Secrets of the Silent Witch - Volume 6 - Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Thump!

Someone was humming an unpleasant tune.

As pain racked his body, Cyril regained a sliver of consciousness. He lifted his heavy eyelids and, through blurry vision, saw Robert lying limp on the ground and, farther back, Huberd ruthlessly kicking Glenn.

Cyril tried to chant. He could at least get in one last shot. But his tongue refused to work right.

His mana reserves had already hit rock bottom. The only reason he’d managed to regain consciousness was because his condition meant he recovered mana faster than the average person. Still, with so little left, he no longer had any chance of winning.

Even if he attacked now, he wouldn’t stand a chance against Huberd. After all, his opponent could use unchanted magecraft.

But can he really cast spells without chanting?

If he could, then why hadn’t he done so right from the beginning? The greatest strength of unchanted magecraft was the chance it gave one to make the first move and catch one’s opponent unawares. But Huberd had saved the technique until just after Robert showed up.

Cyril thought back to the events of the match. Huberd had probably let Glenn hit him with that fireball in order to draw Robert out of hiding.

Was he trying to keep Robert from seeing him use the technique? Is there some kind of trick to it?

That was when Cyril noticed something. Huberd’s hand—all those distasteful rings on his long, slender fingers were gone. Every single one of them.

…That’s it!

Out of habit, Cyril tried to reach for his broach, only to realize he couldn’t even move his fingers. His hazy consciousness was about to plunge back into darkness. His vision began to mist over, fading into white.

Wait, no… This mist is real.

The next thing Cyril knew, the area around him had been plunged into a dense mist. He couldn’t see more than a few steps in front of him. Huberd looked like a blurry shadow.

The mist was too strange to have occurred naturally; he had to assume it was some kind of magecraft. But Huberd was the only one capable of using any spells right now, and Cyril couldn’t figure out why he would bother making mist.

What’s happening…? he wondered, confused.

Then he saw something—a small silhouette approaching Huberd from out of the mist. Compared to him, the figure looked like a young child. That was how small it was.

The youthful silhouette muttered something under their breath, their voice too soft for Cyril to make out.

But he did get an earful of Huberd’s vile laughter.

“Ah-hya-hya-hya-hya-hya! I knew it! You’re really something, eh, Silent Witch?!”

That was the last thing Cyril heard before losing consciousness.

Monica was still unaccustomed to flight magecraft, and she needed a pole-shaped object, like her staff or a broom, to keep her balance. But she didn’t have time to search for something like that now; she leaped out the window and activated the spell, nothing below her but air.

Keeping one’s balance was most difficult when turning. So Monica went straight as far as she could, and when she needed to turn, she disengaged the spell, adjusted her direction, and then cast it again.

This consumed more mana, but she was able to reach the forest very quickly. As soon as she arrived, she used unchanted magecraft to engulf the area in mist.

Artificially manipulating the weather for long periods of time was forbidden, as it risked affecting crops. But there shouldn’t be any problem covering a bit of the forest in mist, and this wouldn’t take very long anyway.

Hiding in the haze, Monica advanced deeper into the woods. She’d gotten a pretty good idea of where the battle was taking place from the image in the student council room. It wasn’t hard to find Huberd and the others.

Huberd was humming as he kicked someone… Monica soon saw it was Glenn. Her friend’s eyes were shut tight; perhaps he was already unconscious. Monica knew that kicking an opponent in a magic battle where physical attacks were nullified wasn’t meant to injure—it was meant to humiliate, to crush an opponent’s dignity.

Though it was hard to see through the mist, she could make out Cyril and Robert collapsed nearby.

A chill ran down Monica’s spine. She felt like she’d just swallowed a block of ice. Her fingertips were cold, but not because of the temperature.

She clenched her fists tight. Pain shot through her left hand, but she ignored it.

“Dee,” she said.

The humming abruptly stopped.

Huberd cocked his head; then he saw Monica and grinned. His eyes seemed to glow, as though he were delighted from the bottom of his heart. This was the face of a hunter who had just found his prey. Monica had always been terrified of that face. And she was scared this time, too.

…But another emotion, a stronger one, had taken over.

When she’d met with Duke Clockford after the New Year’s banquet, she’d felt an emotion so intense, it made her vision go white. And now she knew exactly what it was.

The tingling in the back of her head, the heat boiling up from the pit of her stomach—this was anger.

“I am…very angry right now…”

Monica always kept her head down; she wasn’t used to feeling anger. But now, she gritted her teeth, straightened her back, and glared up at the boy looming over her.

“…so I’m going to thump you good,” she finished, her voice low.

Huberd looked at her in blank amazement. Then he leaned back and began to cackle. “Ah-hya-hya-hya-hya-hya! I knew it! You’re really something, eh, Silent Witch?!”

As Huberd’s throat vibrated with laughter, he looked at Monica with sincere bliss. Normally, Monica would have turned away immediately. But this time, she met his stare with the same calm gaze she directed at the chessboard.

“This magic battle doesn’t have a fixed number of challengers, right?” she said. “Then I’m going to jump in a little late…and join the fight.”

“Sounds great to me. You’re the only one who could ever satisfy me anyway. Keep me entertained, all right?”

Huberd Dee loved to hunt. The stronger the prey, the better. In fact, what he really wanted was to face a creature so powerful, he barely stood a chance.

And there was one creature more powerful than all the rest—one he’d never stop loving.

About three years ago, Huberd challenged a certain student at Minerva’s to a magic battle.

That student’s name was Monica Everett. She was a genius; she’d come up with a way to cast spells without chanting, and everyone said she was a shoo-in for the Seven Sages.

At the time, she was around fourteen years old. He remembered her looking much skinnier, sicklier, and more miserable back then. Huberd had underestimated her, thinking that it wouldn’t matter if she was a genius or if she could cast without chanting if none of her attacks could hit him.

But five seconds after the battle began, Huberd realized his mistake.

Monica had used her unchanted magecraft the moment the battle started. And every single attack she’d fired had hit him.

Not having to chant put her at an advantage, but what was truly incredible was her precision—she could have hit the eye of a needle. How many calculations had she done to achieve such a shocking level of accuracy? It was positively superhuman.

Huberd had gone into the magic battle planning to hunt a rabbit. But Monica was no rabbit—she was a monster in rabbit’s clothing. She’d trounced him. And he’d never felt happier.

I want to bring her down! This incredibly powerful monster of a girl!

She’d crushed him like a fly, but Huberd still had hope. He would rack his brains and use every trap he could think of to take down his prey!

And now, standing before him, was the very monster he’d always been chasing. And even better, she was angry and ready to fight!

Huberd laughed gleefully, then began to speak.

“Bernie Jones.”

The name made Monica’s shoulders twitch.

“You were always begging him to save you. But when I tried to rope him into a magic battle, you suddenly got quiet, docile.” Huberd looked over at Cyril. “This silver-haired kid is your replacement for Bernie here, isn’t he?”

“No,” she said quietly, glancing at Cyril. Her fists trembled slightly at her sides. “He’s my upperclassman. Someone I respect.”

That wasn’t quite what Huberd had expected, but it seemed hurting the silver-haired boy did have an effect on her.

That’s right, he thought. Get mad. Then show me the full extent of your power.

One thing was bothering Huberd, however. He wanted Monica to fight at full strength, and…

“Hey, this mist is yours, right?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to dispel it?”

The mist all around them was probably meant to hide Monica from the spectators. But a mage could only use two spells at once. In other words, as long as the mist remained, Monica could only use one spell at a time. And she’d be spending mana to maintain the mist, too.

Huberd couldn’t fight her at full strength like that. This was shaping up to be a boring match.

But when Monica replied, her tone was full of confidence, like she wasn’t worried in the slightest.

“I only need one hand to deal with you.”

He’d never imagined the timid, cowardly Monica would speak to him like that. But rather than making him angry, it filled him with joy. “Happy to hear it. I never thought that shivering little coward from three years ago would learn to trash-talk. But you’re not the only one who’s had three years to grow.”

Huberd waved his right hand. Without chanting, he summoned five flame arrows and sent them flying toward Monica. She immediately put up a barrier to block them.

That’s one tough barrier, thought Huberd. The Seven Sages really are something else.

Huberd threw in an extra chant, slamming a lightning spear into the barrier. It struck along with the flame arrows, and the combined force began to overwhelm Monica’s defense. It was only a matter of time before he pushed through.

But Monica didn’t panic. Instead, she fixed Huberd with a cold glare.

“…I see you needed to chant for that lightning spear,” she noted.

“Banter? Now?” replied Huberd. “Your barrier’s about to shatter.”

“……”

Just then, the mist around them grew thicker. It was now dense enough to hide them from each other.

At the same time, Huberd felt Monica dispel her barrier. Did she plan to attack him from the mist? Huberd quickly put up a barrier of his own, preparing for Monica’s strike.

Near his feet were the three unconscious students. If Monica struck, and Huberd dodged or blocked it with his barrier, her attack could hit the others. She couldn’t make any reckless moves.

Huberd, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn what happened to the rest of them. “Come on, hit me!” he declared. “Or are you just gonna hide forever? If you don’t take this seriously, I’ll use a wide-area spell on everybody in range. Five, four, three—”

Before he could finish his countdown, an ice spear flew out of the mist. At first, it looked like just that—an ice spear—but it had an insane amount of mana packed into it, and it was very strong, to boot. My barrier probably can’t take that, thought Huberd.

But the projectile wasn’t moving that quickly. He could use flight magecraft to squeeze by it. So he dispelled his barrier and dodged the spear.

Even if the attack included a tracking formula, those were only effective for maybe two or three seconds. As long as he flew far enough away, it wouldn’t matter. After about three seconds, the tracking formula would lose its effect.

…Or that would have been true if the attack was using a standard tracking formula.

“Wh-what?!”

It had been over three seconds, and yet the ice spear was still doggedly pursuing him. It seemed to have a mind of its own. Huberd didn’t know of any spell capable of such a feat.

From the mist, he heard Monica’s voice. “This is an advanced tracking formula I developed recently. It lasts over ten times longer than a standard formula… It can keep going for about twenty to thirty seconds.”

Now everything made sense. If Monica had spells like this at her disposal, she wouldn’t have to worry about hitting the others.

Huberd felt his spine tingle with excitement. Monica Everett—the Monica Everett—was taking him on with brand-new magecraft she’d just developed! What could possibly be better?

“…Ha-ha! You’re the greatest woman alive!”

Monica was currently maintaining both the mist and her ice spear. In other words, she couldn’t use any more spells.

Huberd, on the other hand, was using only one spell—flight. That said, he still had to focus on evasion. He didn’t have the mental capacity to spare for anything else.

In that case, as soon as the ice spear stops homing in on me, I’ll press her!

He kept dodging the spear while counting down in his head. There were around ten to twenty seconds left. The ice spear was persistent, but it wasn’t fast enough to keep up with his flight spell. Huberd lowered his altitude slightly so he could land at a moment’s notice.

Just then, he saw a red light flash ahead of him.

His vision went scarlet. A moment later, horrible pain shot through his right eye.

“Gah…ahhh…?!”

Huberd lost control of his flight spell and tumbled to the ground. It was lucky he’d already begun to descend, or the impact would have been a lot worse. But now that he’d fallen face-first onto the ground, the ice spear caught up to him and plunged deep into his back.

And that wasn’t all. A volley of flame arrows followed, raining down on him.

Huberd let out a throat-ripping scream. He tried to keep his mind moving as he worked to grasp the situation.

What pierced my right eye? A flame arrow? A mage can only use two spells at once. Monica was already maintaining both the mist and her ice spear. She couldn’t use flame arrows, too. Then who fired them? One of the three on the ground? …No, wait. They came from me!

Huberd heard footsteps crunching through the dirt and rose to his knees. He looked up, his face covered in dirt and soot, and saw the Silent Witch looking mercilessly down at him.

“The thumb and middle finger of your right hand. The index, middle, and pinkie fingers of your left… Five in all. That was where your rings were before the battle. But now they’re all gone.”

Monica had one of Huberd’s rings between her fingers. A magecraft formula was visible inside its gem.

“You planted these magical items all around here before the fight began, didn’t you? You used your rings as a casting medium, and the item you used to control them—is it your earring?”

Covering his painful right eye, Huberd laughed harshly. “It’s not against the rules. This is a magic battle, after all.”

Within the special barrier, it was entirely acceptable both to use magical items and to borrow the power of spirits. After all, both required mana and were considered magecraft. Not many people did so, however. Magical items were incredibly expensive, and many of the offensive types could only be used once before they lost their effects.

The rings Huberd was using were items he’d created specifically for himself. When he channeled mana into his earring, flame arrows would launch from his rings. By reducing the power of those arrows as much as was feasible, he’d made it so the rings could be used multiple times. In this way, they were quite efficient.

Huberd, then, was using these items alongside regular magecraft. Meanwhile, everyone hit by his flame arrows would assume he was using the spells without chanting.

Monica, however, had realized what the items were immediately. She’d collected and analyzed one while buying time with her ice spear.

“…My magical item,” growled Huberd. “You rewrote its formula, didn’t you?”

His five rings were constantly linked to his earrings via mana. But Monica had collected one of the rings and written over its magecraft formula—changing the item’s user from Huberd Dee to Monica Everett.

Obviously, not just anyone could pull something like this off. An ordinary person would have required a lot more time, both to analyze the item and to rewrite the formula.

And she did it in mere seconds! Huberd shivered with excitement. Ah… The Silent Witch’s power is out of this world! She’s a true monster!

She hadn’t simply destroyed his traps, she’d stolen them for her own. And she’d done it all like it was nothing!

“I once had to rewrite Mr. Louis’s barrier… It took me close to a minute to disengage the dummy formula meant to prevent tampering.” As Monica spoke, she rolled Huberd’s ring around in her palm, looking at it like it was a toy. “It took me less than five seconds to disengage the dummy formula embedded in this. It was child’s play. In the end, I didn’t even need to bother with that advanced tracking formula.”

In the dim, mist-covered woods, the Silent Witch’s green eyes glowed as she continued in an icy whisper.

“Were you so desperate to replicate my skills that you resorted to parlor tricks? I can’t imagine why… It’s only unchanted magecraft.”

At this unbelievable display of arrogance, Huberd’s heart skipped a beat. It was practically singing with joy. What other woman could give him such thrills?

“That cruelty. That arrogance. I love it. Go on, give me an order. Tell me to surrender to your overwhelming power and kneel before you… Ah, my ruthless queen, I beg of you.”

Monica’s cold, impassive face faltered, and she began to look troubled. Soon, all her ruthlessness vanished and she was back to her usual, timid self.

“Um, you d-don’t have to kneel,” she stammered. “I—I just want you to promise you’ll keep my identity secret and that you’ll help me with my mission…”

“If you want me to obey, you’ll have to discipline me. Now give me the hardest thump you can manage.”

“……”

Monica channeled her mana into the ring she’d stolen from him. The other rings he’d placed nearby began to glow, and a volley of flame arrows surrounded Huberd.

With a hard voice and an impassive gaze, Monica said, “Thump.”

Huberd smiled blissfully as the arrows rained down upon him.

Huberd lay face up on the ground, unconscious, looking somehow satisfied. Monica gazed down at him as though he were some incomprehensible creature.

Why is this so much fun for him? she wondered.

Just as Huberd couldn’t understand her, she couldn’t understand him. Monica had no interest in thrills, triumph, fame, praise, or anything else magic battles could offer. To her, the time she’d spent cutting class with her friends seemed much rarer and more precious. Such moments were like irreplaceable treasures to Monica—much, much nicer than this.

Monica looked over at Cyril, Glenn, and Robert, who were all collapsed on the ground. She wished she could take them someplace warm right this instant. But she couldn’t let anyone find out that Monica Norton had been in the woods. It had been a while since she’d left the spectators’ bench. She had to hurry back, or Lana and the others would be suspicious.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for getting you all mixed up in this!

Just as she had when she came, she used her unsteady flight spell to return to the school and quietly reenter through the window.

She carefully disengaged the spell—and nearly toppled over.

Normally, she would work a formula into her spells to reduce the amount of mana used. But today, Monica had been so emotionally strained that she hadn’t had the capacity to do so. Plus, she had gotten very little sleep over the last few days. Her body was at its limit.

I have to get back to the council room…or Lana will…be worried…

After dragging her heavy legs a few steps, she tripped over her own feet and went splat on the hallway floor.

I can’t stay like this, or I’ll only cause more trouble for them. I have to get up…

Contrary to her wishes, however, her consciousness was quickly fading. She couldn’t even keep her eyes open.

“Monica?”

Someone’s arm hoisted her twiglike body back up off the floor.

Great, now I’m bothering someone else…

Tears fell from her eyes, wetting her cheeks. Through dry lips, she said, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry for causing trouble…”

Monica’s body was frightfully cold as Felix picked her up. Her cheeks were sunken in, and her lips were as dry as a desert.

He’d lifted her before, and she clearly weighed even less now. She probably hadn’t been eating or sleeping much because of this mess with Huberd Dee.

Felix had just started off toward the infirmary when Monica’s lips moved.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry for causing trouble…”

Apparently, she was still apologizing to someone even in her dreams. She probably couldn’t help it. Even for trivial things that others barely noticed, Monica would desperately apologize like she’d committed a massive, irredeemable failure.

I wish she could let these things go.

He lowered his eyelids slightly as old memories flashed through his mind.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for always causing you trouble, Ike…”

In his memories, his friend was always crying and begging forgiveness, big teardrops pouring out of his blue eyes. He’d make himself small, like he felt guilty even for crying.

The girl in his arms reminded him of that friend from his youth. She was a timid crybaby with no confidence, and she blamed herself for everything…and yet in the most critical moments, she refused to ask for his help.

I wanted you to rely on me, he said to himself as he opened the door to the infirmary.

There was nobody inside. The school’s doctor was on standby near the magic battle site, just in case.

Felix laid Monica on the bed, then ran his fingers through her dry, light-brown hair.

He had an inkling of why he was so attached to her. When he looked at her, he couldn’t help seeing that old friend from his memories.

I’ve started to get emotional.

“You never rely on me,” he said sulkily, looking down at her. “That’s the problem.”

Monica never came to him in her time of need. Never asked anything of him. Even worse, she’d apologize for causing him trouble. Her words and actions shook loose the emotions he’d hidden away deep inside his heart.

Exhaling, Felix looked out the window. Night came early in the wintertime, and the sun was already setting. Beyond a layer of thin gray clouds, the dark red of the setting sun and the indigo of the night sky blended gently together.

Wil sure is taking a long time.

A contracted spirit was linked to their master via an invisible thread of mana. If one concentrated, one could get a general idea of their spirit’s location. He closed his eyes and traced the thread.

Felix arched an eyebrow. He’s outside the school?

The prince had ordered Wildianu to put an end to Huberd. Why had he left the academy grounds?

While a detailed conversation was impossible, a master and his contracted spirit could exchange simple thoughts even at a distance, like “Return” or “Help me.” And Wildianu hadn’t yet requested any help.

…I’ll go have a look for myself.

Felix stared out into the darkening sky, then quietly drew the curtains.

A little earlier in the evening, a few minutes after the Silent Witch left, Felix’s contracted spirit Wildianu arrived at the site of the magic battle and was immediately confused. He saw Huberd—the cause of all this—collapsed on the ground beside his opponents Cyril, Glenn, and Robert. What in the world had happened? Who had won?

I’d like to carry them all to the infirmary, but I cannot afford to let anyone see me in human form…

Wildianu was currently in the guise of a white lizard, and he clung to a tree as he mulled over the situation. But then he noticed the brush opposite him start to rustle.

A beastly figure emerged. The creature was as large as a boar but was in fact a wolf with gray fur. On its back rode a boy of about five or six. The boy was wrapped in a cloak from the neck down, so that Wildianu could only see his face and his boots.

…Two spirits?

Though the others were the same race as Wildianu, he didn’t intend to approach them for a friendly chat. For his master’s sake, he couldn’t let anyone else find out about him. Instead, he suppressed his presence as much as he could and observed the boy and the wolf.

The boy climbed off the creature’s back, then spoke to the wolf in an awkward, faltering voice. “Sezh… I think…these people were…the ones fighting with magecraft.”

The wolf opened its large mouth. Sharp fangs were visible within, and an adult man’s low voice rumbled forth. “Which has the most mana? Which is the strongest?”

“Hmm… Their mana’s all depleted right now…so I can’t really tell… Can’t we take all of them?”

“No more than two. Choose the lightest ones.”

The boy looked at each of the four boys on the ground. “The black-haired one is muscular, so he’s probably heavy. We’ll leave him here. The silver-haired one looks the lightest, and as for the others…”

His ice-blue eyes turned to Glenn, and he blinked. “This one has an incredibly high capacity… For mana, I mean. It’s way, way bigger than a normal human’s.”

“I do not understand.”

“If you look really close…you can kind of see it.”

“I do not understand. Put them on. Quickly.”

“Okay, then,” replied the boy. Something slid out of his cloak—not an arm but a branch made of ice, its tip split in half. He deftly hooked it on Glenn and Cyril, then lifted them up and placed them on the wolf’s back.

They’re taking them away?!

Wildianu’s master was Serendia’s student council president. He needed to rescue those two boys, or there’d be trouble for his master. Unfortunately, Wildianu was a poor fighter, and he didn’t think he could defeat the two spirits. What’s more, he couldn’t afford to reveal himself in front of Glenn and Cyril.

In that case, my only choice is…

Keeping his presence concealed, he gently hopped onto the wolf’s tail. The wolf, not noticing the little lizard, rode off toward the edge of the woods with Cyril, Glenn, and the boy on its back.

Though the wind was howling, Wildianu heard a low voice between the gusts. The spirit in the guise of a young boy was murmuring to himself.

“I’m sorry, humans. Please, forgive me. Please. Please, forgive me…”

A man and a woman were walking through the woods where the magic battle had taken place. The man was in his twenties and wore a Sage’s robe. His long chestnut hair was done up in a braid. This was the Barrier Mage, Louis Miller. The woman was a little older—closer to thirty. She was dressed in loose traveling clothes, wore no makeup, and had her brick-colored hair tied behind her head.

These were the two people William Macragan had called in to maintain the special barrier.

“I had no idea you were near Serendia, Carla.”

Though Louis was a Sage, the woman called Carla spoke to him casually, as though his rank meant nothing to her. “There’s an area of particularly high mana density near the old dormitories on campus that we’ve had our eye on for a while. I’m here representing the Magic Geography Association to take some measurements.”

“I see,” said Louis. “So that’s how Macragan dragged you into this.”

“What I actually wanted to investigate was the mana density in the nearby Kelielinden Forest, but the landowner refused… Have you heard anything about that, Louis? You’re a Sage, just like him.”

“Why would I hear anything? That man is deep in Duke Clockford’s pocket—a very staunch supporter of the second prince. He’s an awful old codger whose only pleasure is picking fights with me at every opportunity.”

“You need to get along with your coworkers better. You’re an adult now, remember?” Carla sounded like a concerned elder sister.

Louis smiled, as if to say, “Yes, of course, I’m well aware.” But his silence made clear his true feelings on the matter.

Carla shrugged and sighed, then turned to look ahead of them. “So what are we going to do about this magic battle? We can’t blow the Silent Witch’s cover while she’s on an infiltration mission, right?”

“Indeed. We’ll say Huberd Dee’s magical items went out of control, and the match ended in a draw. I think that will be for the best. It was bad luck that one of her acquaintances from Minerva’s transferred in, but…she managed to defeat and silence him. I think she’s doing quite good work.” Louis put on a nasty grin. Then he seemed to remember something and glanced at Carla. “I’m sorry, Carla. About the Silent Witch’s infiltration…”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she replied. “And I won’t ask for any more details. I don’t make a habit of digging into other people’s personal affairs.”

“…I appreciate it,” said Louis.

At this point, he came to a stop. Before him lay two male students in Serendia Academy uniforms. One was skinny, with red hair, and the other was muscular, with black hair. Huberd Dee and Robert Winkel, no doubt.

“Oh?” said Louis. “My idiot apprentice is nowhere to be found.”

He was probably afraid I’d give him a thrashing after his miserable defeat and ran away, thought Louis. But after a moment, he realized that Glenn didn’t even know his master was at the school.

As he considered this, Carla looked around. “There should have been one more challenger. The silver-haired boy. I don’t see him, either.”

Things were getting a little strange.

Louis took a ring out of his pocket. The emerald embedded in it was his spirit’s stone of contract. “I’ll call Ryn and have her search,” he said. That idiotic maid, Rynzbelfeid, was a high wind spirit, and she could look for them from above. She could even use her powers to carry them safely back with her if they were unconscious.

“Rynzbelfeid, spirit of wind, in accordance with the contract, be swift to my side!” he chanted, channeling mana into his ring.

No response. Louis frowned; this was very odd. Ryn occasionally ignored his orders or interpreted them in interesting ways, but this was different. It felt like the mana he’d just sent hadn’t reached her—like he was pouring water into a cup with a hole in it.

“…Ryn?”

A contracted spirit was linked to its master by an invisible thread, allowing each of them to sense the other’s general location and distance. But no matter how much he focused, Louis couldn’t tell where Ryn was.

“Has something…severed the link?”

Louis stood, unmoving, as a cold winter wind blew past his feet. He rubbed his neck and glared sternly at the emerald ring on his finger as goose bumps rose on his skin.

Meanwhile, Carla began to chant—she was using a detection spell. Such spells weren’t very precise, and they couldn’t seek out a particular person. But if Glenn was using flight magecraft, it might be able to detect that.

Louis watched her in silence as she closed her eyes and frowned, searching for something behind her eyelids. “Louis,” she said, keeping her eyes shut, “I just got a signal from the northeast. It’s either a mid-level or high spirit…but it quickly left my detection range, so I can’t be sure.”

“Northeast?”

Northeast of Serendia Academy… Louis knew of at least one thing in that direction. He didn’t know if or how it was related to Glenn’s and Cyril’s disappearance, but his gut told him they had to follow whatever lead they had.

“Carla, might I ask a favor of you?” he said gravely.

“For my adorable fellow apprentice? Anything.”

“Send a message to the Starseer Witch.”

Depending on how things panned out, they might need to involve even more Sages. What a pain, thought Louis bitterly.

In the forest northeast of Serendia Academy sat a little house.

The cozy abode contained only a few pieces of furniture—enough for a guest to stay the night. To the right of the entrance was a large hearth; to the left, a shelf filled with tools; and in the center of the room was a large, conspicuous workbench.

An elderly man sat at it, and with his wrinkled fingers, he plucked up a silver flute. The object was slender, about the width of an adult’s pinkie, and it had a silver chain so that it could be worn around the neck.

The man put the flute to his lips and blew. It produced a rough, wavering fwoo-ee, fwoo-ee.

Behind the man stood a beautiful maid with her golden hair tied back—Rynzbelfeid, Louis Miller’s contracted spirit. She stood as still as a sculpture, waiting.

The man brought the flute away from his lips, then smiled in satisfaction, a darker emotion seeping into his joy. “The Barrier Mage must be in quite a panic right about now… Ah, what a delicious feeling.”

A high-pitched male voice came from near his hands. “Heroes are born of calamity. No peaceful world would need one, would it? Please, use me, my master. I am Galanis, Flute of the False King, and I shall make you a hero!”

A hero. The man’s heart leaped at the word. In his mind, he saw the young genius who had slain two wicked dragons—Monica Everett, the Silent Witch.

The man was beside himself with envy. He couldn’t stand to think of those who possessed something unique, something that belonged only to them. It drove him mad to think of such geniuses with all their talent and power.

Now, right here in his hands, he held a power of his own—the overwhelming power of an ancient magical item. It wasn’t born of his own talents, but he had been the one to fix it when it was broken, so that made it his, did it not? That was the man’s convenient interpretation anyway.

“You are mine alone,” he whispered to the flute. “You are the manifestation of my talents.”

“Quite correct! Let us be off, my master. First, we will bring the spirits of this forest under our complete control! With my power, we shall create the strongest army to ever walk the land!”