Ghost. (3)
Ifrin stared blankly at the paper in the drawer.
Suddenly, memories of the countless letters she'd sent to her sponsor flooded back. She fiddled with the handkerchief she always kept close to her chest.
"...What the hell is this?"
In that moment of confusion,
Ssssss...
A chill rose from her lower back, stiffening the nape of her neck.
"!"
Ifrin's eyes flew wide as she focused every nerve on what was behind her.
Ghostly energy, just like before.
But fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice? No way.
Whoooosh—
Ifrin gathered mana in her fist, manifested a destruction spell, and whipped around!
"Ifrin? You okay?"
"Ack!"
It was Allen. Ifrin hurriedly dispelled her magic.
"A-Assistant Professor. There was a ghost just now..."
"Yeah. I saw it too."
"You saw it?!"
Allen nodded gravely for a moment, but then his eyes caught the letter clutched in Ifrin's hand.
"Oh."
He let out a troubled little groan. Ifrin glanced at him cautiously.
Allen had clearly known about this already.
"...Ifrin."
His face hardened, and he spoke in a somewhat angry tone.
"You can't just barge into the Professor's office without permission. Rummaging through his things? That's grounds for discipline."
"Y-Yeah... Sorry..."
"You're such a troublemaker."
Ifrin's mind was a whirlwind.
She knew she'd done wrong, but why was this letter in Deculein's possession? Was her sponsor really Deculein?
Allen let out a small sigh.
"Anyway. Now you know, right? Ifrin. The Professor... he's not just some bad guy."
Those words carried layers of meaning.
Ifrin bit her lip and muttered.
"But why anonymously...?"
"He said you'd refuse if he used his real name."
"..."
Ifrin had no reply.
Not because it was wrong, but because it hit too close to home.
Both the old her and the current her had egos far too big for their talents.
"Anyway. You should probably run for now."
"Huh?"
Ifrin tilted her head at Allen's words. He smiled brightly and pointed out the window.
"The ghost's still out there. Right there."
Sure enough, the ghost with its glaring blood-red eyes was plastered to the glass.
...The Floating Island of Megiseion housed its own autonomous investigative body, the Magic Investigation Department. The Floating Island was extraterritorial, independent of any nation.
Thus, when crimes occurred on the Floating Island, the so-called "Magic Police" conducted independent investigations.
With mages handling the probes, their clearance rate reached 95%. The remaining 5% were cases where culprits were identified but capture proved impossible—figures like the black-water Rohakan, Authority Karla, Lordran the mad, and so on—leaving them indefinitely wanted.
This time, the Magic Investigation Department had pegged Sylvia as a prime suspect.
Idnik gave Deculein a quick rundown the moment they set foot on the island.
"A ghost?"
"Indeed. Sylvia's subconscious spawned a horrific ghost, and that ghost committed murder. Hence, second-degree magical homicide."
Deculein furrowed his brow. Idnik continued.
"Of course, this is just the investigation phase. Sylvia's mana was detected at the scene, but evidence linking the ghost directly to her creation remains insufficient."
They soon arrived at the department headquarters—a geometric structure like mismatched cubes stacked askew.
"Why summon me."
"Deculein. You hold a 'Floating Island Jewel Right'."
Me?
Idnik knew far too much Deculein didn't.
"Murder or not, Sylvia's raw talent rivals Adrienne's. She shouldn't be locked in some confined space like this."
"Her condition is poor."
"Severely. She was already fraying when they shut her away. If that stress erupts, it'll be catastrophic. Her magic could run wild, and her mana palace might shatter."
A fundamental question occurred to Deculein.
If it were his own child entangled in such a mess, wouldn't the parent rush in first?
"What is Gilteon doing."
"That bastard's just watching. He'd even see this as prime time for 'magical evolution'. Showing up wouldn't help anyway. He lacks a 'Jewel Right'."
"Idnik."
Deculein called her name. Idnik gripped the headquarters door handle and turned.
"Why did I kill Cielia. What promise was it."
He had to ask, suspicions be damned.
"..."
Idnik gave him a strange look.
But soon, she let out a hollow laugh.
"Figures. You'd wonder why Ciel didn't run. She never even told me."
Idnik's suspicions quickly found their own rationale.
Information asymmetry was convenient that way.
No mage in this world could infer the hypothesis: "Kim Woojin inhabits Deculein's shell."
"Cielia was terminal. But she absolutely hated dying of illness in front of Sylvia. She knew she was Sylvia's sole refuge."
"..."
"I don't know the full details of her intent. If not a soldier's death but murder, perhaps she thought Sylvia could survive on revenge alone. Or maybe she just couldn't bear her daughter watching her waste away."
Deculein closed his eyes silently.
A stabbing pain pierced his temples.
Each of her words revived dark memories.
"But Deculein. You killed Cielia. That doesn't change. She knew you'd do it, and she didn't run. In exchange, you got everything you wanted."
Everything I wanted.
Deculein thought he knew what that was.
Likely Dikailen's death.
Killing that damned specter that satisfied neither Deculein nor Yeriel.
"So don't think of running now."
"..."
...At last, Deculein understood.
Deculein's villainy and traces lingered everywhere.
The Fate of the Villain would reach out from places even he didn't know, at any time.
Perhaps it was only natural.
Yukline and Ilayde.
And Deculein von Grahan Yukline.
He was a character designed not to survive from the start.
"Ha."
Yet a smile tugged at Deculein's lips.
He had already resolved to defy fate.
No mere "setting" could dishearten him.
"...What's so funny."
This was Deculein's life.
If no day could be smooth, if the whole world assembled him as the villain, if no one could ever love him.
"I'm merely realizing anew how unboring the world is."
He would gladly accept the challenge.
And overcome it.
His ego would not crumble before any tide of circumstance.
Even if the most destructive calamity razed all, someday this wretched world would find him standing tall and solitary at its heart...
"I'll invoke the Jewel Right for Sylvia. The rest is yours."
"...That easily?"
Though she'd requested it, Idnik seemed genuinely surprised.
"Of course, if the investigation clears her after invocation, the right may persist depending on circumstances."
"Regardless, you fulfill the promise with Cielia too. I want Sylvia to live long and become an archmage."
"What?"
Idnik's face twisted in disbelief. No need to linger on her puzzled expression.
Deculein pushed open the Magic Investigation headquarters door.
...The interrogator from the Magic Investigation Department said:
While she slept, her subconscious manifested Tri-Color, creating a monster that killed the mage.
Such "runaways" were possible for anyone.
So, had she faced recent stressors?
"..."
Sylvia hung her head blankly, pondering.
Had she really killed him?
She thought in silence, saying nothing.
"Keep dodging, and we'll have to call in an illusion interrogator."
Lumiere Russell, the investigator, spoke.
Of course, Sylvia had stressors. But...
Bzzz—
"Hm. Regello Sylvia. Wait here a moment."
A summons. Russell ordered a subordinate to watch her, then stepped out.
"...Uh? Monarch Deculein?"
Outside the interrogation room, in a private meeting space at headquarters, Deculein stood. Even on the Floating Island, he favored suits over robes—a famous quirk.
As Russell approached, he said:
"Sylvia's here."
He was also one of the few who used casual speech freely on the rankless island.
"Yes. She is."
"Release her."
"...Pardon? Monarch Deculein. This is the Floating Island. Not the Empire—"
"I'm invoking Jewel Right."
"...Pardon?"
Russell was stunned.
He wondered if he'd misheard. Even after seven years as an investigator here, this was his first "Jewel Right."
"Jewel Right."
"That privilege... for Regello Sylvia?"
Let alone using it on another?
A Yukline for an Ilayde, no less?
"Indeed."
"..."
On the Floating Island, Jewel Right was extraordinarily special.
Money overflowed here; cash alone couldn't secure bail.
Jewel Rights were granted only to those achieving "Milestone" feats, hereditary to official heirs post-mortem.
Deculein's was likely Dikailen's.
And on the Floating Island, it meant more than the word—exempting even murderous mages.
In this merciless society valuing magic and knowledge above life, such privileges were possible.
"But anonymously. That much should be feasible."
"...Yes. We'll accept it."
Monarch Deculein nodded and left the office.
That was it.
One of the island's priciest rights, paid like a meal voucher...
"No way... Why would Deculein...?"
Russell fiddled blankly with his investigator badge on his robe.
...
Sylvia was released unharmed. Russell cited "insufficient evidence," and Idnik waited outside headquarters.
"Take this. A block of tofu."
Sylvia stared at the tofu. Her vacant eyes were dry, like rotten fish orbs.
Idnik said:
"You gonna keep looking like a moron? You jumped off a cliff begging to be his disciple, leaping to the skies when it suited."
"Did I really kill him."
Sylvia's voice was parched. Idnik clicked her tongue.
"Under investigation. Insufficient evidence, they said. Probably not your fault."
"..."
Sylvia was crumbling from within.
Her faith in Deculein clashed violently with the "truth" from those around her.
Her heart wore thin, bit by bit.
Deculein or Cielia—until she discarded one, the erosion wouldn't stop...
"...Frustrating girl."
Idnik recalled Deculein's words as she watched her.
—I want Sylvia to live long and become an archmage.
Deculein might know.
What Sylvia needed now was life's fuel. More precisely, a "flame."
"...Sylvia. Want to see the memory of 'that day'."
Sylvia lifted her head weakly. Those lifeless eyes grated.
"A memory."
"Yes. The day Cielia died."
Idnik tapped her left eye.
"This is a prosthetic. It records everything I see. I witnessed that day through it."
"Ah."
"I'll share it with you."
In that instant,
A tiny spark ignited in Sylvia's eyes.
Deculein arrived at the Imperial Palace straight from the Floating Island, to resume his long-neglected role as imperial tutor.
...But.
"Your Majesty."
Deculein gazed at the Emperor.
The Emperor gazed back at him.
Or was she?
Sophien, sprawled on the floor, dozed with her head nodding. She'd crack an eye open, close it, open it again, then shut it once more.
"Your Majesty. What are you doing."
"...Hm? ...Ah. Hm... Lately..."
Her voice drawled. Her eyes blinked hazily.
"So much... tedium... piling up..."
"Is that so."
"Indeed... Even contemplating... suicide..."
Deculein straightened at those words.
If Sophien mentioned suicide, things were grave. Her chronic ennui was alarming enough.
"Your Majesty. Your health must be hale to achieve great works."
"Great works... Hm... What a drag..."
Deculein sighed.
"...I wish to peer into Your Majesty's mind once."
With the Darkness of the Palace quest being an "Imperial Past Expedition," he floated the idea.
The Emperor's eyes opened, fixing on him.
"You won't endure it..."
"There is nothing I cannot endure."
"Insolent... Yes. If you sought my wrath... you succeeded."
Sophien's eyes sharpened. She tried to rise, but
Thud—
She tumbled back to the floor.
"...Correction: failure. You failed... to anger me..."
"..."
The Emperor's state was dire.
Her sloth exceeded imagination.
"Your Majesty. Do you know of sloths."
"You cannot comprehend... my sloth..."
As if a sloth lounged idly in the palace.
"Your Majesty. You enrolled in my lectures."
"Ah... That... Wasn't me... The cat enrolled..."
"It's this Wednesday. Biweekly sessions."
"..."
Sophien fell utterly silent.
Deculein turned to Kairon.
He stood ever wordless, a shadow of the Emperor.
"Sir Kairon. Her Majesty seems unfit for lessons today. Do you know why."
Kairon nodded and stepped forward.
Yet the Kairon behind the Emperor remained.
In short, Kairon had doubled.
"Come."
One stayed guarding her; the other approached, opened the door.
"...Very well."
Deculein left the sloth—no, Sophien—behind and stepped out.
Kairon led, speaking.
"It worsened gradually; lately, even breathing fatigues her. The cause lies underground in the palace. You've heard from Jolang."
"Indeed."
"Yet even a mage like you finds my 'manaless talent' intriguing."
Deculein nodded. A man suddenly doubling wasn't unremarkable.
"Why I entered the palace as guard at mere ten. More bodies aid protection."
"I see."
Kairon ranked among the world's elite in lore.
Always at the Emperor's side, rarely seen, but bearer of a peculiar trait.
"Here."
The underground door Kairon led to differed from Jolang's prior guide.
Sensing Deculein's puzzlement, Kairon said:
"Two underground doors."
"Yes. Unlike Jolang's. Have you been watching him all along."
"Guarding spans not just external force, but internal politics. Sword sheathed, eyes wide and ears keen."
"...I see."
Deculein eyed the door.
A simple wooden one.
Hand upon it, zzzt—!
Sparks flew, an unknowable tone seeping in.
Sophien's death is anything but ordinary.
Dying dozens, hundreds of times—repeating, regressing—this world cannot remain unaffected. This timeline bears no immunity to influence.
Sophien is proof of this world incarnate.
A miracle of it, no less.
From her eternal deaths spawned grudges, sorrows, pains, rages, hatreds—oozing like pus, pooling beneath the palace. Forming black, acrid, dark sludge.
Thus, exploring that hellish death.
Her demise poses the player a grand trial...
The opening heralding the Independent Quest.
Deculein turned to Kairon.
"Kairon. Will you join."
Kairon offered a small sword. A polite refusal.
"I guard only Her Majesty. With none but her. But if endangered, draw this blade. It enables 'manifestation' for a time."
Each word from Kairon weighed heavy.
A voice inspiring trust unbidden, a knightly paragon akin to Julie.
"Understood."
Deculein nodded; Kairon stood sentinel by the door.
The doubled Kairon guarded the Emperor herself and the door tied to her safety.
"Will it take long."
"First time should end swiftly."
"First?"
"Yes."
This quest, simply put, dove into Sophien's mind to experience regressions.
Not literally her brain, of course.
As many retries as her deaths—over a hundred, by rough count.
Today substituted "Rune Language Tutelage."
"...Understood. I'll watch outside."
"Yes."
Kairon stilled like a statue once more; Deculein opened the underground door.