoore unfurled like a hand, and he stepped down onto the ground. The Sherwoods clutched their athames. 

“There are too many intruders today,” Rivermoore said with a shrug. “I’m only here to repel anyone other than Purgatory and Hymn, but now I have you two plus Snake Eye and her three first-year companions to deal with… Although I suppose I’m an intruder as well,” he muttered with an air of self-derision. The Sherwoods couldn’t believe their ears. 

“Hold on. What did you just say?” Gwyn quickly asked. Rivermoore chuckled. 

“Exactly what it sounded like. Snake Eye brought three first-years with her to this layer. Something about wanting to help a friend of theirs who was kidnapped.” 

“Who were those first-years?” 

Gwyn was careful not to let his panic show. 

Rivermoore put a hand to his chin and thought. “The McFarlane girl, a foolhardy samurai—and who was the other one again? …Ah, yes. Oliver Horn. We ran into each other on the first layer soon after the entrance ceremony, so I remembered his face.” 

The moment Oliver’s name came up, Gwyn and Shannon dashed forward. They tried to catch Rivermoore by surprise and slip past him—but two skeletal serpents burst out of the mud behind him and blocked the way, as if he’d expected this. 

“No, I can’t let you go. Didn’t you hear me? We’re not welcome.” 

“Move, Rivermoore!” Gwyn growled, athame in hand. 

Rivermoore cocked his head curiously at his reaction. “Hmm? Oddly passionate about this, aren’t you? Is this Oliver of such importance?” His sneer deepened. Of course, his demeanor never changed for a moment. “Still—I must apologize. If you insist on passing, you will have to do so by force. That’s the rule here, isn’t it?” 

Neither side was budging, so there was no sense in denying it. In perfect harmony, the Sherwood siblings jumped into battle—to carve open a path to Oliver. 

“Huff! Huff! Huff…!” 

Monsters crawled out of the swamp, attracted by the alarm, so Pete couldn’t afford to stand still. His athame in his right hand and the rescue orb gripped tightly in his left, he ran through the marshland. His lungs burned, and his pants were muddy up to his knees. 

“Where the heck am I?! Damn it, my legs…!” 

With every step he took, his legs sank deeper into the mud, and he pitched forward. For Pete, who was still inexperienced in his footwork, even traversing this swamp was a herculean task. Nonetheless, he pushed forward through the mud and sludge. 

“…Ugh…?!” 

Suddenly, he stopped. His legs were covered to the knees and too heavy to lift. He struggled, trying to pull free, but only managed to get himself even more stuck. His face instantly blanched. 

“A bottomless swamp…?! Y-you’re kidding me!” 

He desperately tried to calm his panicking mind; he became intensely aware of the athame in his right hand. What was the spell that would free him from this? There should have been multiple, but he couldn’t think of them. Fear and frustration welled up in him. What had he spent the last six months studying for?! 

“Gah…! S-someone! Someone help!” 

As his mind raced, he continued sinking until his right hand was in the mud as well. He could no longer cast a spell. The chill of the mud steadily seeping into his clothes made him think of death. 

“Huff… Huff… Huff…!” 

He wanted to cry and thrash but barely managed to contain the urge. Moving would only accelerate the sinking. There was nothing he could do now, so his best option was to not move and keep breathing for a few more minutes and seconds. 

“…Blergh…!” 

The time he bought ran out in seemingly an instant, and the mud finally started pushing into his mouth. With his last moments, he took a huge breath, then was pulled mercilessly beneath the surface. 

So this is where I die, he thought. Oddly enough, as despair gripped his heart, what surfaced in his mind wasn’t the faces of his parents or sights from his hometown—but the face of a meddling roommate. 

Oliver…! 

The moment he voicelessly shouted that name, something grabbed firmly onto his wrist and pulled him, body and spirit, back to life. 

“Are you okay, Pete?!” 

Hearing the voice, he cautiously opened his tightly shut eyes. The last face he’d pictured was right there before him. 

“…Huh…?” 

He stared in a daze as Oliver pulled him to his feet and squeezed the mud-covered boy in a close embrace. The chill of the swamp melted away against Oliver’s warmth, as if it had never existed at all. 

“…You did great, Pete. You did so, so great…!” 

Oliver sobbed his friend’s name as he held him in his arms. Suddenly, all manner of emotions burst forth within Pete. 

“Ungh… Ah—AAAAAH…!” 

Oliver tossed most of his belongings onto solid ground, then lifted his crying friend onto his back and got to his feet. Nanao, Chela, and Miligan followed close behind; they nodded to each other and the group, then picked up speed. This wasn’t the time or place for joyful reunions. 

“Let’s hurry! If we can escape, we’ll be in the clear!” Oliver shouted. 

The four of them held their breath as they ran through the swamp. As hurried as they were, broomriding was out of the question. Flying on this layer would invariably draw attention from the creatures on the ground, and with Pete in tow, someone would have to ride double. If they were pursued on broomstick, this would make them easily catchable. 

“Once we’re past the swamp, we’re home free…! Just hang in there a little longer, Pete!” Chela said to her friend as they ran. 

Get in the boat and cross the swamp—this was just one way for them to escape the enemy’s pursuit. It was hard to believe that Ophelia herself would come to the other side of the swamp to retrieve Pete’s body. If everything went well, they could go back the way they came while avoiding being spotted by chimeras. 

“Oliver…! Oliverrr…!” 

Pete clung to Oliver’s shoulders painfully. If they had the time, Oliver would have loved to hug him back for as long as possible. How terrifying it must have been getting abducted by that witch, and how much courage he must have needed to escape. He’d truly survived by a hairbreadth; when Oliver found him, Pete was seconds away from drowning. 

“…Ah…” 

They were rushing through the wetlands as quickly as possible when Miligan stopped ahead. 

Oliver stopped as well, frowning. Why here? Wasn’t time of the essence? He was about to ask— 

“…Couldn’t be that easy, I guess.” 

—but the moment before he could, he realized why the Snake-Eyed Witch had stopped. It was hard not to—many pairs of eyes glowed in the darkness of the marsh, completely blocking their path. He immediately knew these creatures weren’t native to this area; they had the extreme bloodthirst of the chimeras they’d fought earlier. 

“…Lots of surprising faces here. Is this a dream? Or reality…?” 

A lone witch proceeded toward them, flanked by about ten familiars. One might call her a lotus in the mud, but her looks were far too bewitching for such a comparison. Oliver’s entire body shivered in fear. Here she was, the source of this hell—Ophelia Salvadori. 

“…Oh, so that’s it. I was wondering how you escaped… You aren’t male, are you?” the witch said in a hushed tone toward Pete on Oliver’s back, as if a riddle had just been solved. “You switched sexes since I captured you… A reversi? What a rare specimen my net caught…” 

She sounded almost not of this world. Ophelia looked at the others—at Nanao, Chela, then Oliver—and sighed tiredly. 

“Oh, Mr. Horn. How many times must you ignore my warnings? You should have abandoned your friend. Yet, here you are, with two more friends in tow…” 

It was hardly something she had any right to say to her victims, but no one objected. Firmly aware of Pete’s trembling, Oliver desperately sought a way to escape despite knowing how dire the situation was. Ophelia, unaware of any of this, looked at the last remaining person—the one other student in her year. 

“I’m impressed you all made it down here… Snake Eye, what is your game?” 

“They begged me to save their friend. And I can’t deny requests from my adorable juniors.” 

Perhaps as a fellow fourth-year, Miligan was able to converse with Ophelia as if nothing was wrong. But her answer made Ophelia frown. 

“I’ve always hated that about you. Who cares about these relationships? Peel off the outer layer, and you’re just like me.” 

“Ha-ha-ha! You’re not wrong.” Miligan shrugged with a self-derisive grin, then changed the subject. “That aside, I have something to ask—can you let us go? Our only business down here is to rescue Pete. I’d hate to disturb you at such a pivotal moment of your life, so why don’t you let us go and forget we were ever here?” 

“……” 

“Losing Pete isn’t going to affect your efforts, right? We have no reason to interfere, and you have more important things to do than squabble with us. It’s a total win-win, don’t you think?” 

Miligan’s tone was upbeat, but Oliver listened with bated breath. Their only remaining hope was for Ophelia to let them go. Now that they were face-to-face, their fates were almost entirely in her hands. The one thing they needed to avoid was getting involved in a fight. 

“Let’s part ways amiably, okay? Oh, but you deserve something to make up for Pete’s loss. I can give you a rare magic potion. What do you say?” 

Miligan was clearly trying to steer things in this direction as well. Oliver had no idea her chances of success. All he knew was that he didn’t feel the slightest twinge of optimism. 

“…How absurd, Snake Eye. You think you’re still talking to a human?” 

Ophelia grinned pityingly, as if to prove Oliver’s hunch right. Now he and Chela knew for sure—this conversation had been pointless all along. 

“Don’t misunderstand me. I didn’t come here to specifically bring back an escapee,” Ophelia explained. “I could sense people, so I was just idly strolling toward them. I was in search of a place to begin; that place just happened to be here…” 

No one could stop her, just as humankind cannot prevent the sun from sinking below the horizon. 

Bestia alas petito, avis manus invidus, piscis pedes cupiditas, planta carnem desiderat. 

The beast desires wings, the bird envies hands, the fish seeks legs, the tree idolizes flesh. 

And so it began. Like a cup overflowing with wine, the words spilled from her mouth. 

“Stop that chant!” Miligan yelled, all composure now vanished from her face. Nanao and Chela immediately drew their athames, and Oliver did as well once he set Pete down. The chimeras behind Ophelia moved in front to protect their master. 

Quamquam decem milia fient semina, quae sata sunt sed tamen nemo, nostrum vitium non habet. 

The scattered seeds reach far, yet we all have a piece. 

At this point, there was no time to analyze each chimera for a weakness to exploit. Chela shifted to her elven form and fired off a double incantation at the wall of monsters, trying to pierce a hole. She burned the head of one, but the resulting gap was filled by another in mere seconds. Nanao and Oliver, who had charged toward the gap, were forced to skid to a halt. 

Congregans fragmenta et continuans de incubus haec volebam scire, ubi solutio vitae est? 

Gather the pieces, patch them together. Wherein lies the answer to life? 

Miligan followed up with a spell of her own. Spears of fire and ice made a beeline straight for Ophelia. The chimeras’ tentacles extended and blocked the attack, rebuffing Nanao and Oliver, who were rushing in on broomsticks. The creatures’ antiair abilities were rock-solid and prevented any half-baked aerial strikes. 

Quaestio infinita quamvis per multos annos haec investigatio de anima facta esset non dum exitum in veniat. 

Even if the question is answered and eternity is overcome, life’s searchings will never abate. 

Mana coursed through Miligan’s entire body. Unleashing the reserve mana in her womb and amplifying her output, she cast another spell. Not a double-incantation but a triple-incantation fire spell—she bet victory on the raw power of a spell that was impossible for anyone but a seasoned mage. Oliver and his friends watched as three chimeras were swallowed by waves of flames in an instant. 

Si tacito bene est. Respondebo igitur a deam qua excitam per hunc rituum infinitum. 

But no matter. Find the solution within the endless formula. 

They knew this was their last chance, and they took off. Hiding among the flames, they slipped through the wall of chimeras. The moment the three of them were through, a new chimera dropped from the ceiling to block the way. Its body was covered in bedrock and was unlike anything they’d seen before. 

Liquamini miscenimi que inter sese animi hic vobis licet temptare et errare in perpetuum. 

Intermingling lives, I permit you infinite experimentation here and now. 

The four of them stopped. If there was even the tiniest opening available, they were all prepared to take it no matter the cost. Unfortunately, there was nothing. They couldn’t imagine a single way to break through. The only thing Oliver could do was retreat toward Miligan with Nanao and Chela so as to avoid being trapped by the chimeras. 

Delectemini luxuriate ad sempiternum quoniam hic ritus spiritus generat. 

Bask in the unending debauchery if therein lies life’s formula. 

Ophelia’s chant continued unabated, echoing loud and clear. Oliver racked his brain for a way out; without a plan, he could only make guesses. The same was true for Nanao, Chela, and even Miligan. 

Ludite in mea placenta amabili fetus quotiens moriemini totiens ego ipsa concipiam. 

Beloved children dancing in my womb, if we must die, then we must give birth many times over. 

A terrible ringing assaulted their ears. All sights and sounds warped; the laws that held this world together crumbled until there was nothing left. Pete, afraid of witnessing this with his own eyes, grabbed his head and cowered on the ground. He doubted his sanity would survive otherwise. 

Utinam tu clamoribus nativitates iugiter impleariso— Palatium animalum! 

Fill the air with endless screams of birth— Palatium animalum! 

This was the basis upon which the chant was constructed. Everything vanished and was replaced. 

All of a sudden, the four of them were looking at a sky covered in pulsating flesh. Numerous veins of varying sizes ran along the ground, which contracted and dilated with the flow of blood. They could feel the unmistakable warmth of a living being. 

“…!” 

The sight was at once vomit-inducing and strangely familiar. They seemed to instinctually know where they were. Perhaps their minds didn’t remember it, but their bodies did—it was the place where life began. 

They were in utero, encased within a massive womb constructed of mana. 

“…Oliver, what is all this?” asked Nanao. 

“It’s…an aria.” Oliver struggled to answer. The heavy scent of Perfume flowed through his nostrils and into his brain. He felt like he was going to lose his mind by just breathing. He quickly bit his cheek, using the pain to keep himself grounded while Chela picked up where he left off. 

“…A Grand Aria. The final destination for a mage who has mastered their craft,” she began. “Unlike spells that simply activate magical phenomena within the real world, the mana unleashed from a Grand Aria completely rewrites reality. Like painting something new atop an old painting…” 

Chela’s voice was filled with fear, awe, and a kernel of respect. Being consumed by the spell wasn’t all that uncommon, but reaching that state through a Grand Aria was exceedingly rare. Only the most special individuals—perhaps the descendants of the oldest families or individuals who overcame reason in seclusion—were granted such a privilege. No one would object to calling this a mage’s ultimate form. 

“That’s right. At the tender age of eighteen, she’s finally accomplished the Salvadori line’s magical pursuits. She is, without a doubt, a genius.” Miligan quickly extinguished the envy that had seeped into her voice and sharply eyed their surroundings. At first glance, there appeared to be no exit from the world that had engulfed the four of them. If this was truly a womb made of magic, then it stood to reason that a birth canal connecting them to the outside world should exist. But placing hope on this wasn’t just optimistic—it was delusional. 

“We’ve been ripped from the real world and placed in another—and the one who created it sets the rules. We can’t get out on our own, and no one will come from the outside to save us. Either the caster undoes the spell or we die here,” Miligan continued, as if to impress on them that this really was their one and only “hope.” 

“That’s…” 

Several protuberances grew from the fleshy ground as Oliver and the girls tried to comprehend what had happened. They swelled like giant tumors before splitting open, as otherworldly creatures crawled from them, screeching like newborns. Each baby chimera was unique in its composition. 

“‘…Find the solution within the endless formula…’” 

Oliver muttered the phrase still ringing in his ears. Now he was starting to vaguely understand what it meant. 

A chimera was an experiment in creating the “perfect specimen.” Every living being on this planet has some kind of deficiency; however, some believed that among the finite combinations of all living beings there lay a “correct answer.” Those individuals sought a combination that didn’t exist in nature. 

The Salvadori progenitors—pure-blooded succubi—were said to be one such group, seeking the correct answer through male seed. Unfortunately, they had been wiped out before they were able to achieve their goal. Because they’d focused so heavily on a single correct answer, they ended up going extinct when they couldn’t find it. 

“…!” 

Oliver forced the gears in his mind to turn in order to resist the effects of the encroaching Perfume and maintain his ability to reason. 

Didn’t the Salvadoris object to the very idea of a perfect life-form as a result of their failures? They considered change and evolution and the process of eternal trial and error to be the essence of life. That’s what led them to decide that the unlimited diversity produced from these methods was the key to longevity… 

“Wh-what the heck?! Oh my God, this can’t be happening…!” 

A panicked voice interrupted his train of thought, and Oliver instinctively turned toward the source. Twenty yards away from their group were two female students—one looking about frantically and another younger one in tow. The moment she spotted them, Chela looked as if someone had punched her. 

“Stacy?! What are you doing here?” 

“…Collateral damage, huh? Bad luck,” said Miligan. 

Oliver figured she must be right. These two had probably heard the emergency signal and come running, staying far enough away to not get involved with Ophelia, yet were taken by surprise by her Grand Aria. Unfortunately for them, it was literally nothing more than a stroke of rotten luck. 

“I hate to say this, but we don’t have many options… You three know what we need to do?” Miligan asked Oliver and the girls, and they silently drew their athames. They’d promised their friends back on campus that they’d all come back safely. So… 

“…Good answer. Mages aren’t allowed the privilege of despair!” 

The Snake-Eyed Witch’s lips curled into a sneer—the very picture of her indomitable will. That roused Nanao for battle, too, dyeing her hair a brilliantly pure white with mana. So began their final resistance. 

“Fortis flamma!” 

A surge of intense flames signaled the start of the battle. Miligan initiated with massive firepower, keeping at bay the chimeras that had been born prior to Ophelia’s Grand Aria. Against these numbers, it was imperative that they scatter the enemy’s forces. With utter calm, she started from there. 

“Lynette, put up a barrier! Someone needs to be in charge of defense! You’ve always been decent at spatial magic, haven’t you?!” 

“Here?! It would barely last a few moments!” 

Suddenly called to assist, Stacy’s sister, Lynette Cornwallis, fell to the ground and began drawing a magic circle, practically beside herself. Oliver, frankly, was nothing but grateful. A barrier maintained by a fourth-year should be able to withstand the chimeras for at least a little bit. It would give their group temporary refuge and allow them to survive a few minutes longer than anywhere else. 

“O-Oliver…!” 

“Wait here, Pete! I swear we’ll figure this out!” 

Once Pete had evacuated to the still-forming magic circle, Oliver turned his attention to the incoming chimeras. Which one should he fight first? How should he fight them? No matter how much he strategized, he still came up lacking. Just one required life-risking tactics to take down, and now his entire vision was filled with them. 

“Where’s Fay?! Give me back Fayyyy!” 

“Calm down, Stacy! Let’s do this together!” 

Chela stood next to her childhood friend, who was about to break from their ranks at any moment, and began chanting a spell in her elf form. Repelling the chimeras hinged on her and Miligan, their strongest casters. Oliver’s and Nanao’s jobs were to keep the chimeras away from them at all costs. 

“Haaaaaah!” 

“Ohhhhhh!” 

And so they began their seemingly endless battle, fighting back the infinite oncoming waves. 

Tentacles lashed out tirelessly; scythes swung; poisonous fluids belched. Nanao sidestepped, parried, and dodged every last attack, her blade often finding purchase in enemy flesh. Meanwhile, Oliver’s spells razed their enemies, blinding them with light, shooting scorching flames, and summoning decoys to distract with noise. 

The techniques they’d learned from Miligan were on full display here. If they didn’t use them, they wouldn’t have lasted more than a second. A single mistake—a single decision delayed by a second—would lead to instant death. If one of them fell, the whole group would crumble. They had to fight with literally everything they had or there would be no surviving this place. 

“…How wonderful… I didn’t know you could…fight so well…,” came a voice. 

From within the mass of endlessly spawning chimeras rose a beautiful yet repulsive woman. From below the waist, she was no longer human; it was more accurate to say she was a torso grown from the fleshy floor. It was Ophelia Salvadori, master of this world—or perhaps the world itself. 

“I’m surprised your personality’s still intact! So how’s it feel to be consumed by the spell, Salvadori?” Miligan shouted as soon as she noticed her. 

Ophelia looked down at her completely morphed form, opening and closing her hands repeatedly as if to test it out. She smiled. 

“…It’s…the worst… Just as I thought. But…I think I can last a little longer…until I see you all dead…!” 

“Ha-ha! Thanks for the hospitality!” Miligan replied, then roasted one of Nanao’s chimeric foes with a double incantation. It really wasn’t the time to be joking around, yet Miligan focused her gaze on the transformed witch and teased, “Don’t you know when to lie down and die?! I’m guessing you’ve got some big regrets!” 

She unleashed the pointed comment like a flung dagger. Ophelia’s shoulders momentarily twitched. 

“…What…did you say?” 

“I’m right, aren’t I? Otherwise you’d never dig your heels in so deep. Is there some hole in you left unfulfilled after four years at the academy? Ha-ha-ha—I can hardly blame you! Your first love was quite a tragedy, after all!” Miligan cackled dramatically. 

Ophelia’s fists shook at the obvious bait. “Shut…up…” 

“Oh, was I right? Sorry about that. Still—youth is no excuse for ignorance. President Godfrey was always out of your league. It’s like a swamp snake falling in love with a unicorn: It could never work out. Even a child could tell you that.” 

It was at this moment that Oliver realized what Miligan was doing—she was fanning the disturbance in Ophelia’s mind. If she still had her human personality, it could be their ticket to cracking her armor. That is, if this fearsome overlord of their new reality still had a heart capable of wavering. 

“The best you could’ve hoped for was to seduce him with your Perfume and steal his seed. Ignore people’s feelings and prioritize results—isn’t that how your family does things? That’s what happens when you’re descended from succubi. I’m impressed—I could never pull that off. As a fellow mage, I wouldn’t debase myself like that!” 

“SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUPPP!” 

Her probing had finally hit the mark. The chimeras changed tactics from targeting everyone equally to converging on Miligan with every intent to kill her. It was as if they shared in their mother’s raw fury. 

““Magnus fragor!”” 

But this was Miligan’s goal. The moment all the chimeras’ sensory organs were focused on her, Miligan and Chela cast a spell at maximum capacity—completely covering the area in light and explosive noise. 

“Ugh…?!” 

To Ophelia and the chimeras, this was akin to getting dirt thrown directly in their eyes. For a moment, they were unable to sense a thing from the ensuing blinding flash. It lasted only a few seconds—but that was enough for the Snake-Eyed Witch to act. 

Miligan jumped onto her broom mid-cast, using the scant reprieve from tentacle attacks to fly over Ophelia’s head and immediately hop off her broom. 

“…!” 

Ophelia recovered her vision just before Miligan landed and instantly lashed out at the enemy figure rushing toward her. Tentacles extended from her lower half, quickly restraining Miligan’s hands and feet. 

“Guh!” 

She was barely a step away from piercing Ophelia with her blade. They were close enough to see into each other’s eyes. From behind Miligan’s frazzled bangs flashed the light of her basilisk eye—and in its dark gaze, Ophelia was completely immobilized. 

“That really got to you, huh? Even now, you’re as human as they come, Salvadori!” 

Still glaring at her opponent, Miligan quickly shed her robe and freed herself from the tentacles. Her legs were caught, but with wand and mouth still available, she could cast a spell. There could be no missing at this distance. She prepared to utter the spell that would end it all when— 

“Gah—!” 

—a new tentacle thrust out from her chest. It had pierced her from the back and skewered her lungs. 

“…Fool. I overcame the basilisk’s curse long ago,” Ophelia spat. 

“Ms. Miligan!” Oliver shouted, realizing their plan had failed. Ophelia didn’t even spare him a glance, continuing to study the prey caught in her tentacles. 

“Say those words again. What about me?” 

The tentacle around Miligan’s arm tightened until it broke bone, and she dropped her sword to the ground. With a punctured lung, there was no hope of fighting back—but she refused to keep her mouth shut. She refused to stop laughing at her opponent. 

“…Didn’t…hear me the first…time?” Miligan asked. “I said you still can’t let go. Even when you’ve reached the peak of magehood, you still cling to the regrets of a sweet young girl. This, from a Salvadori! A family known for reveling in lewdness and carnal desire! …Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I can’t think of anything more hilarious—!” 

Two more tentacles drilled into Miligan’s abdomen. Ophelia made no attempt to cover her opponent’s mouth—it would only stifle the screams she wished to hear. She gazed upon her prey writhing in pain. 

“…So you wish to die the worst possible death?” she said coldly. “I’ll give you the gift of choice: What would you like impaled next?” 

“Kah—ahhhh!” 

Miligan flailed as her innards were violated with agonizing pain. Ophelia watched her victim up close, yet her gaze was hardly filled with sadism. Her expression was twisted as she gnashed her teeth. “I don’t…I don’t—I don’t have any regrets!!” 

In escaping the light, her feet naturally brought her to the deep dark of the labyrinth. The second layer was still too bright for her tastes. The third layer, however, was wonderful. Everything was dank and grimy as far as the eye could see, and best of all, hardly anyone came this way. Everyone either avoided this section or tried to move through it as quickly as possible. It was the perfect place to start her lair. 

“…Lia.” 

Yet, there was one oddball who pursued her anyway. At their young age, it was incredibly dangerous to go this deep into the labyrinth alone—but they came just the same. Of course, they knew she didn’t want to see anyone—no matter who it was. 

“…Go away, Carlos. This is my territory.” 

Her back still turned to her childhood friend, she rejected them coldly. There was no other way. She didn’t want them to risk the danger, nor did she want to be seen in her current state. Carlos Whitrow, however, had other ideas. 

“Let’s go back to the academy. I’ll smooth things over with everyone.” 

“Don’t be stupid.” 

She could never agree to that. How was she supposed to face everyone now? Not only had she spread her Perfume throughout the group and thrown it into chaos, but she’d also nearly killed one of its members and fled. She’d destroyed any sense of trust and friendship they’d developed for her. 

“Don’t despair. If we talk it out, Al will forgive you. You should know that—” 

She knew they’d say that…and they were most likely correct. Alvin Godfrey would never abandon someone as long as they were sincere with him. No matter how many times it took—he would forgive over and over. 

“……” 

Which was why she couldn’t face him. Her heart hurt every time he forgave her—broke, even. No matter how much she pined for his light, there was no changing the succubus blood flowing through her veins. 

The more she grew to care for him, the more time they spent together, the more she longed to steal him away entirely. She’d often catch herself having the sweetest nightmare in the corner of her mind, of unleashing her Perfume in its entirety and putting him under her spell. And every time, it made her despair. 

So in order to escape that suffering—in order to reject his kindness—she gave herself no other out so that she would never return. She would never even think of poking her head into the sun again. 

“…?!” 

When Ophelia turned around, everything fell into place for Carlos. Her belly was swollen—and inside it was a non-chimera life. 

“Lia. You…” 

“…An older student asked, and I let him impregnate me. Nothing big. This is my role in life, isn’t it?” Ophelia said dryly as her childhood friend struggled to find words. 

This was another of the duties of those born to the Salvadori name: share the family blood among long-standing clans who showed interest. It was hardly a rare occurrence in the magical world, and Ophelia had no real reason to shirk her duty. Her body was accustomed to giving birth; she’d done it dozens of times before. One more wouldn’t even make her flinch—or so the older student must have thought when he planted his seed within her. 

“……” 

No, she wouldn’t flinch. The only thing that cried out was her heart. Lately, however, she’d started growing numb to it. She’d long accepted that she was a convenient vessel and that her heart was no more than an accessory to its function. 

Yet, why was her childhood friend so visibly distraught? She’d told them nothing could hurt her anymore. Why did they suffer in her stead? 

“…I told you to wait at least three years—” 

“I know what you said. And I don’t have any reason to listen to you,” she replied icily. This was her duty as a mage. A mere guardian had no right to complain about the business of the house of Salvadori. 

“I’ll say this one last time: begone, Carlos. Or are you going to try and kill me, here and now?” Ophelia asked, placing a hand on her athame. If Carlos truly insisted on having their way and staying true to their path, they’d have to fight her like any other mage. Their only choice was to crush the girl before them and all the Salvadori history that came with her. 

“……!” 

Of course, she knew they couldn’t choose that. 

“…I’ll be back. And I’ll keep coming back until you listen,” Carlos vowed, then reluctantly turned on their heel. They’d probably come again many times. And every time, she’d chase them away. She’d freeze her heart and reject any and all kindness extended to her. 

“Hmph. Fallen this far, have you, succubus? How laughably predictable.” 

The depths of the labyrinth were filled with a surprising number of similar stories. One particular mage who gathered the bones of the dead to use as his familiars belittled her with unique turns of phrase, smiled with pity, and welcomed her to her new home: 

“Rejoice, for the waters here are perfect for you. It is a most suitable location—far more palatable than the surface.” 

Ophelia couldn’t agree more. It was such a relief to be surrounded by those like her. Now, she was free to return their loathing. 

“Partus.” 

She responded with a spell. 

Cyrus Rivermoore’s mocking smile deepened. “Ha! That’s the first thing you have to say to me? Seems you’ve built up quite a bit of resentment. Very well—this, too, is my duty as your predecessor. Let’s play, shall we?” 

The man chanted a spell of his own, encouraged by her hostility. Deadly duels were good for relieving stress, and she would never be without a partner again. 

“…I realize I might be meddling, but I think you should stop.” 

Every now and again, she ran into Kevin Walker, too. He was one of the few older students on good terms with Godfrey’s group, having personally saved them countless times. 

“People may plumb the labyrinth’s depths, but it’s no place to make a home. Take it from me, someone who comes down here regularly: I make sure to never forget that line. Then again, this is Kimberly—as lawless a place as you’ll find. But at the end of the day, it’s a place for humans. There are good folks and bad, nice parts and awful parts… Kimberly’s all of that. It’s a place where we can laugh and cry in equal measure.” 

Ophelia couldn’t decide how to deal with him. He was clearly different from the others who made their domains down here, yet he’d also “survived” in the labyrinth the longest of anyone. If she tried to grab him, he’d easily slip through her fingers—truly an all-around annoying person. 

“Carlos is still trying their best to create a place for you. They’re forming a group of students with sex-based idiosyncrasies so that you won’t stand out. Are you really okay with letting things go on this way?” 

He never poked his nose in for too long, typically making a few comments before leaving. But those few comments always managed to sting. Truly, he was maddening. 

“…It hurts…doesn’t it?” 

But the most troubling person was this girl. They’d interacted a few times while Ophelia was still on the surface, but ever since she’d started living in the labyrinth, the girl would try to talk to her whenever they met. 

“…How about…some tea?” she asked haltingly. “I…um, have some nice leaves… I’m good at it… Making tea, I mean.” 

And then she had the gall to extend such an invitation with a smile. Ophelia had no idea what to do with this puppy that had imprinted on her. If it was just a cursory bit of pity, she’d have no problem shooing her away—but she realized that this girl, at least, felt nothing of the sort. 

“…Tea? Here? Don’t make me laugh.” 

It pained Ophelia to coldly scoff at her every time they met. Usually, the girl was accompanied by her older brother. He was also a friend of Carlos’s, which made him doubly annoying. 

“If you don’t like it down here, then let’s go up,” the boy said. “Not to the surface, no. But the second layer would be better, wouldn’t it?” 

“Why don’t you try grabbing me by the collar and dragging me, Sherwood?” 

When Ophelia rejected them, the girl always looked so sad. Ophelia hated seeing that—so this was the one person she turned her back on first. 

“If that’s all, then you can leave. I’ll pass on licking each other’s wounds.” 

This was the truth, really. Spending her time with someone who bore the same pain was no better than staring at a broken mirror. 

“…You’re going to give back my comrades, Ophelia.” 

It was inevitable that this incident came to pass after she’d chosen the life of a labyrinth witch. She abducted people when her research required it, sapped them of their vitality, and tinkered with their minds and bodies with utter impunity. So naturally, she ended up clashing with him. 

“Did you come all this way just to see me, Godfrey? How perfect. These ones just ran out of juice.” 

Because she knew this meeting was inevitable, she’d done all she could to prepare for it. It was no coincidence that she’d abducted Godfrey’s comrades. She made him watch as her chimeras carried the students’ lifeless bodies and dumped them unceremoniously onto the muddy ground. 

“…Ah… A-ah…” 

“You’re okay now! I’m right here! Stay with me…!” Godfrey cradled each student in turn, calling out to them. Their vacant pupils barely managed to focus on him. 

“Ah—gyah—gaaaaaaaaaah!!” 

“…?!” 

Suddenly, screams burst from their lips. Three of the students arched their backs in excruciating pain. Godfrey watched in horror as alien arms burst from their abdomens, tearing through skin and muscle. 

“Wha—?!” 

Three chimeras crawled out of their stomachs, wriggling in the pools of blood spilled from the hosts they’d devoured. 

Godfrey was still as a stone; Ophelia gave him a radiant smile. 

“Such healthy babies, aren’t they? I think boys should experience the miracle of birth as well. Anyway, you’re free to take them home now. These three went quite mad from the process, unfortunately. But wouldn’t it be lovely if they could regain their sanity?” 

She delivered each word of her prepared speech with careful accuracy. Godfrey’s allies, who had been standing behind him, jumped out upon witnessing the horror. They burned the chimeras crawling at their feet with magic, then proceeded to try and save their screeching friends. 

“…Your heart has been stained by the labyrinth’s darkness, too.” 

The scene cleared Godfrey’s mind of all remaining doubt. He could forgive a mistake any number of times. But there was no forgiveness in his heart for those who hurt and belittled his allies with clear malicious intent. 

Godfrey drew the athame from his waist and pointed its tip at Ophelia. With unwavering spirit, he prepared to battle the enemy before him. 

“No more words. This ends now. Draw, Salvadori!” 

For the first time since they’d met, he called her by her family name. 

“Of course.” 

The word was like a blade in her heart, and she raised her athame. An odd sense of peace spread throughout Ophelia’s body. 

She didn’t need to suffer anymore. She didn’t have to struggle pathetically in the light. This was her true form. She had finally become an enemy of humanity. 

“……No…regrets……” 

Ophelia’s voice was shaky and weak. Her body defied human reason, yet her human memories still tortured her. And as a result of this internal discord, the chimeras were very clearly slowing down. Their relentless pressure was letting up. 

Oliver hopped back and called out to his friends. 

“The chimeras are losing their edge—their mother’s confused! This is our last chance. Can everyone move?” 

“Yes!” 

“Indeed, I can.” 

Chela and Nanao immediately agreed. They must have been at the very limits of their stamina and mana, but they refused to show weakness. 

“I can fight, too…!” 

“It’s all I can manage to keep this barrier up! Anything else is up to the rest of you, got it?!” 

“…!” 

The Cornwallis sisters indicated that they were ready as well. Pete, meanwhile, did his best to keep his hands from trembling as he gripped his athame. Oliver couldn’t be more grateful. None of them had despaired, against all odds. 

Upon returning his gaze to the front, he could see Miligan was still in the grasp of Ophelia’s tentacles. He couldn’t tell if she was conscious, but it was clear as day that she’d risked her life to create an opening for them. 

“We’ll act as decoys. It’s up to you, Nanao,” Oliver said, broom in hand, and Chela quickly picked up what he was implying. Normally, he would never choose such a method. It was a huge gamble, but at this point, there was no other choice but to ignore the risks. “We’ll draw the chimeras’ attacks,” he continued. “While we’re doing that, you fly in as fast as you can toward Ophelia Salvadori and chop off her head. That’ll end it.” 

Oliver was frustrated with himself. This was hardly anything as grand as a “strategy”—it was simply a four-person suicide mission. He wasn’t even shouldering most of the burden. It all depended on Nanao’s broomriding abilities. 

“I see—understood.” 

But Nanao didn’t balk. If Oliver proposed the plan, then she’d believe in it as if it were foolproof. And that honest bravery was reason enough for Oliver to bet it all on her. 

“Then that’s it. Let’s move!” 

As the one who had suggested the plan, Oliver made sure he was the first decoy in the air. Chela and Stacy quickly mounted their brooms and flew after him. The chimeras were disorganized due to Ophelia’s confusion, and they reacted instinctively to the movement. The ones with antiair capabilities focused their efforts skyward. 

“We’ve got their attention! Now, Nanao!” 

“Haaaaah!” 

While the tentacles on the ground reached up for the three of them, Nanao hopped on her broom last and took off. She gained altitude in an arc, then rocketed down straight toward Ophelia. 

“Uwah!” 

“Stacy!” 

Infinite tentacles assailed the three decoys. After a few seconds, one made contact with Stacy’s broom. She lost her balance in midair, and Chela watched as she helplessly plummeted to the ground. 

“Not yet! Not yet…!” Oliver muttered as he weaved between incoming tentacles. He couldn’t fall yet. Not until Nanao delivered the final blow! 

“Guh?!” 

The ferocity of the attack took him off guard. The moment he thought he’d evaded the three tentacles, a sticky thread flew in from behind and latched onto the broom’s handle. As he struggled to maintain his balance, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a spider-based chimera spitting thread. It was faster and harder to see than the tentacles, so it would be difficult to avoid no matter how much focus he gave it. 

“Gah…!” 

He fell a few seconds after Stacy, separating from his broom, and tumbled across the fleshy ground. Fortunately, he managed to soften his fall. The moment he recovered, he witnessed the last decoy, Chela, get tangled in the spider’s thread and knocked out of the sky. 

His eyes flitted to their last hope. 

“Haaaaah!” 

A deluge of tentacles that Oliver’s group had failed to keep busy now raced toward Nanao as she made a beeline for Ophelia. With incredible maneuvering, she managed to avoid them, but the second attack wasn’t so kind: A web of spider’s thread stretched in front of her path, creating an impassable, unbending wall. 

“Flamma!” 

But the next moment, Nanao’s fire spell pierced a hole in that wall. She’d trained hard under Oliver’s tutelage so that she would have more than her sword skills available in a battle—and here, in the most critical of moments, her training bore fruit. 

“Have at thee!” 

Once she was through the web, there was nothing standing between Ophelia and her. Oliver watched, forgetting to breathe, as Nanao rode the momentum of her broom, her blade closing in on her enemy’s neck. 

That was when she made a fatal mistake: She locked eyes with the witch who was bawling like a little girl. 

“—!” 

Her sword came to a screeching halt mid-swing. The blow that should have signaled the end to the battle slipped past the witch’s neck by a fraction, cutting nothing but air. 

“Nanao!” 

The Azian girl crashed into the ground, completely unprepared for her landing. Oliver happened to have fallen near the crash site, and he ran over, his face pale. He found Nanao lying there. 

“…Forgive me, Oliver…” 

Unable to get up, she still managed to offer a firm apology. Oliver approached her, hardly thinking. He didn’t need to be a doctor to see that she was injured all over. Her arms, legs, and ribs were broken, along with numerous other bones. It was a miracle she was even conscious. 

“…!” 

He knelt next to her and cast a healing spell. He could sense the chimeras closing in around them but chased it out of his mind. He had neither the mana nor the strength to mount any sort of resistance. More importantly, he had to tend to the girl in front of him. 

“…Why…didn’t you kill her…? That was our last chance…,” Oliver said as he healed Nanao. That should have been the end. Nanao’s strike would have perfectly severed Ophelia’s head. If she hadn’t hesitated, everything would be over now. 

“…That was…a child,” came Nanao’s faltering reply, recalling the moment. She’d been prepared to face a fearsome enemy, to instantly slay a demon that held no regard for human hearts and minds. That was how her battle with Ophelia Salvadori was supposed to play out. She had never expected something so childishly frail and fleeting, so infantile—the tear-stained face of a defenseless little girl. 

“…I cannot kill a crying child. I just cannot.” 

“…!” 

Oliver clenched his jaw tightly. He understood everything. With no reply to offer her, he silently leaned in to her. It was an incredibly Nanao-like reason to spare the enemy. 

The end was coming. Chela was still capable of some movement and dragged her aching body over to Stacy, who’d crashed first. Picking up the immobile girl in her arms, she somehow managed to get her into the barrier where Pete and Lynette stood. This would be where she made her last stand—she resolutely drew her athame. 

“…I’m sorry, Pete,” she said. 

“Huh…?” 

“I wish I could’ve protected you to the very end.” 

The moment he heard her apology, something inside Pete burst. 

“Wha—? Wait, what’re you—?” Lynette stammered. 

He ignored Lynette’s attempts to stop him, then strode up to a shocked Chela and drew his athame. 

“Don’t…” 

He knew it hardly made a difference. But he had to do it anyway. 

“Don’t apologize. You all came to save me, didn’t you…?!” 

The witch’s heart was pure chaos inside. 

Her thoughts and emotions in disarray, she could only writhe in pain and loneliness. Why she was so sad, she didn’t know. There shouldn’t have been any reason to be. 

She’d gotten this far by doing what she was meant to. As the product of a thousand years of history—as the end to a thousand-year search—she’d completed the Salvadoris’ magical pursuit in the greatest form possible. What could she possibly be unhappy about after such an amazing achievement? 

“Ah… Ahhh…” 

In the center of the encroaching circle of chimeras was that boy, risking his life by holding a girl who was injured from head to toe in an effort to protect her. As she watched the scene play out, Ophelia wondered when was the last time she’d been held. 

“Watch this. I’ll teach you how to handle males.” 

Her mother was teaching her secrets, body intertwined with a man she’d Charmed into mindless servitude. 

“Hee-hee-hee… See? Easy, isn’t it? Bait him with the pleasures of the flesh, and he’ll end up just like this.” 

As she moved her hips, only meaningless moans escaped the man’s lips. In exchange for the one-sided pleasure, his vitality was forcefully taken from him. Ophelia recalled feeling, even at a young age, that it seemed terribly pathetic. 

“This isn’t sex, and it certainly isn’t lovemaking. This is feeding. We are predators, and these are our prey. The intercourse might get a little involved, but it’s never anything more than a means of procuring their exceptional stock.” 

She’d accepted her mother’s claims without any doubts. But in hindsight, they were only half-true. 

“…Mother…where’s Father?” 

Once, when she was about fourteen years old, she wandered the house on wobbly legs two days after a difficult chimera birth that had taken a whole three days, only to realize she couldn’t find her father anywhere. When she asked her mother, who was practically drowning herself in alcohol in the living room, the answer was immediate: 

“I threw him out. He expelled his seed, so I had no more use for him.” 

Ophelia felt neither shock nor sadness, only quiet acceptance. Ah, I figured as much. She’d long since picked up on her father’s desire to leave them. She’d always expected this day to come. 

“He looked so incredibly relieved to get out of here,” Ophelia’s mother continued. “He had some promise, but in the end, he was just a male. He could never keep up with the Salvadori pursuits.” 

Except for their seed, males were entirely unnecessary to the Salvadoris’ sorcery. That much was a given, considering the uterus was the key to their craft. However, Ophelia wondered, why had he stayed so long, then? Why had her mother kept her father around? 

“…Why do you look so upset? Don’t tell me you miss him.” 

Noticing her daughter’s dubious gaze, the mother glared at her. She was playing dumb; Ophelia might as well have been talking to a mirror. 

“Don’t worry. I may be rid of him, but I have plenty of other males. Oh! With that nasty business out of the way, I should go on a hunt. It’s been far too long.” 

And so she ran from reality. She ignored the feelings that lay dormant in her heart in order to avert her eyes from the truth—in order to maintain her family’s pride as plunderers who disposed of men once they were through with them. 

“Yes, let’s do that. Ophelia, you’re coming with me. You can have a laugh at the pitiful males as they fail to resist their own lust! That’ll brighten your mood! Yes, I’m sure of it!” 

The hint of madness in her mother’s tone told Ophelia the truth: Oh—we were the ones thrown away. 

“…Ah…ah……” 

She’d known all along. Male, female—it made no difference so long as there was kindling for the fires that drove sorcerous pursuits. There had never been a single human in that house. 

Why, then, did they continue to play out this crude performance? Why did her mother marry like a human, run a household like a human, give birth to a child like a human? Why did she give her daughter a human name like Ophelia? 

“…Ahh…ahhhhhh…!” 

She should never have had a name. Even a mind capable of thought was too much. If she was born to be nothing more than a womb, then there was no reason for her body to burn with such pain. She would never have had to experience the fear of love or taste the bitterness of heartbreak. The end would have come before she was forced to come to terms with any of it. Or with the fact that she was all alone. 

Where is that lonesome girl? 

“…?” 

Her heart was about to burst screaming in an endless hell and clawing at her chest, and yet she clung to it—and then suddenly, she heard a familiar song. 

Where is that little crybaby? 

At first, she thought it was welling up from deep within her memories. But no—it wasn’t coming from her head. It was ringing in her ears. 

Don’t hide. Come to me. Your tears won’t dry on their own. 

The gentle voice melted everything away, loosening the tight bonds this world was made of. 

“Huh…?” 

Oliver was the first to notice the change. A pure light shone through a space near him before slowly expanding. A bridge between their closed world and the outside was forming. 

“Made it…” 

Across the bridge came two figures: One, tall and muscular, was Alvin Godfrey. The other was also familiar to Oliver and his friends—a slender, androgynous youth. 

“Carlos…?!” 

Ophelia recognized her childhood friend and called their name in a daze. Carlos looked straight back at her and smiled softly. 

“Sorry I’m late,” they said. “I’ve come for you, Lia.” 

“…! Stay away!” 

Carlos walked toward her, and the chimeras pulled back like waves in his wake. Tentacles shot out from beneath Ophelia and headed straight for Carlos, slicing their skin and breaking their bones, piercing their side and burrowing into flesh. The impact caused the youth’s thin body to stumble forward. 

“Carlos…!” 

Unable to watch any more, Oliver got to his feet, sword in hand, but Godfrey’s tall frame blocked the way. He shook his head quietly at the confused boy. 

“It’s okay,” Godfrey told him. “Let Carlos handle it.” 

His voice was full of faith and conviction. Oliver could say nothing to that, even as Carlos was still being attacked by the tentacles. They didn’t even try to draw their athame and fight back. It was as if this was their duty. 

“You’re so hasty, Lia. Don’t worry—I’ll give you everything.” 

Carlos’s tone was unfathomably kind. They pointed a finger at their throat, and suddenly, the tattoo around their neck unfurled like a ribbon and disappeared. Oliver’s gut told him a seal had just been undone. He swallowed hard, and the singing grew louder. 

See? There you are, silly. Crying all by your lonesome. 

Too much crying and you’ll drown in a sea of tears. 

It was an oddly familiar lullaby, sung in simple Yelglish. With every verse Carlos sang, their surroundings wavered. Like gently untying a knot, this strange reality continued to unravel little by little. 

But it’s okay now. I’m here for you. 

You’re not alone anymore. I’ll end your loneliness with magic. 

“…This is…” 

It wasn’t a spell. This voice itself was filled with power; Oliver realized it had been enchanted somehow. But that alone didn’t explain it fully. Carlos’s voice was clearly working to nullify this world Ophelia had created. Their voice rang out clear and true, like a perfect counteragent to the Salvadori witchcraft. 

“Wait…” 

He felt a twinge of divinity. Suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. 

Oliver recalled the party he and Pete had been invited to; Carlos had called it a gathering of “students with sex-based magical traits.” Thus, it was only natural that their leader—Carlos—also possessed something that fit that description. 

What if this singing voice was that something—this alto voice, frozen in time before puberty could take effect? Everyone could sing in this range as children, but most lost that pure, innocent quality once they matured. However, via certain methods, it was possible to maintain that range—and, with many hours of training, develop a magical element to it. 

A castrato. Only by eliminating the masculine features while a child was young could this enchanted voice be produced. Its tone was sacred, innocent—the ideal counteragent to the various sorcery that utilized one’s biological sex. 

“Good day. Nice weather we’re having.” 

Carlos recalled the day they first met her, in the garden of that dark, cold mansion. 

“…Who are you?” 

The moment they laid eyes on her, they felt as if they’d been stabbed in the heart. 

This young girl was heavily pregnant—a child born into this world as a descendant of succubi, fated to perfect her family’s witchcraft via her womb, unwillingly emitting this Perfume that drew men to ravage her—no wonder she felt unable to love or be loved in return. 

“I could be a friend, if you like.” 

Carlos Whitrow had been dispatched to serve as Ophelia’s safety valve. As a castrato, Carlos could keep her in check whenever her magic went berserk. And when she inevitably was consumed by the spell in pursuit of her magecraft, they would be able to kill her without fail. This was Carlos’s duty as a mage, entrusted to them through their family’s pact with the Salvadoris. 

“Am I going to bear your child this time?” 

That shocking question spoke volumes about the environment in which she’d been raised. To her, a male’s sole purpose was to plant their seed within her womb. She could hardly consider any other possible interaction. 

“Oh, no, honey. That’s not possible for me.” 

“…? What the heck?” 

So they explained it in no uncertain terms. Of course, she was confused at first. That’s fine, Carlos thought. Little by little, they’d teach her that she wasn’t some broodmare—that there were other ways of interacting with people. Because they would always be by her side. 

Ah, but… 

“But enough of that. So did you want someone to chat with or not, Princess Grumpy?” 

If possible, they wanted to see her smile. They wanted this girl—designated as no more than a vessel for bringing life into this world—to obtain a happiness that made her glad to be born human. They couldn’t help but hope it was possible. 

In that moment, their personal hope formed, defying their family’s orders. Carlos Whitrow’s life—and fate—was now sealed. 

“I’m sorry, Ophelia… I was by your side, yet I couldn’t help you at all,” said Godfrey, his voice echoing within the crumbling womb. His expression was filled with guilt and regret—but the next moment, he forced it into a smile. Not one of gloomy remorse but of sheer gratitude as he watched his friend’s final moments. 

“Good-bye, Carlos…my best friend.” 

Oliver could tell Godfrey was fighting hard to keep his voice from breaking. But it was no use. His throat quivered uncontrollably. Tears flowed from his eyes unabated. 

Carlos knew better than anyone that Godfrey was not one to conceal his emotions. They flashed one last smile as bright as the sun. 

“Yeah. Good-bye, Al.” 

After saying farewell to their dear friend, Carlos turned back to Ophelia and resumed their march. They’d resolved to be by her side to the end, and they proceeded without hesitation. 

Open the door and come to me. I am your home. 

Let’s doze by the fireplace for a bit, until those puffy eyes subside. 

Carlos’s throat screamed in protest. Their ribs were cracked and broken, and white-hot pain spread from their lungs through their entire body. The more they sang, the more their body broke down from the inside. The seal on their voice had been broken, and they were singing at full power, transcending the limits of any normal vocalist. If they continued like this, their body would not survive the effort. 

But they didn’t care one bit. Their song, their flesh, their thoughts—everything they had existed for the sake of the girl shivering before them. 

“Stay away… Stay awaaaayyy!” she screamed. 

Her tentacles ripped through Carlos’s flesh, broke their bones, and ravaged their thin body over and over. And yet—Carlos never stopped advancing. The tentacles weakened, as if uncertain about killing the person in their grasp. Was it because of the voice? Or was it because the voice belonged to Carlos Whitrow? 

My heart shall envelop you, so cease your tears. 

The final verse tied everything together. And the moment it passed Carlos’s lips, their arms wrapped around Ophelia. 

“…I’m sorry. I promised to make you smile, and I failed,” they whispered in her ear. The tentacles around Carlos fell to the ground lifelessly; in their arms, they could feel her sobbing. 

“…Are you…stupid? No one asked you to…” 

Her voice shook as she berated her friend. 

Carlos gently patted her on the head. “I love you, my Lia. I always have, and I always will. Forever and ever.” 

They revealed to her the feelings that had never wavered since the day the two of them met. Even now, in their final moments, Carlos remained steadfast. It was the greatest, most personal gift they could offer her. 

“…I hate you…” 

Ophelia refused to accept it happily. However, she didn’t reject it, either. Like a rebellious child receiving a present from a parent, she reluctantly took it in her hands, eyed it suspiciously, then finally nestled it in her bosom. 

“…Don’t let me go,” she begged, finally accepting Carlos’s loving embrace. 

The youth quietly nodded, gripping her as hard as they could—and began their sonorous hymn once again. 

Undone by the voice, the closed-off world fell apart. The chimeras disintegrated into sand without a fight. It was a gentle death; the girl’s long days of suffering, and the loneliness that had begun the moment she was born, were now over. 

*  *  * 

In a matter of seconds, Oliver and the others found themselves sitting in a daze back in the real world, in the middle of the swamp. 

“Are you okay, Noll?!” 

“Noll…!” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his cousins running over. Still, he remained silent. 

“……” 

He gazed, unfocused, at a pile of beautifully white sand on the ground. Mere moments ago, Ophelia and Carlos had stood there in an embrace. They’d lived in this world, formed a bond—and this was the final evidence of that bond.